#Probably should have like just written the scene rather than the outline at this point

[writingquestionsanswered]

How do I make my writing less.. like I'm rambling? I speak and type in a way that is very much rambling but I want my writing (even if it's just a fanfic) to be more on topic ig?

How to Ramble Less in Your Writing

1 - Have a plan - Planning doesn't have to mean figuring out every last detail--creating scene lists, outlines, and timelines. It can mean that, and if that would help you, do it! But mainly "having a plan" in writing just means that you know the general plot. Who is this story about? What is the conflict? Why does the protagonist want to resolve the conflict? How will they go about it? What obstacles do they face along the way? Who or what placed those obstacles there? How will the character, their situation, or their world have changed by the end of the story? At the very least, having a beginning to end summary is a great way to format the answers to these questions and give you a plan to follow.

2 - Balance Exposition, Dialogue, and Action - If you find yourself rambling a lot in your story, you might be doing too much exposition, aka "explaining things." Remember that scenes (and your story in general) should be a balance of exposition, dialogue (conversation), and action (things happening). When you balance these things out in your story, you will find that you probably ramble less.

3 - Ramble First, Edit Later - Rambling in your writing isn't always a bad thing. For some writers, that's just part of the first draft process. It's sort of a "throw everything at the wall and see what sticks" method of writing, but it works really well for some writers. Some of the best stories in the world were written that way. The key is to go back and edit what's there so you can take out the things that "didn't stick" and clean up the things that did.

4 - Start With a Mind Map - If you find yourself having difficulty staying on topic in your story, try doing a mind map before you start writing and let all those rambling thoughts come out in an organized way. This can help you see all those seemingly random connections your brain is making between elements in your story, which is what sends you off on these rambling paths in the first place. Not only does this let your brain get all those random connections out of its system before you start writing, it also gives you the ability to look at what's there and see if there's anything worth working into something more relevant and cohesive to the story.

5 - Break It Up Into Smaller Parts - Another thing you can try is to break your writing up into smaller parts, which has the effect of putting up barriers that keep you from rambling too far off course. Try to focus on writing a scene... know what you want to accomplish in the scene before you start writing. Figure out the beginning point, the midpoint, and the end point. Then, plot the path between each point. If you still find yourself rambling, break it up by point. Write from the beginning to the midpoint. Then from the midpoint to the end point. Breaking it into smaller parts forces your brain to focus on that smaller part rather than giving it the opportunity to run off into the wild.

Happy writing! ♥

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[bunnyswritings]

ur blog is soo helpful !!!! ive been looking into writing more lately and this is like a godsend <3 i was wondering if u could do some starter tips?? like stuff to avoid as a new writer :o ps. hope ur having a wonderful week!!!

ahhh, hello!! this is such a sweet message, and thank you, i hope you have a fruitful week ahead too ♡ i'm so glad you're writing more lately- i'll def do my best to provide some starter tips (though i'm really also a starter myself 😅 so i hope you like these, and feel free to let me know what you think!) also, just to put it out there that these are what i found helpful personally / what i think will be helpful, and may / may not resonate with everyone. Also, this topic is soooo broad and there are a million things that can be covered, but for now I'll just keep it short and go with stuff to avoid (or rather, approach differently) as per request. if you / anyone else would like another post for more specific writing tips, feel free to drop it in my ask box!

Some general writing tips — stuff to avoid; little things to not overdo

over-planning

overusing fancy vocabulary

over-describing

over-criticising your work

over-comparing

more details under the cut!

Over-planning — plan the general outline, direction of your plot, message of your story, characters and their rough personalities; yes, do all that well! good planning makes for a good story, but i think it's helpful to remember that sometimes things don't pan out the way we envision them to. and it's important to let certain things go, appropriately of course. if your initial storyline doesn't quite fit the characterisation of the protagonist etc (and vice versa), then perhaps it's time to rethink things — and NOT be too hard-up about it. [tldr: be flexible!]

Overusing bombastic vocabulary — i'm sure you've come across millions of writing advice pieces that aim to spruce up your vocabulary with bombastic phrases. by all means go ahead and pick a few that fit the mood and style of your writing. otherwise, i'd say that sometimes, less is more. throwing in fancy words for the sake of it may not be as helpful as you think. there should be a fine balance between using words that add flavour + help to illustrate nuances and using words to make your piece seem complex. simplicity goes a long way, as i've learnt. but having said that, building up a solid repertoire of vocabulary / good phrases is always helpful, the key thing is using those phrases in the right context. definitely easier said than done, so i suggest reading your favourite author's works couple of times through and pick up their way of using language to their advantage.

Over-describing — narration, descriptive language are great, and can really help to nudge your story in the right direction. it helps set the scene, the mood, and all these are critical in writing... BUT! not the same can be applied to describing actions. not every single action has to be written out explicitly — an example: she walks over to the kitchen, turns around, and opens the refrigerator. she then takes out a canned drink, and places the drink on the countertop... etc — you get the point. some things can be left implied, rather than explicit.

Over-criticising your work — ahh, the age-old piece of advice. i do it all the time, and you probably do too... sometimes, being harsh on yourself and on your work may seem like the only way to better yourself and push your limits, but often times, i personally find that this is counter-productive both on the physical and mental front. it wears you down, it is a nidus for dejection and negative vibes. i think the way i try to get round this is by taking pride in my own work; telling myself that 'this is something i wrote, these are my ideas put into prose, these are my thoughts written on paper'. the caveat here is that avoiding being over-critical of your work DOES NOT and should not mean avoiding proofreading. proofreading is extremely crucial to check for grammatical and structural errors (i recommend doing it once or twice yourself, and if possible, getting a fresh pair of eyes to do the same).

Over-comparing — this ties in nicely with the previous point. take pride in your work! this is something original from you and you only, written in your unique style. having authors/writers whom you look up to is essential in moulding your writing style and habits, but should not be the sole focus when you write. remember that every writer is different, every piece of writing is different; this goes even for pieces with similar plots / tropes / character personalities. nuances, subtleties and underlying messages can come through very differently when written by different people. after all, our life journeys are all personal, which is a factor influencing the way we convey messages across through the written word.

and... that's it for now! i really hope that this helps. honestly, i'm scratching the surface here, and there are lots more i can talk about when i have more braincells >_<

feel free to drop any other requests or questions in my ask if you'd like ♡

[walkingstackofbooks]

Trying to decide what I want to work on right now and so to procrastinate I thought it'd be fun to share my current WIPs with you all (omg how did I get so manyyyyy)

Feel free to shout encouragement at me if there's any that particularly pique your interest! :P

Anyway, in order of how recently I've worked on them:

1. Prompt - what if Kukulaka got broken and Garak repaired him?

Coming soon? 80% it'll be done in the next week: I'm hoping to just bash it out at some point, but even though it's short and self-contained, it's hardddd...

2. Unexpected Chapter 2 of Imprisoned. Absolute Sloanshir rot: Sloan provides Julian with more "help", Julian gets increasingly confused/grateful/flustered/fucked

Coming soon? Almost 100% you're gonna see it next week - I am hype and should should should get to the end once I have an evening to myself ;)

3. Prompt - "I don't trust myself to be good to myself right now, but I need someone to be good to me." Conversations between Miles and Julian at various points in the series when they've hit rock bottom and need pulling out.

Coming soon? No... I've written one post-DBIP scene but I'd at least want the post-Argrathi scene and the rest of the DBIP stuff to be done before I put anything up, if not the whole thing... It's definitely a long fic I'll be returning to in fits and bursts. (sorry, prompter...)

4. Prompt - Garak and Julian's first conversation post-IPS/BIL.

Coming soon? It's a strong contender for next week - I was super hype for it when I started but then work interceded and I just haven't got back to it yet. It is a priority, though!

5. Pre-DBIP: a few moments where Julian's unspoken issues with his parents cause friction for him but go unnoticed by his friends. Post-DBIP a similar moment happens and is recognised for what it is. Featuring Julian + beets.

Coming soon? I really don't know. I've got a strong vision for it and scene one (of four) is done, but it's kind of stuttered since then.

6. Julian starts to neglect his self-care, leading to him passing out in the infirmary. Sisko would like to know what the hell happened.

Coming soon? It's already on tumblr in a rough and ready form, so editing to put on AO3 might well happen in the next week - and I'd say a 50% chance of something extra with that?

7. Chapter 2 of At Their Mercy. Alpha!Garak takes over with Omega!Julian where Kira left off... 😉😉😉

Coming soon? Gahhh, I have written this several times over in my brain, but getting the start of this chapter has been proving difficult. Definitely not until after the Imprisoned chapter is done.

8. Why Leeta Kept Kukulaka And How Julian Did Try To Ask For Him Back. Just cute, fluffy gap-filling; I love both of them.

Coming soon? Probably not. Only the outline has been written tbh and this hasn't caught my fancy in a while.

9. "Acts of God": A runabout crashes on a planet where medical intervention is outlawed. Unable to help his injured friends and forbidden from alleviating the suffering he sees around him, Julian has a very bad time...

Coming soon? No, I think this is probably going to be an after-VIsion-Awry project rather than a can-i-get-it-done-first one.

10. "Sloan's planet": Sloan is Julian's s31 handler, sending him out on all sorts of missions... but the missions are fake, Sloan using the holosuite to manipulate Julian pretty much any way he wants...

Coming soon? Possibly. This has more of a series vibe maybe with a few distinct one-shots, so if I get a short idea I might bash it out 🤷‍♀️ Sloanshir's often just so easy to fall into.. 🤣

11. Keiko + Molly + Julian + drawing post-DBIP. Julian's not very good at it, and it's a bit feels but a lot of fluff.

Coming soon? Well I haven't touched it since April but I do smile whenever I remember it exists (and looking at the file, more was written than I remember!)

Welp - and that's not even counting the myriad other ideas floating around my tumblr/ in my head! Or the fact that I have probably another 15-20k of Vision Awry to go... Well, here's looking forward to my August of writing!

(Which I'll definitely have... if I stop procrastinating! :P)

[goldenbloodytears]

Got me thinking after the last (one of??) question you've answered. How do you picture the day Danny killed the senior Johnson and the aftermath of it?

Good question. I don’t have the entire thing sketched out in my head but here’s a rough outline of the ideas I’ve had banging around inside my skull for a while.

The tome does all but outright say that Danny killed his old man on a wild impulse… so following along with that, I think it was an “accident” too.

I put the rest under a read more since I think it got a little long haha

I think Danny had long prior developed a fantasy where he would kill his dad, one where he thought out all the little minute details based on his dad’s habits. I don’t know if he would have physically written anything down plan-wise, but I view it as the originating behaviour of his later impulse and style of stalking, he just became more organized about it once he knew he would be purposefully hunting people later.

I think the situation leading up to the event was something like this. The old man tells Danny they’re going on a hunting/camping trip, whatever plans Danny has made previous to this does not matter—he is expected to drop them. They take a long drive out to the middle of nowhere, and it’s tense and awkward. They get where they’re going, setup everything…. And eventually they get into an argument. Possibly one which elevates into a physical altercation and Danny ends up pulling his knife.

I had the particularly unhinged thought last night of whether his old man would be proud of Danny attacking him or at least suddenly try to comfort him “it’s okay son it’s an accident” while he’s bleeding the fuck out in the middle of nowhere… this is admittedly where my ideas start to break down and get fuzzy.

The next part I’m not sure about, but I can see Danny trying to rig the scene afterwards… despite the fact it’s an accident. This is assuming he doesn’t just go into shock for a bit. I don’t think he would know what to do here, nor am I super sure either. Would he leave to try to flag down the cops or attempted medical help if his dad wasn’t quite dead yet? Idk.

There’s an entire alternate scenario in which Danny just buries his dad in the woods and then fucks off to new life, but that feels a little too… I’m not sure if it’s easy, but it feels rather fanciful? I kinda feel like it’s the story he would tell to make himself sound badass.

So I feel like either way he probably got caught that first time. Maybe his dad had invited some old friends of his for the thing but they only show up later to a dissociated bloody Danny and his dead dad a couple feet away.

I should probably note that I’ve been considering this incident as happening while Danny is an older teen or young adult. Within the 17-21 range. Mostly because I think part of their argument would be related to Danny’s plans for the future and his dad wanting him to follow in his footsteps.

If we do go with the outcome where he gets charged, then he ends up calling his mom to bail him out—he’s pretty understandably freaking out at this point as the reality sets in. She flys out and immediately takes over in being the mom he hasn’t had for years; she’s the one who takes care of his legal fees and finding him a really good defence lawyer. I think I’ve said it already but his mom feels massively guilty about the situation.

There’s a couple potential outcomes to the situation here, and also some things to note.

I think the resulting legal trial would be Danny’s first taste of the media’s interest in bad news on a personal level, deeper than the “oh look more bad news” when you’re watching the local news at six kinda deal. I don’t picture it gaining much more than local publicity however.

Then you have where he might get charged with a lesser count like manslaughter, rather than homicide (this is related to my thoughts about him writing out his fantasies earlier… a good prosecutor would be able to argue he had criminal intent if his writings were found, whereas a lack of prior documentation heavily pushes the legal narrative more towards voluntary manslaughter by way of emotional distress)…. regardless of what he gets charged with, I’m a little stumped as to whether he could get a full acquittal or not.

The outcome I like is where he does get an acquittal (or extremely lenient sentencing), but his mom still has Danny move in with her and the family she’s got going, and there’s a brief period where he’s going to therapy or taking self-help classes (once again paid for by mommy dearest). Everything looks normal for a bit (I think the sudden “normalcy” drives him a little crazy tbh) and he gets his first journalism job at a paper… only to end up having the epiphany that the best way for him to get anywhere in the news world is to create the news himself.

He makes the conscious decision to go forward with what he’s doing at this point, after all, isn’t he hunting humans like his old man wanted him to do?

The only contention I have is that a criminal record could make things complicated, but at the same time explains some of his idiosyncrasies—like why is his background entry for dbd so obsessed with him not leaving any dna?? Well, maybe because he already has finger prints saved in a local law agency somewhere. Why does he use fake identities? Because he has a crime associated with his legal one, and because it provided more “protection” for what he’s doing.

At the same time, I think having a near brush with the law, one where he was lucky enough to escape without a criminal record, is enough to also explain the same things.

As a final thought, he definitely carries guilt about his dad’s death, like… his lore is pretty clear that he feels like his old man deserved a “better design” which makes me wonder if the original plan he had was a lot more… peaceful for Johnson senior to experience, or whether that’s just the reflection of “wow that really sucked” and not living up to the idealized fantasy he built in his head.

Also random trivia bit but I think he calls his mom on her birthday every year and tells her about how his life is “going” (probably making it sound way better than it is). She’s always chiding him to come visit and to call more often bc she loves and misses him.

[polyabathtub]

❌ and/or 💯 for the wip ask game!

Wheeeeee this is fun thank you for asking!

💯: currently: 5k

expecting to have: probably somewhere in the 20k-30k range.

It’s in 6 parts, which will probably become chapters. The first part is 3.7k but I might try to cut it down some. Second part is 1300 right now with about 800 words of detailed outline+rough dialogue to finish it out. At some point I should track my blocked dialogue -> narrative conversions to get a sense of how much those usually grow…right now I’m not sure, but I’m kind of expecting each part to be in the 4k-5k range, since that seems to just be how long it takes me to complete a narrative beat.

I’m not sure yet if this is a fic where I’m going to get to the end and be like “this has a lot of excess, better go trim and keep it mostly sex” or get to the end and be like “oh your emotional beats are missing, go add more scenes,” kind of have to wait and see. My only other long fic grew by 3k during editing so that’s probably more likely?

❌ [Cross] What would your WIP get cancelled on Twitter for?

Obvious answer: I’m writing dubcon about real people. Admittedly the dubcon is that Jamie gets into a sexual relationship with Trevor while thinking Trevor is actually a woman he doesn’t know, which is way, WAY less dubious than the dubcon I’ve already published of Trevor, but, like, it’s still kinda sketch.

More interesting answer: my treatment of gender. At least right now I’m planning on tagging for drag rather than crossdressing, even though my prompter used crossdressing. mostly because my trans drag queen girlfriend (love her) is very against crossdressing as a term, and she’s my authority on this stuff. But she doesn’t read my fics (“too much sports, plus I don’t have an AO3 account and you always archive lock everything”) so I’m kind of just doing my best with it.

The fic is written from Trevor’s perspective, and he’s buried so deep in cisheteronormativity that I don’t think he’s getting far enough out of by the end of this to really figure himself out. He’s super fuzzy on what he likes about drag/femininity, and I’m hoping to keep it that way because I think representing that fuzziness is good! It’ll probably be possible to read him as eggy, but not definitively, and I could see people being unhappy with that ambiguity.

The fic is extremely horny but also, I think, not fetishizing. But toeing that line is kind of complicated for a whole host of reasons, and I expect there would be people on twitter who will read it as coming down on the wrong side of that line, wherever they think that is. At the same time I’m a bit worried that my prompter will be upset that it’s not fetishizing enough! But I’m kind of just writing along my outline and letting Trevor figure himself out as I go, and I’m hoping that gets me somewhere good.

Like, I’m shooting for writing something that’s confused in a hot+sweet way, but just because that’s what I’m aiming for doesn’t mean that the internet at large would read it that way.

[unopenablebox]

N, R

N: Any fic ideas brewing that you’d care to share?

i perpetually have like 6 WIPs floating around that i usually only finish by wedging myself into being assigned that fandom/pairing for a fic exchange, thereby imposing a deadline. taking "ideas" to mean "things i've sketched out but not outlined or written much for", stuff im thinking about includes:

sabriel au where sabriel and lirael meet immediately post- the events of sabriel via a Time Artifact and have fun adventures that actually exist to illustrate the bizarre temporal and cultural contrasts between "growing up in a perky 1910s british boarding school" and "growing up in a glacier where it is 1500 or something and everyone there hates you so you learned all information you currently know entirely from manuscripts + your ghost dog", which i think the books severely underplay in terms of how totally alien lirael should be to like, everyone, but especially everyone from ancelstierre. the punchline of this fic is that lirael thinks four humours theory is real and incontrovertible and also sabriel cannot fucking understand her accent

my own stupid variation on the classic star wars fic premise "darth vader gloms onto leia prior to the events of the original trilogy and elevates her to immense political power, freaking everyone out", in which this comes to pass via, like, palpatine-is-restarting-the-clone-program genetic testing farce that reveals leia is padme's kid. exists mostly for a scene which lives vividly in my mind in which darth vader spends two hours trying and failing to get the Space Illumina Gene Sequencer software to work. he cannot get help because he has already killed the genomics tech in a moment of panic. it keeps giving him a network access error and he cries. i probably won't write this because i think it would require that i first read the extended universe leia novels/comics in order to consciously either incorporate or reject their canon and i simply doing feel like doing that. also as currently sketched out it would be like 40k and i just dont have that kind of time. but it would be fun

R: Which writers (fanfic or otherwise) do you consider the biggest influence on you and your writing?

i'm constantly trying to write diana wynne jones and/or dorothy sayers-style prose/dialogue, it's a failing. in that i fail at it.

i am extremely influenced by certain of the big-name lj-era bnfs in terms of just like, thinking about what a fic is, what constitutes a "unit" of fic, etc, because i feel writing a short fic is almost totally different from an original short story. not least in that most non-fic short stories i read i often end up kind of hating because they're so clearly there to make a Point rather than execute a character moment, and also they suck. (to be clear i only usually read short stories when someone i know has just gotten something into a sci-fi magazine, and i know a lot of people who write about the Issues of AI and the Climate, so that may help contextualize the nature and limitations of my complaints. this is not about, like, raymond carver, who i like but simply do not think about enough to call an influence.) anyway i really like re/sonant and sp/eranza for exemplifying the satisfying short-fic form. just like everybody else who for used to be really into stargate atlantis.

slashmarks/basketofnovas is a real inspiration in the world of "forcibly extrapolating totally unintended worldbuilding that is nonetheless coherent and fun and interesting", something i aspire to, but, not being myself a medieval historian, am pretty handicapped at. but it's fun to try!

there's a lot of other stuff i'm sure but this is what i can currently think of

[funkymbtifiction]

Hi, Charity! I'm a high-Ne user (INFP or ENFP, not sure yet, probably ENFP tho) and I'm currently struggling with writing my book. I thought that since you are a Ne-dom author you could probably give me some advice :)

To summarize, I was thinking about horror fantasy novel set during the middle ages [..] When I first thought about the idea, I loved it. I could imagine the vibrant characters, the eerie atmosphere, the village, the forest and the creatures lurking in it. I had a very plain idea of I how I wanted it to look like, of how the bigger picture was, without thinking to much about the details of it. I just knew how the final product was supposed to look like, what "vibes" it should have. Therefore, I made up my mind to write it.

But, when I found myself actually writing it, it kind of dawned on me how hard it actaully was. I knew how this world was supposed to "look" like and it sounded good, but when it came down to actually crafting it, from scratch, it was a nightmare. I couldn't make up my mind on how to begin, I kept deleting and rephrasing sentences because I didn't like the sound of them or because I had another idea of how to write them and I struggled with the details (for example a scene, I knew how it should go down overall, but when it came to actually thinking about every single word, every single detail of the scenery, every single move of every single character, that's when it became frustrating). I just couldn't decide on what to write, how to write it and every time I thought that I finally got it right, I had a new idea of how this could be written and now I wanted to do it that way. I just couldn't let my work rest and felt the need to correct it constantly because I felt there was a "better way" to do it, an endless row of possibilities. And don't even get me started on how much research I needed to do about that period of time, the clothes, the status, the traditions, the social constructs, searching for names, building the personalities, outlining the storyline etc. It was very meticulous work and I soon became impatient, wanting to just finish it already. I wanted to just have the novel in front of me, written immpecably, without me having to put in the effort to do all that detailed and rigurous work.

I eventually lost interest. The thing with my mind is that it's filled with too many thoughts to count, each going with 20000 miles per hour. Whenever I find an interesting idea, that I want to explore in depth, it sparks something in me, like a fire, a strong emotion that I get, a pleasure that comes from daydreaming that fantasy. It was the same with this novel. I loved daydreaming about it and it ignited something in me, but when I started actually writing it and I got overwhelmed and frustrated by all those details, the fire was gone. Suddenly it became boring and tedious work, rather than something enjoyable and naturally, my thoughts began to wander again. Suddenly I had new ideas, ones that sparked my interest, and the old ones were forgotten. Now, the prospect of returning to my novel is appealing but at the same time not. Although I still like the idea, it's hard to stay focused on it and finish the project without getting carried away by other interesting book ideas or just daydreams in general. But I don't want to abandon it either.

My question is then, what advice do you have on how to finish my novel? How can I stick with it until the end and not abandon it in favour of other ideas that spark my momentarily interest? How can I not get bored by it if it gets to complicated? Also, what should I do so that I don't feel the need to rephrase, rewrite, rethink and change my mind about everything constantly? The thing is, I don't want to be fickle, move from one idea to another and at some point find myself in a sea of unfinished projects. That sucks.

Thank you for your time Charity and sorry if this is too long😅

I can relate. :P It takes me three or four months of false starts, bad characters, and plots that go nowhere to find my right idea, and then I speed-write several drafts and have to go back and streamline them, figure out what's not working and remove it, add details about the world and the culture, restructure sentences and fix bad writing, etc. There are days when I am doing editing and revision where I am so bored out of my mind with doing this scene AGAIN I want to quit... but my Fi/Te cares about completion, so I stick it out (sometimes while being an angry bitch to everyone I know) until it's done -- and then I breathe a sigh of relief and release it into the world and find a new project and start the process over again.

That being said -- it sounds like you would have more success aiming for completion, to build up your library of finished work and give you self-confidence. Start smaller. Instead of a novel, write a short story. The next time, write a longer short story. Move from there into a novella. It takes time and practice and experience to craft an entire novel and to know whether your idea can carry across 400 pages. One-shots and short stories are really good confidence-boosters, where you can capture the scenes most important to you (that inspired you), practice getting in solid character development within 10,000 words, and write a first draft in an afternoon or a couple of days. In the same way you wouldn't just jump in the deep end of a pool never having learned to swim, you can't just write a novel "well" without ever having done it before. Short stories will let you capture the idea while it's fresh, do not require tons of revision, and you can rapidly move on to another idea.

Beyond that, try to remember that your first draft is gonna be crap. If you are anything like me, you'll try and make it perfect -- but you will also go back later and keep absolutely none of your original writing. The scenes, dialogue, location, etc., will all change. What's important is to get writing done, to get your basic first draft, so you can celebrate with "finishing it" and then start more serious writing. I frequently teeter on the edge of a Si grip when doing too much editing because I over-fixate on perfection and every single line, but I keep reminding myself that no draft is final. It doesn't have to be perfect. Focusing on thinking about doing this 6 more times fills me with despair, but .... I just take it one chapter, one paragraph, one sentence, at a time.

I also write down other ideas I have during the process and keep them in a jar for later in case I need to find a new topic for a book (so far I've never used any of them), and I try and consciously only generate ideas for the current book I am working on by thinking about that in particular. I also narrow down good ideas vs. terrible ones by utilizing Te to ask "if I ran with this, what would it do to the rest of the plot? would it render these scenes unnecessary? does it contradict or change things so much that I'd have to restructure the entire beginning to accommodate it? if so, is it worth it? would that make a stronger narrative/villain/hero?" I leave everything in the air and explored for the messy first draft, then start narrowing down later, and often, the final draft (at least 6 rewrites later -- which is about 600,000 words total if you assume I wrote every single line over again, which sometimes happens) only marginally resembles the first draft.

Not everyone can do this, not everyone has the stick-to-it that drives me, and not everyone is a novelist. Writing a novel is, as you've discovered, hard work and ENFPs often underestimate the amount of details and time and effort involved and give up -- it's only when they really, really care about what they are doing that they stay committed (when Fi has been engaged) even when it's hard or dull.

[awlwren-writes]

3, 4, 17, 18, 21, 30 for the behind the scenes ask

3. Do you write fics from start or finish, or jump around?

I mainly write from start to finish for a particular story or chapter. Sometimes I will move scenes around, of course, or realize I actually want to start sooner and go back to fill things in, but usually I just go and hope the words keep coming.

That said, if I write a series or collection of themed posts, often I write the middle/second one first. This is often something I accidentally do with reading series as well, so maybe that says something about me.

4. Do you outline before you start writing? If so, how far do you stray from that outline?

Already answered!

17. What fic are you most proud of?

Technically already answered but I'm going to answer again, because choosing one favorite is the worst. The fic I (at this moment, it will probably change with the wind) think is the best out of what I've written might be Over Your Hill. I got to explore a headcanon I like, I got to delve a little more into what their relationship looked like in the early stages (useful for Those Who Wander) and I enjoyed the comfort part. And when I reread it recently I liked it a lot! Which was a very pleasant surprise.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

Again with the choosing! You get my commentary anyway in the end notes most of the time because I can't shut up. ^_^

Okay. I'm proud of how I matched up Cor's assault on the dropship in Heaven in a Rage to what Nyx heard in WWFL's chapter, Eternity in an Hour. At that point, the way we were writing is we would talk about the general scheme of things, broad strokes, background info, etc, and then she would write the chapter and then I would write mine as an alternate perspective on the framework she built, and sometimes then we would adjust minor things if I thought of something cool and we had time. But half the fun was fitting my story around hers.

Spoilers here for the climax of the first arc of Smoke and Mirrors, in case anyone wants to read it and enjoy the Drama unspoiled. Plus, it got really long (Long enough to crash Tumblr's Editor, apparently, T_T, so this is the rewritten commentary), so I'm putting it under a cut.

So for Nyx's actual rescue, she gave me: a loud bang and shouting, Nyx hits the wall, someone yelling "(get us out) of here, Drautos", clashes of metal, a roar, Nyx thrown across the ship, then Cor is there talking to him. (I never actually questioned that any of this could be a hallucination, btw, I treated it as a strict guideline. Which maybe made this harder than it should have been. I also have wondered a lot why people in the comments doubted it was Cor that Nyx heard, and just now noticed WWFL's very Evil end note asking if people think it's actually Cor or someone else. Sorry for questioning you all for nearly a year.)

Okay.

This is full on half the fic, so you're getting the highlights, not the whole thing quoted.

The hatch was closing as the ‘ship lifted off, leaving Cor a smaller and smaller window to get on board. He was confident he could cut through the hatch, but he was less confident that the blow would stop there and he couldn’t risk that Nyx was on the other side. Thankfully, the fact that this was an older model was helpful in that the hatch was on the side rather than the front. If he got the right angle… Cor darted up close to the ‘ship, thankful the strange magitek engine didn’t actually give off heat despite its color, and slashed at the hatch from the side. It dropped off the ‘ship entirely, and the ‘ship lurched, off balance from the sudden loss of weight. A soldier fell out of the opening, screaming.

Cor was originally just going to jump on the hatch and prevent it from closing, and then I realized the hatch opens up not down, and he would be squished if he tried. And then, like Cor, I wondered about just cutting it open, and discarded it for similar reasons. But it wasn't speculation in vain, because I could give that train of thought to Cor so he wouldn't instantly have the right answer without trying!

And so we have Cor making himself a permanent entrance, which will come in handy later as well as be a problem later, and we have the bang and a Wilhelm scream, because I am a Star Wars nerd and couldn't resist, and the jolt that knocks Nyx out. It also made my next steps easier, because Cor could kill the pilot mooks quickly without one having to survive long enough to scream, or Nyx to have missed the noise of the fighting.

Through this whole fic, in Cor's perspective the word ship always has an apostrophe in front of it indicating it's an abbreviation for Dropship or Airship, kind of like early writers did for 'droid (See, I told you Star Wars was formative). This is because he's just less familiar with the terminology and the technology itself; when he thinks "ship" (without the apostrophe) he's thinking of a water craft. Drautos doesn't have that problem in his POV chapters, because he has spent a lot of time talking about them with the people who designed them and use them every day.

Moving on. To summarize the next part: Cor gets to demonstrate his skills by mowing some soldiers and techs, gets to see Nyx is alive and ties him down so he doesn't slide out of the plane like the screaming soldier did, and then the copilot tries to attack Cor in a blind panic at having the Immortal in her ship. Cor kills her, and as she dies she squeezes the trigger and sprays the pilot, killing them.

The ‘ship started to dive as the pilot fell forward onto the console.

Cursing this whole day to fall into the depths of Leviathan’s mysteries to never be remembered again, Cor charged across to the front of the ‘ship as fast as he could on his bad leg, pulling the pilot back and grabbing the white joystick underneath them. It reminded him of playing video games with Regis as a teen, but he pushed that memory away and pulled up on the joystick, hoping to level them out at the very least. He had no idea how to land this thing.  

I really enjoy fantasy swears, because I love the worldbuilding behind what makes something vulgar or taboo. A culture that is sex positive might not use "fuck" as a curse, for instance. One without a concept of Hell might instead think of the very creepy depths of the Ocean and how jealously Leviathan guards what is hers, and consider that whatever falls to the ocean floor is more lost than lost, and you get a concept halfway between Davy Jones' Locker and Hell.

Does anyone else remember playing computer games with joysticks? Am I just old? Cor is older, so he gets the experience as well.

The ‘ship did seem to level out, but it also turned back in a wide circle toward the courtyard and the machine guns on the other craft. He tried to straighten it out but the ‘ship wobbled alarmingly and he hastily adjusted his direction back to the way it had been. Hopefully Drautos had taken the other ‘ship out by now.

Actually, as the commander of the Niflheim army, Glauca probably knew how to fly this thing. Hadn’t the glaive captured one once, too? It wasn’t important. He tried to hold the joystick steady and tapped his radio. “Drautos, come in. I need you to tell me how to get this scourge-riddled spawn of a tortoise and a garula landed!”

Here I shamelessly shoehorn my HCs into this fic. The first is that Cor joined the Retinue as a driver, and prides himself on this skill. That makes the inability to instantly be able to pilot a foreign craft on his first time very galling to him personally. The second is that the reason Nyx can do so in the movie is because of said captured craft, which was slotted for an infiltration mission for the Glaive and so the Guard didn't get to play with it. This is how the Traitor Glaives know how to pilot them as well, and might explain how they got the rare pilot-able model during the battle at the airships in the movie.

Cor's lack of ability to fly the ship also allowed me to do two things which made my job easier. First, it gave him a reason to call Drautos, whom he might otherwise be inclined to leave behind just to not risk Nyx further. Yes, it would be great to not have Drautos/Glauca (and I had fun playing with Cor not knowing which name to call him by) running free with all his information, but Cor was hurt and protecting Nyx, and fighting to capture or kill Glauca when he was cornered like this wasn't an acceptable risk if he could avoid it. Second, it allowed him to come back close enough to base that Drautos didn't have to chase down an airship on foot.

There was static over the line, likely interference from the base itself, but no answer. He tried again. “Drautos! I need to get this flying box on the ground or at least last long enough to get it out of here, Drautos!”

And we finally have the line Nyx hears! I changed the first part of it from what WWFL was probably thinking of, but it still fit what Nyx heard, so I was grinned and moved on.

Drautos, by the way, hears none of this, between the metal box Cor is in and the metal boxes and buildings he is in, and probably whatever jamming the base has set up. And because he knows Cor is ridiculously competent at too many things and because Drautos himself knows how to pilot and so sometimes underestimates how difficult it is (as do we all with things we know well), he takes Cor's bad driving as intentional, probably wanting additional backup in case things go wrong.

[Cor circles back around, gets fired on, and then...]

A massive clang resonated through the craft as Cor struggled with the controls, and the ‘ship shuddered from the impact. Cor craned his neck to peer below them at the courtyard, trying to see what had hit them, if someone had managed to bring larger weaponry into the fight, but he needed most of his attention to keep the craft in midair. He risked a quick glance back at the interior of the ‘ship to see if he could see any obvious damage, but his view was blocked by the still partially-melted form of General Glauca.

The big clang is Glauca and his metallic armor hitting the metallic dropship! Yay! The other clangs Nyx hears as he wakes up are the bullets hitting the ship.

I figured this made more sense than having anyone who could cross swords with Cor showing up at this point, which is where my mind first went when I heard "clashes of metal". I think this was also the point I realized my first draft of this rescue (which involved a lot more fighting on the airship) wasn't going to work, scrapped it, and started the one you see here.

Poor Cor. Under fire, can't control the ship, thinks he's been hit by a missile and then sees his traditional enemy Glauca. It's probably for the best that he has both hands full or he might have attacked him. Which is why he, in the next paragraph, is very insistent on reminding himself that he's a sort-of ally and calling him:

“Drautos!” he exclaimed, then wrenched his attention back to the instrument panel to stabilize the ‘ship as it swayed again. Blast it into ions, he was better than this. He could hold a car steady on the road while he tracked daemons’ paths through the countryside around him if he so wanted, but the controls on this vehicle were touchier than a car wheel.

Glauca’s armored gauntlet settled on his shoulder as Cor frantically worked at the controls, then he leaned over and pressed a combination of buttons in the center of the console. Cor could read Nifltunga, but these were labelled in some bewildering combination of abbreviations and acronyms and so he had been ignoring them, figuring it was better to work without them then press something wrong. Whatever Drautos did, it stabilized the ‘ship and caused the whine of the engine to roar with sudden burst of speed, which Cor frantically tried to direct up and away from the base and the courtyard full of enemies.

And now we have the roar and the second jolt! (RIP to Nyx's brain. Blame WWFL, not me) I leaned into the ambiguity of the word roar and made it the engine roaring as Drautos switches it to GTFO mode rather than, say, our lion-associated POV character because of the same thoughts about the lack of plausible enemies at this point.

Yes, Nyx was tethered, but it was hastily done with materials not really meant for someone lying on the ground. It kept him from falling out of the aircraft, at least, even if he got a little more banged up.

Poor Cor. So used to being excellent at everything and he's crabby about this one time he's not. Not that he allowed himself the other excuse for that difficulty that I pointed out here: foreign abbreviations are The Worst. Especially technical ones.

Another note about fantasy swears: I base most of the action ones on the astrals - frost it, burn it, blast it, etc. The various versions mostly get used in certain contexts - Ifrit is kind of shady (no pun intended) in current culture, for instance, so anything with burn/ash/char is pretty serious. Shiva references are kind of a mixed bag at the moment because of Niflheim associations, and before she self-destructed were very popular in Insomnia. Nowadays they're kinda old-fashioned, because she's better regarded. Blast (with the modern reference to ions! Some swears do change) refers to lightning and thus Ramuh, so it usually has to do with judgements or condemning something. In this case, Cor is judging himself and this situation very hard, and also has lightning on the brain because of Crowe's attack.

Anyway, next they Talk in a Manly and Dramatic fashion where they don't really address any of the emotional things going on, but Cor does acknowledge that Drautos didn't have to help but did anyway, even at what may be the cost of everything he worked for, and Cor appreciates it even if it probably won't change much.

Cor finally gets to check on Nyx and Drautos fills him in on the basics, including the miasma infusion, and right on cue Nyx -- who is rather messed up between getting doubly concussed in a short time period, having a fever, being infected with the scourge, and generally pretty hurt before that with only rather janky medical help that's gotten ripped open a few times -- gets to hallucinate his sister dying and Galahd burning! Fun times.

I wanted to put Nyx calling for his mom both because it fit the time he was hallucinating, but also because it's historically a thing that even Strong Tough Soldiers do. Being hurt sucks, even if you are a Main Character, and it's not a shameful thing at all to be afraid (this is my Tolkien influence, when literally everyone being afraid of the Nazgul blew my childish mind and made confronting them even more impressive rather than expected).

The hallucinations are there because that was a thing that was happening to him and I wanted some continuity with WWFL's take on Nyx vs the Scourge, and because it's a nice cover for Cor missing what Drautos is doing (his Final Message). Plus, it means Cor has a pressing need to give Nyx help ASAP, without worrying about spinal injuries and the like that might have caused him to delay using a potion otherwise, because Nyx in his hallucinations is probably doing worse damage and he clearly needs a lot of help.

So Cor does some desperate first aid, and bundles Nyx up against him so he can't hurt himself more.

He reached up and stroked along Nyx’s cheekbone, trying to wipe away some of the damning tears.

Does this help anything? No. Does it make Cor feel better to not see evidence that Nyx is infected? A little. Should Cor have been touching the scourge tears with his bare hands? Definitely not. Luckily, he is the other kind of immortal.

“I’ve got you, Nyx, we’ve got you,” he murmured, matching the cadence of his voice and his hand to the pulse of the engine as they dropped slowly, presumably toward a landing somewhere. Cor couldn’t bring himself to care where. “We’ve got you.”

Cor switches to the "we" here, because it had to happen eventually to fit the script. I like to think the "we" only partially includes Drautos, and mostly includes the rest of the glaives and guard who came to help rescue Nyx, and a reassurance that Cor didn't get captured in trying to save Nyx - a reoccurring nightmare for Nyx.

Nyx shifted against his shoulder, leaning up into Cor’s hand on his cheek. Cor could feel his lashes fluttering against his neck as he started to stir, and he let himself believe it was a good sign. “Cor?” He could barely hear it over the sounds of the ‘ship landing, but it made his heart soar higher than the airship had. Nyx was talking, and he recognized him. Surely that was a good sign? His name had never sounded so sweet.

He stroked Nyx’s cheek slowly, wiping away more tears as they fell. Were they lighter? Surely they were. He kept up his mantra, reassuring Nyx that he wasn’t alone, that he was safe. “We’ve got you.” He’d never let go.

Butterfly kisses are the best. Even if the situation is the worst.

Cor is Tired and Dramatic (as was I when I was writing this). He's going to cling to hope and what victories he has and comfort his boyfriend as best as he can and let the Drama flow. He's earned it.

Until Drautos (who had temporarily earned back his first name basis by the help he's given them and by Cor being Tired) takes his turn to be The Most Dramatic.

Thanks for the sticking with me on that long tour through my thoughts (and pity the two and a half hours it took to write it and rewrite it after tumblr ate it.)

21. What is the one fic that got away?

Probably To Hope's End, my Nyx as a Messenger AU. I want to go back and finish it. I do. But I have a lot of unfinished stories, and I think that one's furthest on the backburner for now. Partially because it's going to be long, and if I'm focusing on a long one right now it's going to be Those Who Wander.

30. Tell us an idea for a longfic you want to write in the future.

I would like to get back to the time travel fic I've told you about where Regis trying to use the crystal to check out Noctis's future causes refractions, so you get past, present, and future Cor and Nyx (who were anchoring the spell) of various ages all shoved in a room together and trying to figure out what in the world is going on.

And all the chaos that spills out from that.

I also have several fics that I've posted that I want to continue or expand on if I have the time and writing energy to do so...

But you know pretty much all of my ideas already.

[rescue-ram]

🌧️ ☔ for the wip asks

Thank you for the ask! Below cut is angst from the MASH fic and much rambling on a Succesion fic idea!

Angst:

This was pathetic. Some fucking asshole had hugged him and bit him- not even kissed him, bit him!- two years ago, and here he was obsessing over it still.

He didn't want sex, he realized. He wanted love- to be loved, and to be in love. He wanted Hawkeye, who probably didn't even remember him, or Charlie, who was normal and would never ever feel what John felt, or Louise... Louise who John hadn't loved and didn't love and would probably never be capable of loving, and who certainly hated his fucking guts right this second. He'd done right, goddamn it, he'd done everything right, he'd gone after her like a man's man and shown her a good time, he'd married her when things gone wrong, he provided for her and was nice to her and Kathy, he could've been a total fucking prick about this and hadn't been, but still there was no love between them.

WIP Idea I Have But Probably Won't Write:

Actually had to think about this for a bit since I've been super productive on my writing for once rather than my typical mode of wallowing in ideas but not actually able to write any of them, lol. One I have half-started and might come back to is a Succession fic written from alternating Stewie and Rava's POVs paralleling their relationships with Kendall, both pre and post canon. There are still some scenes I can see really really clearly in my mind and think would be part of a good fic, but it kept getting really dark.

There are actually some similarities between this Succession fic and the MASH fic I'm currently working on, now that I'm thinking about it- the joke I was making to myself while trying to pick a scene to share on Tumblr that wasn't explicit was that if MASH is at times a sex comedy, I've unintentionally written a sex tragedy- fundamentally Trapper John is a much more stable character than Kendall, so the narrative will eventually hit rock bottom where the character would realize how fucked up things were getting and at least try and change, whereas with Kendall especially as a character, I'd start writing a scene with a vague trajectory of where it was heading, it would start to go in a slightly different direction as scenes are wont to do, but it could really quickly start to spiral into something INCREDIBLY dark, just go in insanely depressing fucked up directions, because there is no edge you can't push Kendall off of, and I would just have to pause and go "Ok do I want to post this in public or should I maybe fucking journal instead??"

Sketch of the outline I had: Inciting incident is Kendall asking Stewy to marry him immediately post-series, which Stewy is initially conflicted about for normal reasons (moral opposition to monogamy and the institution of marriage, worrying about his parents reactions) and then for alarming ones (realizing this is step one in a suicide plan). Rava is torn between being genuinely happy that Kendall is no longer enmeshed with his toxic family and is trying to make amends with her and the kids, spitefully happy he's experiencing consequences he can't buy his way out of, and incandescently furious that just when she finally got the strength to leave a toxic marriage that she had fought for for 15 years but finally realized was never going to work, half the triggers of conflict in their relationship are gone, Kendall finally starts to get his act together, and the fucking enabling asshole who is the other half of the triggers of conflict, who ran her marriage into the ground by constantly enticing her husband to do drugs and cheat on her, gets to swoop in and enjoy the benefits and keeps acting all buddy buddy with her. Stewy is genuinely trying to be nice because from his point of view they both just wanted what was best for Kendall, they just disagreed on whether or not cocaine had medicinal value to that end, and also he was in a relationship with Kendall first so really if anyone was cheating on anyone it wasn't him but also he doesn't believe in the concept of monogamy, it's all the consensual association of free people, insert libertarian poly bro talking points here, get over it already. Insert flashbacks to Stewy and Kendall as kids and Rava and Kendall in college/law school (irrelevant detail but I want to note in my headcanon she's 5 years older than him and that's part of why they started trying for kids early in their marriage) with the current day dealing with the fallout of the finale stuff, Stewy gaining awareness that he has been enmeshed with Kendall since elementary school and gaining coping skills that aren't distracting himself with work or drugs (also headcanon he is an absolute nightmare in every other relationship in his life except the one he has with Kendall where he gets to be the competent protector for once), Rava making peace with what's happened, forgiving Stewy and recognizing he most of the choices he made were first done as a deeply troubled kid with few good options then having to live with the consequences, and rebuilding trust and building a healthier more honest co-parenting relationship with Kendall, while Kendall gets like. A crumb of self-awareness and survives the crisis and slowly realizes he doesn't actually want to kill himself anymore. Happy ending.

There's one scene I've written so far that I might publish as a stand alone piece, but I know in my heart it's part of a bigger story but I don't think I can write it without hitting the third rail of my subconscious and accidentally working though ACoA shit on AO3 lol.

[manofmanymons]

do you have any tips for writing?

I feel unqualified to answer this question because 90% of my writing process is me throwing words at a paper and hoping something sticks but like I do have some things that I’ve learned are helpful to me (also I tried answering this like three days ago but tumblr force quit and deleted everything I typed and I was too tired to redo it I’m so sorry)

Although I almost feel the need to put a disclaimer here that my writing kinda falls into a very specific niche of like…dialogue heavy lighthearted character interactions written in the third person limited perspective because that’s what’s fun to me so idk if what works for me is remotely helpful to anyone else

But I would say my #1 tip would just be to make an outline

I am so serious my life got so much better when I stopped trying to write things in one straight shot and started outlining them first

The last fic I wrote had an outline that was 1.2k words long because that’s how many words I needed to organize my thoughts before I could write the actual story

Because sometimes you have certain scenes or lines of dialogue that exist very vividly in your head and you just want to write those but you don’t know how to start the fic or how to transition between the parts you wanna write and rather than getting lost in the weeds tryna write those in-between parts I say just write the part you wanna write first

Get every last little thought out of your head before you forget it

If I can’t think of the right word for something in the moment, I won’t waste time tryna figure it out, I just keep going and then come back to it later (e.g. my brain will blank on the word “asserted” so I’ll write something stupid like “said in like a confident? Authoritative way?” and then come back to it)

And once that part is over, then I’ll worry about putting those scenes in order, and I’ll write vague ideas of what I want to happen in the in-between parts. It’s hard for me to explain what I mean so I’m just gonna humiliate myself on the internet and insert this screenshot from my aforementioned 1.2k word outline

It's literally bullet points, the one paragraph I knew I wanted to write, and then more bullet points.

And that applies for dialogue too! Sometimes I don’t even know what I want these mfers to say. I will make in depth notes about how I want a conversation to go before I even think about most of the words.

And when I do write the words, sometimes my outlines will be so adverb heavy an actual writer would cry like I will legit have a whole conversation of “they said nervously” “they said awkwardly” “they said uncomfortably” “they said irritably” and then go back and fill in better words for said or add actions that convey nervousness or whatever later

BUT ALSO PERSONALLY THIS ISN’T A REAL TIP THIS IS JUST LIKE AN OPINION TAKE IT OR LEAVE IT I do not agree with people who act like you have to replace ALL of your adverbs in writing I think adverbs exist for a reason and as long as you’re not abusing them, people who complain are just being annoying alkfjdaj N E WAYS

On the topic of dialogue (like I said I write a lot of dialogue-heavy things so most of my brain power goes into dialogue okay I’m sorry) several things I like to ask when I write a line are

-Did that come out of nowhere or would a person actually say that? If it did come out of nowhere, how can I bring it up more naturally?

-Would this character react that way or did I just write what I would do? (and if it’s the latter, fix it) Here’s where I admit I cheat a little bit by heavily gravitating toward writing characters who already act similarly to me so I don’t have to think about it too much. That’s not a tip. I’m not telling you you should do that. It’s probably bad that I do that. I just felt like sharing.

-Similar note as the last one, does this line sound like something this character would say, or does it sound super generic like I could swap in any other character to this role and it would make equally as much sense?

-This tends to work better for me if the thing I’m writing for has an english dub (so you can imagine that Survive regularly gives me panic attacks when it comes to character voice and characterization and I’m in a permanent state of second-guessing myself and crying inside) but I also like to try and see if I can read the line in the character’s voice. I feel infinitely more confident in a line if I feel like I could really hear them saying it.

I realize I’ve talking mostly in terms of fanfic writing specifically but like other than that last one it can apply to original stuff too y’know like you wanna write your characters consistently and make sure you’re not randomly changing their personality and how they talk just to fit a situation

Obviously I'm not infallible and I've probably fucked up my own advice before but to quote alice in wonderland, I give myself some very good advice but I very seldom follow it

Uhhh, use whatever perspective you’re writing in to your advantage. I like third-person limited because it lets me convey certain thoughts/feelings through the style of like,,,the paragraphs themselves without always having to write their exact thoughts + I can really hone in on the perspective character.

But like if you’re a fan of first person then you can really go ham with writing the whole thing in their voice, and if you’re into third-person omniscient then you don’t have to confine yourself to the knowledge of one character, you can flat out say what everyone is doing/thinking and why they’re doing/thinking it.

If you are like me and you like to confine yourself to a specific perspective character, one thing I have a hard time doing sometimes but I think you just gotta do is…leave some things unsaid. Y’know like as the writer you know why a certain character is acting a certain way, but your perspective character doesn’t. You can say why they think the other character is doing something, but I think you gotta ask yourself “is this character good at reading people/do they know this person really well or would they more likely misunderstand?” Sometimes they can be an unintentionally unreliable narrator, as a treat.

Don’t be afraid to use the ctrl+F if you think you may have accidentally used a certain word or phrase too many times. I’m a California valley gal do you have any idea how many “likes” I have to edit out of my rough drafts

Other than all that I guess I would just say…fuck around and have fun with it. Sure I write in a certain perspective now, but I messed around with first and even second person pov before. I’m not trying to sound wise or motivational I am being 100% serious when I say just write for yourself. Don’t even think about whether your writing appeals to others. Go girl (gender neutral) give us a fic about that character/ship that only you like.

Literally my first fic in Survive fandom was a painfully self-indulgent deep dive into a character that at the time I was like 90% positive no one but me gave a shit about and I had more fun with it than you could ever imagine

Write in a weird format. Write 0 dialogue. Write only dialogue. Get overly descriptive or poetic. Refuse to describe anything. Try imitating a writer you like. Write a canon x OC fic. I cannot stress enough how much I think you should just do whatever you want.

[distressednoise]

WIP ask meme

I got tagged in this by sweet summer child @notasapleasure, who has not yet realised that rather than ever "finishing" "fic" I just endlessly rearrange outlines in gdocs and resent myself.

Most of the things I laughingly call WIPs are about a hockey pairing that peaked ten years ago, because I am current and cool and fun, BUT let's say these the two (brassian in the balerics, 197 cabin fic) are real and will be written haha

I am bad at tagging but if you have read any of this please consider yourself tagged! I am ALWAYS down to have a sneak peek of a WIP and do some cheerleading, and also to explain the fics I will not write at great length, so feel free to comment, ask, etc etc etc

Veo Veo (aka the Brassian Magaluf AU, because Cassian is a terrible tourist in every timeline)

So this is a scene from after we meet Cinta and Vel, who are having a far more functional holiday romance than Cassian could ever conscience, and I will probably ditch this version of it for one with different geography and fewer references to masturbating over the queen.

Rich people don’t have any fucking manners, Brasso thinks, as the noises from the bedroom pick up. Or any fucking fears. Vel and Cinta are in there having sex, in front of each and every one of Pegla’s nan’s crocheted donkeys, even the French one whose eyes follow you round the room.

“Are they having sex?” Cassian asks. “They’re having sex.” He’s skinning up, compressing the last of Vel’s weed into one of his tight, neat little joints. 

“Bit rude.”

Cassian shrugs, lights, inhales, exhales on a laugh when one of the girls swears. “At least they’re paying the tax,” he points out, taking another hit and then handing the joint over to Brasso. Cassian’s fingers are blunt and thick and bitten-nailed and have no business producing the kind of neurotically compacted, weirdly uniform joints he always rolls. They look too small for his hands. They look lost in Brasso’s, who finds himself holding the joint with slow, exaggerated carefulness and thinking maybe he’s smoked enough already.  But then there’s a high, thin noise from the other room, and perhaps he hasn’t.

He inhales and lets himself slide down to the floor, eyes closed, and tries to astral project into a universe where he regularly said things like no Cassian and that’s not my problem Cassian, rather than this one, where he has to say - 

“If you’re wanking when I open my eyes I will punch you.”

“No you won’t.”

“It’s grim, Cass.”

“They started it! If we’re all having sex - ”

“We're clearly not.”

“And whose fault is that?”

"The one who said we should talk to the lesbians, probably." Brasso doesn't let himself think about Cassian's reaction to that bit of news, the way he'd leant heavily back into their booth, somehow managed to find his way under Brasso's arm. It didn't mean anything. “You can’t rub one out behind the door like some kind of grubby -”

“I’m not anywhere near the door.” Cassian kicks at his ankle, hooks a leg over Brasso’s. He’s made it to the floor too, then. “I can’t even see it.” Shuffling, clinking. Not the sounds of a man not preparing help himself out. “All I’ve got is you and the queen.”

“As long as you come on the right one,” Brasso mutters. Things next door have really hit their stride, if the knocking is anything to go by. “This is grim.”

“Queen’s loving it.” Brasso cracks open one eye to reassure himself that the china plate with the queen’s face on it remains a safe distance away and instead sees Cassian, hand on his dick and eyes firmly on. Well. The only other person there.

the amount of work is the same (aka the endless Brent Seabrook/Jonathan Toews/Jonathan Toews' collection of chronic illnesses fic)

This would probably be the opening, if I ever actually finished anything!

The summer he was 21, Jonny spent most of his time feeling sickly and tired, drooping miserably along his friends’ lakeside properties and fidgeting his way around the decks of their newly tricked-out fishing boats, too wired to sit still and too tired to sleep, until Seabs had eventually snapped and railed him into unconsciousness during an otherwise disappointing fishing trip on Lake Comox. 

The thing with Seabs had turned out to be a bright spot in a confusingly miserable year; one during which he was handed everything he’d ever wanted and while somehow feeling the worst he’d ever felt.

It was shocking, really, how little things had changed. 

He owned the boat now, he supposed. They were on a different lake. But Seabs was still an excellent fuck and Jonny’s body was still a traitorous sack of shit, and -

He felt the sharp red sting of the slap before he even registered that Seabs had moved. 

“I’m not doing this on my own, Jonny,” Seabs said, squeezing almost painfully at Jonny’s dick. “Get your fucking head in the game.” 

So Jonny blinked his eyes open, focused on Seabs’ face, inches from his and so intent he looked furious, and let Seabs hook two fingers into his mouth and jerk his chin down so he could see between them to where Seabs’ hand was wrapped around both their cocks. 

“Wander off again and you’ll regret it,” Seabs told him, and Jonny, stuck between the promise of feeling anything and the horror of letting yet another person down, bit down on Seabs’ fingers and came. 

That still worked, at least.

[theharrowing]

Revisit Thoughts:

ahhhhh, the final revisit! (for now. once i wrap up the series, i will do a little reread with thoughts for the final two pov scenes and final two chapters!)

what an absolute beast of a chapter!!! over 22k words. originally i was considering breaking this into two, but the thought of extending the fic by another chapter made me want to rip my hair out lmao.

the opening scene took me weeks to write, i swear. i was stuck at every turn figuring out how much i wanted to reveal, how much to drag things on, etc. etc. i also kinda shoehorned in the secret door because this felt like a good time to get it all out of the way, but it was only loosely on the outline rather than a scene i had planned on including.

it was also important for me to continue reminding the reader of mc's anxiety by constantly including her physical and emotional feelings, and the opening probably went through 5 or 6 rereads/edits before i continued on to the rest of the chapter.

this was intentional and i wonder if anyone caught it: when Taehyung is pushing mc's buttons he calls her dove, but when he is being sweet to her, he calls her buttercup. (and when he is in doctor mode, he calls her by her name.)

i also wanted to make sure that everyone refers to Yoongi's injury as something both mc and Namjoon are responsible for. it's a small detail, but i think it speaks to how much they all care for her emotional well-being and don't want her to blame only herself.

as mentioned in an earlier revisit, i tend to put a lot of myself into these characters, especially when it comes to Namjoon and mc and their emotional responses. both of them in the "you should have just gone with Yoongi" scene are how i would act offensively and defensively in this conversation lmao.

man, the first "scene" before a divider break is half of this chapter lmaoooo. and then it just spirals into chaotic nonsense.

the dream sequence with Yoongi taking Seungri's place was not planned at all, and i love how it came out.

i love Jungkook and mc when they banter. it is challenging having all of the characters have individual voices/ways they speak and i think Jungkook (and Namjoon and of course mc) are the closest to the way i speak and therefore the easiest to write. i also like to make Jungkook and mc seem a little more relaxed and improper with how they talk to each other vs the others.

i make my characters eat eggs benedict too much, but the truth is it's my favorite and i am almost always craving it when i think about what my characters should be eating for breakfast lol. Korean breakfasts tend to be a bit different than ours, but i sometimes get overwhelmed by possibility and default to my own favorites. (i also get to a point in a chapter where i cannot possibly look up another thing and just want to end it.)

it's wild to me that this chapter is so long because as i read it, it didn't feel like much happened. i guess not a lot technically does happen because it is a lot of mc being home and attempting to adjust. the final scene with Jungkook was fun to write, and i love how messy a little recreational substance abuse can make a perfectly good situation hahaha. sorry not sorry for always feeling eager to make mc spiral.

WOW OK I AM ALL CAUGHT UP and somewhat ready to chip away at 21. i have 1,063 words written and i kind of hated all of them, so i decided it would be best to take a little break and see how i feel after. fingers crossed i feel better about it, and that i become inspired.

thank you to those who read along! i will announce the revisit of the final 4 installments (2 pov + 2 chapters) when the time comes and use the same tags.

Collateral 🗡️ 20: Trapped in limbo

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader x Namjoon, Jungkook x Female Reader, Jungkook x Taehyung

🗡️ word count: 22.8k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+ 

🗡️ warnings: lots and lots of crying; grief; medical stuff i am only pretending to understand; hidden doors; anxiety, panic, fainting, & PTSD; mention of past abuse; dream gore that borders on romantic; graphic & violent nightmares; recreational drinking & drug use (mdma, cocaine, weed); miscommunication & lack of communication due to emotional distress; smut (oral and vaginal sex; not quite somnophilia but almost; orgasm denial thanks to medication; sex while on drugs; fingering; use of restraints; a hint of booty play; cum swallowing); every smut scene is a fucking mess.

🗡️ note: grief is a deep sorrow that we experience for so many more reasons than when someone passes away. sometimes we grieve people who are still with us. other times, we grieve a relationship before it has come to an end. this chapter, and every remaining chapter of Collateral, is going to deal a lot with grief. this chapter was tough to write, and then i couldn't stop. all it was meant to be was a handful of scenes with heavy dialogue interspersed with anxiety and adjusting to medication and messy smut, and somehow we reached that bonkers word count. i didn't once stray from the outline, i am just incapable of being brief, these days. anyway, there will be some time skips/blurs because of the medication, and between one and a half and two weeks pass.

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin!

🗡️ posted on sept. 2023 | read on ao3

It is unclear what time you hear a knock at the door. You are unsure where your purse ended up in last night's scuffle, the hints of sun that would be visible are blocked by deep burgundy curtains, and your vision is so blurry from exhaustion and tears, that it is hard to parse whether or not there is a clock amongst all the strange antique furnishings of Seokjin and Hoseok's living room. 

The sound of footsteps scampering behind the couch, presumably from the kitchen, surprises you, and you wonder whether you truly have been awake this entire time, or somewhere in an in-between of consciousness and unconsciousness. 

Voices chatter low and hurried, and then a figure rushes over and sits at your side. It takes two heavy blinks to realize that the man settling in beside you is Taehyung dressed dapperly in all black, and when you cock your head to the right in question, his plastered smile falls into a frown.

"I'm so sorry about everything that happened," Taehyung begins. You want to shake your head and tell him that it is not his fault, but all you can bring yourself to do is stare and blink. "Let me start off by saying everyone is alive."

"Everyone," you mumble quietly, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. With a heavy exhale, you attempt to smile. 

"Jimin was shot in the shoulder, and it was the impact of hitting the ground that knocked him out. Although he has not suffered too much blood loss, and his vitals are stable, he has not woken up, and I am unsure when we can expect him to, but there does not appear to be any brain damage."

These are a lot of words—too many words, in fact, for you to follow along with, and you simply nod. All you hold onto is the fact that Jimin is alive; for now, that is enough. 

"Yoongi," you mutter, elongating the vowels. Once more, Taehyung frowns.

"Yoongi has a gash across his eye, starting above the brow and extending to the apple of his cheek." As Taehyung describes the wound, your heart pounds, and nausea fills your insides. He continues, "But, luckily, his eyeball is intact and unharmed. There does not appear to be any vision impairment."

"How…" you begin, brow and lips falling into a frown, but the words die on your tongue. 

Taehyung says your first name, low and slow, like someone gently regarding a child. Hearing your name spoken aloud, rather than a nickname, causes the hairs on your arms to stand, and you swallow a lump of worry. 

"What do you remember, after Jimin was shot?"

You search Taehyung's face while the events return in fragments. Once Jimin fell, you reacted by shooting his assailant multiple times. At the time, you were worried—in fact, convinced—that Jimin was dead, and all you could feel in that moment was rage. Once your bullets ran out, you wanted to bash the man's face in, but you were held back. Then you took out your knife, which was pulled away from you. 

"I emptied my clip but it wasn’t enough. I wanted to stab him," you say. "The man, I mean. But my knife was taken away."

Taehyung leans close and reaches for both of your clammy hands, holding firmly while rubbing the pads of his thumbs over your knuckles as he speaks very softly. "When Namjoon attempted to pull your knife away, Yoongi was—" Taehyung sighs, "—he was standing too close. You and Namjoon both yanked at your arm, and in that motion, the tip of the blade sliced his face."

It takes several tense, quiet moments before anything Taehyung says fully computes. You stare at him, searching his face while the synapses fire inside your brain in an attempt to communicate what you see, feel, and hear. And then, like a thin layer of dust settling over all it can touch, the information begins to trickle down and shroud you.

"I…" you mutter, feeling tears well and fall. You have cried so much that you neither sniffle nor tremble as your cheeks grow wetter and wetter. And then, you say it. "I cut Yoongi."

"It was an accident," Taehyung is quick to add, and you rip your hands from his grasp and ball them in front of your face, feeling your chest tighten and tighten, squeezing the air out. 

This cannot be. You cannot be responsible for injuring Yoongi. How will you ever face him again, knowing what you have done?

"I'm dreaming," you mutter, suddenly feeling hysterical. Laughter works through your chest just as quickly as panic rises, and you shake your head, unable to control your emotions. "This is just a bad dream. There's no way—"

"Would you like to see him?" Taehyung asks, snapping you back to reality. 

With a sniffle, you shake your head, horrified at the prospect of facing Yoongi after what you have done. 

"How could I?" you mutter uselessly into your balled fists. "How could I face him? How could he ever look at me again?"

Again, Taehyung says your first name as he gently reaches for your hands and attempts to remove them from in front of your face. You allow him to, sighing as they fall into your lap. "It was an accident. He does not blame you. None of us do."

But you know that at least one of them does. "Jeongguk," you mutter, remembering his snarl as he told you, You've done enough.

With a sigh, Taehyung shakes his head. "Jeongguk was just scared. He was angry in the moment, but he does not hold it against you."

With a scoff, you shake your head in return; there is no way Jeongguk would forgive you so easily. It took months to get on his good side and only seconds for him to turn on you. Your voice is weak and soft as you rasp, "I doubt it."

"Come with me to the mansion," Taehyung says, sitting up and scooting a fraction of an inch closer. "Yoongi and Namjoon want to see you, and our family psychiatrist Christopher is on standby, should you need to talk to him."

"What I need is to be sedated," you grumble as you roll your shoulders and squeeze your eyes momentarily shut. "I couldn't sleep. Just kept seeing the man's head explode—the man Hoseok shot."

Taehyung's lips twitch upward as he says, "We can figure something out."

Looking down at yourself, you see Hoseok's black pajamas and sigh. "I'm keeping these," you say, resolved not to change into your dress again. 

"They're yours," Taehyung responds with a soft laugh, glancing over your shoulder for a brief moment. You wonder whether Seokjin or Hoseok are standing back there, but you also don't care enough to turn. 

"Alright," you concede with a huff and sit forward, stretching your back and letting out a deep, low yawn. "We can return to the mansion, but I'm not…I don't know how much I will be able to talk. I'm so fucking tired."

Taehyung smiles, but it does not reach his eyes. It is the smile of someone who is exhausted but pleased with the way things are going in the present moment; the smile of someone glad he does not need to convince you any further to go home. "Christopher can recommend something for you to take, and we can get you straight into bed, if you prefer."

"My purse," you grumble, looking around. 

"It was in my vehicle," Taehyung says. "I gave it to Namjoon for safekeeping."

With another nod, you shift, sitting forward, then you stretch your legs from where they had been bunched and pretzled beneath you. As you stand from the couch and stretch again—this time extending all your limbs, twisting your back, breathing deeply—it hits you that you are returning home, and anxiety swells. 

But you know that there is no way you can stay away from home. No matter how badly Yoongi has been injured, and how guilty you feel about what has happened, you need to face it. You need to return to your home, to your bed, to your men. 

"Ready?" Taehyung asks softly, rounding the couch toward the front door. 

Only then do you turn to your left and find Hoseok leaning against the banister at the bottom landing of the stairs, barely out of view from where you had been sitting. Although he smiles, it is a sad expression, and he watches you silently. 

"I'm ready," you respond, gaze lingering on Hoseok before dropping to the floor. 

Your limbs are heavy as you shuffle toward the door. On the arm of the couch, your black dress is folded neatly, and you take it in your hands, rubbing your fingers over the soft satin material. 

"Thanks for the pajamas," you say softly with a hint of a smile, doing your best at humor despite feeling lower than you think you have ever felt. 

Hoseok smiles when you glance back up and catch his eye, responding, "My pleasure. I hope the garments treat you well."

This makes you laugh, but it also forces more tears to work their way out with a soft sob and a sniffle. With an arm gently wrapped around your lower back, Taehyung guides you to the entrance, where you slip on your ballet flats, and head out the door. 

The sun is high and bright, signaling late morning, and you squint and lift your hand to block the light. To your surprise, parked beside a large black sedan is a little white golf cart, and Taehyung steers you toward it. 

"Sick ride," you grumble with an attempted grin. 

Taehyung's hand drops away as you lean forward and step into the cart, taking a seat on the little white plastic bench. It only takes a moment for Taehyung to round the front and enter, and then you are off, making your way from Hoseok's home down a short gravel and dirt road tucked away in some trees, to Yoongi's mansion. 

The driveway is packed with vehicles, making you substantially more nervous than you already had been, and you swallow thickly while attempting to steady your breathing. Rather than driving to the front door, Taehyung takes an immediate right and stops the cart on the side of the mansion. From here, there are no clear paths to the gardens or the pool, and you are confused when Taehyung gets out of the vehicle and begins to walk toward where there is a shrub wall that intersects with the side of the mansion.

It takes a moment to process the fact that you are in charge of manually moving your limbs, and with a sigh, you step out of the cart, hugging your black satin dress tight to your chest. Taehyung walks to the intersection of shrubbery and building, and then he reaches into the greenery at chest height before pushing a section of it open and revealing a hidden door. 

"I bet you have no idea how many secrets this place holds," he says with a grin, and you shake your head before scurrying after him, through the shrub-covered door. 

A narrow path between shrub wall and dark brown wood greets you, and Taehyung walks toward the back, to where a door can be found against the side of the house. He punches in a code, leans forward to scan his retina, and then twists a knob, gaining entrance. 

"Yoongi is currently meeting with the security team and some others, hence all the vehicles," Taehyung says as he holds the door open for you to enter. "They should be finished soon."

As you step inside, you are greeted by a set of stairs that travel down under the mansion. Although there is a light that Taehyung switches on, and the steps are carpeted in a welcoming royal blue, there is something so foreboding about a surprise set of stairs leading down into the earth.

"Where are we?" you ask as Taehyung closes the door tightly behind you and begins to descend on your right. You do your best to keep up, loosely holding onto a wooden railing on your left while your other hand grips your satin dress close to your chest. 

"Beside the kitchen," Taehyung responds. "Between the kitchen and living room, to be exact." 

Once you reach the basement level, Taehyung flips on another switch and turns off the stairwell light behind you. There is an large room carpeted and furnished in blues, blacks, and tans, and you are surprised as you look around at the space. It smells somewhat musty, and you wonder when the last time anyone actually came down here may have been. 

"We don't use this space anymore," Taehyung says as if reading your mind. "But when Yoongi's parents were still alive, this was where he would spend a lot of his time."

You hum and nod, glancing around further. Along a back wall is a wooden bar, now empty, but you imagine it stocked with bottles of whatever liquors a younger version of Yoongi may have liked. There are also recreational table games on the far end that look unfamiliar, as well as a pool table. A dartboard and pool cues share the same wall with the bar top, and you try to imagine Yoongi and Namjoon, and probably also Ryujin, spending their evenings down here as teenagers. 

"Our group used to come down here to party and debrief in the early days," Taehyung adds as you continue to walk through the space toward a door along the wall ahead. "But that was before Yoongi owned hotels, casinos, nightclubs, and all that."

"Oh," you mutter, trying to imagine a Yoongi who did not own half of Seoul. You wonder how much of his empire he inherited from his father versus how much of it he built himself. 

You almost feel remorse over never knowing that side of Yoongi—a younger man who was not so tied down to his duties as a mafia king. But then you remember the scars along his sides, chest, and stomach, and you wonder whether there was ever a carefree man in Yoongi's skin. 

"Just a little further," Taehyung says, holding his hand up toward the door at the far end. 

"Where does this lead to?" you ask. 

"We are going to go up one more set of steps and end up on the other end of the hall, " Taehyung explains, voice soft, deep, and measured. "From there, we will tip-toe up the stairs and wait for Yoongi and Namjoon. Although this is the scenic route, I thought having to walk through the front door might be too stressful for you. I also thought it would be in your best interest to become well acquainted with these more hidden parts of the home."

This gives you pause, and you stumble on your next step ever so slightly, catching the toe of your right ballet flat against the soft carpet beneath. "Oh?"

With a soft sigh, Taehyung stops and turns to you, and you halt, doing the same. 

"Just in case," he says, regarding you with a hint of a frown. "I don't want to worry you or anything…but I feel like these are secrets you should know because, well, you never know."

The two of you stand facing one another for several quiet seconds, and then you nod and heavy-blink, turning your attention back toward the door. Everything feels so ominous, even simple gestures of kindness, and you attempt to swallow down the fact that this is your reality. 

"Thank you," you mutter quietly, clearing your throat to speak more clearly as you glance at Taehyung once again. "I appreciate it."

Taehyung cracks a smile, then holds his hand out to the door, sing-songing a corny, "Ladies first," and you chuckle, hesitating before reaching for the knob and turning it. It opens to another dark stairwell, and Taehyung steps forward and rubs along the wall before light illuminates the narrow space. You note that the light switches seem to be along the same wall on both ends of the room, just in case the information may one day come in handy.

As you begin to ascend, Taehyung closes the door behind you and steps in line to your right. You make your way further up, closer to your destination, and your heart begins to pound. Faced with the opportunity of seeing Yoongi and Namjoon again has you feeling so many ways, and they all swirl uncomfortably in your gut. You know they are likely not angry with you…but what if they are?

Rather than go straight up, this stairwell stops halfway and curves around, much like a standard building stairwell, only carpeted. At the top of the stairs, Taehyung reaches in front of you and very gently, slowly pulls on a large metal handle. 

He opens the door just as slowly, and you realize that he must be attempting to be as silent as possible. Although you are unable to detect any sound coming from whoever must be meeting in the main hall, you are surprised that Taehyung is going to such great lengths to be silent. 

Or maybe, you consider, he is not doing this because he feels you need to be silent in this moment. Maybe Taehyung is doing this to show you just how silent this door is so that you can store the information for later. Although you certainly feel paranoid for considering the notion, it does make sense that he would both reveal a somewhat secret passage to you and showcase just how secret it may be. 

And you nearly question how secretive a door presumably at the end of a hallway could possibly be, until you step out into a room that is certainly not the hallway, and Taehyung closes a panel of wall that does not look at all like a door. His fingers pass over a section along the very well-concealed crack about chest height and press in. Silently, the door unlatches and pushes forward, and you watch with your mouth hanging agape as he demonstrates opening and closing it. 

The dining room you stand in is the larger of the two. During your tour with Felix and Changbin all that time ago, you never came to this room. It was simply described as the much larger one at the end of the hall.

The scale of this room is rather enormous. It appears as if more than twenty people could sit around the long dark wood table, and the décor is very similar to the smaller room—brown leather-topped chairs with intricately carved patterns, dark wood wainscoting and blood-red wallpaper, with brass sconces and crystal chandeliers. 

You stand in the far corner along the wall containing the entrance, which is mid-way through the room, to the right. The door hangs open, and now you can hear the faint voices of men coming from down the hallway. As you step out, you realize you are at the very end of the hall. Ordinarily, this door is closed, and it is one you had never considered going into, before. 

"Come, now," Taehyung says quietly, toeing out of his shoes and bending to pick them up. 

You do the same and scurry ahead as he begins to make his way toward the large stairwell ahead and to the right. Now that you are in a part of the mansion that feels like home, your nervousness turns to nausea. 

Taehyung is no longer attempting to be silent, and he walks ahead, seemingly blocking you from the view of others as he waves to the men from over the banister of the stairwell and then straightens out. You have no desire to be perceived in any way just yet, so you prance up to the landing on your tiptoes. Listen as you try, you do not hear a familiar voice speaking. 

"Should I join you for the time being?" Taehyung asks as you reach the top, and you turn toward the master suite, swallowing thickly. 

"Yes, please," you mutter, somewhat embarrassed by how small you sound.

A warm, gentle hand rubs over the small of your back, and it is all the encouragement you need to continue forward. Although you cannot confidently guess how the others must feel about you at the present moment, you are at least grateful to have an ally in Taehyung. 

The two of you drop your shoes outside the bedroom door, and you walk ahead into the space that you have come to know as your haven. Floral and musk are light in the air, but you can only detect traces of Yoongi and Namjoon lingering. 

Taehyung walks ahead, straight to the sofa, and he reaches for the remote. It is so casual and domestic that when he turns to you with a soft smile and pats the cushion beside him, a wide, happy grin tugs at the ends of your lips. 

"I heard you like Ghibli films," Taehyung says as you walk over, and as soon as you plop down to his left, he swings his legs up onto the cushion and leans ever so slightly closer. His scent is subdued, but it is the spicy, earthy blend you remember from the night he carried you close to his chest.

"I do," you respond, staring ahead at the black screen of the television while attempting to get your bearings.

"Which have you seen, so far?"

You think back to the private jets, to Yoongi and Namjoon, and also to Jimin. Your lips fall to a frown before you school your expression and wet your lips. 

“Howl's Moving Castle and Spirited Away,” you respond. “And part of Princess Mononoke, but we fell asleep.”

Taehyung shifts beside you excitedly, lifting the remote and clicking through menus as he says, “Princess Mononoke is my favorite.”

This calm, gentle side of Taehyung might just be your favorite. While snarky Taehyung has been entertaining and quite suggestive, mafia Taehyung has been deadly and protective, and doctor Taehyung has been an actual savior to the family and to you so many times, this Taehyung is patient and considerate. This is the same Taehyung who held you gently in his arms to take you to a bath and to check in to make sure you still felt comfortable and safe with everything that had transpired in his sex room. This Taehyung feels like a friend.

"How long will they all be meeting?" you blurt as Taehyung finds the title and presses play. 

He shifts forward to set the remote onto the table and then sits back, placing his hand upright and wiggling his fingers. You take the invitation and slowly lower your hand into his, which he gently caresses with his fingertips. A voiceover introduces the film, but Taehyung does not seem to care about pausing or lowering the volume. 

"Hard to say," he responds softly, eyes on the foggy opening scene. "When I came to get you, they were still pretty deep into their conversation. Things like this can sometimes take all day."

"All day," you mutter unhappily under your breath. Sure, you may worry about seeing Yoongi and Namjoon, but not seeing them fills you with the same amount of angst. 

Taehyung sighs, and rather than continue delicately playing with your hand, he grabs it and twines his fingers between yours. The gesture makes you frown despite how warm your chest becomes. 

“I can’t imagine how you must be feeling,” he says, eyes still on the screen but inattentive. Perhaps this is his way of consoling someone; perhaps, for once, direct eye contact is too much for him. 

You scoff slightly and shrug, looking down at your hands. “I’m not really sure how I’m feeling,” you admit. 

Taehyung shifts beside you, and you turn to look at him. His eyes are wide and caring, and they peer straight into your heart. All at once, you feel shy, and you rip your gaze away, to the wall just below the television as you realize he was likely not avoiding eye contact for his sake but for yours. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” he asks quietly, filling you to the brim with sadness. 

You heavy-blink and attempt not to cry, muttering, “I injured someone I love. What’s there to talk about?”

Taehyung is quick to say, "It was an accident," but not in a way that is placating or defensive. 

"Accident or not," you begin, eyes falling to your entwined hands as you imagine all the ways in which you have caused Yoongi harm with one simple accident. With a sigh, you continue, feeling the tremble that works its way through your words. "What if I had blinded him? Or cut him somewhere life-threatening? I could have caused so much harm, I could have—"

"But you didn't," Taehyung interrupts insistently. "You did none of those things. And dwelling on all the what-ifs is not going to do you any good."

Taehyung is correct, and you are thankful for his calm, assuring presence. "I know," you utter, defeated. 

Sure, it does no good to dwell on all the possibilities, but knowing that does not make it any easier not to. 

"You've been through a lot in these past couple of months," Taehyung speaks over the movie, eyes once again watching as characters move across the screen. You see light, movement, and color, but you do not fully register anything taking place. You are not sure you could if you tried. 

As Taehyung's words settle over you, you scoff, muttering, "That's a fucking understatement."

To your surprise, Taehyung chuckles softly. Barely any sound emits, but you can feel the rise and fall of his shoulders beside you. Although levity is nice, you cannot ignore the glaring truth. 

"Is it always this way?" you ask. 

This is not the first time you have asked a question like this, but you feel the need to, anyway. And when silence hangs between the two of you, speaking volumes louder than anything Taehyung could offer, unease settles deep. 

With a sigh, you close your eyes, feeling tears build. And when you admit aloud, "I'm not sure how much longer I can do this," you feel the grip on your hand loosen and then tighten.

"Do what?" Taehyung asks, although you cannot imagine he requires prompting; Taehyung knows damn well what about this situation you cannot withstand. He has been present for each moment during which your foundation has been forced to crack little by little. 

"All of this," you respond through another sigh. You pull your hand away from Taehyung's and lift your feet to the cushion, wrapping your arms around your shins and resting your forehead in the valley between your knees. 

"I love Yoongi," you mutter into the small space that warms with each of your exhales. "And Namjoon, and to an extent, all of you. But this lifestyle is killing me, and I can't take it anymore."

"Killing you?" Taehyung asks somewhat teasingly, making you crack a smile over your dramatics. 

You lift your head just enough to turn and face him, returning his fond smile with a weak one. "Emotionally, yes. I feel like I am dying."

Taehyung's smile only dips some, but his eyes remain just as bright. "Trauma tends to make us feel heavy or a little numb, but it will all pass."

"I don't want that," you bite back, feeling a burst of annoyance. "I just want to live a normal fucking life. How hard is that?"

This time, when Taehyung laughs, the sound is deep, playful, and perhaps a little mocking. "What the fuck is a normal life?" he asks, sounding just a bit defensive. 

"I don't know," you admit. "Something that does not involve gunfire and hard drugs. I can't keep watching men die. And I can't keep watching as my loved one get injured."

Taehyung opens his mouth to speak, but his eyes drift up and widen. His posture shifts, sitting up only slightly taller, and you hesitate before turning, scared of who you might find. 

"Knock, knock," Namjoon calls, and your heart kicks up hard and fast between your ribs. 

All trepidation you may have felt about seeing him melts, and you throw your legs to the floor and stand-spin with such a start it makes you dizzy. Namjoon stands in the doorway with a loving smile, wearing a black tee tucked into black jeans—surprisingly casual, considering he seems to have come from an important meeting. His hands, which are in his front pockets, slide out, and he lifts his arms high, asking without words for a hug. 

You run over on bare feet and hop up, throwing yourself into Namjoon's chest as your arms wrap around his neck. He bends and holds you in a tight, firm hug, groaning softly against your forehead as he squeezes and releases. 

"Moments away from you always feel like a lifetime," Namjoon utters softly, tugging at your heart and ripping the air from your lungs. You wish he wouldn't say shit like this. 

"I missed you too," is all you can bring yourself to say, and as he releases from the hug, you slide your hands to his chest, gently grip at his shirt, and bury your face against him, breathing in his scent and blocking out the rest of the world. 

The way Namjoon rubs his hands over your shoulders and arms, giving gentle squeezes, feels like gestures of impatience and makes you think he would like you to stop this sorry attempt at an embrace, but you hold on tight and close your eyes even tighter, silently insisting on just a little while longer. 

"Are you watching Princess Mononoke?" Namjoon asks over your head, resting his chin against you. 

"Watching is a strong word," Taehyung responds in the teasing tone you have come to expect but have not heard from him yet today. "Doll was mostly sitting here being sulky."

"Wow!" you respond defensively, finally releasing your hold on Namjoon to turn and glare at your so-called friend who stares back with a wide, playful grin. 

Gently, Namjoon places the side of his finger under your chin and motions for you to turn to him. "There you are," he utters sweetly as you meet his gaze.

Your heart sinks as you take in his sweet, welcoming expression. Namjoon, standing here like this, is the epitome of love, and all you can think about is how badly you need to get away from the lifestyle he is a part of before you have to watch another one of your closest friends get shot. 

Namjoon's smile falters, and he cocks his head so slightly, it is hardly a movement. Anguish rises, and you swallow it down, then make your best attempt at a smile. 

"I'm sorry," you utter weakly, nibbling on the inside of your lip as you attempt to sort out what exactly you want to apologize for this time. "I, uh…I don't feel very good. I don't want to…I'm scared to…"

See Yoongi. 

No matter how many ways you attempt to formulate precisely how you feel, there is no way to finish that sentence, and you close your eyes in time for tears to break. 

How many more times are you going to feel hopeless and sad over Yoongi? How many times will Namjoon have to console the two of you? You are certain that the two of them—that everyone in this family—would be better off if you were not here. Clearly, this lifestyle does not affect them the way it does you, and there will only be so much that they will be able to tolerate until you become more of a burden than you are worth. 

"Don't want to, what?" Namjoon asks gently, hands rubbing from the tops of your shoulders down to your elbows and back up. 

"What if he hates me?" you mutter, tears becoming hot streams pouring down your cheeks. 

Namjoon chuckles, and you frown; now is not the time for him to be making fun of you. But his voice is soft and kind as he asks, "Sweetheart, how many times are we going to have to go over this?"

Although you know his question comes with good intentions, it only makes you feel worse. Because yes, indeed, how many times are the three of you going to have to go over this? How many times is Yoongi's lifestyle going to cause crushing grief and sadness? How many fucking times are you going to have to fear facing him? 

It's not fair. None of this is fair. 

"Yoongi is not upset with you, or with me," Namjoon insists. "So we gave him a little cut, so what? He already has plenty of scars."

"That's not—" the point, you fail to say. "I don't want—how can I look at him knowing I've given him a scar?"

Bile rises, and you feel sick. All you can picture is blood seeping from between Yoongi's fingers, blood splattering against concrete, blood staining all of your hopes and dreams a deep, menacing red. 

Taking two steps back and spinning to rejoin Taehyung on the couch, the blood seems to leave your head, causing you to wobble on your feet and crash back against Namjoon. The room is stilted and tilts to a fro, and you swallow a lump, closing your eyes tight while two warm hands steady you by the arms.

"Sweetheart?" Namjoon asks, but his voice is too distant, and although you know that he is directly behind you, holding onto you, you fear that if you responded, he would be too far away to hear you. 

Firmly, Taehyung says your first name, hand holding your jaw at an upward angle while your limbs sink heavily into the couch. When did you approach the couch?

"I'm gonna…" you mutter, mouth dry and full of cotton, body feeling a million miles away from your head as you feel the urge to faint. You attempt to look around, but light and shadow only trail and smudge uselessly. You feel like you are going to be sick, and you squeeze your eyes closed.

When you open your eyes again, you are lying on the couch, on your back. Your lower legs are propped up by pillows, and a violent shiver rocks through you.

"Ah, here you are," Taehyung says, and you turn to find him sitting on the floor beside you. His kind, disarming smile returns as he says, "You fainted, buttercup. How are you feeling?"

Sweat covers you from head to toe, making you cold and clammy and uncomfortable. "Shitty," you reply. 

"Hmm, yes, fainting takes a toll on the entire body. But at least you are shitty and alert." Taehyung holds up three fingers. "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Your voice is rough as you croak, "Three."

"Very good," Taehyung responds, reaching to give your cheek a tiny pinch, which you attempt to flinch away from. 

It occurs to you only now that you neither see nor hear Namjoon. When you look around for him, Taehyung softly clears his throat, pulling your attention back to find him frowning. 

"They left the room."

"They…" you begin, watching as Taehyung tongues the inside of his mouth.

"Namjoon seems to think you don't want to see Yoongi. And Yoongi…well, he's not too pleased."

"Oh."

Taehyung sits up a little higher on his knees, and in a rare moment of uncertainty, he knits his brow. "What I mean to say is, his feelings were hurt. But he isn't angry."

"No, no," you mutter, rolling onto your side and pulling your knees as high as they can go. "I get it."

"The thing is," Taehyung continues, "Yoongi has to leave town for a little while."

At this, you flinch, attempting to quickly sit up. "Wait, where? For how long?"

"He didn't say."

Although you know Yoongi is not present in this room, you look around and ask, "Has he left already?"

Taehyung frowns once more. "I'm not sure, but I don't think so."

Everything is happening too quickly, and you brace yourself to get your bearings and steady your pounding heart as you slowly stand from the couch onto your feet. Taehyung raises and holds his hands out as an offer to assist, should you need it. 

"You good?" he asks, and although you do not feel a modicum of anything you would consider good, you nod and slowly turn toward the door. 

And then you run. Your feet are sweaty and they slide against the floor, but you push forward as hard as you can, ignoring the whorl of nausea in your guts. Once at the door, you shove at it with all your strength, and when it flies open, revealing Yoongi and Namjoon standing close, muttering sweetly, you gasp; you were not expecting to find the two of them this easily. 

Namjoon stands to the left, gently cradling Yoongi's chin with both hands, and Yoongi stares up at him, hands lifted to Namjoon's sides. In contrast to Namjoon's more casual attire, Yoongi is in his usual black button-up and black slacks. 

You mutter, "Yoo—" and halt in place when he turns his attention to you, smile faltering as his one visible eye holds you in its gaze. 

Although Yoongi's hair is down and wild, you can see the black eyepatch covering his other eye. Above the patch are little black stitches that rise up to his forehead, and you worry you might faint once more. 

"Darling," Yoongi says, dropping his arms from Namjoon's sides to fully face you. 

Namjoon's hands only fall to Yoongi's shoulders, and the look he gives you is indiscernible and a little cold. You feel childish and small standing before them in Hoseok's pajamas, which are a little too big.

"I'm sorry," is all you can say as your right leg twitches in an attempt to continue forward, held back by the full-body weight of your fear. 

"I'm so glad you're awake," Yoongi says as he smiles. The ends of his mouth flinch twice, and you wonder just how forced his smile is. "Taehyung said you fainted."

You hum and nod in quick, shallow movements. All you want to do, in this moment, is run. Run toward Yoongi, but also run far, far away, and never look back—run and run until your lungs threaten to explode. But you stand paralyzed in the doorway of Yoongi's bedroom, staring at the two men who seem intent on keeping their distance.

"Where are you going?" you manage to ask, swallowing a ball of saliva and anxiety. 

Yoongi hesitates, and as Namjoon drops his arms from his shoulders, Yoongi straightens his posture and slides his hands into the pockets of his slacks. 

When was the last time Yoongi has held this much distance? When has Yoongi been this reserved and shut away? You regret not wanting to see him before, and now that he is holding so much space between the two of you, you cannot, for the life of you, move your feet forward. 

"I have important business," Yoongi simply says, licking his lips and saying no more. 

"Ah—are you…will you be gone long?" you try, chest trembling and terrified. 

Yoongi merely shrugs. "Hard to say."

"Oh."

Yoongi stares a moment longer, back tall and straight and hands tucked away. The hair on the left side of his face falls slightly over his eye, encasing the eyepatch in a dark shadow, making him appear far more dangerous than he already is. 

And then, as if a switch is flipped, his shoulders relax, his smile softens, and he pulls his hands from his pockets. You let out a deep, shaky exhale and silently beg him to step toward you. 

"I'll miss you," you try, knitting your brows in desperation. 

Yoongi smiles widely and finally takes a step. "I will miss you, as well," he says as he closes the distance, and all at once, your legs turn to gelatin and wobble beneath you before stepping forward. 

You all but throw yourself into Yoongi's embrace, body sagging and crashing into him as he wraps his arms around you, pinning yours uselessly to your sides. Yoongi's musk is strong and overwhelming, and you nuzzle against his chest and neck, breathing deeply enough to choke on it. 

"I'm sorry," you mutter into him, feeling tears well once more. "I'm so sorry, Yoongi."

Yoongi whispers, "Shhh," as his hands rub over your back, and you lift your hands just enough to let your fingers catch at the fabric around his hips. 

"I'm sorry I have to leave so abruptly," Yoongi says, "but the guys here will take good care of you. I shouldn't be long."

"Please be safe," you beg, horrified of what could happen to him while he is away. 

"I have a team coming along to look after me," Yoongi says. "But I can assure you, I will be fine. I can't say much for now, but I will be meeting with the Hong Kong crew, and we will be working on a deal of sorts so that an attack like that will not happen again."

"A deal? In…in Hong Kong?" 

Yoongi releases the hug and takes a small step back, then lifts one hand to the bottom of your chin. Looking up into his one eye makes your heart squeeze, but even with an eyepatch covering the other, he is the prettiest man alive. 

"Please don't beat yourself up with worry while I'm away," he mutters sweetly. "I'm not upset with you. Had I gotten to that man before you, I would have done far worse to him for hurting one of my best friends. And besides," Yoongi chuckles softly, tilting his head to the side, "this is going to make for an amazing story when Jimin wakes up."

"Stop," you grumble, lifting your hands to shove at Yoongi's sides, but not hard enough to make him do more than sway. 

"You are so brave," Yoongi says, smile widening. "You shot that man right between the eyes. And I know it had to have been traumatic and horrendous, but I'm still proud of you."

As it stands, watching the man who hurt Jimin die by your bullet is so low on the list of traumatic events that play through your mind. Perhaps you have compartmentalized the event, and once the dust settles and Jimin wakes back up, you will begin to fully process the weight of the event. Or, perhaps you are already becoming as numb to being a killer as the rest of the family. 

"Did it hurt?" you ask, feeling the urge to lift the patch and see his wound.

Yoongi shrugs. "Nah, my adrenaline was so high, I didn't feel a thing. I had no idea I was cut until the blood began to cloud my vision."

The thought of Yoongi's beautiful face dripping with blood makes your stomach churn, and you mutter, "Oh my god."

"It only hurt a little while Tae was stitching me up."

"Why the eyepatch?" you ask, despite feeling nervous to know the answer. But you were told that Yoongi's vision had not been altered.

"Taehyung felt that the stitches along my eyebrow and lid would heal faster if my eye remained closed as often as possible."

Again, your stomach tosses. Did he say lid? As in his eyelid?

"Oh."

"And it makes me look cool, right?" Yoongi adds, waggling his one good eye, making you laugh despite how sad the entire situation feels. "Don't worry, darling. I couldn't dream of being upset with you two."

You exhale deeply and wrap your arms around Yoongi's ribs, throwing yourself once more into his chest. Yoongi chuckles deeply and drapes his arms over you, cradling your head and shoulder gently in his large, warm, familiar hands. 

"I won't be gone long," Yoongi insists, pressing a kiss against your temple. "But I will miss you deeply while I am away. So please text me as much as you want to, alright?"

"Alright," you respond, feeling tears build once more. Yoongi insists he will return safely but you fear for the worst; how could you not?

"Seokjin and Hoseok will be coming with me, which leaves Namjoon, Taehyung, and Jeongguk here with you. We have shut down Paradise for the time being, and there will be a strong security detail on the property, but don't feel like you have to stay cooped up inside. The streets of Seoul are safe."

"Hmm," you utter, finding it hard to believe him. But you do not press him. Yoongi said he would reveal more about what deal he has struck once he returns home. 

A single-note ringtone chimes loudly, and Yoongi lets out a deep sigh, wrapping his arms tightly around you. 

"That's Seokjin," Namjoon says, and you remember that Namjoon has been standing here the entire time, causing guilt to pang within your guts. 

"Time to go," Yoongi mutters sadly against your temple, attempting to pull from the hug, only for you to squeeze tighter. Yoongi chuckles as he adds, "I'll be home before you know it."

"I miss you," you complain, overwhelmed with sadness. You are so sick and fucking tired of crying, but more than that, you are tired of missing Yoongi.

This time, when Yoongi pulls away, you allow it, tilting your head to slot your lips together. Yoongi holds steady against you, kissing slow and sweet and only skirting his tongue across your bottom lip after several long, warm seconds. You sigh, dropping your mouth open, but Yoongi kisses your temple and backs up further, giving your arms a squeeze before releasing you. 

"I love you, darling," he says, and your heart sinks as you all but whisper, "I love you, too."

Yoongi spins on his feet and takes two steps to Namjoon, giving him a chaste kiss and muttering something deep and indiscernible. Namjoon responds with, "Of course, baby," and then Yoongi leaves, taking the steps two at a time without turning back. 

Something feels off, but you are too exhausted to dwell on it, so you turn your attention to the man who is still around, stepping forward and reaching for him. Only Namjoon takes a step back, halting your movements as he clears his throat and runs a hand through his hair. 

"Sorry," he says, eyes on the floor and not on you. "I just need a moment. I'll be back."

Without another word, Namjoon runs down the stairs, and you watch as he disappears around the banister, toward the front door. Your right arm is slightly lifted, hovering near the empty space Namjoon had just occupied. 

As the seconds tick by, you struggle to fully comprehend what is happening. Clearly, both Yoongi and Namjoon are upset about something, whether that upset is directed at you or not, and they are not doing the best job of convincing you that things are fine. And, truth be told, you do not need everything to be completely fine. But you expect them to be honest with you, or at the very least, to not shut you out. 

Your hand drops to your side, and you spin on the balls of your feet, listlessly allowing your arms to fan out in the motion, making your way back to Yoongi's bedroom. Rather than return to Taehyung and Princess Mononoke, you hang a left toward the large window that overlooks the front driveway. 

Standing forehead to forehead, Namjoon's face is angled just slightly, looking down at Yoongi, whose expression is somewhat unreadable with his eyepatch. He appears to be smiling as they kiss, and the urge to cry increases. You remind yourself that the two of them share a past and that they deserve tender moments without your presence, despite how badly you wish to be included. 

"Everything alright?" Taehyung calls, and you sniffle, blinking away the tears that threaten to break. 

As you turn to face him, you take a deep, fortifying breath and nod, doing your best to smile. Your had been balling your fists inside the long sleeves of the pajama shirt, and you open and close them, wiggling your fingers as if attempting to release tension from your limbs. 

"I guess so," you admit, not fully willing to say yes or no.

"I imagine Namjoon is trying to convince Yoongi that he should go along," Taehyung says. "He always does."

"Ah," you respond; that does make sense.

"The two of them used to be inseparable and now Namjoon seems to get separation anxiety easily."

You begin to return to the couch, feeling somewhat lighter. Of course, Namjoon would want to join Yoongi on whatever this trip is; it sounds like it might be a big deal. "He should go."

Taehyung hums and regards you quietly, then pats the cushion where you had been previously sitting before he returns to watching the movie. With a little more pep in your step, you join him, plopping down on the couch as you sigh and swing your legs up to the left so you can lean your head against his shoulder. 

Although you watch the screen, nothing fully registers. Only Taehyung's warmth and gentle musk hit your senses and linger. Briefly, you even close your eyes. 

Outside, vehicle doors shut, and the metal gate scrapes open. Moments later, two heavy feet stomp up the stairs and into the bedroom. You keep your head on Taehyung's shoulder but open your eyes, watching a confrontation between the two lead characters on screen while Namjoon comes into view in your periphery. 

"Mind if I join you?" Namjoon asks, and you shrug, offering a brief smile while you say, "Sure."

Namjoon walks in front of the television, rounding the small wooden table in front of the sofa, then plops down at Taehyung's right. Although you keep your eyes ahead, gaze barely on the actual movie, you can see and feel Taehyung lifting his arm and shifting his legs to accommodate Namjoon curling up to his side. 

"How did I get stuck with the children?" he teases as his left arm gently wraps around your hip. 

You smile, unable to hold back a little chuckle. "Pure luck, obviously."

"What's the other child up to, today?" Namjoon asks. 

Taehyung asks, "Jeongguk?" and Namjoon hums. 

"He's become obsessed with working out again."

"He doesn't wanna join us?" Namjoon asks. 

Taehyung sighs. "He likely will eventually, but I think he's struggling to deal with everything that has happened. With Jimin in a coma and Paradise temporarily closed, he feels directionless. And, of course, he worries about Jimin." Taehyung squeezes your side as he adds, "He also feels guilty for taking his anger out on you that night."

Jeongguk undoubtedly did appear angry, but considering the circumstances, you can hardly say you blame him. You suppose you are willing to accept that Jeongguk may not be upset with you.

"I get it," you mutter, letting your gaze drop to the wall below the television. "I don't think any of us were in our right minds."

Seconds pass, then Taehyung quietly adds, "He will be very happy to know how you feel."

As the three of you sit and watch the film, your eyelids grow heavy, and it takes almost no time at all for you to fall back asleep.

The events of last night play in your mind once more, and as soon as the man's head explodes from Hoseok's shotgun shell, you flinch awake, gasping for air. As the room comes into focus, you realize you are lying on the large sofa with Namjoon, who is behind you with his head propped up onto his hand, watching television. You sigh into wakefulness, heavy-blinking and yawning, and Namjoon pauses whatever drama he has put on and gently wraps an arm over your hip. 

"Hey, sweetheart," he says just above your ear, and you groan as you stretch your legs out, then begin to wiggle around until you are facing him. 

Namjoon still wears the black tee, and you reach up and gently trace along the exposed skin of his bicep with your fingertips, playing with the hem of his sleeve. 

"What time is it?" you ask, staring up into Namjoon's warm, dark eyes. 

"Evening," he responds, leaning to place a kiss on your forehead. "You knocked out."

"Did Taehyung go home?"

Namjoon nods, humming, "Mmhmm. Christopher wanted to meet with him, and check in on Jeongguk."

"Surprised I slept that long," you grumble, feeling another yawn work its way through your chest. "I keep dreaming about last night."

"Taehyung mentioned he would speak with Christopher about sleep aids. I am always happy to supply Xanax if needed."

Although you are unsure whether you want to create a dependence on Xanax to get you through the night, the prospect of getting restful, dreamless sleep is wonderful. 

"That would be nice," you say, burying your face against Namjoon's chest. 

You half expect Namjoon to continue watching his show, but silence hangs as he settles his head down onto a pillow and wraps both arms around you with the bottom one sliding under your neck. 

"Sorry if I seemed a little cold earlier," Namjoon finally says. "Letting Yoongi leave on his own when we are in the midst of a showdown between both families is just…a lot. I know he's a grown adult and can take care of himself, but I also hate not being able to be there."

Just as Taehyung had said.

"Why didn't you go with him?"

Namjoon seems to hesitate and then says, “He asked me to stay with you.”

“Oh.”

“I don't mean to suggest that I don’t want to be here with you,” Namjoon adds quickly, and although you believe him, it is clear that he would rather be by Yoongi’s side. 

“I get it,” you say, feeling no need for Namjoon to explain himself. “But you could have gone with him,” you add, feeling Namjoon stiffen. 

The air feels tense and awkward, but you make no move to give either of you space. Even if Namjoon would rather be comforting Yoongi, you still crave his warmth. 

“I guess what I mean to say,” you continue, “is that I have the others here, too. Of course, nobody compares to you and Yoongi, but if you need to be by his side, I’m happy here with Taehyung and Jeongguk. Don’t feel obligated to babysit me.”

Namjoon scoots back, and you look up to find a somewhat angry, sad expression on his face. "Why would you say it like that?"

Without thinking, you roll your eyes, watching as his eyes go wider before you add, "You know what I meant."

"You think that the only reason I am here is because I feel the need to coddle you?"

Your patience is wearing thin, and despite finally getting a little sleep, you feel far too tired to be bickering with him over something like this. 

"Namjoon—"

"No, don't Namjoon me. I'm not your fucking babysitter, I'm your partner. I'm here with you because I enjoy being with you."

"You're here with me because Yoongi asked you to be," you clarify, speaking from his earlier words. "Which is fine, I don't mind that being the case. But if you're going to be miserable with worry, you may as well have joined him."

Namjoon sighs and begins to pull away entirely in an attempt to sit up. Feeling resolved, you slightly roll away, giving him space to do so. You are not, however, willing to let him walk away before you are done speaking your mind. 

"It's fine if you want to go with him, and I don't understand why you chose not to. You and Yoongi have a history, and I get that. Not everything you do will include me."

Namjoon sits sideways with his legs outstretched because you have not bothered to move in any way that will actually allow him to escape easily. You prop your head up on your hand with your elbow bent against the pillow and watch as Namjoon's expression oscillates from frustrated to contemplative. 

Finally, Namjoon speaks up, voice sounding small as he says, "If you don't want me around, just say so."

At this you huff, drop your hand and head to the pillow, and begin to roll away, letting your leg drape over the edge of the couch before you steady yourself enough to sit up. Namjoon has not moved, and you are in no mood to face him. It feels like anything you say will be bent to suit whatever this emotional streak of Namjoon's is, and you do not have the energy to play along. 

But then petulance rises, and you stare at the dark blue fabric of the sofa beneath you as you say, "I wanted you around last night. And Yoongi. But I was shut out, and now he's gone."

"Sweetheart—" Namjoon begins, and you shove what is left of the cream-colored blanket that covers your legs, eager to get it the fuck off you as you stand and disregard him.

"I don't want to talk anymore," you grumble as you make your way to the ensuite. 

You never bothered to wash your face or tend to your hair after last night, and you decide in this moment that you would like to shower. For all you know, the blood of some unknown dead man could be on you. 

To your surprise, Namjoon says nothing. You don't bother closing the door behind you as you begin to strip from your borrowed black pajamas and find a fluffy white towel which you hang on a hook beside the shower door. Not bothering to close this door either, you walk to the back wall of the shower and turn it on, feeling a cold blast of water that quickly turns scathing hot before you turn the nob and make it a more reasonable hot.

Although your movements are slow, you take care of your hair and wash your body, standing still periodically with your face tilted up to let the water rinse over you. You know that whatever this tiff you have with Namjoon is, you will need to talk about it at some point. You just wish that things could be calm and easy, in the meantime. After last night, you desperately need things to be calm and easy. 

Finally, when you are just about to shut the water off and get out, you hear a belt buckle hitting the tile floor, followed by a quieter sound of a soft garment being dropped alongside it. Your pulse quickens, but you do your best to seem unaffected by Namjoon's presence—at least until you are able to gauge what kind of a mood he is in. 

"Mind if I join you?" Namjoon asks, voice soft and calm—deep.

You turn just enough to find him standing in the doorway nude, and you rove your eyes down past his pecs and tummy—along the curves and scales of his dragon tattoo—to his glorious thighs and the thick cock that hangs heavy between them.

"Be my guest," you respond with a shrug, feigning nonchalance as you turn back to the stream of water.

Namjoon enters and begins to wash his hair. He uses the tangerine shampoo that reminds you of Yoongi, then he slathers a cloth with the same citrus floral soap that also reminds you of Yoongi. You have no reason to linger in the shower, but Namjoon is close, the steam filling the room leaves you a bit dizzy, and you are touch-starved. 

"Baby," you mutter, turning to lean your back against the cool tile wall and get out of the hot stream of water. 

Namjoon is washing his legs, bent in half, and he looks up with wide eyes. There are so many things you want to say and ask for and command, but all that falls from your lips is, "I miss you."

Namjoon cracks a smile, then he bends further to finish washing his ankles and one foot after the other. And then he straightens out, chucks the cloth to the side, and steps forward, into the stream of water, pausing a moment to rinse. 

"I miss you, too," he says with his eyes closed and face tilted up against the stream, rubbing his hands over his hair and causing a waterfall of suds to cascade over him. 

Feeling overcome with emotion and resolved to put whatever transpired earlier behind you, for the sake of your sanity if nothing more, you reach out toward Namjoon, who is close enough that you are able to graze your fingertips over his tummy. 

"Let's just…not argue, okay?" you practically plead. "We've both been through a lot. We need each other."

Namjoon continues to rinse off a moment longer, then he steps through the stream and looms over you, dripping wet with a blazing fire in his dark eyes. His voice is deep and insistent as he says, "You have me, sweetheart."

"Dizzy," you mutter, reaching to trace your fingertips listlessly over his skin. "Let's get out."

Namjoon nods and shuts the water off, then he leans in close and presses his body against yours, capturing your lips with his. When was the last time you and Namjoon kissed? It feels like a lifetime ago, despite it probably only being last night, and you sigh into the feeling, overcome with a surge of affection. 

His movements are languid and firm, pressing and claiming but in no hurry. You grab Namjoon's ribs with both palms and gently squeeze at his skin and muscle, rubbing slowly, allowing your eyes to flutter closed. 

As soon as all you see is darkness, the images return in quick, nauseating succession. A man's head explodes from Hoseok's shotgun shell and another from your bullets, turning into red and brown and greyish-pink mush against concrete. Blood seeps from between Yoongi's fingers, and you gasp, opening your eyes and mouth wide as your hands hover at Namjoon's sides. 

"Sweetheart—"

"I'm sorry," you sob, hot tears pouring from your eyes as the black and gold bathroom returns to view and Namjoon's dripping wet honey skin greets you. "I can't—every time I close my eyes, I see—I'm sorry."

"Shhh," Namjoon whispers, wrapping his arms around your head and shoulders and pulling you close, engulfing you in wet warmth. "It's okay, don't apologize."

"I feel like I'm going insane. I can't keep reliving this."

"Want me to call Christopher?"

You nod as you sob, holding Namjoon close and doing your best to keep your eyes open. 

"Let's get out of here and put some clean clothes on."

Namjoon's hands slowly caress over your back and shoulders, and you allow yourself to breathe into the feeling and relax. You have tensed up so much that your shoulders are raised high, and you inhale deeply, attempting to calm your nerves and work up the energy to leave the bathroom. 

"Okay," you finally breathe, sniffling and taking deep, slow breaths. "Yeah, let's go."

Slowly, steadily, you are able to leave the shower with one of Namjoon's arms holding firmly around your waist. He towels you off, kneeling on the rug and tile floor, making sure to get every last drop, and then he wraps his clean towel over your shoulders and uses yours to very quickly dry himself. 

His phone is sitting on the countertop beside the sink, and he picks it up, thumbs around for a moment, and then takes your hand to lead you out into the bedroom and into Yoongi's closet. By the time the two of you are dressed, the doorbell rings. 

"I'm going to go answer that," Namjoon says, turning his body fully toward you and taking your hands in his. His thumbs rub over your knuckles, and although you mostly feel emotionally drained, his touch is nice. "Do you want to meet on the couch in here, or the one downstairs?"

"In here," you respond automatically, disinterested in fussing with the stairs or sitting in the huge, empty main hall of Yoongi's home.

"Alright," Namjoon says. "Go have a seat and we'll be right back." 

The world tilts ever so slightly as you move from the closet to the couch. The cream-colored blanket hangs halfway to the floor, and you bend to lift it and drape it over your legs, holding it close to your chest once you sit. Perhaps this is an unprofessional way to meet with the family psychiatrist, but you care more about your comfort than his, if you are being honest. 

Moments later, a man dressed in family blacks enters the room with a bow, greeting you warmly. Although Namjoon enters with him, he leaves almost instantly, insisting that he will be right outside if anyone needs him. 

You feel nervous to talk to Christopher, but he has a kind smile and soft giggle, and he speaks with an accented lilt that reminds you of Felix, instantly easing you into conversation. And even though you are nervous about this process and what it may entail, you do your best, if only for the sake of getting some goddamn sleeping pills. 

Kitten: Landed in Hong Kong. How is my darling?

You: I miss you a lot. It feels like I hardly saw you before you left. 

Kitten: I know, and I'm sorry for that. But I will be home in a few days.

You: I look forward to it. I spoke to Christopher earlier and he recommended an antidepressant to help me sleep.

Kitten: Have you been having nightmares?

You: Yeah, he says it's PTSD. It's been really bad. Even when I close my eyes while fully awake, I see flashes of what happened. I just want to stop remembering. 

Kitten: I know what you mean. I'm glad you are taking healthier steps toward blocking those memories than I have, in the past. 

You: Yeah, well, I have Namjoon's Xanax supply on standby, just in case. 

Kitten: Good, good. Is Namjoon there? I want to give him a call. I would like to hear your voice, too.

You: He's here, watching over my shoulder like a needy little hawk. Please call before he drives me insane. 

Kitten: :] Will do, darling. Just give me a few minutes. 

You are in Seungri's penthouse once again, only as soon as you get into his bedroom with the glass of whiskey in hand, it is Yoongi who slaps you across the face and commands you to get undressed. 

Your empty hand twitches above your thigh, itching to grab for the switchblade, and Yoongi's hand lingers over your cheek, thumb pulling down on your lip. 

“Have I said something to anger you?” you ask, and Yoongi laughs as he drops his hand to his side. 

“You no longer fear me,” he drawls as he turns back to his drink and grabs onto the glass with his lithe, pretty fingers, repeating the words Seungri once said. “Used to be I could put a little scare into you, but now you stand your ground. I like that about you.”

Yoongi skips all the chit-chat that Seungri usually dives into and instead downs his drink and begins to undress. His scars shine brightly when hit by the golden light of the room—his bedroom—and you undress without removing the blade from your thigh or trying to conceal it at all. 

“What a pretty girl,” Yoongi mutters as he approaches.

You step aside and pat the bed—Yoongi's bed—with your hand, purring, “Hop up, sir.”

Yoongi is hard and leaking, cock pointing to the heavens as he settles against his black and gold comforter, and you get up onto the bed and seat yourself in one swift movement, pressing him so deep into you that a shiver works its way along your spine. 

Slowly, you rock your hips, reaching with both hands to drag your fingertips over the scars closest to his heart. "Pretty," you moan as your blunt fingernails turn sharp as talons and catch on the raised skin. 

Then, in a flash, you reach up and slash over Yoongi's eye, quick as a serpent and sharp as glass. Yoongi groans and writhes beneath you, and you—somehow holding your switchblade—continue to fuck him hard and fast while you press the tip of the blade deep into his skin and drag it down over his eyelid, to the apple of his pretty cheek. 

"Mine," you snarl like a beast, thumbing over the pooled blood and smearing it over his face, watching as it mats in his hair. "Forever mine."

You wake up gasping, covered in sweat and stuck in place under warm, heavy limbs. It is still dark outside, and as you pant and attempt to sit up, Namjoon groans and slowly twists away, removing the weight that holds you down. 

"Fuck," you mutter, frustrated. You had taken one of the pills Christopher prescribed and it made you somewhat loopy and very tired—a promising prospect, at the time. 

Namjoon lifts an arm and points to the bedside table to your left, grumbling something incomprehensible before his breathing returns to light snores, and you turn to find two boxes sitting next to a tall glass of water. First, you grab your box of medication and put it back. Then you grab the other, made out to Namjoon, and you pull out a packet and rip it open, freeing one large white pill and gulping it down with a mouthful of water. 

Rather than lying back down to sleep, you roll back toward Namjoon and begin to shimmy down into the sheet, yanking his legs to spread and crawling between them. You can still feel Yoongi inside you from the dream, and you want Namjoon in your mouth now, before you lose your mind. 

Namjoon hums and yawns as you paw at his semi-soft cock, and once he cracks an eye open and moans his consent, you yank his briefs away and swallow him down into your throat, eagerly sucking and stretching your lips, moaning and humming as he trembles and groans beneath you. 

With eager hands, Namjoon yanks at your shirt, pulling it over your head and tossing it aside before gripping at your shoulders and arms in what feels like an attempt to get you to stop sucking his cock.

"Fuck me," he begs, and you do as you are told, grinning with drool-slick lips as you crawl and crash into him, needing to be held up while you angle his tip just right and begin to fuck yourself on him. 

The stretch is so intense, you shiver and fall forward, palms sliding against his sweat-slicked chest and gripping onto the pillow beside his head. Namjoon takes your hips in both hands and begins to fuck upward, holding you in place to use as you bob and moan like a marionette built only for pleasure. 

Namjoon changes positions and holds you tight, fucking you from behind while you lie half on your back and half on your side. By the time you cum, you are dizzy and sinking deep into a drug-induced fog, lulled by the feeling of lips and warm breath against your neck. 

"Don't stop," you mutter as you slip from consciousness, just as eager for Namjoon to cum but unable to hold on and see to it that he does. Although you think his movements have halted and he has repositioned you to rest against his chest, you could also be imagining it as everything fades to black. 

"I wonder how Jeongguk is doing," you mutter, holding your steaming cup of tea to your lips and staring out the bedroom's back window. Namjoon has purchased two new chairs that match the couch because last night, you said you wanted to be able to look out at the gardens.

"Ask him," Namjoon responds somewhat flatly. 

When you look at Namjoon, his brow is knit, and he stares out the window as if he is looking at nothing. He spaces out like this from time to time, and although you are curious about what is on his mind, you feel a bit too disconnected to ask. The antidepressants work wonders for your anxiety and post-traumatic stress symptoms, but they are also anti many other things, including happiness and concern. Christopher insists you need a few weeks to a month to adjust. 

"Fine," you respond with a sigh, disinterested in talking to Namjoon if he is going to be so short with you. 

You pick up your phone, which you keep nearby at all times in case Yoongi reaches out, and you dial Jeongguk's number. The last time the two of you spoke was the night you sliced your boyfriend's pretty face open, and although you are somewhat nervous to hear his voice, you try not to overthink it. 

Jeongguk picks up on the second ring, and you can hear him panting as he says, "Doll. Hey."

"Hi," you respond, swallowing thickly. Suddenly, your mouth feels really dry. "Am I interrupting anything?"

There is a pause, and you hear the bubbling sound of him drinking from a water bottle, followed by a low Ahhh. "Nah, just working out. But I could take a break. Do you need something?"

"No," you clear your throat and sit up, repositioning your legs on the large blue chair. To your right, Namjoon sighs and gets up. "I just wanted to see how you were doing. We haven't spoken since the—"

"Right," Jeongguk interrupts, voice low and rough. "Listen, I'm sorry for—"

Disinterested in apologies, you mutter, "No, it's fine. I get it."

Silence hangs. You want to see Jeongguk again. You want to ask him to come over, maybe ask whether he would like to take a walk through the garden or drive into town for some ice cream. You miss his smell and the way his eyes brighten up like tiny galaxies when he smiles nice and big.

"Do you—" you begin just as Jeongguk says, "Hey, so, I was thinking—" and you both stop, chuckling and waiting for the other to speak. 

"Go ahead," you urge him. 

Jeongguk hesitates, then says, "I don't even know. If I finish that sentence, I will probably regret it the moment the words come out of my mouth."

You glance over your shoulder when you hear the sound of a belt being buckled and find Namjoon getting dressed in blue jeans and a tan sweatshirt near the closet. He keeps his eyes down as he shoves his hands into his pockets, and does not say a word as he turns and leaves the room. 

"Just tell me," you respond, eyes on Namjoon's retreating form. 

"I was going to say that I think we should spend some time apart," Jeongguk says, voice sounding somewhat sad.

Your chest clenches, and you feel the air sucked from your lungs, returning your gaze to the window. "Oh."

"But even as I say it, I don't believe it. I would sprint over and see you right now if you asked me to. I miss you all the time."

This makes you feel shy, and you nibble your lip. "It's only been a couple days."

"A couple of really shitty days," Jeongguk responds, to which you scoff. "This isn't a conversation to have over the phone, but, I don't know, I guess I just wanted to say what you did when Jimin was injured…it was pretty incredible. And mildly horrifying. And really fucking sexy. All accidents aside."

This makes you laugh, and you stare out the window, at the familiar statues, fountains, and trees. You think about how easy it would be for Jeongguk to come see you, and you almost beg him to. 

"I miss you too," you finally say, feeling a lightness in your chest that hasn't been there for days. "I wasn't planning on telling you that, because I didn't want to inflate your ego, but that is the reason I called."

"Come see me tomorrow?" Jeongguk asks, voice high and hopeful.

"What happened to spending time apart?" you tease.

Jeongguk chuckles. "I told you my conviction is shit. I fucking miss you, alright. Don't make me say it again."

You would love to see Jeongguk. "Alright. Any particular time?"

"Nah," he responds easily. "Whenever you feel like it."

"Okay."

The deep, sultry tone you know all too well returns when he says, "Wear something slutty," and your cheeks warm instantly. 

"Jeon Jeongguk!"

"Come on, doll. It's been almost a fucking week. I need that pussy."

How easily Jeongguk cycles through his moods gives you whiplash, and you shake your head, chuckling quietly. "Forget I said I miss you. I take it all back."

"Nah," he teases, "you miss me."

With a sigh and a smile, you mutter, "Thank you," feeling a fuzzy warmth in your chest. 

You think you hear Jeongguk scoff. "For what?"

Namjoon comes into view outside, walking along the rightmost garden path. His steps are slow and meandering, legs swinging and kicking at gravel, and his left hand is in his jeans pocket while he holds his phone to his ear with his right hand. 

"For making me smile," you respond, feeling a sadness that is hard to pinpoint as you watch Namjoon. "It hasn't been easy."

"Namjoon hyung not keeping you company?"

Namjoon turns to the left and crouches down in front of a rosebush, tilting his head and smiling as he speaks into the phone. It is a smile that reaches his eyes and, even from afar, the prettiest you have seen in days. 

"Nah," you sigh. "Namjoon's in his emo era. I think he regrets staying with me while Yoongi is away."

"Don't put it that way," Jeongguk interjects, and you are quick to say, "I get it. It's fine. I can't have the same history they do, especially not overnight. But it's hard, you know? We both have this gaping wound from missing the same person—worrying over the same person. And instead of turning to one another for peace, we're growing sick of each other."

"There is no way in hell the Kim Namjoon I know is sick of you; he loves the shit out of you. But the love he has for Yoongi is going to be a little different. I have definitely seen the way he shuts down when forced to worry from a distance."

You hum, watching as Namjoon glances up to the window. Although you have no idea whether he can see you, you stare back, hoping that he can. And then his eyes squeeze closed as he laughs and spins on his heels, making his way toward the hedge maze. 

"I miss him and I spend every day at his side."

Jeongguk hums. "I'm sure he misses you, too."

"I started medication, too," you continue, rambling somewhat because it is nice to have someone to talk to. "And it's been great to stop feeling so anxious all the time, but I also feel kind of numb."

"How's your sex drive?"

You scoff, shaking your head. "God, why is that your first concern?"

Jeongguk laughs. "Look, I've heard that it can be a side effect!"

"You're so fucking annoying."

"Well?"

"I don't know," you respond somewhat petulantly. "I guess I have an okay sex drive, but it's hard to gauge when the person I would be having sex with is being so distant."

"Fair. Well, we'll have to test it tomorrow if you're up for it."

Another scoff rocks through your chest, and you shake your head at his audacity. "Fine. If I'm up for it, we'll test it."

"Good."

With a sigh, you decide you have nothing more to talk about. You still don't really know Jeongguk very well in terms of his hobbies or interests, and you have no clue what else you could discuss casually as friends. "I'm going to let you go. Maybe I'll see what my emo Joon is doing in the garden."

"Sounds good," Jeongguk says. "Call me whenever you're up for it, and come by tomorrow if you want to."

"Okay," you smile, biting your lip. "I will."

You: I took a nap today and dreamt Namjoon became a forest sprite, and that he lived in a big, sturdy tree. These medications make my dreams super vivid and strange. 

Kitten: That sounds like our Namjoon! :] What about the nightmares? Are they helping with that?

You: For the most part. But sometimes one sneaks in.

Kitten:  Well, I'm glad you are finding at least a little relief, darling.

You: Talk soon? I miss your voice.

Kitten: I'll call tonight. 

Namjoon gives up trying to get you to do anything for the rest of the night, frustrated by how intent you are on keeping your phone clenched in your hand with the ringer turned high. You check the screen periodically to see what time it is, and eventually fall asleep on the couch, clutching your phone to your chest, waiting for Yoongi to call. 

When the morning comes, you wake up and check your phone, feeling an instant surge of sadness from the lack of notification. All you want is to hear his voice for five minutes, but you are afraid to initiate a call in case he is busy. You're afraid of getting in the way or being annoying. So you wait. 

You: You never called. :( I hope to hear from you today, if you have time.

"You should try to eat something."

Slowly, your eyes blink from your phone to the bowl of fruit in front of you, to Namjoon. He sits across from you on the bed cross-legged with a wooden tray of breakfast foods between you. You hardly remember him bringing it into the room or sitting in front of it, and you really have no appetite, but you lift a cube of watermelon to your mouth just to appease him. 

"Not hungry," you mutter as you wrap your lips around the fruit and bite. It is far too sweet, but it is also refreshing, so you chew and swallow, then reach for another. 

Namjoon sighs, making you feel inexplicably worse. "Is it the medication?"

With a shrug, you stare ahead at the various cubes of melon and the plain omelet that has undoubtedly gone cold. "I guess. It's everything."

"Yoongi?"

You hum. "And you. You're distant. It sucks."

"I know," Namjoon responds somberly. "But so are you."

"Yeah."

Slowly, you lift a piece of melon to your mouth, stopping as your phone dings.

Kitten: Sorry, darling. Been busy. Talk soon! 

With a frown, you pop the fruit into your mouth, slowly chewing as you type your response.

You:  Are you coming home soon?

Then you fall back onto the mattress with your legs bent and feet planted. You should probably let Jeongguk know that you aren't in the mood to hang out today. 

You: Namjoon says the meetings are going well and that the deal is looking good. I hope this means you'll be coming home soon. 

More than a few days pass in a fog. The medication has you feeling so disoriented some days, that all you do is sleep. And when you sleep you dream. 

Sometimes, you are in a library, but it bends and twists and becomes shaped like the many mansions you have spent time in over the years. Men who have used and harmed you in the past are there, always attempting to win you back and claim you for themselves, always chasing you through rows and rows of bookshelves, and you are always searching desperately for Yoongi. 

The worst dream that comes is one wherein Yoongi is dead. News breaks that his body has washed up in the Han, and before he can even be buried, Ryujin and Hyungseo are at the front door surrounded by men strapped with guns, pulling heavy suitcases behind them, moving their things into the master bedroom and throwing your belongings out the windows. 

But at least you no longer dream about the night Jimin was shot. You no longer watch Yoongi bleed. At least you can be thankful for a little reprieve. If only Yoongi would answer your messages, maybe you would stop worrying so fucking much about him. Maybe you would stop searching endlessly for him.

You barely register Namjoon's face buried between your thighs as you stare at the ceiling, feeling the Xanax sink in deep. Tonight, you want dreamless sleep for a change. You just want to forget about Yoongi, and about everything else. 

Namjoon's tongue is skilled and brilliant, but it does not make you cum. You warned him going into this that there was a chance it wouldn't happen, and he happily agreed to try, anyway. As you stare up at the dark ceiling, the vastness of the bedroom feels suffocating. It is too big for three people, much less two. It is especially far too big to be in when you are already feeling lonely. 

"Baby, I don't think I'm gonna cum," you groan, reaching for his head and gripping gently with your fingers. 

Namjoon's lips and tongue slow and then stop, sucking loudly at your clit and labia before letting you go with a wet smack. 

"It's alright," he insists. "Just wanted to try."

Without another word, Namjoon shuffles out from between your legs and lies beside you, turning to face away. You sigh, curve toward Namjoon's back, and grip your pillow tight beneath your head, eager for sleep. 

Sitting on the large blue chair by the window, you stare at your phone, trying to decide whether today is the day you finally see your friend. There is no reason to hesitate to call him, and yet, you do. 

"I should see what Jeongguk is up to," you mutter, mostly to yourself. 

Namjoon sighs and snaps the book in his hands shut, then he turns to you with a frown. "All you do is talk about him, so just go see him, already."

His candor surprises you, and you exhale deeply, feeling a heavy weight pressing on your shoulders. "Are you mad that I want to see him?"

"No. I'm just tired of hearing about it."

He definitely sounds mad. 

"Okay," you respond, disappointed. "I won't talk about it anymore."

As you get up from the chair and walk away from the large window and the sunshine it allows in, you have half a mind to go into your room and change into something pretty to go frolic in the gardens by yourself. It has been far too long since you have left the house. 

So you pad out into the mezzanine, doing your best to ignore how huge and quiet and empty the mansion feels, and you make your way to your bedroom. 

Although it is not your intention, you shove the door closed, slamming it rather loudly. Then you spin on the balls of your feet, walk over to the bed, and fling yourself down onto the yellow and white comforter, deciding a nap sounds good. 

You wake up to the sounds of car doors closing outside and the front door opening and shutting, muttering, "Yoongi!" to yourself. 

Unsure how or when you managed to get into bed in the master suite, you toss aside your concern and the black and gold comforter and roll out of bed, feet hitting the soft, light blue rug. Although you are in a regrettable state, unsure when you last showered because you can barely keep your days straight anymore, you are undeterred as you run through the master suite, out into the mezzanine, and down the stairs, bare feet slapping against cold marble. 

As you fling yourself around the banister and continue toward the main hall, all you see are Namjoon and Seokjin standing in the entrance, and you halt, body swaying forward before tensing. 

"Yoongi?" you ask, unable to form a single other coherent thought. 

Seokjin smiles sadly and approaches with his hands in his black slack pockets, and you feel nausea hit your guts like a brick. "Can we have a word?" he asks, holding his arm out, hand extended toward the back door. 

You glance over your shoulder, feeling uncertain; does he mean to go out by the pool?

"S-sure," you say, willing your feet to move but finding you are unable to as your gaze finds Namjoon, dressed once more in blue jeans and a soft sweater, typing into his phone with a frown. 

"Yoongi decided he needed to stay put a little while longer," Seokjin says lowly, still holding his hand out. "Mind if we step outside?"

"Outside," you mutter, nodding your head robotically as you turn and face the back doors. "Yeah, sure. Let's go."

Seokjin takes the lead and approaches the sliding glass door, unlocking it and pulling it open. It is strange to enter the pool area with it empty of an employee, and you step out onto the rough gunite and pad over to the nearest pool beds. 

The sun is bright, the birds are chirping, and you feel extremely on edge, finding that every minuscule sight and sound has your shoulders lifting higher and higher toward your ears. So when Seokjin sits before you, pulls a flask from his breast pocket, and hands it over, you quickly take it, drinking from it without bothering to ask what is inside and wincing slightly as bitter, semi-sweet whiskey hits your tongue.

You sigh through the intense flavor as you hand the flask back, asking, "Why didn't he come home?"

Seokjin takes a slow swig and says, "That is a question I am not quite sure I have an answer to. I can only surmise the reason based on the behavior I witnessed him exhibiting during our stay."

"Which is…?" you attempt to lead Seokjin to tell you before you lose your cool. Seokjin is far too calm, sitting in his standard black uniform with his outgrown, dark hair pulled delicately off his forehead. 

"Which is that he began quite optimistic, daresay, happy at times, only to self-isolate and become very quiet. We were meant to leave days ago, but he kept stating he wanted to stay and 'figure it out,' whatever that meant. When I decided I could no longer stay, he wished me farewell and refused to explain what was on his mind."

"And the deal?" 

Seokjin stares for a moment, then leans forward, offering you the flask, which you take. "Has he told you anything about it?"

You shake your head, lifting the flask toward your lips, pausing to say, "He said he would tell me about it when he came back."

"Hmm, well, then I suppose I can tell you that the meeting went well."

The whiskey is not entirely unwelcoming, but the headiness is somewhat overwhelming. You hand the flask back to Seokjin, waiting for him to continue. He takes a swig and holds the flask in his grasp, resting his hands against his thigh. 

"Hyungseo has agreed to a truce, and her group will no longer be bothering any of us. Ryujin has also agreed to the truce, since it is still largely her family in charge, even if she has allowed Hyungseo to take over. As far as the details, well…I would rather let Yoongi explain."

Although this is good news, you feel strange about what Seokjin is telling you. Were Hyungseo and Ryujin in Hong Kong, as well? Could they still be there? When you blurt the questions out, Seokjin snickers and shakes his head. 

"The ladies were present for our discussion, but, as far as I know, they both returned home days ago."

You wonder if that could be the reason for Yoongi's sour mood. Perhaps seeing Ryujin still affects him. The prospect makes you feel sick. 

"I feel like there is a lot of context I am missing here," you grumble.

"There is," Seokjin responds simply. Then he sits forward, resting his wrists against his knees. "You know, the offer to work for them in Busan stands. In fact, you could be a huge asset for us, since we need someone there making sure they aren't conspiring in spite of our agreement."

"I…don't know," you say. 

"Well, give it some thought," Seokjin responds in a chipper tone, taking one more sip from his flask and holding it out for you. 

You shake your head and hold your hand up, muttering, "Thanks."

"Seems you could use a bit of a vacation, if I may be so bold as to say so. Six months on the coast might do you some good."

"Just getting accustomed to new medications," you grumble, unsure why you bother telling him any of this, in the first place. 

Seokjin hums. "Yes, that process can be a bit disorienting. Try to remember to drink water and eat, even if it suppresses your appetite. We don't need you withering away."

You nod listlessly, barely listening to Seokjin, asking, "Do you think he's coming home soon?" before you can stop yourself. 

"Likely," Seokjin responds with a sigh as he stands. "It's hard to say with Yoongi. Once he gets in his head, there is no telling when he will come out."

"And if he doesn't?"

The sun is bright behind Seokjin when you look up at him, and you lift your hand to block the rays from your eyes, squinting. 

"If he doesn't come home, then perhaps you and Namjoon will have to go and get him."

If there is anyone in this family willing to get onto a plane and head for Hong Kong at a moment's notice, you are sure it is Namjoon. "Okay," you mutter, dropping your hand and your gaze, feeling tired and a bit empty. 

"Take care little wolf cub," Seokjin says as he turns to return inside, and you nod listlessly as you shift around on the pool bed and curl in on yourself, chasing the urge to sleep.

Tonight, even the Xanax does nothing to keep your nightmares at bay, and when you wake up screaming from the sight of the man's head exploding, you find the bed empty, causing your pulse to spike. 

You glance around, find the room empty, and then reach for your phone. Your heart sinks when you see a notification from Namjoon and none from Yoongi, and you heavy-blink, thumbing over your bright screen to open and read the text.

Joonbug: Sorry if you wake up and I'm not there. I'm having a hard time sleeping and didn't want to keep you up, so I walked home. I'll be back in the morning. <3 Call me if you need anything.

Truthfully, you find it hard to blame Namjoon. Twice, you startled him with your screaming, and he has been complaining lately about struggling to fall asleep and stay asleep. Plus, he has been seeking a lot more alone time. 

You: Woke up screaming again, so you made the right call by leaving. 

You half expect Namjoon to already be asleep, noticing it is just before two in the morning. So when he begins to type, you are surprised. 

Joonbug: Shit, I'm sorry, sweetheart. Want me to come back?

On one hand, you think it would be nice to have someone around. But on the other hand, you are not sure it is Namjoon's attention that you crave. Although you love him dearly, the two of you seem to be on different planes of existence lately. Ships passing quietly in the night, both emotionally and physically. Spending too much time together right now might do more harm than good. 

First, you dial Yoongi. Hearing his voice would do wonders for your emotional state, and he is the first person you want to talk to about what has been on your mind. But the phone rings and rings, and eventually goes to voicemail. "This is Min," the somewhat robotic tone of your boyfriend's voice says—disconnected and not meant solely for you the way you need his voice to sound. "Leave a message."

You hang up and hover your thumbs over your screen, attempting to gather your thoughts. Yoongi is unreachable, and Namjoon is distant, but perhaps Jeongguk is free. 

Jeongguk answers on the third ring, "Hey, doll? Late night booty call?" 

You graze your teeth over your lip, laughing as you say, "Maybe. Would you be into that?"

A scoff followed by, "Fuck yes I would be!" makes you smile widely. Then he adds, "Lemme just run it by Tae, alright?"

"Of course," you respond, realizing you should probably also discuss it with Namjoon. "Otherwise, we could just…I don't know…get fucked up? Even Xanax isn't cutting these nightmares and I just wanna get out of my head for a while."

"I can definitely help you with that," Jeongguk responds happily. "Lemme text you in just a minute, okay? After I speak with Tae?"

"Sounds good."

Jeongguk hangs up, and you smile to yourself, opening your neglected conversation with Namjoon. 

You: Actually, I was thinking about finally hanging out with Jeongguk. Kinda just want to get drunk, maybe get a little high. I need to get out of my head. As long as you don't mind.

Joonbug: Understandable. I hope you don't think you have to ask me for permission. I definitely want you to feel free to go spend time with him and have some fun. 

You: If things get a little heated, though…are you okay with that?

Joonbug: If what you need right now is to fuck Jeongguk, I fully support that.

You: Thanks, Joonbug. <3 I love you!

Joonbug: I love you too, sweetheart.

Gguk: Tae is down with whatever we feel like doing. Come to mine? Do you remember how?

You: Joon gave me his blessing, too. :) I think I remember.

Gguk: On second thought, stay put, and I'll come get you. It's dark out. 

You: Sounds good. I'll put on something slutty in the meantime. 

Gguk: Oh, fuck yeah! Be there soon!

Thankful that you had the energy to shower before your several failed attempts at sleeping earlier, you jump out of bed and run to your bedroom. Hanging amongst the sundresses is a little black satin slip dress with spaghetti straps and lace along the edges, and you peel off Namjoon's oversized dark grey tee and toss it to the floor. 

The dress fits snugly, squeezing your breasts and waist, creating inviting curves and cleavage, and you opt not to wear any panties underneath as you marvel at the high slit up your right thigh. 

You apply a little eye makeup, both because it feels like it has been a lifetime since you have looked in the mirror and liked what you have seen, but also because you like the thought of it streaking down your face later, should Jeongguk find some delicious reason to make you cry.

Once you are satisfied, you begin to make your way out to the mezzanine, and you are surprised to find Jeongguk standing at the foot of the stairs; you didn't hear him come in. 

"Jeongguk," you mutter, feeling your heart pound as his lips pull into a hungry grin. He wears a white tee and black basketball shorts, and his short dark hair is unstyled and a little disheveled. You stare at him, unsure whether he is real. How long has it been since the two of you crossed paths? Far too long. 

"Dollface," Jeongguk groans, toying with his lip ring in his teeth. "God damn you look amazing."

As you reach for the railing and begin down the cold marble stairs, you feel a slight tremble in your limbs. Jeongguk watches you like a predator eyeing his prey, and you have forgotten what it feels like to be caught in a stare this hungry. 

"How do you feel about doing some molly?" he asks when you are halfway downstairs, and you hesitate, cocking your head to the side. 

"I don't know. What does it feel like?"

"Euphoric. Calming. Mixed with coke, it'll really wake you up and make you feel alive."

That does sound good, and you smile. "Alright. I'm down."

"I was thinking we could break into the pool bar and chase it down with some champagne, then walk over to my place?"

"Alright," you respond as you reach the last step, standing at eye level with him. 

Jeongguk reaches for your thighs, rubbing his hand up the sides, and you wiggle away in part because his gentle touch tickles, but also to keep him from discovering that you are not wearing any panties. If he finds out this early on, the two of you will never make it back to his place, and you are curious to see how he lives. 

As you side-step and scurry down to the landing, Jeongguk complains but obliges, turning on slippered feet and walking ahead to deal with the glass door. You are barefoot, and you tiptoe on the rough ground as Jeongguk makes his way to the bar and opens a mini fridge. 

"Bingo," he sing-songs, holding up two bottles of champagne with a wide grin, as if the task took any effort at all. Still, you clap excitedly for him as he rounds the bar with both bottles in hand. 

"I bet this dress would look great soaking wet," Jeongguk says, eyeing you once more like a ravenous beast while making his way to the nearest table. 

He plops down sideways on one of the pool beds and sets the bottles down, then pats his leg for you to join him. You make your way over and sit gingerly on his knee, keeping your legs closed and avoiding the urge to straddle him while he works one of the bottle corks open. 

"Let's keep the dress dry, for now," you bargain, reaching up to rub your fingertips along the undercut just above his ear.

Jeongguk bites his bottom lip while pulling out the cork, and when it comes loose with a loud pop, he opens his mouth wide, then grins. With one hand, he holds up the bottle and fishes into his pocket with the other. Then he pulls out a little clear baggie with six tiny capsules full of purple dust. 

"They're pretty small portions, so you can get a feel for it," he says as he hands the baggie to you and you begin to work its tiny plastic zipper open. "If it feels good and you want more, we can take more."

"Okay," you mutter somewhat nervously as you reach out and take a tiny capsule in your fingertips. 

"Ahhh," Jeongguk exclaims, and you look up to find his mouth open wide and tongue hanging open. 

Although you know he is asking for a pill, you lean in close and lick the length of his tongue nice and slow, marveling at the way his taste buds feel. Then you lift the pill and place it right in the center, watching as he seems to struggle to comprehend what just happened. 

With a giggle, you say, "Go on…swallow like a good boy," and Jeongguk takes a long swig from the champagne and then fixes you with a curious gaze. 

"Your turn, beautiful," Jeongguk says, making your cheeks blaze. "Be good for me and swallow. Or are you more of a spitter?"

Jeongguk's predictability is a perfect match for how corny he is, but although you roll your eyes, you lean close and ask, "Aren't you eager to find out?"

"Of course I am," he mutters, a hairswidth from your lips, and you turn your head just far enough to the side to pop one of the molly capsules onto your tongue. 

Jeongguk lifts the champagne and says, "Open for me, doll," and you tilt your head and part your lips, nervous but excited for him to pour champagne into your mouth. 

You expect him to make a mess, so when it spills over past your lips, you simply swallow what has been poured into your mouth and roll with it. Jeongguk licks from your chin to the crease of your lips, making an even wetter mess than the dribbled champagne, and you giggle as you attempt to stand from his lap, only to be held in place. 

"Not so fast," he says as he digs through his shorts pocket and holds up his little metal cocaine vial. "It'll take a little bit for the drugs to kick in and I want my senses heightened now."

"Oh?" you ask, cocking your head as you watch him scoop a considerable pile to snort into one nostril, followed by a second pile into the other. Jeongguk sighs and tips his head back, pressing the side of his knuckle against each nostril as he deeply sniffs inward once more, then he fixes you with a wide smile and offers you the cocaine. 

You trade him, handing off the little baggie of molly capsules, and in swift movements, you take the little metal vial with a spoon attached to its cap, and you snort a small pile into each nostril, then hand it back. As you press against the side of each nostril with your knuckle and inhale, Jeongguk watches you with eyes already somewhat glazed over, and you stand from his lap, smoothing out your tiny dress. 

"Eager to get away from here?" Jeongguk asks, gaze downturned slightly. 

With a shrug, you glance around and realize that yes, you really are eager to get away, at least for a little while. "I guess so. I've been cooped up."

"Alright," Jeongguk says, reaching for your hand. You take it, then grab the unopened bottle of champagne in the other. "Let's get out of here."

Jeongguk is careful and meticulous in the way he locks up the back door, then he takes your hand again to walk through the main hall, to the front door. He slides out of Yoongi's slippers and into some sandals, and you put on the pair of black ballet flats. 

Once outside, Jeongguk closes and checks the door, then he takes your hand once again and leads you around to the left, toward Seokjin's place. The night is so quiet you hear the sounds of crickets in the trees and the crunch of gravel underfoot. 

Jeongguk sighs and squeezes your hand, and you hum questionably, squeezing his back.

"Nothing," he says, turning to look at you. The path opens near Seokjin's home, and the two of you hang a left and continue along the side of the house to the back, where more trees separate each property. "I guess I'm just surprised sometimes."

"By what?" you ask, turning to look at Jeongguk, who turns to meet your gaze. The cocaine buzzes through your system while a nasty little drip can be tasted at the back of your throat.

"By you."

You scoff, feeling somewhat shy. "What do you mean?"

"Well, you did hate me when we first met," Jeongguk begins. 

"Because you were an asshole," you add. 

"And…I don't know. I was surprised when Yoongi and Namjoon were so open to the idea of us. Even tonight, I expected hyung to say no and keep you all to himself."

"Ah," you mutter, eyes on the ground. You begin to walk between more dark trees, enshrouded by their shadows, and you feel grateful that Jeongguk came to get you so that you wouldn't be walking this path alone. "Namjoon and I have been kind of distant, so I'm not surprised."

"Still?" Jeongguk asks.

"Yeah. Still."

"Damn. That sucks."

It does suck, but you feel awkward talking about it. "It's whatever," you lie. "He wants space and went to his house tonight, which is why I called you. Didn't really want to be alone."

"So I'm second place, wow," Jeongguk teases, squeezing your hand.

"Third when Yoongi is around," you tease back, turning to flash a playful grin. 

The rest of the walk is quiet, and when you reach Jeongguk's home, you are a bit surprised by the number of sports cars in his driveway—four, to be exact. His house is a carbon copy of the others, but there is practically no greenery in the yard, only metal workout equipment, including a pull-up bar and some other items that are tough to make out in the dark. 

Jeongguk lets go of your hand as you approach the front entrance, and he punches in a long passcode before opening the door wide and nodding for you to enter. The living room light is already on, and as you toe out of your shoes, you find a scarcely decorated room with a couch pushed far too close to a television, and a punching bag sitting in the center of the space. 

You fail to bite back laughter, and when Jeongguk takes your hand and leads you up the stairs, he asks, "What?"

"Nothing," you mutter, eyeing the empty walls that have never been painted from their original white. "Just didn't take you for such a bro."

"Shut up," Jeongguk gripes, yanking on your arm and making you laugh even harder. 

The upstairs hallway is just as plain, and as soon as he releases your hand and switches on the light, illuminating the bright white space, you squint and turn it off.

"I need fucking sunglasses if you're going to do that," you chide.

Jeongguk continues pulling you down to the room at the end of the hallway, making you wonder what might be in the other rooms. Does he have sex dungeons just like Taehyung? Perhaps a matching throne?

Rather than switching on the overhead light in his master suite, he thumbs around his phone and opens an app. "What color would her highness like the bedroom to be?" he asks with a grin, and you get onto your tiptoes to see the screen and then press where the color wheel is purple. 

Slowly, the lights come on in an inviting deep purple glow, and you nod approvingly, then enter the space. At least his bedroom is decorated with dark walls and bedding, and some photos hung here and there. 

The four-poster bed is straight ahead, and to the right are two large leather chairs. Along the far wall, beside a large window, is a big wooden x with leather restraints on each end—two for wrists and two for ankles, you surmise. 

As you step forward, your entire body feels a little off-kilter. It is slight but enough to make you dizzy, and you hold your arms out, clenching the bottle of champagne as you mutter, "Whoa."

"Starting to kick in?" Jeongguk asks as he walks past and sets his bottle on a bedside table. 

"Maybe," you respond, unsure what it feels like for the drug to kick in. 

Jeongguk approaches, takes the bottle from your hand, and you find yourself leaning and swaying slightly with each of his movements as if your body feels desperate for his warmth. 

"Will you kiss me?" you whine, watching as Jeongguk's mouth pulls into a dopey smile and then sharpens into something much cockier. 

He turns away to place the champagne bottle down, then returns in several large steps, taking you gently by the face with both hands and pressing his lips against yours. Jeongguk groans as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth, making you gasp. You let your mouth fall open wide, feeling excitement and arousal simmer through you, and Jeongguk licks across your tongue hungrily, moaning and growling as he tastes and teases. 

"Fuck," he pants as he releases the kiss, pressing his forehead into yours. "You are amazing. And I'm definitely coming up."

You feel tingly and electric, filled to the brim with desire and love and the need to touch and taste and enjoy. Jeongguk is warm and floral but musky, and he tastes like sour cocaine and bittersweet champagne. 

"Thirsty," you mutter as your lips chase after his.

Jeongguk kisses you more but walks you backward, toward the champagne. Rather than reach your target destination, his ass bumps into the edge of his bed, and you giggle into one another's mouths before you peel yourself away and reach for the open bottle. 

Suddenly, you feel as if you have run a marathon, and you have to stop and catch your breath. "I feel kind of overwhelmed," you admit, to which Jeongguk hums and says, "That's normal."

With the champagne in hand, Jeongguk leads you over to the large window at the far end of the room and opens it, letting in a nice cool breeze. The view is a massive, empty expanse of land with the city in the distance, and you stare across the shadows of trees and hills. 

"I feel trapped in limbo," you mutter, unsure why you are saying it aloud. 

Jeongguk wraps his arms around your waist and rests his head on your shoulder. When he asks, "Why is that?" his voice is soft and sweet. 

"I love Yoongi and Namjoon…and I care a lot about the rest of you," you turn your head, rubbing the tip of your nose against his, "especially you."

"But?"

With a sigh, you turn your gaze back to the dark outdoors. "But I don't feel safe, and I have to be heavily medicated just to sleep, now. I lost several days to the fog of starting a new medication, and both Yoongi and Namjoon are distant. I feel like everything is slipping through my fingers and it scares the shit out of me."

"Maybe you need to get away for a little while. Take a trip."

You hum and consider what he says, pushing out the thought of Seokjin's words from earlier, but then scoff, shaking your head. "Take a vacation just to return to a lifestyle of violence. I don't know, I mean, what's the point?"

"Seokjin hyung says they struck a deal with the girls in Busan. That will drastically cut back on the violence."

"But there are other families in Korea," you say without having too much evidence to back up your statement outside of comments here and there made by the men while in your presence over the many months you have been here. 

"Everyone else is neutral, and we do business with them from time to time. Our only adversaries are overseas, and it is not often that the yakuza comes to fuck with us."

A small comfort considering how quickly things could escalate, should they choose to hop on a ferry and start shit, but you accept it for now. This conversation feels too heavy, and you want to be light.

You do feel somewhat light, made of overcooked noodles, but also heavy and buoyant, and you sway your hips and close your eyes. "We need music."

"What kind of music?" Jeongguk asks, grabbing his phone and holding it out for you. 

"Anything," you mutter, "pick something."

After only a few seconds, soft R&B comes on, and the music surrounds you in a way that feels like speakers are placed along each inch of the room. You dip and sway a little deeper, following the music while dragging your ass over Jeongguk until he begins to hiss and grip at you. 

"Gonna make me hard dancing like this," he groans, nipping somewhat forcefully at your neck. 

"I think the pills have dulled my sex drive, just like you said," you complain as you lift the bottle of champagne and take a drink. The carbonation cloys your senses, but you are thirsty, and you continue drinking until you are forced to stop and take a deep breath. When you turn and hand off the bottle, Jeongguk's pupils are bloodshot, and he looks a bit sleepy. "I haven't been able to cum. It's making me lose my mind."

Jeongguk drops to his knees and sets down the bottle, and you lean back against the window, body angled with your pelvis outward, in his face. As he rubs his hands up your thighs, pushing your short black skirt higher, you watch as his eyes widen and mouth drops open. 

"No panties," Jeongguk muses, looking high as shit and happy as can be. When his gaze lifts and finds you, he shakes his head and heavy-blinks as he mutters, "You are fucking incredible."

Without another word, he sits high on his knees and licks over your cunt, sucking your clit between his lips before absolutely devouring you. The surge of pleasure that rocks through you causes you to tremble and jolt forward, and you splay your hands against the wall in an attempt to hold yourself steady. 

Jeongguk is sloppy yet practiced in the way he eats you, alternating wide, wet laps and quick little flicks of his tongue. He zeroes in on your clit, sending shockwave after shockwave through you, aided by the molly to feel better than anything has felt in days.

Although the pleasure is intense and enrapturing, your high builds and builds, only to plateau at a devastatingly high peak. You want to cum so badly, you begin grinding your pussy against Jeongguk's mouth and moaning loudly. Jeongguk grips onto your thighs and does his best to keep up with your movements, slurping and humming like a man enjoying his first meal after a long fast.

"Finger me, Jeongguk," you beg, desperate for release.

Jeongguk does as he is told, plunging his fingers hard and deep. He finds your sweet spot and fucks into it nice and fast, and that is all it takes to push you over the edge, spraying your release against his face and your thighs. Rather than slow or stop, he continues to finger fuck you while lapping at your clit, forcing you to cum once more, and you scream between deep gasps for air. 

Euphoria drowns you in its tidal wave, and you begin to spiral, suddenly needing to slow down and catch your breath. "Too much," you whimper as your knees buckle, and Jeongguk stops his movements and stands, caging you in against the window. 

"How do you feel?" he asks, pressing his lips against yours and filling your senses with your own tangy, heady taste and scent. 

"Great," you respond against him, then turn your head, still finding it hard to catch your breath. "But a little overwhelmed."

"You're probably still coming up, here," Jeongguk says, taking your hand and pulling you away from the wall while rubbing his mouth and chin clean with his forearm. It feels strange to walk, and you stumble a bit into him, leaning your weight against his chest. 

"Let's just slow dance a little," he suggests with a sweet smile, and you drape your arms around his shoulders, incapable of denying him anything. Jeongguk gently grabs your hips and begins to lead you right to left in a small circle. "How is this?"

"Nice," you sigh with a smile, resting your cheek against his chest. "Thank you."

You are unsure how long the two of you stay like this, but several songs cycle, and your high continues to build until it finally seems to even out. Although you feel less jittery and heavy-light, you still feel somewhat otherworldly, finding you have an overwhelming urge to divulge all your deepest secrets to him. Evidently, he feels the same.

"Do you think you could fall for someone like me?" Jeongguk asks, breaking a long silence and taking you by surprise. 

If you were sober, you would be absolutely panicking—possibly even running for the hills. But being this high, you simply shrug and say, "Of course, I could. Don't ask silly questions."

"Shit," he mutters, nuzzling his face against your neck as he chuckles, and you wonder if Jeon Jeongguk is actually shy? "That was too easy. And probably not something I should have asked."

You laugh as you hum and mutter, "Yeah, probably not. I don't think any good could come of us confessing those types of feelings to one another, all things considered."

"True," Jeongguk says, laughing as he stands straight and looks you in the eye. He is absolutely beaming as he says, "I'll just keep it to myself, then," and pretends to zip his lips shut.

The thought that Jeongguk could be confessing to something so large should horrify you, but all you can do is smile. You are too high and too happy to unpack anything of this magnitude right now. 

After another song, you feel the sudden, aching urge to tie Jeongguk to his bed and make him fall apart. And that is exactly what you ask him with your eyes wide and pleading. 

"Let me tie you to your bed and make you fall apart? Please?"

Jeongguk gasps and grins, nodding as he says, "There is nothing in this world I could want more."

You begin to paw at his shirt, lifting the bottom hem over his head and tossing it to the floor. Your eyes linger on the black shapes etched from his shoulder down to his fingers, then you continue the task at hand and reach for the waistline of his shorts. 

As the garment falls to the floor in a heavy thud, undoubtedly from his cell phone being in his pocket, Jeongguk steps backward, leaving it in a pile, and you realize he also wore nothing underneath his clothing. Jeongguk bends and fishes his coke vial out, then begins slowly backing between the large leather chairs toward his bed. 

"No panties," you tease, closing in on Jeongguk, who continues to walk backward toward his bed. You reach your fingertips out, dancing them over his inviting hip bones. "You are fucking incredible."

Jeongguk chuckles, fixing you with a shy smile that makes your heart melt. When the backs of his legs hit his bed, he lets out a little snort-laugh, and then he begins to unscrew his vial and sniff two piles of cocaine into each nostril. He hands the drugs to you, then he turns and begins to pull a strap out from under his mattress, which you are absolutely unsurprised to see. 

"There's one on each corner," he says, and you snort two little piles into each nostril, then close the vial tightly and toss it onto the comforter. You take the hint and round the end of the bed, fishing around for another strap, and when you find it, you pull it out, and set it on the corner of the mattress. 

As you move to the head of the bed and find the last strap, Jeongguk gets onto the mattress, on his hands and knees and crawls into the center. "Want me lying down or sitting up?" he asks, and you lick your lips before saying, "Lie down."

Jeongguk settles in the center and pulls his hands over his head, and you get onto the bed on your knees and begin to restrain him, starting with one wrist, and then leaning over him with your chest hanging in his face to restrain the other. 

To your surprise, the straps seem to be the perfect length to keep Jeongguk spread without there being much give. Once his ankles are in place, you crawl up to him and settle between his legs, bending close to breathe warmth against his hard, pretty cock. 

Jeongguk whimpers and writhes in his restraints, and you lean to the side, slowly dragging your lips over the soft, supple skin of his thigh. He smells musky and familiar in a way that clenches at your heart, and suddenly, the weight of his confession moments ago begins to sink and settle through you, digging its claws in deep. 

Do you think you could fall for someone like me? Asked so simply and casually, as if one asks about the weather. 

Perhaps it is the combination of substances working their way through your system, but you begin to feel claustrophobic and nauseous, and you squeeze your eyes closed. Something simmers and sticks in the back of your throat, and all you can do is gasp for air. 

"Doll?" Jeongguk asks, voice lilted with worry, and you swallow the lump and plaster on a smile, determined to make him feel just as good as he made you feel. You must do it; you need to.

"Just a little overwhelmed," you mutter, dragging your lips and teeth over the meat of his thigh, toward the musky shaved pubes at the base of his very inviting cock. 

You wet your lips and drag them up and down his shaft, flicking your tongue out to coat it in as much saliva as you can muster, but your mouth is fucking dry from the drugs, and it stresses you out. 

"Need the champagne," you whine as you sit up quickly and turn to hop-slide off the bed. 

But you may as well be landing on the moon as you teeter and sway and stumble. You hold your arms out somewhat for balance and struggle to remember just how gravity works as you get your footing and rush over to the neglected champagne bottle by the window. 

All the while, you attempt to pep talk yourself, chugging the tepid bittersweet liquid that is so heavily carbonated it fills your mouth like a gas, until you have no choice but to burp. And then you return to the bed, repeating in your head that this is something you want to do more than anything, and that it should be okay for you to love Jeongguk, if only for tonight. 

Tomorrow you can unpack it and spiral accordingly, but tonight, you need to just enjoy the ride. You want to enjoy the ride. 

Either Jeongguk can sense that something is off, or it is written clearly on your face, because his brows are knit, and his head is tilted upward as far as it can be with the restraints holding his arms splayed up and out. 

"You're so handsome," you slur as you approach the bed, and set the bottle down on the small table, then you grip onto the comforter with both fists and hoist yourself back up onto the mattress. You mean it when you ask, "How did I get this lucky?"

You straddle Jeongguk's chest and lean forward, giving him an eyeful of a glistening wet pussy that he can't reach with his hands or lips while you lean forward and swallow his cock whole. Your mouth is still a little too dry, so you press him in nice and deep, forcing yourself to slowly gag from lack of oxygen while saliva pools and pools under your tongue. 

"Fuck, holy shit, doll," Jeongguk whimpers from behind you, urging you on further. You suck his cock forcefully, desperate to milk him, and listen to him sob. Jeongguk is vocal, moaning and bleating and begging while he writhes in his restraints, hips bucking and trembling beneath you. 

You stick a finger into your mouth to wet it, then reach under Jeongguk's balls to rub little circles against his rim, and he loses it—yanking on the restraints while singing long, pretty notes of pleasure. 

Without warning, he cums in your mouth, and you gag, letting some of it hit your soft palate before dripping past your lips. But you swallow the rest, sucking on his tip and moaning while he shoots rope after rope onto the back of your tongue. 

"Holy fuck," Jeongguk sobs. "Oh my fucking god!" 

You feel elated and higher than before, humming and pleased with yourself for making him cum in what has felt like mere minutes. 

"Please let me taste you, noona," he begs, and you sit up slightly and back into his face, shoving your pussy and ass against his mouth and only giving him enough room to lick and suck desperately, but not enough room to breathe. 

When you move away, he whimpers, and you decide that you want to be even more high than you already are. The goal was to get fucked up and out of your head, and here you are, lodged so deep in your swirling thoughts that you fear you might just go mad. 

"Mind if I do more coke?" you ask as you crawl forward past Jeongguk's torso and settle haphazardly between his legs. The vial is right where you left it, and you reach for it before he can respond. 

You snort two little piles into each nostril—four total—and then screw the lid back on before tossing it aside and turning to face your prize. Jeongguk is covered in a sheen of sweat, eyes blown wide as the heavens, and you reach for his half-hard cock and begin stroking it back to life. 

"Damn, it takes you no time at all to get hard again," you mutter with a smirk, falling slightly forward as you attempt to straddle and crawl up him. 

Jeongguk's expression is a mix of desire and concern, and when you finally have your hands planted on both sides of his head, you lean low and close, breasts spilling from your dress, as you take his bottom lip between his teeth and suck hard enough to make him shout.

"You really fucked me up with what you said," you chuckle against his lips, feeling your heart squeeze in your chest. The overwhelm has returned, and you press your forehead against his, fighting for air. "Why did you—" you croak, suddenly overcome with the urge to sob. 

You do not want to fall for Jeongguk. You cannot do something so foolish.

Jeongguk struggles in his restraints, yanking his hands downward and attempting to sit up, but rather than help him, all you can do is lean into him and cry. Everything is so fucking messed up, and you need it to go back to normal. You cannot possibly stay with this family if things do not go back to some semblance of normal; being here and feeling so much worry and heartache is eating you alive. 

"Noona, undo my restraints," Jeongguk urges, yanking his wrists uselessly downward. They are only cloth straps held together by velcro, but the angle and distance of them make it hard for him to reach one hand with the other. 

Jeongguk struggles, and all you can do is sink further, burying your face into his neck while a never-ending stream of sadness pours from you. It feels strange to be this devastated because you also feel an outpouring of love and affection—happiness that is so strong and present, it fucking terrifies you. 

"I can't—" you sob, unsure what you are referring to, just certain that everything is too much and all of it needs to stop. 

"Dollface, hey," Jeongguk pleads before saying your first name, "please let me out of the restraints."

"Jeongguk," you whine, tears and snot coating your face, which smear onto his neck. "I can't do this anymore. I can't stand it."

Jeongguk groans and strains hard as he reaches to undo his wrists, and you cling to him as all the emotion drains from your face with loud heaving breaths and deep, rattling sobs. You hear the tearing of velcro, one after the other, and then Jeongguk wraps his arms tightly around you while sitting the two of you up, cradling you in between his thighs. 

"Oh, baby," he mutters lowly against your temple, hands and arms doing their best to comfort you while he gently rocks back and forth. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea the drugs would make you feel this way."

"I'm sorry," you whine, drawing out each syllable, feeling utterly ashamed and embarrassed. The sweat on your skin has turned cold, and you shiver in his arms. "I feel really, really fucking happy too, but it just…I'm so scared, Jeongguk. I'm so fucking scared."

 “It’s okay to be scared. I’m here for you,” Jeongguk says your name, placing a firm, slow kiss against your temple, making you shudder out a sob. “I’ll hold you until you feel better.”

You know that he is here for you—that he would hold you through absolutely anything. And that just adds to the ineffable pile of terrifying possibilities. 

“I’m too high to sleep,” you whimper, sniffling pathetically as your exhale shakes through your mouth. 

“Me too, baby, don’t worry,” Jeongguk chuckles, squeezing you tightly in his embrace. “I got you, don’t worry. You’re safe with me.”

True to his word, Jeongguk does hold you until you feel better. For hours, you sit on his bed, muttering through half-truths about your fears and your loves, your hopes and your dreams. When you shower off the cold sweat, you lean into his chest, and when he dresses you in a sweatshirt and joggers that swallow you whole, he keeps at least one arm around you at all times.

As the sun rises high, you finally stop shivering from the comedown, Jeongguk carries you home on his back, and you smile as the sunlight warms your cheeks. The only time Jeongguk lets go of you is when you find Namjoon standing out by the front door, smoking a joint. 

Namjoon’s smile shines as bright as the early afternoon sun, and as you slide down Jeongguk’s back, setting your feet onto the ground, you run into Namjoon’s arms, throwing yourself into him, catching a whiff of welcoming musk and the skunky stench of weed. 

“Sweetheart, did the two of you have fun?”

You smile brightly and only half-lie when you say yes because, despite all the tears, your heart feels so full. 

“Thanks, Jeongguk,” you say as you release Namjoon and turn around. 

Jeongguk stares at the ground for a beat, then he looks up and smiles. There is an unmistakable sadness in his eyes, and you fight the urge to run back to him. 

“Thanks for the late night booty call, dollface,” he says with a wink, clearly doing his best to cover whatever else is going on in his mind. 

You watch as Jeongguk waves and spins on his heels, walking back to the gravel path. 

“You two are so cute,” Namjoon says sweetly as he engulfs you in a warm, familiar hug. 

"Is that so?" you ask as you spin in Namjoon’s hold and wrap your arms around his middle. 

He seems to have lightened up, and he hums in agreement, making you smile. You feel eager to enjoy your day with him. You have cried rivers in the past several days, and all you want is to breathe easily and feel happy. Even if someone important is missing. 

“I spoke to Yoongi,” Namjoon says, making you gasp and take a step back. His smile is soft and inviting, dimples creasing his cheeks with bloodshot eyes, and you stare expectedly. “What do you say we fly to Hong Kong tomorrow and bring him home?”

Frantically, you nod, feeling your heart boom in your chest. Namjoon takes one more drag of his withering joint and flicks it out into the driveway.

“He regrets creating distance and he wants to talk about it in person,” Namjoon says, eyes trailing left to right as if reading your face. “Rest assured that we have done nothing to push him away.”

You wish you could believe him, but there is physical proof of something you have done to potentially make Yoongi want distance. But you smile and accept this explanation, for now. 

“Are you hungry?” Namjoon asks, releasing his hug, leaving just an arm around your waist. 

“Starving!” you exaggerate, feeling an empty pit grumbling where your stomach should be. 

The front door is propped open, and Namjoon kicks out of his slippers while you leave behind your ballet flats, then he leads you into the kitchen. 

“I’ve been craving eggs benedict, so i had the chef whip up some hollandaise sauce. Does that sound good to you?”

You glance up with a grin and say, “Awe, I was hoping you might burn the mansion down making me an omelet.”

Namjoon digs his fingers into your ribs, making you double over and squeal, grumbling about how he is not that bad of a cook. 

With your hands held high, you shout, “I submit! You’re an amazing cook!” while tears pool in your tired eyes. 

Namjoon halts his attack on your sides and ushers you along on wobbly legs to the kitchen. 

"Are these Gguk's clothes?" he asks brightly, tugging at the oversized hoodie near your ribs. 

You nod and look up at his bright, smiling face, basking in this moment of happiness. You tell yourself that, above all, you desperately need everything to work out and be okay, if only so that you can continue to have moments like these with the people you love. 

No matter what, things need to be okay. 

It's about time we get it straight Gimme a minute if it ain't too late It sounds about right, this can't be forced, babe 대충 무리였나봐, babe It shouldn't feel like this 애먼 기분만 해친 채 Hurts too much already 버티기가 이만큼 힘든데 Stay with me 'til the end of the day

Maybe we Could be Slow dancing Until the morning We could be romancing The night away

🎵 visit the playlist

a few little side notes: i didn't want to name what drug mc is taking because she's not having the best time, so i didn't want to stigmatize medication that anyone takes irl. like...we all know Xanax is used in wack/recreational ways, so that one feels ok to say by name, i guess?

anyway...the experiences mc has while on a cocktail of medications/drugs may not look the same as how your body may react to these, and that is okay. please do not bother me about how your experiences may differ with xanax and other medications, or molly and medications. (but for the sake of argument, i will say that sometimes when you do antidepressants and molly, the serotonin high hits too hard and fast and it can cause a very fast physical and emotional crash, which is why mc does not experience the pure euphoria that you might come to know and love from that drug.) it feels so weird to me when people hit me up to argue about this kind of stuff because everyone's bodies and brains are different, so please don't. this is a work of fiction above all else.

all that being said, i know i have said it before, but i will keep saying it: this story is sad, sad, sad from here on out. the overall end goal is something happy, but it won't feel that way for a while.

reblogs and comments are the lifeblood of this site, but likes are also super appreciated!!! thank you for reading, i love you!!!

tag lists will be on separate reblogs! they’ve gotten too big to contain as one!

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[manic-pixie-dick-girl]

I've had this Sylvaina plot bunny bouncing around in my head for like 2 years and done nothing so I'm writing it down slash putting it up for adoption.

Set in BFA. Sylvanas and Jaina have been secretly in a loving relationship for years (unsure how long yet). They might be secretly married. Obviously the plotline of BFA has created some tension, and made it more difficult to steal moments with each other.

The Horde and Alliance clash for the whatever-hundredth time. Both Jaina and Sylvanas are on the front lines, as usual, protecting their people as best they can. Intentionally not firing directly at each other. Jaina leaves herself vulnerable for a moment and Nathanos, at Sylvanas' side, takes the shot. His poisoned arrow flies true and he takes out the most powerful mage in the Alliance. Who is unfortunately also his Queen's lover (maybe wife).

Sylvanas sees Jaina fall and proceeds to Lose. Her. Shit. Her terrified banshee scream knocks out half the soldiers fighting on the battlefield. She goes into her shadow form thingy and rushes across the battlefield to grab Jaina and brings her to a medic tent. Unsure if alliance or horde medic, I have this image of her screaming at a poor old Draenei priest in my head. Demands they heal her immediately. She refuses to leave the tent as they work and she demands Nathanos retrieve the antidote for his poison.

Once the rest of the battlefield recovers, this obviously causes a bit of a stir. Alliance think she's doing something to Jaina at first. Anduin tries to "protect" Jaina from her, and she seethes at him "she is my WIFE you stupid cub". The Alliance and Horde don't really know what to do with this information.

Anyway there is a lot of angsting and hurting and the comforting thereof as Jaina recovers. Sylvanas swears she's done fighting the Alliance if this is the end result. Anduin ends up convincing them to use their relationship to end the faction divide for good. Have a big public wedding, invite all the movers and shakers on both sides. Present a publically united front and say this is how we shall maintain peace.

There's also an angle where Anduin abdicates to Jaina, his idea being if the two factions' leaders are married, nobody is going to pick a fight because they won't have their faction's support.

Anyway yeah ramble over.

PS my headcanon for poisons is that anyone who fights with poisons always carries an antidote nearby just as a safety thing. Maybe some irresponsible rogues don't but the rangers DEFINITELY do. Like responsible gun ownership. Always lock your gun away and always carry an antidote to your poisons.

[14dayswithyou]

▋GAME DEVELOPMENT ASKS !

✦゜ANSWERED: To avoid flooding the dash with all of these asks, I'm just gonna compile them into one big "masterpost" ^w^

By pressing 'keep reading' you confirm that you are 18 or older.

Anonymous asked: I was just wondering cuz I've noticed on some of the questions you've answered you've talked about having so much info but can't because of spoilers, and obviously you're still making the game. My question is do you have the full sotry written up and now what's left is coding, art, etc etc or is the story still in the progress of being written as well? If you feel comfortable sharing your process and all ofc, don't feel pressed if tou don't! 💕

Yeah! ^^ I've actually had the storyline fully planned out since 2017, but I'm updating and re-writing everything in the 2022 version because the original seemed kinda cringe and didn't feel consistent enough. I've only had Day 1 fully written since 2017, and everything beyond that just a general outline/dot-points of what I want to happen in each of the days. As for the progress: I still need to write the coding and dialogue, draw the backgrounds, update the sprites, CGs, and UI, and a ton of other behind-the-scenes things that probably aren't worth mentioning. ^^;

Anonymous asked: Saw you answer the ask anon sent about how development is going but was wondering if you have a general outline for the whole story (like the ‘normal’ route, ‘good’ route, etc) or if it’s certain scenes you have written and the rest is written as you work on it all? I’m just very interested in how you work on the storyline so I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable for any reason or you just don’t want to answer

Like the answer above, I have everything figured out (all the choices, branches/paths, endings, etc.), but they're mainly just general outlines/dot-points that I need to iron out, rather than a fleshed-out script that I can work with. I usually just tackle parts of the dialogue one scene at a time (usually by mindlessly typing out words and editing it afterwards) before moving to another scene and repeating the process. Eventually you'll end up with a semi-coherent script that you can throw into a text editor to check for spelling and then slap into the game!

Anonymous asked: You should translate it into korean too if you can!

For sure! I'm still looking into hiring translators once I set up a funding system for the game though, so I might put this on the backburner for a while ^^; Fan-translations are more than welcome though (only for the demo), and if people are interested, y'all can get in contact with me and I can send you the script!!

@marina-and-the-memes asked: is there any update on Day 2/how far in development it is LMAO and can we get close ups of the characters eyes bc my phone quality is ass NDJDJDJDJ

Like 80% of it is done! I still need to update all of the old CG art and UI, as well as write/proofread the missing scenes from the script. Everything else is completed though! And as for the eye close ups; you might have to download the images off the 14dwy itch.io page since I'm on mobile rn (and I don't have any images on hand) ^^; But feel free to send in your ask again and I'll upload the images from my computer instead!! (or wait for me to update this section lol)

Anonymous asked: Will there be life after the official game ending Few vn games have this setting, maybe you can consider. Thank you for creating Ren，Love you guys

Like game continuity? I don't think there will be any since the storyline is pretty linear and will eventually have closure once the game ends, so there wouldn't be much content to go through once the game ends ^^; I can look into adding future DLCs though!

Anonymous asked: Sooooo….can we end up with other characters instead of Ren or is our renren our endgame?? I’m sorry if this has been asked before. Pls ignore if it is. Also, I really appreciate how you take the time to answer the asks. No wonder the fans adore you😭💕. Kisses and hugs for you😚💜

Renren will be the main romance and focus for the game, but depending on the choices you make and the bonds you form with the other characters, you'll have the chance to get an ending with them instead! I won't be a fully fleshed out route or anything though.

Anonymous asked: How's development going? Have you made any progress on the game? I really like hearing about this kind of stuff

Answered above! The only reason it's taking me so long is because I'm a full time university student, and writers/artist block is Very Real ;v; I sometimes get burnt out and don't feel like writing, and I'd rather not force myself to work on the script if I'm not in the right mindset, if that makes sense?? ;v;

Anonymous asked: I don’t know if it’s been asked yet or not but will the game have different routes and/or endings? “I can fix him” ending VS “I can make him worse” ending FIGHT

Yes! Right now I have 4 main endings planned for the game, and they will all depend on the choices you make, Ren's affection for you, and his sanity meter (which will be implemented in a future update!).

Anonymous asked: i love love loved the game! im craving more! but im not sure what to look up exactly? what genre of game is this? the whole obsessive lover type haha is there a name? ALSO! where should i go to look for when the complete game comes out?

I'm not actually quite sure what genre to call it ^^; I labelled the game as a horror/romance visual novel, so you could try that? I feel like "yandere visual novel" would yield more results though since the yandere term is more common. I'm also following a ton of insanely talented game devs on twitter who create similar yandere VNs, so feel free to check them out!

[theoriginalcarnivorousmuffin]

how can you write relationships between characters so well? Do you have any techniques you use?

Well first, thank you, you flatter me sir.

And oof, well, if it was as easy as a few tips and techniques then everyone would be doing it, wouldn’t we?

Still, I’ll do my best, and hopefully some of this will be helpful.

Throw Your Character Sheet Out the Window

Character sheets are helpful for the initial development of a character. They help you get a grasp on who you want to write, basic information about them, and where generally you want to go.

In other words, they’re good for brainstorming.

Personally, I don’t use them, because they have never in any way helped me but I’m not denying they can be helpful to a lot of people. However, where I see there downsides, is when people get married to them.

There are characters I can look at and go “yup, they came directly from a character worksheet”. 

They have this very generic feel to them. Their hopes and dreams are obvious, as are their fears, and the worst: they never grow.

A character sheet is a snapshot in time, the very first look at your character at some point in their developmental process, and that’s why you should use it and then lose it almost immediately.

Characters are not simply characters, you should think of them as people, people who will invariably grow and change throughout the course of your story. This applies even more so to their relationships along the way.

Which I suppose is what I am getting at: things change, and as an author you must always bare that in mind.

Know Where You’re Going, Remember Where You Are

A common mistake I see is that people so desperately want to end up at a specific point in a character’s growth or relationship with another character that they skip past all development to get there.

The author knows what they want, they’ve probably known it since they started chapter one, and so it makes it very tempting to just skip past all that boring stuff and get where they actually want to be.

Don’t give into temptation.

Yes, always have a plan for where you’re going (as if you don’t you end up writing yourself in a corner which is a very different problem) but also remember where you are.

Your characters only know certain information, been through certain events, etc. While you may want them to be in a place where they can hook up with character B, they might not be there yet, and you have to let them get to that point.

If you wanted to skip to the relationship then you should have written a story that just started at the relationship.

Don’t Write Scenes Ahead of Time

I see a lot of authors who note they wrote pivotal scenes long before the scene happens. Personally, I recommend avoiding this.

In other words, don’t be married to a scene.

If you want to organically portray a character, or a relationship, you have to let the characters do the talking.

A lot of the time my outlines, if I write them, will be “A and B talk. Blah then happens. Everything is on fire.” For the actual talking part or dialogue, instead of knowing what each is going to say in advance, I try to picture myself as an unseen observer in the room. I know what each of the characters is thinking, what they want to say, and then I say “go” and watch the back and forth. Rather than imagine what you want A or B to say, try to picture hearing them say it.

Sometimes, what I envisioned in my head isn’t what ends up on the written page, this is usually a sign that what I envisioned didn’t entirely make sense given where the characters are and what they want (and a savvy reader can usually pick up when I try to ignore this as it’s usually when I make more questionable writing decisions).

More importantly, throughout writing the story, it’s very unlikely that by the time you reach this pivotal scene it will go down exactly how you imagined. Little things will have changed along the way. What will likely end up happening is you will desperately try to write it in such a way that what you wrote still makes sense.

This rarely works and usually reads as something very flat, odd, and forced.

Remember Your Characters Don’t Know What You Know

A lot of the time I see people desperately want characters A and B to be nice to each other, to understand what we understand as the author, and see the best in one another because it’s painful to write characters we want to end up together on opposite ends.

Life isn’t like this.

A and B only know what A and B know, more, they’re held back by their own feelings, background, and lack of objectivity. 

Recognize this and don’t force them to see things a certain way just because it helps the ship along. The ship will come, eventually, but your characters will need an organic path to reach it.

Random Thoughts

I think that’s all I’ve got for basic, generic, tips on how to write organic characters and their relationships.

If people want more writing advice I’m happy to make more of these kinds of posts (though not sure I would label myself an expert either, so take my advice as you will). 

Though I will warn, if you want me as a beta for your actual story, I am a ruthless perfectionist and will undoubtedly eviscerate your text, double your word count, and more, even if I really do like what you’ve written.

I have been told it is not for the faint of heart. 

[earlgreytea68]

A Note on Writing Without an “Outline”

I do not plan very heavily what I write. I find it impossible to. And yesterday a perfect example of why happened to me and so I thought I would share it because I think writing process is interesting and I think everyone’s is different and so it’s good to hear about all different ways because there isn’t just one way. And I also think there’s a lot of stuff out there about outlining and plotting and I have never been able to get any of it to work for me, and I’m fine with that, because, well, I’ll tell the story:

Okay, so when I say I don’t “outline” when I write, or “plan very heavily,” that isn’t to say that I write with *nothing.* Usually I start with a vague idea of where a story is going to go. I am not, however, always right about that, and that’s why I don’t consider it much of an outline or plan, because it goes out the window fairly quickly. And that’s why I don’t spend much time thinking about it, because why spend a lot of time on something you’re probably going to switch up immediately? I am nothing if not efficient. So, rather than outline, I just get myself started. I go, “I’m going to write a story about a world where all children have been genetically optimized,” and that’s literally all I have. That, and the first line. Usually, I know it’s time to start writing when the first line of the story comes to me, or the first scene.

So, as I write, I have a growing list of things I want to remember to work into the fic that I throw at the bottom of the document. Some of these are plot points. For instance, in the fic I’m writing now, I have “Pete’s family” written. I have a very vague idea of what I think I’m going to do with Pete’s family, but for now it’s enough that I want to remember that I wanted to deal with them at some point. More often, though, the bits at the bottom of my outline are reminders of inside jokes I’ve written, or, basically, a Chekhov’s gun I’ve put on the shelf, that I want to remember to circle back around on. Frequently, at the bottom is the punchline of a joke I want to make, or a line of dialogue that feels particularly apt to me that I want to make sure I don’t forget to use. When I was writing the Schrodingerverse wedding, for instance, I had “I vow to believe you” written at the end of it, because I write my fics in order from first sentence to last sentence and it was a while until I got to the vows but I didn’t want to forget that I had that vow picked out. I also had “Taylor Swift wedding song” and “fireworks” written at the bottom, too, so that I wouldn’t forget either of those things. So, to the extent that that’s an outline, there you have it. I don’t usually cross things off the list, because I like to leave them as reminders that the characters can keep referencing, and I don’t always hit everything on the list, although I often try.

So, aside from the list, I also have in my head the next few scenes thought through. Not usually in great detail, just like, okay, it’ll be x, y, z. So, to use last night’s example, I had, forty pages earlier, had Patrick send a letter to his sister. I needed Patrick to get a reply to this letter. I also knew vaguely what the letter’s contents would say: He’d invited her to come stay with him and Pete, and she was going to accept the invitation. And then after Patrick got the letter, I was going to write a scene where he and Pete go to the opera, and then they were going to go riding together. (It’s a fic with a lot of action, as you can tell lol.)

So I sat down last night to write the scene where Patrick gets his sister’s reply. And here I should reveal another of my rules when writing: I try to never summarize or paraphrase dialogue. I find that dialogue is where characters reveal the most about themselves, and I would miss out on so much learning about them if I just wrote “They ordered food” instead of really debating how they would order, what they would order. Think about the date scene in “Culmination,” when they go to the Hard Rock Cafe, and they have the whole conversation about vegetables in nachos. Originally, in my head, that scene was just “they have dinner,” but I paused to make myself think about what they would have. It’s easier to just skip over that bit, but when I think back on my stories, I feel like it’s those bits where all the work of the love story happens, it’s that conversation about nachos that really tells you that they’re having a great time with each other. If I don’t feel like writing what they had for dinner, that’s fine, but rather than paraphrasing it, I would just time-skip over it and get myself into the next moment I felt was important enough. I guess, in my view, if it’s so important you can’t skip it, then it’s too important to paraphrase. 

So, I couldn’t just say, “Patrick got a letter from Megan accepting his invitation.” I had to actually sit and write Megan’s letter. And then when I sat and wrote Megan’s letter...it didn’t go at all the way I thought it would go. It ended up telling me something about Megan I hadn’t anticipated, and then that triggered a reaction in Patrick I hadn’t anticipated. And so, just like that, I threw out the window the vague plans I’d had for the scene and what was to come. This is what I mean when I say I can’t outline. I don’t know -- I never learned the skill of -- how to predict how characters are going to react *until I actually write them reacting.* In my head, this was a nothing, throw-away scene, just to get some exposition out of the way before the opera and the next part of the “plot” kicked into gear. And instead now there were all of these unresolved issues I’d uncovered that everyone was going to need to deal with.

So forget the opera. Or rather, push it way back. Because clearly Patrick was going to have to have a conversation with Pete well before the opera. But where was Pete? I hadn’t really given much thought to where Pete was, tbh. So now I had to. Pete, I decided, was in his office with Brendan. A fateful decision because a disagreement between Brendan and Patrick is another loose thread of plot in this story, and so having Patrick go in search of Pete also unexpectedly propelled the Patrick/Brendan storyline forward in a way that I had totally not been anticipating at all.

So then Pete and Patrick had an emotional conversation and at the end of it Pete proposed they go for a ride because he thought they needed to get out of the house. Makes perfect sense, Pete. Good idea. This would flip the timing of the opera / riding scenes, but that doesn’t matter, there was nothing going on in those scenes.

Except.

When Pete proposed they go for a ride, Patrick had to say that first he had to write back to his sister, because he *had* to, given the conversation he’d just had. So Patrick told Pete to go on ahead and he would catch up.

Which suddenly meant that Pete would be out riding by himself instead of with Patrick, which gave me a perfect opportunity to have him run into a particular person I’d been trying to get Pete to talk to and had just assumed I’d eventually just have Pete manufacture a reason to go call on that person. But now, suddenly, I had the perfect opportunity for Pete to encounter that person, *and without Patrick,* which was a vitally important part that I needed for Pete’s conversation with the person. And Pete being without Patrick felt much less contrived than my vague plan which was for Patrick to decide not to go on calls with Pete because he wanted to work on his music or something.

So, this is all to say: I think other people might have been able to figure all that out with an outline, without having to write the scenes out first. But I just would not have been able to. There is no way I would have uncovered all of the character-driven ins and outs of the situation in the abstract. I had to make myself write it. This is why I make myself write *all* of those moments, because I need to reveal to myself what the characters are thinking, and I know no other way to do it. I have never been able to accomplish it without writing it. And then, having written it, I have to trust that the characters know their stories better than I do. And, honestly, that has always been true. I have only ever led myself astray by fighting against them. They have only ever pointed me the right way when I let them.