#and because *i* have depression i’m writing it in a way that presents very similarly

[vgilantee]

I feel like on really vulnerable days kissing Alpha Simon might make him cry. Like just showering him with so much affection he feels like he doesn't deserve turns him into a mess and add riding him while doing that would just break him in a way he needs every now and then.

he may have become an alpha, but he still has a lot of beta instincts. he was born and raised as one so sometimes, when he’s tired or having a bad mental health day, he just needs to be held.

curl up on the couch, pull him in to your lap, and just hold him. if he cries, it will be silent, but just give him kisses on the head and hold his hand. doesn’t need to talk or be talked to, is more than happy in silence, listening to your heartbeat

soft and slow sex with alpha simon when he’s having one of those bad days definitely becomes less to get off and more just to be held and close and loved. kiss him and tell him you love him, he’ll mumble it back and thank you

~✧

[the-haunted-office]

⭐ Themes & What I Am Looking for in Roleplay

Regarding themes, being centered around horror, my blog features a lot of dark and sometimes heavy themes, such as death, violence, murder, blood, gore, illness (including terminal illness), and occasional mentions of self-harm and suicide (as is portrayed in the typical The Stanley Parable manner, i.e. muses not taking their own lives and physical health seriously because they can respawn in video game fashion, so they may do things like jump off a building, volunteer to be experimented on, joke around about death, show little fear of being hurt or killed, or just generally show little regard for their own safety).

Themes of mental health are also present on this blog. Many of my muses have mental health issues such as anxiety and depression. These issues are present through their behaviors, actions, and reactions to other muses and the world around them. They are very much human in that way, so if this sort of characterization bothers you, please be aware of this before following and interacting. My muses will not be happy and cheerful and positive and friendly 100% of the time, and so our interactions and threads might not be either. There may be times where my muses will react unfavorably to the things your muses say and do, and this is all a part of roleplay in my opinion. It adds flavor and intrigue to threads and depth to characters and their interactions. I will not flat out trauma dump on your muses and turn everything into an angst fest, however please be aware that they each have their backstories, and they will react to the things your muses say and do and that their reactions are their own - not mine. If you can’t handle conflicts arising without taking them as either personal attacks against you or as a personal critique against your character, especially without being able to discuss things in a civil manner OOC, then we will not be a good fit as writing partners.

My blog is also, obviously, heavily themed on the paranormal and supernatural, so there will be a lot of things about ghosts, spirits, ghouls, monsters, extraterrestrials, cryptids, icky and gross things, freaky and scary things, and just anything in that genre. If it’s anything spooky and my eyes come across it, it’s probably going to come up at some point on my blog. This includes religious things like demons and exorcisms and possessions and themes of that nature (these are not as common, but I’m mentioning them here because I know some are more sensitive to these themes and I want people to be aware that they may be present).

Dark themes aren’t the sole themes on my blog, though! It’s also a comedy blog! And that’s a good deal of what you’ll see here. The silly juxtaposed with the dark. Horror and comedy placed side-by-side is one of my favorite things ever, and I love playing with it here. I love getting a laugh out of dark and troubling themes, out of things that would normally be too frightening to look at. It minimizes the things that are too hard to handle on their own. Life, and death, doesn’t have to be so ugly and scary. We can laugh at these things too, and then they aren’t so scary. Besides, I’m here to have fun too, and that’s what I want my blog to be about as well.

Another big theme you’ll find here is centered around the examination and breakdown of storytelling and narrative tropes and elements, particularly through a heavily satirical lens, and oftentimes in the manner presented in The Stanley Parable. This can sometimes be done by breaking the fourth wall, although it is not often done in threads unless we agree to it beforehand, or through crack threads, dashcoms, and similarly-typed roleplay styles. Most often, you’ll see this carried out between my own muses in short little in-character pieces of writing and in occasional longer pieces of writing that I post on my dash under the #writing for days tag. Some examples of this are my characters discussing the latest BookTok trends, or longer story-driven plots centered around the breaking down of a particular trope, such as the slasher horror genre. Please note that while this material can be read as inflammatory and/or offensive, being the nature of satire, it is never directed at you personally or your personal tastes in these things - these types of posts and writings are my own views expressed through my characters purely for matters of humor. You are free to enjoy the media and trends you wish to enjoy, as am I. The views I express are directed at the material - not at you or your intelligence or feelings or anything of the sort.

My blog is also about friendship and love and never giving up. Found family is another heavy theme on my blog, as is love always winning at the end of the day. It’s about the power of choice and breaking out of your narrative, and sometimes breaking THE narrative. No one is ever bound to the path set before them - you always have a choice, even though the choice might not be clear or obvious. Sometimes you have to carve out the path yourself, brutally, even violently, but as the great mathematician Ian Malcolm once said, “Life, uh, finds a way.”

Untangling life and navigating our way through it all, while having a laugh at the horrors, that’s what it’s all about, baby!

As for what I am looking for in roleplay, one of the most important things to me in roleplaying is fair and balanced collaboration. 

This means both of us working together to ensure that we are both having a good time. It means communicating if there are issues, communicating ideas, asking questions, plotting together. It also means sharing collaboration efforts - so both of us sending in asks and memes to each other, we both put effort into our replies, we both come up with ideas, etc. It also means we both make sure to give each other something to work with in our replies and make sure that one isn’t always leading the direction of the thread or plot. It’s cooperation on both our parts. I believe roleplaying is more fun when both players are working and writing together.

Going into it with that in mind,  while I am happy to start off with touch-and-go replies and smaller threads to see how things go between our muses and between us as muns, longer term I’d really like to develop more in-depth threads and plots between our muses. This isn’t a requirement by any means, so please don’t take it that way - we absolutely can rp more surface level threads if that’s what you’d prefer. But for full transparency, I’d be happiest with writing partners who are willing to develop interesting, in-depth plots with our muses.

Particular genres and verses I am open to discussing and developing. My go-to verse is my main, Stanley Parable verse, but I am happy to develop AUs and develop whole new verses as well. I also have several multifandom muses to work with. I would love to develop all kinds of bonds and relationships with our muses - not strictly speaking romantic bonds, although those are also welcome, but all kinds, including platonic, found family, best friends, even rivals or enemies. I’m open to all kinds of relationships, as long as there is something interesting to develop between our muses.

At the heart of what I’m looking for is a story - an interesting, in-depth story for us to tell between our muses, a world to explore together, something for us to sink our teeth into. I want to write! So let’s write together!

[aucatgirl]

I got diagnosed with bipolar 1 w/ psychotic features in October, but I’m talking about it more now bc it’s really starting to sink in how much it explains for me… like… woag. This is crazy. My behavior is actually explainable and relatively common. Not only am I not overreacting for continually saying I had an undiagnosed mental illness, but it is as severe as I believed. Sometimes your intuition is right

For years I felt crazy whenever I told people I had psychosis But Only Sometimes, and couldn’t figure out what could possibly cause that. Apparently around half of people with bipolar 1 have psychosis during episodes and then have memory loss/regret after the fact. That’s wild.

Getting misdiagnosed as ADHD despite not having symptoms as a child? So apparently bipolar and ADHD can present very similarly on the surface. Had no clue about that. What’s funny is that I would “switch” between hyperactive and inattentive types. Not how that works, lol

Getting way motivated to write and write and write forever but only sometimes? Very common and recorded thing, the reason why a lot of famous writers have bipolar. One of my psychiatrist’s other patients wrote a large poetry book in less than a week. I wrote a fantasy novel in a month

The thing I feel the most shame about, self isolating at the slightest stress and having a sort of “on and off” approach to relationships? Whoops. Not great, but common, typically a result of rejection sensitivity and/or psychosis. It’s the unfortunate reality that you may be difficult to be friends with. It’s not worth getting into a self-hate spiral for, though, there are plenty of patient people in the world and you just have to keep learning to manage

And the thing I always beat myself up for, I felt like I couldn’t get help because I cycled through “mental illness? What mental illness? I’m totally fine!” to “I need serious help but I feel too depressed and awful to do it”. Super common. It’s the reason a lot of people w bipolar stop taking their meds. That’s wild, too.

I really wish I’d known these things about bipolar outside of the basics before because I might’ve recognized it in myself. Or maybe not, because self-awareness in bipolar tends to be extremely low, and so was mine!!

[shieldslinger]

captain america (2005) #1

god they just don’t write issues like they used to huh? there is SO much to unpack here, i should honestly probably split it all up but i’m just gonna start rambling and ya’ll can deal with it bc it’s loving steve rogers hours

so this is right after avengers disassembled/house of m and this? this is steve’s anger and depression raring it’s ugly head. bc steve feels his saddest and his most angry when he feels helpless and lately he’s felt extremely helpless in the face of his friends dying and the avengers disassembling. it hurts him when the avengers disband. that’s his family. and the hurt just compiles worse because he lost clint, both a good friend and one of steve’s very first avengers he’d ever trained up. there’s just… a lot of hurt all up in there. and there’s nothing steve can do about it because it’s all done. and being helpless like this is just a throwback to all the shit he couldn’t change growing up, the things he saw during the war. for a lot of people he knows, those wounds don’t even exist. for the few that have that kind of baggage, it’s faded, time making those memories fuzzy. but for steve? it’s literally every nightmare. it’s crystal clear, every second, every memory. he can be right back there in a second. and the helplessness he feels in the present drags those other memories, where he felt similarly helpless, right to the forefront of his mind, to replay whenever he closes his eyes.

so in the face of all this, he throws his hat back in with shield for lack of anything else to do since the avengers aren’t around and works his anger out on anyone dumb enough to get in his red white and blue way. which… is not good. because here’s the secret–steve holds back. he actually holds back a lot. he doesn’t punch at full strength, he doesn’t throw the shield to maim or kill, he makes sure everyone–even villains and low level baddies–leave the fight with their lives and limbs mostly intact. sure, there’s likely concussions and other minor injuries, but no one’s going on life support. because steve swore not to take a life and even when it’s hard, he’s going to do his best to abide by that. except now… now he’s angry. and it’s not just a current circumstance’s amount of anger, it’s a lifetime’s worth of anger. and he doesn’t have a ton of direction for that anger and he doesn’t have the support system he usually does to work it all out in a healthy way. he’s isolated himself and he’s put on his game face, even getting pissy with sharon and attempting to give her the cold shoulder. so yeah, he plays a little fast and loose with his morals because why the fuck not? these bad guys aren’t pulling their punches. they’re shooting with intent to kill, loading a train full of explosives to create a dirty bomb, they’re gonna kill people. so why is he holding back, why should he bother? and his anger gets let loose and it’s lethal. he’s breaking jaws with a casual punch, taking down helicopters with a single blow of the shield, and i fully believe that if those two men hadn’t dived off the train, steve would’ve decapitated them easily. that kind of brutality isn’t normal for steve and it’s indicative of the dark place he’s kinda gone to.

and like, here’s the thing too–steve is kind of excitable. like, he can go off really easily and he has a definite punch first, ask questions second mentality at times. but that’s… part of the basic steve rogers charm. that’s if everything is going well. because if everything’s going well, then he has his Feelings and he moves on. he broods, he processes, he talks it out with his Person and he moves along. he has his explosive anger moment and then lets it go. if he’s hurt emotionally by something, he might hang onto it and be petty, but still, it’s not… this. this anger that’s deep and caustic and boiling inside him. and i think that’s the depression part of it, that when he feels helpless, he feels deep sorrow, and he can’t help but wallow in it, but it also makes him so fucking mad that he just can’t get out of that helpless feeling no matter what happens.

he’s sulky about it! he’s angry and it’s not going away and he’s depressed as well, since he’s working for shield and doesn’t have the avengers, and has a house with no neighbors now so he won’t be “a danger to others” by being cap and knowing the damages that comes along with it and… god it’s just. so much proof that like, he’s still close with sharon so steve eventually relents a little but he doesn’t let her fully in. because right now she’s his ex. not his Person. she was–which is why he does, in later panels, tell her that he’s remembering the war again and feeling helpless again, but he doesn’t tell her that off the bat and he doesn’t really find any comfort, i think, in telling her. it was more of an angry vent, but there’s nothing to be done and he knew there was nothing she could say that would help.

there’s so much in these panels, so much in this issue… god i miss the good writing marble used to be capable of.

[britesparc]

Weekend Top Ten #578

Top Ten Non-MCU Characters to Bring Into the MCU

So I had two lists planned for the next couple of weeks, and for some reason I was really looking forward to writing them – they seemed like simple, fun things, that didn’t require as much thought or analysis as all the “Best Of” stuff, or even the Lego stuff (I think I found that one difficult just to narrow it down!). And then, wouldn’t you know it, Things in the News happened and I decided to make a last-minute swerve.

Now, this is a list about the MCU, and obviously there’s one very big MCU-related story that broke this week that I shan’t be commenting on. For a start, it’s miserable and dark and depressing. But also, I'm not really sure how I can spin that off into a list. However, I have managed to find a list on some of the other Hot Marvel News of the week!

Because this week two things happened: one, Liv Tyler was announced as joining the cast of Captain America: New World Order as Betty Ross, Bruce Banner’s love interest who was last seen in 2008’s The Incredible Hulk (okay, technically she was last seen in an episode of What If...?, but she was voiced by Stephanie Panisello). She joins a cast that already includes two characters from a film that was once regarded as Marvel’s black sheep/red-headed step-child (whichever is the least offensive term for “a film everyone more or less was forgetting about”), further bringing into focus hazier elements of the periphery of MCU continuity. At the same time, filming has commenced on Daredevil: Born Again, a series which establishes categorically Charlie Cox’s eponymous hero as an MCU character, after the (again) haziness of his decade-old Netflix shows. And, here, we’re still left to wonder what’s canon and what’s not; Daredevil, Kingpin, and the Punisher are all confirmed, but at least one Netflix-era actor has been recast, and there’s been no word on whether Daredevil’s biggest supporting characters, Karen Page and Foggy Nelson, will be headed to Disney+, or whether those roles will be recast if so. And – and! – that’s not even factoring in the other headlining Netflix heroes, Jessica Jones, Luke Cage, and probably somebody else.

So! In the interests of all of that – and surprising myself with the revelation that I've not already done this list – here I present ten characters from Marvel properties of yore that I would like to see categorically pop up in current MCU continuity. Now, some of my usual stupid rules. For a start, I'm not saying “main characters, main timeline” here; no, I don’t actually mind if some of them are variants who we just see in, like, Secret Wars or whatever. And I've tried to avoid just mining the Netflix shows and Agents of SHIELD. And most importantly, I'm not here to fan-cast or bring back X-Men characters. True, Logan would have popped up here, had he not already been confirmed for Deadpool 3; but I think we know that both the X-Men and the Fantastic Four are coming very soon, so as fun as it might be for James Marsden’s Cyclops or (ha!) Chris Evans’ Human Torch to emerge from a portal in 2026, I would rather they spent that time establishing the new, definitive, canonical versions of those characters. Similarly, I'm trying to avoid “joke” characters. Like, do we really want David Hasselhoff’s Nick Fury in a main MCU movie? I get it’d be funny in Deadpool 3, if he’s bouncing round the multiverse, to encounter the Hoff in an eye patch, maybe with Dolph Lundgren’s Punisher to boot. But for the most part here I'm trying to imagine characters being properly integrated into a film or a series, even if it’s just for a one-off, like No Way Home. There, the multiversal characters from Marvel’s past were used excellently, bringing a good deal of nostalgia, excitement, and resonance for those who remembered them from Before; but also serving the plot of that film and servicing the current incarnation of Peter Parker. They didn’t feel like fan service, or if they were, it was very well done. I think the risk of bringing back beloved versions of characters from prior films is that it wouldn’t serve them very well – an argument I think you could make about Professor X in Multiverse of Madness, even if I personally enjoyed that cameo (as much as I really love Patrick Stewart, though, part of me feels it should have been James McAvoy for some reason).

Anyway; enough of all that nonsense. As you can see, I am once again thinking about this too much. So let’s get on with it: ten characters from not-the-MCU Marvel who I'd like to see incorporated into actually-properly-the-MCU Marvel.

Quake (Chloe Bennet, Agents of SHIELD, 2013): Agents of SHIELD steps on the toes of MCU continuity too many times to be considered wholly canon, but I don’t see a reason why there couldn’t have been a similar SHIELD team in “our” universe. At the very least, Bennet deserves a chance to mix it up with the Avengers. Her character arc is the backbone of the series as she grows into a leader and a hero, and frankly she’s just pretty cool. The idea of SHIELD secretly having another, covert team of powered heroes is a pretty good one, and I think you could just plonk her into the MCU without much in the way of exposition. Alternatively she could be a “normal” agent who eventually discovers she’s got some kind of “mutation”. Diddle-iddle-ee-dee-dee…

Jessica Jones (Krysten Ritter, Jessica Jones, 2015): I nearly didn’t include her because I think it’s inevitable she’ll show up. Alongside Daredevil, Ritter’s Jones was one of the absolute highlights of the Netflix run. She makes perfect sense as a street-level hero alongside the likes of DD, and would work well bouncing off, say, Hawkeye (especially Kate Bishop). Ritter’s morose performance – Wednesday Addams meets the Hulk – is probably my favourite of all the Netflix-era characters, and it’d be great to see her back.

Melinda May (Ming-Na Wen, Agents of SHIELD, 2013): again we have a character who doesn’t need complicated introductions; May could just be introduced as a long-standing SHIELD agent (or, I guess, maybe working for SWORD now?). And mainly the reason for reintroducing her is because, frankly, Ming-Na Wen is absolutely kick-ass and needs to be in stuff more often. She’s already the only person who’s got the Disney Holy Trinity (Princess, Superhero, Star War) and placing her in the for-realsies MCU would absolutely cement that.

Mary Jane Watson (Kirsten Dunst, Spider-Man, 2002): this one I guess would have to be a bit different because a) we already have “an” MJ, and b) you’d need her alongside Tobey Maguire’s Peter, who we already know exists in a different universe. But I want to see that universe! I want to see Peter and MJ, now in their mid-forties, married with a kid who – get this – has spider-powers. This is literally the plot of a comic! More than one comic! Honestly, a Disney+ series or even just a movie about “Spider-Girl” with Peter and MJ as her parents. Honestly, just do a loose adaptation of Renew Your Vows. But seeing Dunst back in such an iconic role would be tremendous.

Karen Page and Foggy Nelson (Deborah Ann Woll and Elden Henson, Daredevil, 2014): for some reason these two core characters have yet to be confirmed as being in Daredevil: Born Again. I think this is a shame, and I hope it’s just part of some kind of plot or whatever, and not that they’ve been written out of the new continuity or recast. Woll’s Karen was really the big love of Daredevil, much healthier for him than Elektra; and Henson’s Foggy was his conscience. I’d rather we had a simpler, pared-down take on the story, with Matt and Foggy as lawyers and Karen managing their office – like at the start of the old Daredevil show. Plus now they’re part of the wider MCU we could get a great scene with Foggy and Happy Hogan – two actors who’ve played Foggy Nelson, in the same scene! Hilarity ensues.

Laura Kinney (Dafne Keen, Logan, 2017): See, it’s not all Netflix and SHIELD. We already know that Wolverine himself is coming back, but timelines being what they are I think we can safely assume that his daughter Laura – aka X-23 – who first appeared in Logan will not be returning. Unless! She does! What if, right, our mainline MCU Logan – who we’ve never seen – has already fathered a child a while ago, and when she appears, that’s our Wolverine? After all, Laura has adopted the mantle in the comics. And having a female Wolverine would avoid the poisoned chalice of any actor who’d have to follow in Hugh Jackman’s shoes by reinterpreting the character. And, most importantly, she flippin’ rocked in the role at a very young age. Now with a few years and His Dark Materials behind her, I think she really could be one of the anchors of a new age of the MCU.

Luke Cage (Michael Colter, Jessica Jones, 2015): and now we go screeching back to Netflix. What can I say? The vast majority of the characters they introduced over there were great. They really did nail the casting, and Colter’s Cage is a part of that. The chemistry between him and Ritter was fantastic, but also he was just such a cool, stoic presence next to the angsty Daredevil and the grumpy Jessica. And there’s not much more to say than that, in my opinion; like Jessica Jones, I think he’ll appear before too long, but what with starring in his own action movie franchise it’s possible he’ll be less able to return in the near future. Still optimistic though!

Ghost Rider (Gabriel Luna, Agents of SHIELD, 2016): yeah, okay, Agents of SHIELD again, but this one is a bit different. It’s not one of the main characters and it’s someone who absolutely could handle a spin-off. In fact, you could just ignore everything in SHIELD and re-introduce the character entirely. Luna’s take on the character was cool but troubled, his performance more nuanced and internalised than the raging demon of hellfire played in the movies by Nicolas Cage (hellfire has its time and place, of course). Plus if Luna is Ghost Rider in the MCU, then that frees up Cage to be someone else! Someone totally bananas! Mephisto, anyone?!

Colleen Wing (Jessica Henwick, Iron Fist, 2017): there’s one big Defenders character who I’ve not listed here, and no surprises. I feel a bit mean, but out of the four stars it is Iron Fist who feels most replaceable, the one that’s less attached to a given actor. I don’t blame Finn Jones too much; I do think he was miscast for a couple of reasons, but also he suffered in a slow and slightly boring story that was too reminiscent of then-recent seasons of Arrow (it didn’t help that he looked and sounded a bit like Arrow star Stephen Amell). However, the breakout star of that show was Henwick as Danny Rand’s girlfriend Colleen. She believably kicked ass in the fighting scenes and was also both tough and tender as required. I’ve no idea if it has any basis in comics history, but maybe if they wanted to bring back Iron Fist as a character but not Jones himself, perhaps Henwick could step into those shoes?

Blade (Wesley Snipes, Blade, 1998): yes, it’s true, Blade – the character – has been recast and is going to appear in the MCU looking and sounding like Mahershala Ali. This makes sense, because Snipes is sixty years old and has a bit of baggage, so snagging a younger Daywalker is probably a good move. However, Snipes was also fundamentally attached to the role, a role that is – arguably – a major catalyst for the MCU in general, predating both the X-Men and Spider-Man franchises that established Marvel’s cinematic bona fides. So I think it'd be brilliant if they found a way to honour Snipes’ legacy in the role, either in some kind of Secret Wars cameo or perhaps a miniseries set in a different corner of the multiverse. I still think it’s a shame that they didn’t do something along the lines of bringing Snipes back as Blade but having his daughter be the star of the show, but never mind I guess.

So there we are! A bunch of Marvel characters. I didn’t add one of my big hopes – that Emma Stone plays a live-action Spider-Gwen – because I’m not sure if that’s the same character or not really, and because I’m not sure where she fits beyond a cameo in Secret Wars, which is something I was trying to avoid. Yes, there’s a big SHIELD/Netflix focus, because really if you’re bringing in all-new X-Men and Fantastic Four casts, there are only so many other avenues for long-term roles in the MCU. But never mind! I liked those shows so it’d be nice to see them come back. To some degree.

Sadly no room for FitzSimmons either.

[snackhobi]

pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)

summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.

warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!

--

“It’s time to get up.”

“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”

You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.

“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”

Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.

Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.

“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”

“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.

“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says. 

Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.

“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”

Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says. 

“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”

Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.

“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”

You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”

“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”

Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing. 

You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.

(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”

Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”

Why had she ever expected anything different?)

You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.

You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful. 

The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.

(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)

You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead. 

You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.

(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)

(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)

(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)

“Y/n?”

You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”

Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon. 

“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”

“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”

You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.

“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”

Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”

“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.

When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.

This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all. 

You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.

Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.

Stupid. 

You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.

And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.

You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true. 

But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself. 

You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.

You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.

You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned. 

That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.

A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.

You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there— The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.

You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.

There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks. 

There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.

You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.

It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.

He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.

“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”

The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”

Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”

The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.

You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”

This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”

“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”

The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”

A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”

As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.

The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.

“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”

“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”

When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.

“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”

The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”

You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.

“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—

“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.

His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”

You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”

“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.

“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.

“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”

He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.

But then.

“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.

“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”

The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”

“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”

He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.” 

--

The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.

Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.

It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.

“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”

“Haha, yeah,” you say. 

Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her. 

“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”

“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”

You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)

You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.

And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)

You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them. 

(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”

“What? Really?”

“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”

Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)

You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.

The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.

When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.

“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”

“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”

He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns. 

“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”

He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.

“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”

You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”

You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.

“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”

“Would you like one?”

“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”

The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”

You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”

“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”

Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable. 

“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”

“Sure.”

He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.

He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced. 

“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”

“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”

You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”

He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.

“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.

“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”

The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”

Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say. 

“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.

“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”

The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.

“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”

“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”

“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”

He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”

“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”

He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.

The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.

(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.

“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”

Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)

--

“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”

You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.

Jungkook pauses. “I don’t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”

“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”

Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”

“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”

Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”

He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”

You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”

“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.

“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”

The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.

“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.

“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”

“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”

Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.

There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.

You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.

“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”

The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.

“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”

“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”

Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”

You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”

You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.

Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say. 

Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”

Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”

Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”

“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”

Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”

Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”

“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”

As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”

“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed. 

Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful. 

These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)

You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.

You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.

(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.

“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground. 

“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)

--

“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”

“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”

Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.

“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”

It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.

“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”

You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”

Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin. 

“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”

You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”

You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.

It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.

He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.

He’s incredible.

Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.

“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”

“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.

Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”

“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”

You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.

Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.

“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”

“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”

Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”

“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.

The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen. 

Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)

Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.

You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you. 

Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.

Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.

A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”

You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.

“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.

“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”

There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”

You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”

Jungkook pauses. 

“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.

“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”

You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before. 

The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.

“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”

“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”

He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”

Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”

You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”

Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”

“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”

Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”

The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.

“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”

You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”

Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”

He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”

He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit. 

Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.

“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”

“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”

He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”

You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”

Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.

Then you lie face down on your bed.

Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive. 

Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?

You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf. 

To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.

You muffle a scream into your hands.

Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.

(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)

You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.

The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month. 

Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.

He picks up after one ring. 

“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.

“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”

You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way. 

It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic. 

“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?

You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met. 

“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.

“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”

“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.

“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.

“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”

“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”

“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”

“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”

“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”

“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”

(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.

“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”

Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too. 

As a friend.)

--

“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.

“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”

“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”

The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.

“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”

Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”

You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”

Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”

The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.

“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.

Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.

“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”

You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.

“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”

“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”

You beam. “Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.

“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”

You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”

For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)

You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.

But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.

When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.

You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.

“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.

“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.

“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say. 

“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”

“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”

He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.

“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities. 

You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.

“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”

He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”

“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”

He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.

“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.

“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.

More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay. 

Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.

“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.

“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”

The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is. 

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”

“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.” 

“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs. 

Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.

You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.

Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you. 

No one’s ever looked at you like that before.

At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.

--

Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.

But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.

You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated. 

Why can’t you write?

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.

You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately. 

You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.

“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”

“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”

You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”

It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you. 

You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he’s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.

“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.

“Kookie! Hi!” 

Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.

“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”

“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”

Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”

You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”

Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.

You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”

Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing. 

“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it. 

Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.

“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”

You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.

“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”

“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”

“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”

Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.

He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.

Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.

“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”

Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.

“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.

“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.

You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.

He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.

(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)

“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”

“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”

Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.

“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.

Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”

Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him. 

It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his. 

His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.

He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.

You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.

You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.

Holy shit.

You’re in love with Jungkook.

The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.

“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.

You’re in love with him.

You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest. 

Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”

You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”

You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.

When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.

“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.

“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”

He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night. 

“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”

Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.

(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.

“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”

They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee. 

It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)

--

“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.

“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”

“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.

Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”

You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.

“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.

“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.

“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.

Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”

Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.

“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”

You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”

Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.

“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”

“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”

“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.

“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”

Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest. 

You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.

The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”

This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.

You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.

“Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.

“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.

“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”

“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.

“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”

Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.

“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.

He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.

Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you. 

(He loves you.)

It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.

No, actually— it’s just the beginning. 

You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts. 

“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”

Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”

How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?

“What made you come around?”

“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”

Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?” 

“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.

(“I love you.”

Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.

Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:

-

How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)

[lady-grace-pens]

How to Kill a God : a wip introduction

—

Genre:

Mythopoeia | Upper Young Adult/New Adult | Literary Fiction | Drama | Slice of Life |

Status:

Open to beta readers, dm if interested.

Point of View:

First person, present tense

Themes Explored:

Moving forward from the past, being lost in life, unconditional love being tested, embracing your own power, following your dreams, taking chances, and appreciating the beauty of nature.

Includes:

A childhood friends to lovers slow burn romance, a bit of found family, a heist or two, brotherly love, wrestling with religious beliefs, betrayals, one familial war, secrets and lies, and much more!

CW:

Death, smoking, drinking, strong langauge, severe depression, notes of classicism, and grief.

Synopsis:

The goddess Fate has a plan for us all. She is one of Universe’s daughters; her will is absolute. No single man is able to defy her. No matter what hell or high water she decides to force you through, the only thing you can do is sit back and let her have her way with you. Even if it’s in her divine, absolute will to make your life a living hell.

Hence is the case with Allister Haze. At what point through a series of heartaches will he discover within himself, the ability to defy her? To take his life into his own hands, and seek to build back up the foundations that she has destroyed... Surely it will be before it’s too late. Surely it will be before she strips young Allister away not only from his friends, but of the only family he has left, his very own twin brother. Surely... Won’t it?

How to Kill a God is a character driven novel in progress, estimated to be around 200k+ words when I’m finished writing it. Sooo if this sort of thing interests you, stick around for updates!

I don’t want to give away too much info about this babe because I’m aiming for it to be published one day. Plus I want a lot of the story events to be a surprise. Buuut I suppose I’m allowed to do a quick little character introduction as well. That’s below the cut if you’re interested!

Meet the Cast!

Allister Haze: the explorer

The story’s protagonist. At the ripe young age of 18, Allister is the very definition of a dreamer. He strives to achieve his dreams of becoming an explorer, but lacks a plan on how to get there. This doesn’t stop him from dreaming and encouraging others to do the same.

Allister is the adventurous type. He loves to try new things, go to new places, and wants to travel the world one day. He is also deathly curious. So much so that it can get him in trouble sometimes.

Preston Haze: the intellect

Allister’s twin brother, the more introverted one. He doesn’t have as many friends, let alone friends his own age. He’s very intelligent, but has a bad tendency to hide his feelings from everyone - including himself - until they explode. This means a lot of little white lies and secrets pile up over time.

Similarly, he can be pretty sarcastic. There’s nothing he loves more than teasing Allister. At the end of the day, however, Preston still cares a lot for those close to him.

William and Godfrey: the butlers

William and Godfrey are the two head butlers that work in the Haze estate. They’ve had their jobs for the twins’ entire lives. They’re the ones who helped raise the boys from birth. As such, they’re all very close. Their relationship resembles that of a close family, as opposed to the typical master and servant. Raising a couple of rich twin boys isn’t easy, but William and Godfrey try their hardest!

Madison ‘Maddie’ Schyler: the fashion designer

Maddie and Mak are childhood friends of Allister and Preston. Just like them, Maddie is also aged 18. She is a very caring soul, and also hard working. She’s very dedicated both to the people on her life, and to her workplace. Maddie is a woman of the fashion world, you see. She’s a designer and has her own online boutique. She is in love with Allister and tries hard to make him notice her in that light, but his obliviousness always wins instead.

Makenzie ‘Mak’ Schyler: the artist

Maddie’s little sister. She’s 16, so she still in high school. Mak is a fun-loving free-spirit, opting to let next to nothing get her down. She is Preston’s closest friend outside of his immediate family, and also his love interest.

Mikko and Fingal Moroni: the scalawags

Mikko and Fingal are a pair of brothers that Allister is friends with. Mikko is the younger one, 18. Fingal is a bit older, at age 20.

These two aren’t rich by any means. No, they’re a part of the common people, the ones who need to work a job in order to earn a living. Fingal does just this, and tries to get Mikko to get one also. Heaven knows they need the extra income. But nope! Mikko refuses to get a job, opting instead to gain money by... other means.

The Moroni brothers are the very definition of trouble in the minds of the common city folk. Mikko is a drunkard who loves to flirt, tease, bet, gamble, and enjoy the occasional cigarette. Fingal is his stoic yet responsible older brother who is dead inside and constantly smoking.

Percival ‘Perci’ James: the photographer

Allister’s other friend. Percival James is, by all means, a little ball of anxiety. He cannot handle stress at all, which doesn’t bode well considering how easily he gets worried about literally anything. He’s just 17, so he’s still in high school. It’s his last year though, so he’s almost out. As such, he needs to start thinking about his future.

His passion lies with photography, yet he feels like he can’t make a career out of it. Perci feels like he should go to college for a career that guarantees success, like that of a doctor. The main issue with that, however, is how college isn’t free and Perci’s family isn’t part of the rich elite like Maddie, Mak, and the Haze twins. Perci is a very bright young lad though, so no matter what he chooses to do, his mind and strong spirit will carry him through.

—

If you want to be notified about any future updates regarding this wip, let me know somehow and I can add you to the taglist below :)

@kazenokaori @vampire-with-a-pen @dahldahlbills @justyouraveragewriter @writingonesdreams @yuriperhaps @wordwizards

[kumoriyami-xiuzhen]

Hakuoki Shinkai Hana no Shou Okita After Story Translation

This is my first post of the month, so I’ll start by asking you to please support me if you can through my ko-fi, and paypal or patreon which provides access to my hakuoki blog translations and early access to my postings. Also, please let me know if you have any hakuoki drama cds that you’d be willing to share that are on my Lookout List since i either do not have audio for those cds or do not have audio that I can share.... and if you are able to remove watermarks from a video, please contact me.  

Finally done with all of what i refer to as these after stories. this is the last translation of what i have from the 「 薄桜鬼 真改 華ノ章」 ステラワース早期予約特典 小冊子. did Souji’s last partly cuz he’s one of my least favourite routes (sorry but not sorry. also i won’t deny that my premier target audience for most of my translations for content that doesn’t come from one of the games is myself ;D), and well, i would categorize my thoughts as mostly angsty (there’s a reason why i mostly write angst lol) and didn’t exactly need more of it...

still, it’s kinda sad that it took me almost 2 years to finish translating all of what I could for these... but hey, i can’t help it if I get distracted by other stuff that i find more interesting.... ahahahaaaa....(excuse me as i go hide until next week’s translation lol).

also, in case someone doesn’t know, i’ve already translated the after stories for Saito, Hijikata, Yamazaki, Kazama, Hijikata, Harada, Heisuke and now Souji... and am unable to translate the others as I don’t have it in CN tho I can go scan the rest should someone want to translate the stories for Shinpachi, Sanan, Souma, Iba, or Sakamoto.

enjoy? maybe? lol?

Hakuoki Shinkai Hana no Shou After Story Translation - Okita Souji

Translation by KumoriYami

(TN:  just an fyi, Souji doesn't call Chizuru "Chizuru-chan" in this. checked the booklet just to be sure.)

The scene was in the mountains, they had been dyed bright red as the sun set in the West. 

And the one looking over this scene, was the sword genius, former First Division Shinsengumi Captain, Okita Souji. 

(Speaking of which, since childhood, I would always look into the direction of my hometown at dusk.)

While he thought this, the sound of frantic footsteps from further away, came closer. 

As for who the sound of these footsteps belonged to, it was obvious. She was......  [It was her]

"——Souji-san! What are you doing here?

For the present Okita, this woman was more important than his own life, Yukimura Chizuru.

From the way she gasping from having run down the mountain path, she seemed quite anxious. When she found Okita was missing, she selflessly began to search for him.

Okita showed a look of ignorance and looked back at her.

"Asking me what I'm doing...... can't you tell after after looking? I'm watching the sunset.

He answered in a tranquil tone. Immediately this young woman lost her strength and fell to her knees.

"If you're doing that, please tell me first...... Just now, I couldn't find Souji-san, so I was very worried."

It seemed that her words were true. Because there was sweat on her slim neck, and her cheeks were bright red. 

Seeing Chizuru like this, he felt full of tenderness/affection, and he couldn't but think of tightly embracing her small body.

On the other hand though, he also felt the urge to tease her so that he could see her troubled appearance. 

(Even I feel that these days are/this day is quite boring. [can't tell if this is plural or not])

"Do you dislike not seeing me?"

"Of course, that's because Souji-san is a very special/important person to me."

There was no hesitation as Chizuru replied in this way. She was also very aware of how these words made Okita feel at ease. 

"Good grief, are there really no problems? We just didn't see each other for a short amount of time."

His abrupt words made Chizuru look sad.

"……Please don't say such a thing."

Although she was well aware of what was going to happen, she didn't want think about it right now. Her innocent expression seemed to say this.

(This teasing seems to have been too much.)

As Okita thought this, he gently extended his hand.

"Come here, Chizuru."

After a short confused moment, the young woman grabbed Okita's hand. He firmly held her small hand, then pulled her small body into his embrace.

"Ah……"

She couldn't help but make a small sound and Okita hugged her. A sweet and floral fragrance emanated from her hair and neck.

He gently combed her hair, and both of their eyes coincidently found each other's. Those sincere eyes were staring straight into Okita's,

(How good would it be if we were always able to look at each other like this.)

This felt just like a dream. Before he he was in a relationship with her, the memories he had of when he lived alone....... were quite vague. 

"Hey, Chizuru. Let me say one thing first."

Hearing Okita's words, she blinked at him in disbelief. Looking at her adorable expression, he opened his mouth.

"Even though I'll pass away one day, you can't/aren't allowed to follow me. Even if you're alone, you need to keep on living."

"…………"

Chizuru bit her lips.

Similarly to how Okita was unable to remember what happened when he lived by himself, she wasn't able able to imagine what would happen to her after losing Okita.

(If I was more considerate, I might say "after I die, live happily with someone else"......)

But it was impossible for him to give Chizuru to someone else. Even if he knew if doing that might make her happy. 

Chizuru seemed to have understood what he really thought. "So what's your answer? Chizuru."

In the face of Okita's question, she sadly lowered her head——

"…………I know."

She responded with a depressed voice.

"Very good."

He muttered softly, then gently stroked Chizuru's cheeks.

There large eyes before him were now slightly moist. This expression indicated that she had a clear understanding of what was going to happen later.

For a good while, she quietly kept her eyes closed. 

Okita put his lips against her slightly opened lips, and felt the slight warmth as they touched. Their was a dream-like kiss, almost as if it were a whisper that could not be heard unless it were attentively listened to.

Although he had kissed these lips multiple times, to the point where he couldn't remember, he also didn't know how many times he would be able to kiss these lips in days to come.

The lips that joined with his seemed to be shaking/trembling with grief. He was immediately able to tell that she was crying. 

"……Don't cry. Because you're a strong child."

As he wiped the tears from the corner of the young woman's eyes, he gently reprimanded her.

But in fact, his heart felt happy because Chizuru shed tears for him.

(I didn't expect that in my lifetime/life, that I would actually meet a woman who would cry for me.)

Thinking back, this was an ill-fated relationship. Okita thought so. 

(My life will not last for a long time.…… but it wasn't completely bad, because in the end, I was able to meet you like this. Maybe the purpose of my life was to meet you.)

Without even realizing it, the sun already set, and the nearby scenery was gradually coloured like the water. The two of them then set off on their way home alongside one other. 

-end-

[missanthropicprinciple]

A Tale of Elio and My Fixation with Lovable Androids

TL;DR Feel free to scroll past this unless you’re keen to read my ramblings about androids, Neoclassical art, children’s lit, and bad science fiction movies. 

Since the late 1990s one of my favourite books has been A Tale of Time City (1989) by Diana Wynne Jones. It’s a mildly confusing story but engaging, with memorable characters, including the android Elio, pictured above - my own fan art from a few years ago. Studio Ghibli really needs to make this film if no one does a live-action version, seeing as they brought Jones’ novel Howl’s Moving Castle to life. Here’s a scan of my favourite edition with mesmerizing cover art by Richard Bober.

This book inspired me so much I’ve done research on it. I wasn’t in a class in grad school that allowed me to write about it so I took it on as a casual independent project in 2019. Two days after my dad died of cancer I was scheduled to present my paper on Elio from ATOTC. Needless to say I was not able to finish writing the essay. I told the department coordinator I would likely not attend but I would let him know. He was seriously surprised that I showed up. I must have looked like a ghost - wearing a nice top, skirt, tights, and short heels. I was still in total shock but I thought I might as well press on. My paper’s working tile remains as it was: Elio: Android Autonomy and the Personification of the Sun God. I presented a long bullet point list of working ideas and research done up until that point. My work is still on the broad side because it’s an intersection of young adult fiction, Neoclassic art, and android autonomy; I have some narrowing to do. Here are my main arguments thus far: 

Firstly, the android character Elio’s physical characteristics and personality are inspired by Helios, the Hellenistic Greek god and personification of the sun. Apparently, Elio is a Spanish name meaning sun and also an Italian given name referring to the element helium, originally derived from the Greek name of the sun-god Helios. 

Secondly, Elio and Helios share more than an etymological connection and the comparison of Elio to Helios can be articulated in two distinct ways: the aesthetic comparison, and that Elio possesses some of the qualities Helios is known for. Jones’ work repeatedly associates Elio with sunlight and golden hues, aspects which are exemplified in the 1765 Neoclassical painting Helios as the Personification of Midday by Anton Raphael Mengs. (I vaguely remember translating a couple passages from a large art book written in German when I was studying Neoclassical art.) 

This work is considered an unusual depiction of Helios. Mengs uses a motif of the glowing arrow which is interpreted by François-Xavier Fabre as a symbol of the midday heat and the sun's rays which penetrate and give light to the earth. The representation of the sun in this way is considered unusual for the 18th century because it goes against Classical and Baroque iconography which portrays Helios riding a chariot. Ironically, Jones references this. Elio proclaims his fondness for films, particularly the chariot race from Ben Hur. Elio, like Mengs’ depiction of Helios, lacks a chariot but retains his beauty and powers.

As for Elio possessing some of the qualities of Helios, the god is often referred to as “all seeing” or “Zeus’s eye.” Similarly, Elio has the ability to anticipate problems and see what humans do not, but not because he’s a god, but because he’s a servant. However, this is where his self governing comes into play when he uses his observations to take action beyond any directives he has been given. His physical strength, like Helios, exceeds that of humans. Elio himself says, “my utmost is more than twice that of a born-human” (Jones, 211).

Thirdly, Elio’s self awareness allows him to use both his powers of observation and superior physical strength independent from humans. He does not always wait to be told how to use his power; he wields it. Not only does he play a part equal to that of humans in Jones’ plot, he specifically controls the fates of certain human characters. For example, he doesn’t always utilize his speed when he’s at the beck and call of his master, Sempitern. He makes choices not to fully comply with the demands made of him.

My fourth point, which I can’t quite articulate well, is that the most significant dynamic of this comparison is the body of Elio and how his physicality interacts with his autonomy. Elio acts as an individual who contributes to a wider mythology just as Helios does. Yet, while Elio is superior to humans in many ways, his quasi-humanity allows him to act in ways which align with Helios’ qualities.

For example, Elio makes personal choices and exhibits emotions not necessary for him, as an android, to function. He confesses a desire to harm another android out of annoyance where a passionate opinion would not be expected from an android. This human failing is indicative of the same autonomy which allows him to act as Helios does. Elio has been constructed as a superhuman body in terms of his abilities, however, the human qualities which contribute to his Helios-like powers undermine his intended purpose. 

Ultimately, Elio ascends the usefulness of his “owned” body by acting independently from the humans who utilize him. His human qualities make him vulnerable and therefore he loses some of his godlike powers. Elio, while only an assistant to his human owners, utilizes his own physical and mental powers to maintain his autonomy. Conversely, his god-like qualities make Elio more human rather than affirming his android identity.

This is a very complex subject and I don’t really know where I’m going with it and have possibly made some suppositional errors. TL;DR: What I do know is that Elio presents a paradox: being idealized for his abilities allows him to be autonomous while being autonomous disrupts the servitude of his body.

I am in the process of determining what lens I will use to analyze Elio’s experience and functionality of being an android. I’m thinking about using Alan Turning’s 1950 work Computing Machinery and Intelligence. I’m still navigating the literary theory aspect, or indeed philosophical aspect, of this area of study. 

This brings me to something I came across later that relates to Elio and ATOTC. 

SPOILERS AHEAD

The closest depiction of an android that I’ve seen to Elio other than Data is from a terrible and somewhat forgotten science fiction film from 1989. “Byron”, (played by pre-Jurassic Park-fame Bob Peck) the android in the painfully awful film Slipstream comes very close to Elio in terms of tone, attitude, and characterization. Despite the embarrassingly bad script and dialogue, Peck does a bang-up job, seemingly acting in a wonderful film running parallel to the absolute trash his co-stars were apparently “acting” in. Yes, I rewatched this film just to write this analysis. (The secondhand embarrassment is off the charts and I had it playing at a low volume most of the time Byron was not on the screen.)

When you first see Byron he’s acting out autonomy but you’re not aware he’s an android. The audience is told he’s an escaped fugitive, a murderer, and that’s all we know for over half the film. Yet there are several clues. When you first see him he’s running over rugged terrain in a suit which was kind of a big hint but nothing makes sense in this film so I just thought that it was a weird costume choice. Then he’s literally shot with a grappling hook. He doesn’t seem to be in pain even though he’s shocked by it, and then is pulled down by a bounty hunter named Tasker (Mark Hamill) and hits the ground from a great height and doesn’t die. He just quotes what I think is John Gillespie Magee, Jr.’s "High Flight”: “I have slipped the surly bonds of Earth….and touched the face of God.” Next time you see him, he’s in handcuffs, looking super depressed, and apparently not bleeding out from the now absent grapple hook that’s gone through his forearm. 

He eventually quotes Lord Byron to cryptically indicate his name which is lost on Bill Paxton’s character, Matt. “Byron” essentially means cowshed. It’s ironic because Byron the android is in many ways a receptacle of knowledge. Matt even says sarcastically, “Well aren’t you a walking storeroom of information,” and Byron responds cheerfully, “Yes.” 

Byron breaks out of his handcuffs saying they’d “become rather superfluous.” You think he’s just showing off but once you know he’s an android you know he’s just honest all the time. He then heals a blind child and paraphrases Psalm 127:3. Matt says, “I didn’t know you were a healer.” Apparently Byron can perform cataract surgery in less than five minutes. Along their journey together (Bill is set on collecting the bounty on Byron’s head before Tasker can catch up) they camp out. Byron sleeps with his eyes open. (Even if he is an android wouldn’t his eyes need to be “cleaned” in the same way humans need to close our eyes and blink?) Matt wakes up to find Byron seemingly strangling him. “I was feeling your carotid pulse,” he explains. “I was just checking for arrhythmia and episodes of ventricular tachycardia.” At this point you realize he’s not so much a spiritual healer as a doctor who philosophizes a lot. 

Byron’s miraculous behavior and pontificating is called into question by a nomadic spiritual community which has been torn apart by an attack on their village. As he lays dying, Ben Kingsley’s character calls Byron a “false prophet” but his faith in this stranger is somewhat restored when he says, “all that will be left of me is bits of gold in the sand. You have a soul, do not abandon it in death.” 

Another character says, “The stranger is no mortal man.” Therefore it is clear that Byron likely isn’t human. We don’t find out he’s an android until 46 minutes into the film. Once that’s cleared up, other concepts arise in the script. While not well executed, they are really interesting; emotion both positive and negative, free will, perfection, A.I. slavery, and murder are all addressed throughout the second half of the film. Byron says he doesn’t understand “hate” in context of his “master” to whom he was nurse, brother, father, mentor, and friend, but he admits he was more of a slave than anything else. 

The character Ariel takes an interest in him for a variety of reasons, especially romantically. In one very evocative moment we see Byron in a museum exhibit, a false garden of Eden, full of fake vegetation and taxidermies, full body mounts. So we’ve got an android having an Adam experience. Whether or not he experiences “original sin” with Ariel or if he’s “fully functional” is never acknowledged. Although one woman says, “Amanda slept with a robot?!” (who the f**k is Amanda?!) and a man says to another sitting next to him, “I hear they’re rather mechanical in the saddle.” 

Byron is less concerned with consummation and more excited about love, sleep, and dreaming. When he is with Ariel he doesn’t quite know how to act in terms of sexual play and then apologizes: “I’m not accustomed to being loved.” We see him closing his eyes when he’s cuddled up with Ariel; the next day he is certainly very pleased that he fell asleep with his eyes closed and had a dream. 

In terms of his servitude and autonomy they did not spend an adequate portion of the exposition on it. Matt has a change of heart and says instead of collecting the bounty, he’ll set him free as it’s briefly revealed that Byron killed his “master” upon the man’s request. Naturally, this brings up a lot of confusing feelings for Byron. “Is this what it’s like to be human? I don’t think I’m up to it,” he says. “Can I be trusted with human feelings?” And in a way he cannot. Ariel is brutally shot by Tasker.

Byron is angered over Ariel’s death and follows the bounty hunter to his ship. Instead of taking him in to collect a reward, Tasker tries to run him down with the glider plane. Byron manages to get himself caught in the engine and starts to strangle his assailant. Tasker quotes “touched the face of god” which brings Byron to his senses and he stops killing Luke Skywalker Tasker and tries to save the plane. It looks like he’s going to hot-wire it but then uses the wires like reins (chariot imagery???). They crash into the side of a mountain slope. Tasker dies but Byron survives. Apparently he’s basically indestructible and somewhat godlike. “I’m too dangerous to be human,” Byron tells Matt. In the end, he goes off in search of the place he’d been dreaming about. 

Although in terms of physical appearance the two androids are vastly different, they have so much in common. Here are some basic concepts. 

Character: Both are stoic, formal, intelligent, honest

Indestructible: Byron is injured with a grappling hook, takes a major fall of about 20 or 30 feet without a scratch: he is somewhat godlike or slave-like, meant to withstand destruction and pain. Elio is less indestructible but easily repaired.

Healer: Byron has the skills to heal people with basic surgery. Elio doesn’t take his own injuries seriously and experiences pain for the first time (Jones, 218-9).

Both think they deserve to be punished: Elio states this quite clearly (Jones, 276) and Byron says the same thing about himself with resigned passivity.

Complex relationship with “human emotions”: Both come to terms with violence, anger, and love.

Autonomy: At the end of the film Byron goes off on his own to look for a promised land. Elio decides his own fate by deciding to accompany the children of the story, stating that Vivian is a “particular favorite” of his (278). 

Dreaming and stories: Byron is searching for a place, “where I think I belong,” he says, which is a place he often thinks and dreams about. Dreaming is considered to be a human attribute, a non-essential bi-product to consciousness. Elio enjoys stories and old films (Jones, 180), similarly “human” in nature. 

(Peck, seen here waiting for Bill Paxton to learn how to act. Sorry, I’m salty.)

Disclaimer: This is a work in progress! This project is an intersection of niche subjects that interest no one but myself. 

Anyway, my point is (yes, I did have a point...or rather several) was that if anyone should adapt A Tale of Time City, Byron from Slipstream is the best example of how Elio should be portrayed in terms of characterization. I feel that Slipstream should have been centered around Byron. The film was kind of like, just about the “we’re both fighting over the bounty of this fugitive” sorta thing. It would have made more sense to focus on Byron as he is arguably the most interesting character and represents many of the conflicts within the story. I would like to combine my research on ATOTC and Slipstream one day. In any case, this is a good start. 

Works Cited (WIP) 

Jones, Diana W. A Tale of Time City: Knopf, 1987. Print. Perkowitz, Sidney. Digital People: From Bionic Humans to Androids. Washington, D.C: Joseph Henry Press, 2004. Print.

Roettgen, Steffi, and Anton R. Mengs. Anton Raphael Mengs: 1728-1779 Part 2. München: Hirmer, 1999. Print.

Turing, A. M. “Computing Machinery and Intelligence.” Mind, vol. 59, no. 236, 1950, pp. 433–460. JSTOR, www.jstor.org/stable/2251299. Wilson, Eric. The Melancholy Android: On the Psychology of Sacred Machines. Albany: State University of New York Press, 2006. Print

[actingwithportals]

Heyo! Currently, I'm trying to write a character with psychosis, yet as I'm (probably) neurotypical, I don't really know much about writing neurodivergent characters aside from things I've read online, and I'm not really sure how reliable those are. I don't want to be ableist at all, so I was wondering if you could give me some tips, please? If it doesn't bother you, of course!

Hoo ok so this is definitely a question that could have a very long answer, because there is A Lot that can be covered in how to accurately portray a psychotic character in writing. I’ll try to give a good answer without overwhelming you with too much info, and some tips on ways you can find further information on your own too!

First, and most important thing imo, is you definitely want to talk to psychotic people when developing your character and deciding how their psychosis effects their life, personality, and interactions with the world and others. Every psychotic person experiences psychosis a little different, so hearing multiple perspectives is going to be helpful in having a fuller understanding of what is realistic and expected. There’s going to be a lot of different situations too that your character will be put in where their psychosis would be relevant, and each and every one one of those situations are going to be varied and unique. Having a good, general grasp on psychosis will help you to tackle all sorts of scenarios with a better understanding, but I would still encourage reaching out to psychotic individuals if there are specific scenarios that you think should be given particular care and focus (and tbh I would say that any situation where the psychosis is relevant should be considered this carefully, particularly when first starting out).

Another important point to consider when first developing your character is deciding what sort of psychotic disorder they have. Not all psychotic disorders are the same, and even those who do have the same diagnosis might not experience psychosis similarly, depending on if they have other diagnoses going on, or what is their given personality and living situation. Some of the most common psychotic disorders that you would probably come across are schizophrenia, bipolar type 1, and depression with psychosis. All of these look very different from each other when it comes to symptoms, but even within each individual one there are so many variations of how they might present in a person. For example, I’m a schizophrenic who regularly has auditory hallucinations and severe paranoia, whereas a roommate I once lived with was a schizophrenic who was more prone to visual hallucinations and memory issues. Figuring out your character’s diagnosis, or even just their most common symptoms, is going to make your portrayal more accurate.

I’ll go over some of the more common symptoms and experiences of psychosis now, to sort of lay out a basic understanding of what it’s like. Also, it’s important to note that psychosis itself is a symptom and not its own disorder or diagnosis.

Hallucinations: This is definitely the most Recognized symptom of psychosis, and in my experience it does seem to be very widely shared, but not everyone with a psychotic disorder experiences hallucinations. It’s just the most “extreme” as some might say, and thus tends to get the most attention. There are a few types of hallucinations - visual, auditory, tactile, olfactory, and gustatory. Visual hallucinations are hallucinations that you see, auditory are ones you hear, tactile are ones you feel, olfactory are ones you smell, and gustatory are ones you taste. Visual and auditory are the most common, but a fair amount of psychotic people also experience tactile hallucinations. Olfactory and gustatory hallucinations tend to be the least common, but can certainly still occur in plenty of psychotic individuals.

Auditory hallucinations: this tends to be the most common type of hallucination, and it usually includes hearing voices (whispered, shouting, far away, close by, etc.), but can also include pretty much any other sound imaginable, like sirens, your phone ringing, music, or gunshots.

Visual hallucinations: this is usually less common than auditory, but is still generally more common than the latter three mentioned above. One of the most common visual hallucinations I hear about psychotic people experiencing is shadow people - figures that appear dark and vaguely human-shaped, usually seen out of the corner of your eye in darkened hallways or corners. But like auditory, visual hallucinations can take on just about any form imaginable.

It’s important to note that a lot of psychotics can reasonably guess when they are experiencing a hallucination, but sometimes it really is hard to be sure, especially if the hallucination is something particularly believable, like a familiar voice calling your name from another room. And not all hallucinations are dramatic or scary (though these do of course exist); often times a psychotic person might experience daily mundane hallucinations that have little to no effect on their life (an example of this is I used to see the same cloud of sparkling purple dust at a particular part of the college campus I used to attend).

Delusions: This is the second most recognized psychotic symptom, and just like hallucinations it can be extremely varied, or even nonexistent in some psychotics. Some common types of delusions are persecutory (the belief that you are being targeted with harmful intent by someone or something), grandiose (the belief that you have a grander importance in the world than what might be considered normal or reasonable), and somatic (the belief that there is something medically wrong with you, despite a lack of symptoms). Sometimes delusions are specifically laid out ideas that you firmly believe, despite having no factual evidence to support them, but sometimes they are simply a sense or feeling that Something about yourself or the world is off or wrong. 

Some psychotic people are well aware of their delusions, while others aren’t as insightful (both are valid and deserving of care and consideration). It’s entirely possible for psychotic people to experience multiple delusions, and to be aware of some of them as delusions and not be aware of others. Delusions are an extremely varied thing and often difficult to clearly cut because they strongly warp a psychotic person’s sense of reality. I won’t go into examples here because detailed discussions of delusions is something I personally am triggered by, but the most important thing I would say to remember here is that delusions feel very real to the psychotic person experiencing them, and even if they are aware the belief is a delusion, that isn’t always enough to make the belief disappear. Respecting someone, while also not feeding into their delusion, is a delicate but important balance to navigate. You don’t want to invalidate a person for experiencing a delusion, but you also don’t want to lead them further into it, especially if the delusion is one that could be dangerous for them.

Cognitive symptoms: A lot of folks don’t realize that psychosis can have a major affect on your cognitive functions. The disconnect from reality can affect your ability to remember things like conversations with friends, important dates or responsibilities, or even what you are currently trying to do or say. It’s not uncommon for psychotic people to have the issue with beginning a sentence and forgetting halfway through what they were talking about (for me personally, this is why I prefer talking via text, because I am better able to stay on track with my thoughts). Aside from difficulties with memory, psychotic people can also experience trouble grasping new information and concepts, difficulties sleeping (nightmares are a common occurrence), compulsions or tics or habits, as well as stimming and hyperfocus.

Regulating emotions is also a common difficulty among psychotic people, and that can present itself as anything from hyper-empathy to low empathy, flat affect (the lack of physical emoting), or difficulties with volume control. Unsurprisingly, it’s often that someone with schizophrenia can get diagnosed with autism because certain cognitive behaviors look very much the same (though of course it is possible for someone to have both). And though most often just included with schizophrenia, non schizophrenic psychotic people can also experience catatonia (abnormal movement or behavior that can include anything from being unable to move for several hours to multiple days, to repeating specific movements or words and being unable to stop).

This ended up being A Lot of information, but the above is a very basic description of what symptoms of psychosis are like, and how varied the experiences can be. Some psychotic people will take medication for their symptoms, some will go to therapy, while some will seek out no medical attention at all. It depends on the individual, their needs and preferences, and what resources are available to them. Psychosis effects almost every part of a psychotic person’s life, but it doesn’t always present so clearly because it does often become so normal for the individual that it integrates into average life. For some this is ok, and even enjoyed, while for others the experience is distressing and debilitating. Often it’s a bit of both. There’s always going to be bad days, but there are good days too, and not every aspect of psychosis is negative or scary. I think, for me personally, I’d be a great deal lonelier without my psychosis.

If you want further information on psychosis I would definitely recommend the tumblr blog psychotic-psypport, as well as looking in tags like actuallypsychotic or pseriouslypsychosis. The best place to get information on how to portray psychosis is always through talking to actual psychotic individuals, as medical information online can sometimes be biased from years and years and years of stigmatization towards psychosis (but this is not to discourage medical research, just to suggest always having a critical mind when taking in that info and conferring it with the psychotic community first).

Also, a brief note on language. When referring to someone with psychosis, it is ok to call them psychotic! However, if you are not fully comfortable it is ok to say “a person with psychosis”, though imo “psychotic person” is preferable and less clunky. Schizophrenic and psychotic are not interchangeable words, as the disorder of schizophrenia and the symptom of psychosis are not the same thing. Psychosis and psychopathy are not the same thing (and psychopathy is honestly an outdated and Not Great Word anyways, but if that is something you are curious about I recommend looking into antisocial personality disorder - again, not the same thing as psychosis, but these two things can exist together). Unless you yourself are psychotic, never, ever, EVER use the word psycho. Just, please please please do not. I would say the same goes for the word schizo, if applicable to the character you are writing. (I am not the ultimate authority on this, but as someone to whom these terms apply, seeing non psychotics or non schizophrenics use either is extremely uncomfortable and unpleasant). Also, bipolar does not automatically equal psychotic, as psychosis is not a symptom that appears in bipolar type 2 (however I am not bipolar, so if this information isn’t accurate anyone do feel free to correct me).

A final important note to remember as well is that psychosis does not make a person dangerous, and more often than not the person experiencing psychosis is going to be at greater risk from their disorder than any individuals around them. If you wish to write an antagonist or villain with psychosis, please be extremely critical of your reasoning behind that decision and confer with psychotics on how to do that appropriately, if you should even do it at all.

I hope this was helpful and not overwhelming, and if you want to know about anything more specific I am willing to discuss further! The question was a bit broad so I wanted to make sure I hit as many relevant points as I could.

If any other psychotic individuals want to chime in feel free! However I would ask that non psychotics please do not.

[degenerate-perturbation]

Viv Reviews: Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell

As part of my quest to read every edgy Harry Potter knockoff, I read Wayward Son.

I liked it much better than Carry On. Carry On was a confusing mess and I don’t really remember anything that happened in it. Wayward Son is a much more tightly plotted, emotionally coherent book, with many good ideas.

Is it good? No.

But here are some things I liked about it:

The plot construction. Checkov’s guns are ably placed in the first act, and fired in the third. The twists make sense, without being telegraphed. The story clips along at a reasonable pace and there is a consistent sense of motion and dynamism throughout that made me want to keep reading.

The Americana. I love all magical Americana. However, it is possible to fuck this trope up (see: CW’s Supernatural.) Wayward Son does this trope without fucking it up, and I’ll give it credit for that.

The inherent hilarity of British people interacting with America and being completely befuddled. For the duration of reading this book I felt about 4% more patriotic. There is a scene where the main characters are gearing up to fight the villains with magical spells but this is America and the villains brought guns and they just shoot them. This is hilarious and exactly what would happen.

The villains. The concept of a bunch of Silicon Valley techbros becoming vampires as like a biohacking project is brilliant, because I know so many people who would do that. I would do that. Las Vegas being run by old-school vampires and the two groups hate each other for Vampiring Wrong is also brilliant.

I really enjoyed the new muggle character. Shepard is a muggle who knows about magic and just really likes it and wants to be around it as like, a hobby. I would totally be this guy. Between him and the Silicon Valleys vampires I feel like the American characters in this book are spot-on as types of people who would exist in a setting where magic is real. So few urban fantasy books get this right, and Wayward Son kind of does!

Most of the characters do have coherent, detectable emotional arcs. They aren’t well-executed. But they exist! This is more than I could say for the previous book. Draco/Baz struggles with existing as a marginal vampire in mage society, or abandoning humanity to exist in vampire society. Hermione/Penelope takes a long series of L’s and comes to realize that she can’t actually do everything herself and should really have asked for help. Harry/Simon is depressed about not being a main character anymore.

The fact that Draco is a vampire for no obvious reason doesn’t seem as weird in Wayward Son as in Carry On because vampires are a major element of this book’s plot.

Harry and Draco’s relationship in this book is on the rocks, and it starts out seeming like they are going to break up. They still bicker a lot, despite being boyfriends, which makes perfect sense for people who disliked each other for most of the time they knew each other. This creates a fine thread of emotional tension throughout the story (I love conflict!) that, unfortunately, goes nowhere.

Here is what I did not like:

THE POV CHANGES. 

Oh my god, the POV changes are fucking intolerable. Do you guys remember those old fanfics where there was a POV change literally every paragraph and every event got described from 4 different characters’ point of view? This book does this so egregiously that part of me wonders if in fact Rowell is making the book bad on purpose to fit with the fanfiction thing--because her other books are fine! I know Rowell can write a perfectly respectable love story, so really, what gives?

This is really just one thing because I think all of the book’s flaws boil down to this supremely irritating structure. Here are some issues that I feel arise from it:

Characters do not really develop their relationships to each other, because all of their emotional turmoil happens in their first-person internal monologue. Simon and Baz never really work through their relationship issues because they do not talk to each other until the very end of the book. They live completely inside their own heads, straightfowardly telling the reader how they are feeling, without having to tell each other.

Similarly, I thought Penelope and Shepard were going to be a developing couple. They would make sense as a foil to Simon and Baz’s established (and crumbling) relationship, they interact quite a bit, Penelope gets dumped at the start of the book by her boyfriend for traits that Shepard explicitly values, and on a meta level, it is sensible to pair the most magical mage with a muggle. But they don’t really interact much on the page. I think about how much more interesting this relationship would have read if Penelope had worked through some of her issues with this guy, but she didn’t.

As a result, the character’s arcs do not really go anywhere satisfying, because they are all so inside their own heads! Without playing off each other, they don’t have opportunities to develop in a natural way. She just privately thinks her to herself that she’s in over her head, and that’s the end of it. We don’t see anyone challenge Penelope on her overconfidence or see her confess vulnerability to anyone. We don’t see Simon and Baz argue about their relationship; we just see them mutually, separately worry about it.

The other problem I have with Simon and Baz is that their relationship takes place entirely in terms of dramatic overwrought romantic inner monologue. The one time they interact with each other romantically on screen--we don’t actually see it! We just see ping-ponging POV of “He means the world to me” and “I only ever wanted him," which is wildly inconsistent with how they actually interact with each other, which is mostly tense in petty bickering. And that would have been perfectly fine if, say, it had lead to a break up and subsequent make up. That would have been a good trial-by-fire for this relationship! But it doesn’t happen. I’m left asking over and over again, why do these characters love each other? Why does he mean the world to him? Why should I care?

This is related to another issue with the book is that, like a fanfiction, it seems to require the context of “canon” events in order to make emotional sense. Simon and Baz keep referring back to their dynamic as roommates that hate each other to contextualize their present love for each other. But we never saw any of that happen! I don’t feel attachment to their pre-existing relationship because the pre-existing relationship is an informed quality.

And this is the problem with Simon himself, as a character. His arc in this book is about overcoming his depression and the burnout of being an ex-main-character. He and Penelope keep referencing adventures they’ve had that we weren’t there for, so how am I supposed to feel a sense of bittersweet nostalgia for then? It’s like hanging out with a group of friends who keep making inside jokes I don’t get. It’s alienating, and does the opposite of make me relate to these characters.

If I was reading about Harry Potter’s ex-main-character depression, this would read totally differently, because I would have already read seven years’ worth of Harry Potter’s wild adventures. A fanfiction about Harry’s post-traumatic stress about all those events would be perfectly suitable fanfiction subject. A book about Crypto-Harry-Potter’s post-traumatic stress over events we weren’t present for does not work nearly as well.

Finally, the dynamic of this trio does not work. What really worked for Harry, Ron, and Hermione is that each one of them was the awkward third friend. In Wayward Son, Penelope and Baz both have a relationship with Simon, but not really each other. And since the characters stay in their own heads, a new dynamic doesn’t really have space to develop.

Also, the prose just, isn’t very good. J. K. Rowling was not a master of prose, but Harry Potter felt magical. It felt like a fairy tale. With Wayward Son, I am Once Again reminded of this Ursula Le Guin quote, from her essay, “From Elfland to Poughkeepsie”:

Many readers, many critics, and most editors speak of style as if it were an ingredient of a book, like the sugar in a cake, or something added onto the book, like the frosting on the cake. The style, of course, is the book. If you remove the cake, all you have left is recipe. If you remove the style, all you have left is a synopsis of the plot.

This is a recipe for a book. A good recipe, with many good ingredients, but it utterly lacks style, making it just good enough to disappoint me.

Apparently there is going to be a threequel. Obviously I am going to read it.

[dusk-writes]

hoooo boy. I’m probably gonna get hate for this (bc i’ve heard the stans of this fic are Like That) but here goes anyway!! & I’m also…. really hoping you asked me this in good faith, @parttwoelectricboogaloo, because I’m Not Here to Start Shit (ie, important disclaimer that this post is NOT an attack against the author or anyone who likes the fic, & i won’t tolerate stans being rude/shitty in the replies).

anyway, tl;dr: the author took a CANONICALLY strong & independent character (Remus) & reduced him to someone who literally cannot function without a romantic love interest (either Sirius or the OC) by the end of the fic– his arc is essentially a downward spiral over the course of which he loses any shred of agency & becomes unhealthily clingy/needy instead.

Remus in Actual Book Canon is clever, competent, intelligent, and incredibly self-sufficient– while That Fic characterises Remus as the sort of person who literally whines & begs his lover not to break up with him (and I’m entirely unable to understand where OP got this characterisation from, bc it doesn’t remotely resemble Canon Remus from the books).

…like, Remus’s character in the final chapters of a/t/y/d is strongly reminiscent of Bella from Twilight– and I shouldn’t need to explain why this is Not A Good Thing. you know that one super icky section where Edward buggers off & there are several completely blank chapters with only the names of months at the top, to show how she literally Cannot Exist without her hot boyfriend & nothing else going on in her life is even worth mentioning…? This fic, similarly, has Remus fall into a deep depressive state after Halloween 1981 (including problems with addiction & substance abuse) from which he needs to be ‘saved’ by a Man, which would justifiably have everyone up in arms if he were a woman (except in some ways it’s even worse to shove Remus into this role, bc he’s a grown ass man and not an immature hormonal teenager). I definitely don’t dispute that Remus was very messed up after the war, and of course it would take time for him to recover from that trauma, but this is something he Can & Should be able to work through on his own!! Having another character (especially a love interest) swoop in to pick up the pieces for him strips Remus of his agency, & I’m really not about that.

Point 1: if a trope is gross & misogynistic when applied to a female character, it really should not be applied to a gay man, either. And, on that note, portraying one half of a gay ship as the ‘soft emotional vulnerable one’ (especially when this is not a canon trait of the character) is in fact super problematic; it’s literally a homophobic stereotype.

Point 2: Romance is not a cure for mental illness!!! And any romantic relationship where one partner contributes all of the emotional labour is Not Healthy.

Canon Wolfstar is beautiful because Remus & Sirius are equals who perfectly balance each other out, whose lives are both improved by the other’s presence while each still existing as his own independent person. they’re so close and vibe so well together that even after 12 years apart they barely need to speak out loud to understand each other. The author of a/t/y/d, meanwhile, is on the record as saying that Sirius & Remus ‘don’t really understand each other’, and injected their own OC into this role instead (which… Big Oof).

And for the record, I want to be 100% crystal clear that I’m NOT saying no one should ever read this fic, or that enjoying it makes you a bad person!! (we’re all still fans of HP & wolfstar in spite of JKR being a terrible racist terf, after all). But please, if you enjoy this work, do so while being conscious & critical of its flaws, and stop holding it up as the Pinnacle Of All Literature, or even the Best Fanfic Ever (remember that Perfect Flawless Media Does Not Exist!! flaws are normal, & they don’t mean you can’t/shouldn’t enjoy things, but it’s important to be aware & respectful). Because yeah, as a mentally ill queer dude, there are a Lot of unfortunate implications in this fic that make me very deeply uncomfortable (and friends who are POC have voiced discomfort regarding that aspect as well, though I’ll leave it to them to elaborate if they choose to). Again, you’re absolutely free to enjoy this fic & rec it to others, & it’s not my intention to stop you– but it is Not good rep of mental illness & disability, or of queer men (another side note: writing a character who explicitly & consistently IDs as a Gay Man throughout his adult life, only to have him marry a woman as the ultimate endgame ship, is also Very Squicky). I’m just. Really Tired.

in closing: It’s 2020 & We Are Past The Need For Gay Men Cast As Sexist Female Character Tropes & Presenting Toxic Unhealthy Relationships As Romantic. thank you for coming to my ted talk, and have a lovely day, friends ♡

[vishalachouhan]

RESEARCH AND PLANNING

Hey guys in this blog I’m going to share all of my research and planning for our advanced portfolio in which we have to create two trailers.

Since The COVID-19 has resulted in schools shut all across the world. As a result, education has changed dramatically, with the distinctive rise of e-learning, whereby teaching is undertaken remotely and on digital platforms. Similarly, media studies classes are going online and we are trying our best to collaborate as a team and understand all the theory and practical aspects of media studies. We have started with the overview of the syllabus and have done the discussion on our advanced portfolio.

Our team was same as Before :-

Director - VISHALA CHOUHAN

Cinematography - RIYAAN BHANDARI

Editor - AADITYALEKSHMI

After getting a brief understanding about our coursework, we got together to discuss a wide range of ideas for our story line. I first researched on A level trailers to understand how they are presenting there genres. I then started researching more about different genres which could easily convey the meaning of the trailers.

Thereafter i commenced writing and planning for our story line. I thought of showing different genre this time so selected horror and drama for our trailer. Since because of COVID-19 we can’t go anywhere to shoot, the only location could be our school. Our teacher made this clear while explaining about the advanced portfolio. So accordingly we can create our story line.

Since our shoot will take place in school and we have to bring up a social issue for our trailer, I decided to manifest a common social issue BULLYING which is happening nowadays in school and used to be a very complex social phenomenon that crosses age, ethnicity and national boundaries.

To know more about bullying as a social issue I researched on types and ways of bullying :-

RESEARCH ON BULLYING

Types of bulling

Direct Bullying and Indirect Bullying

Direct bullying is different from indirect bullying as direct bullying involves direct contact with the one being bullied. Indirect may not. An example of direct bullying would be throwing something at a person, or yelling hurtful words at them. An example of indirect bullying might be spreading rumors about a classmate.

Physical Bullying

Physical bullying always involves physical contact with the other person. This can mean hand-to-hand, but can also mean throwing items, tripping, or eliciting others to cause physical harm to a person.

Emotional Bullying

Emotional bullying involves using ways to cause emotional hurt to another person. This can include saying or writing hurtful things, causing others to gang up on an individual, purposeful ignoring, or spreading rumors.

There are many more types of bullying but since these are the common ways a one could bully someone so I thought of showing them into our trailer. Even there are multiple places where bullying occurs like :

in the hallway or stairwell at school

inside the classroom

in the cafeteria

outside on school grounds

on the school bus

in the bathroom or locker room

These could be the places where we can shoot our shots. Then I researched on What makes a bully ?

School bullies tend to share common traits such as aggressive, dominant, slightly lower than average intelligence and reading ability, and are of average school popularity. Many suggest that bullies may have poor social skills, have low empathy levels, and can be uncooperative.

Thereafter I researched on the effects of bullying : Depression and anxiety, increased feelings of sadness and loneliness, changes in sleep and eating patterns, and loss of interest in activities they used to enjoy. These are the major issues students are more likely to experience.

Since depression is very common nowadays as all age of people are facing and majorly school students suffer form this social issue so my idea was to show both bullying and depression into our trailers.

I started compiling my ideas and my research about bullying and depression and began thinking how could I connect it with school life and horror drama genre. Below is the horror/thriller movie in which student gets bullied

These are my Initial ideas:

a girl reading a scary book realising herself as a character in it and starts behaving wired around her classmates where they starts bullying her.

 classmates playing TDS and gives dare to the girl to record a video of the places where no one has visited and is locked where she receives calls from a person named black hood who hides his face and calls her to do certain strange things.

I started discussing these ideas with my teammates but unfortunately no one agreed as they had their different ideas too. So as a team we end up with whole new plan for our story line. I and the editor thought of showing a story of the twins where one is trapped inside the mirror and another gets bullied in the school and suffers from depression to help her, her twin sister takes revenge. At first I thought of showing this marked transformation between both sisters in the trailer. However our teacher suggested us to hold on to our lead actor throughout the trailer and to not reveal the other one as it will help to us to maintain curiosity till the end.

One of the top most search engine questions is how can bullying lead to depression. This we conducted a survey and social media poll to ensure that we are moving forward with an actual serious social issue. Our responders were the active student community who are the target Audience for our trailers.

The results for the same were :

INSTAGRAM POLL

Does bullying lead to depression?

Is school bullying common?

Are bullying and depression a serious social issue?

Overall This survey was very helpful..

After for the inspiration I started watching some trailers. 🎬

We watched trapped which is a survival drama for more references.

I found a very interesting series Al Rawabi school of girls which I have watched before it includes a story of a girl getting bullied by her classmates and takes revenge afterwards.

For more ideas I have watched 13 Reason why’s trailer.

13 Reasons Why stood out through all the issues and controversies it faced and showcases bullying, depression and major issues faced by a student at school in an easy going manner, this attracted a huge no. of audience and successfully gained recognition as it:

Made specific moves in order to have the audience feel EXACTLY what the character feels.

Does the best to highlight what every single person in a suicide/sexual abuse/bullying (etc.) experience may feel by touching on almost every situation.

Stresses that these situations do exist, and that there is ALWAYS a way out.

By watching so many trailers and movies I was sorted with my story and had a clear plan for our story line. However We have changed our story plans 2 -3 times by considering all the suggestions and ideas from my teammates but eventually this all helped me to be more creative while planning and thinking out of the box.

I have also researched on codes and conventions of horror drama genre while I was planning the story. As this particular research is very important to know before we finalised the story.

Overall, all these elements of research and planning helped me to develop my research skills.

So this was all about research and planning now it’s time to gather all the research material and final the story-line‼️

[arecomicsevengood]

RIP Steve Lightle, who died at the beginning of the year, at the age of 61. Although maybe most known as a cover artist, probably the most accessible way to look at his sequential work is in the Daredevil: Typhoid’s Kiss collection, which doesn’t have very many Daredevil comics in it. Rather, Ann Nocenti, after creating the Typhoid Mary character during her run writing Daredevil, wrote a handful of stories featuring her, many of which ran in Marvel Comics Presents, with work by Steve Lightle. Marvel Comics Presents published every two weeks, running four serials of eight pages apiece: Sixteen pages a month is a more forgiving pace than what’s required of an artist drawing a twenty-two page book, and they employed Lightle pretty steadily until the book got canceled. They also gave Sam Kieth a good deal of work for a while. I had a few issues as a kid, but the biweekly schedule made it hard to keep up with, a lot of stories were filler, the approach to serialization made things hard to follow. It was all fairly generic Marvel Comics material, but Nocenti’s Typhoid Mary material is all characterized by a fraught sexuality I found pretty baffling as an eight-year-old. I haven’t purchased that collection, though it’s surely worth the marked-down prices you can find for it online, because generally speaking the print jobs on glossy paper that Marvel does wreck the coloring and linework from this era. (It’s probably fine if you read a digital copy?) I instead ordered a single issue, 150, which Lightle drew the entirety of. A few years ago, I tracked down issue 100, which was all drawn by Sam Kieth, only to find out that either because the art was rushed or the printing was cheap it looked like shit. This is a lot better!

Lightle’s style is marked by a wild contrast of approaches to ink line, pushed through busy layouts that often make it difficult to count how many panels are exactly on a page. His wife, Marianne, does the coloring and keeps things legible, varying color temperature, occasionally doing a huge face in flat color so other figures can pop against it, out of it. Much of his cover work favors the style where an abundance of characters collaged together into foreground and background, as opposed to the depiction of an isolated moment within the story style. This requires a certain degree of compositional skill to pull off, as demonstrated by how many people do similar things that end up looking incredibly boring.

This small selection is pretty mellow, as while his work reads very well across an action sequence, characters like Wolverine, Ghost Rider, Daredevil, all of whom are in this story, tend to overpower the artistry of a dynamic sequence. By which I mean, I worry they’re all a casual viewer would see. Because this is also a Typhoid Mary story, there’s a loud approach to fashion and sexuality that similarly short-circuits many people’s ability to read. I said the approach to sexuality is fraught, and for those who don’t know what I’m talking about: The concept of Typhoid Mary is that she’s a split personality where one side is a mousy quiet woman (who falls in love with Daredevil, and later Wolverine) and then the other side is a hot-blooded telepath in leather. Eventually a third personality develops that wants to kill all men. It’s a premise that makes sense for a woman writing for an audience of adolescent boys would create and continue to find interest in. I don’t want to do a RIP post for a man that makes him come off as just another comics artist that was too horny to live so I gotta crop the image of his artistry so that it’s free of cleavage and leather pants. It’s perfect superhero comics for how lurid it is, if you’re willing to accept that’s what the genre calls for. When he dials it down it can look like a romance comic. In something like this, where he’s kinda just moving the plot forward, just moving figures through space with sci-fi technology in the background, there’s still plenty of visual interest due to the choices he’s making.

EDIT: I think the only comics Lightle ever wrote are in the last issue of Marvel Comics Presents, 175, which weirdly goes for a lot of money because the cover, which Lightle drew, is now considered the first depiction of Marvel superheroes as zombies, and “Marvel Zombies” was a popular property for a while there. Comics culture is so depressing in terms of what it values.

[idiotwhotalkstoomuch]

I’m writing more Naehinahara stuff and tagging @lonely-lgbt-writer because YOU DID THIS TO ME (not that’s it’s a bad thing at the same time though-)

So this is basically my Big Killing game au and explores the idea I made of Hajime just being a fake persona Izuru made similarly to (spoilers for DR0) Ryoko being a fake amnesiac persona of Junko but there’s a good ending cause I’m soft for this au.

(I know I asked something similar to this before sorry)

Naehinahara headcannons

• The three of them entered the final trial prepared to corner the mastermind and end this killing game

• Shuichi was more tense than usual about this trial as he had begun narrowing down suspects for who the mastermind is before the class trial and Hajime was his prime suspect

• Makoto followed the evidence as it was presented to him to draw a conclusion and he didn’t like what it was leading to

• Unlike usual it was Kyoko who actually first accused Hajime since Shuichi and Makoto were in denial about it

• Hajime instantly denied the idea but as more evidence was presented his head began to ache and the finishing blow was the file of Izuru Kamukura

• Shuichi and the others fall into despair from what Izuru reveal to the group but are luckily saved by Makoto

• After leaving the simulation and working to wake everyone up it only really hits after Izuru Kamukura is executed by the Future Foundation that Hajime really never existed

• Makoto tries his best to comfort Shuichi but he still feels very depressed over the loss of Hajime since everyone managed to return but him (Chiaki shouldn’t as well but hush I’m making Shuichi depressed right now)

• While Shuichi eventually stops just staying in his room in grief it’s clear he’s still sad over Hajime

• About a week after everyone wakes up, Shuichi and Makoto are approached by Chihiro, Kazuichi, Miu and K1-B0 who want to show them something

• K1-B0 pulls out a laptop and opens it revealing Hajime who had been installed there as an AI

• As they both stand there in shock as Hajime greets them nervously, Chihiro explains how he managed to recover his data since it’s actually near impossible to completely delete data

• Miu tells them about their plan to make a robotic body for Hajime (for robot sex I imagine she’d say flustering all three of them) and despite her R18 remark they’re both extremely grateful

• Once his robotic body is made, Hajime has insecurities at one: he’s not actually human and two: Shuichi and Makoto talk about their family in such a fond way it hurts him to know he doesn’t really have parents (technically Miu, K1-B0, Kazuichi and Chihiro could be his family but he honestly can’t see them like that)

• Shuichi And Makoto comfort him over this of course cause they are very good and supportive boyfriends (Kokichi jokes that they’re so soft over a heartless robot but stops when it’s clear Shuichi and Makoto don’t think it’s funny)

• I imagine Hajime is easier to fluster here because Miu has installed certain...... information into his head

And that’s all I have for today

Casual escape

[zdbztumble]

GUNDAM WING review

For how much of it appears on this blog, Pokemon is more “comfort food” entertainment than a great passion of mine, and the same was true when I was a child. Back in my late grade school days, the two shows that dominated my thought, my viewing schedule, my play and my early writing were Dragon Ball Z and Gundam Wing. Like a lot of kids, I can thank Toonami for that. But while I’ve checked in on Dragon Ball, off and on, since those days, I haven’t seriously revisited Gundam Wing since it left Toonami years ago. Sharing OPs with a friend on Discord led to the Wing openings coming up, however, and with the series being free to view on Crunchyroll, I thought I’d give it a rewatch.

There’s no subtle way to put this - Gundam Wing does not hold up to my childhood memories. It’s a mess of a show that frequently falls short of its own ambition. But it remains an enjoyable - even admirable - mess.

The single biggest reason that Gundam Wing is such a mess - the single biggest reason for nearly all of its flaws - is that it’s too short. At 49 episodes (two of which are given over to a clip show recap halfway through), the show isn’t long enough to contain all the story it wants to tell. By way of demonstration, and for those who don’t know/remember the series, I tried to summarize the basic plot of the series in just a few paragraphs here.

Look at that. Look at all that text in a basic outline. That was me paring away all but the most essential details needed to understand what happens in the series. Now imagine trying to fit all of that into 47 episodes while also including character interaction and development, action sequences, aesthetic elements, and a good chunk of essential information being revealed via backstory and vague insinuations only fleshed out in the OVA and manga series.

Things start out promisingly enough, with the action beginning on Operation Meteor and the initial conflict emerging gradually. But it doesn’t take long for the brevity of the series to work against the intrigues happening within it. To say that the show falls into “tell, don’t show” would suggest that it gets across more information than it actually does. Narration opens most episodes with some degree of recap, and occasionally within episodes, but this device is established from the first episode and is usually effectively used in the context of ongoing action. The problem spots are where the show neglects to tell or show almost anything.

Because the series is so short, and because all screentime is spent with either the series leads or the major supporting characters, there’s never an opportunity to showcase the state of world and colonial affairs, and little opportunity taken to describe them outside of the opening narration. Consequently, any feeling of oppression, subjugation, or desperation for the colonies - and thus, a sense of what the Gundams are fighting for - isn’t present at the beginning of the series, and doesn’t ever really emerge. There is some sense of danger towards the end of the series, but it results from the various conflicts that happen within the show, not the state of affairs from the initial premise. Earth’s condition is similarly underdeveloped; if anything is showcased on Earth, it’s beauty. Characters will occasionally talk about the desperate straits of the Gundam pilots, and the pilots themselves will take developments like the targeting of the colonies or their betrayal to heart. The VAs and the animation are strong enough to sell such developments, but the lack of world-building to support them does hurt the series.

But it’s the developments around the Sanc Kingdom and Relena’s relevance to the story suffer the most from the show’s failure to show or tell. After Zechs liberates the kingdom, Relena’s installation as its ruler is set up but never depicted. Relena’s outreach to other nations, and her building up support for total pacifism, is also never shown, and barely discussed. She and Zechs are never even seen to have a conversation until near the very end of the series. There’s plenty of discussion of how inspiring and charismatic Relena is, and why she should be heeded and protected, but with none of the work behind that charisma shown and little of it discussed in detail, there’s little emotional resonance to be had here. Relena’s efforts as queen of the world are slightly more fleshed out, but when Zech’s declaration of war against Earth happens in the same episode - happens, if memory serves, less than a second after Relena makes significant inroads - the notion of Relena as an effective spokeswoman for pacifism is severely undercut by the series’ own haste.

Beyond the plot, all of this naturally damages Relena’s character. Relena begins the series as a somewhat bratty, somewhat depressed girl often neglected by her family due to her stepfather’s job, who finds Heero’s sudden presence in her life a vicarious if dangerous thrill. The murder of her stepfather and the revelation of her true identity further shake her out of teenage ennui and move her to take part in the great events of her time. Like the show itself, it’s a promising beginning, but because Relena’s greatest achievements are glossed over - and because, being a pacifist and a diplomat, she can’t be involved at the point of action - Relena ends up spending a lot of time on the sidelines, looking grim or worried. Worse, when the final conflict between Treize and White Fang emerges, Relena is completely ineffectual at trying for peace with Zechs, and any opportunity for her to use the soft power of her (brief) reign as ceremonial monarch to further the cause of peace isn’t taken, leaving her largely irrelevant to the finale. Relena is less a full-fledged character in Gundam Wing than a solid concept for a character that couldn’t grow to fruition in the time allotted.

The same could be said of the series protagonist, Heero Yuy. In his case, there is at least a bit more told; his scientist mentor describes him as a kind-hearted young man whose devotion to his mission has rendered him a dangerous assassin, Relena instinctively latches onto what kindness and idealism she can sense in him, various characters are inspired by his skills and his devotion to his mission. But there’s little to no evidence of the kind-hearted young man underneath the child soldier, at least not in the initial episodes. We only see the cold-blooded Gundam pilot, and that pilot has the worst starting luck out of any of them, from his Gundam being brought down to his attempts to destroy it failing. His willingness - even eagerness - to die for his cause comes up so often in the beginning of the series that it ends up losing its punch. But being the series lead, and getting more screentime by dint of being a Gundam pilot, Heero does ultimately get fleshed out more than Relena. His remorse over inadvertently killing the Alliance pacifists and his blunt but pragmatic advice to the other Gundam pilots do let his softer side emerge later on. His struggle to find a reason to keep going in the fight in the middle of the series - something multiple characters go through - is rather muddled (not helped by some obtuse and stilted dialogue, another major fault in the series), but he comes out of that mess resolved to protect Relena and defeat White Fang - so much so that he not only unites with the other pilots, but designates Quatre Raberba Winner as their leader instead of himself because he recognizes what’s best for the team. The series ultimately benefits from his being the main character because of developments like this, but the journey is more awkward and choppy than it needed to be, and his romance with Relena and rivalry with Zechs are never fully convincing even if their basic mutual interest in one another is.

Stilted dialogue more than absent material is what most works against series antagonists Zechs and Treize, though Zechs’s lack of scenes with his sister and an abrupt jump from Sanc Kingdom spokesman to genocidal avenger are an issue. The philosophical notions that pepper Zechs’s and Treize’s monologues and conversations - the nature of war, the value of soldiers’ sacrifice, mankind’s natural proclivities, the possibility of peace and what it would take to achieve it - are all fascinating, and I’m still amazed that a show that spent so much time on these subjects was put in an afterschool block bound to attract younger kids back in the day. But for every speech that’s thought-provoking and emotionally resonant, there are three that are a chore to sit through and a puzzle to comprehend. Granted, the Crunchyroll subtitles for this series aren’t the best, so that may partly explain and excuse this problem. But especially in the middle of the series, where allegiances shift and motivations collapse, having the principle antagonists be so difficult to understand isn’t ideal.

Then there are the plot holes - mostly characters who somehow survived apparent deaths with little to no explanation - and characters who just don’t work. One of them is unfortunately a Gundam pilot - Chang Wu Fei, an arrogant misogynist wrapped up in his own ideals of combat who resists any teamwork or even temporary alliances with his fellow Gundams until the very end of the series, and is an unreliable partner even then. None of this would make him a bad character - one hardly needs to be likable or relatable to be an effective and compelling presence in a story - but Wu Fei has virtually no chemistry with the other Gundams, or any character, when actually does interact with them, except for ex-Alliance soldier Sally Po. His standoffishness and stoicism are traits shared by Heero and Trowa Barton, making his seem redundant, and his professed ideals of combat are muddled by bad dialogue. His great rivalry with Treize is also on shaky ground; they only interact twice in the entire series. But Wu Fei is at least comprehensible; Dorothy Catalonia, a Romefeller spy who takes an almost sexual delight in war, is not only obnoxious and intrusive when she appears in the second half of the series, but her motivations seem to swing wildly, her allegiances impossible to follow, and I sorely wish she had died by the end of the series.

With all of those faults laid bare - I did say the show was enjoyable and admirable in spite of everything, and indeed it is. Wu Fei may be redundant and Heero only a partial success as a character, but the other three Gundam pilots are well-realized, so much so that I’m baffled to see various critiques of this show imply that they’re static and one-note. Duo Maxwell is essentially the same person at the end of the series as he was at the beginning, but he’s a wonderful source of levity in the series, and he does have his trials and his low points that contrast well with his typical personality; his moments of anger and despair are some of the best in the series for selling the stakes of the conflict in the absence of proper world-building. Trowa, while much less emotive, goes through a significant journey, with his sibling-esque relationship with circus performer Catherine far more emotionally satisfying than either the Peacecrafts’ bond or Heero and Relena’s romance.

And then there’s Quatre, my new favorite character from this series. I didn’t take a great deal of notice of him as a kid, but rediscovering his story has been my favorite thing about this rewatch. A bright, gentle, and friendly personality, disdainful of violence but prepared to fight for a worthy cause, driven to despair and madness by the loss of his father and the ZERO system, only to emerge as the repentant leader of the Gundams, instrumental in bringing them together as a unit and binding them to Relena’s ideals; of all the pilots, he sees the most growth and change, and all the essentials to his story actually make it on screen. He also has the allegiance of the Maganac Corps, a group that doesn’t have a great deal of importance to the series...but they do have a cool name and cooler mobile suits.

And if Relena is somewhat lacking as a female lead, Gundam Wing does have Sally Po, military doctor turned guerrilla fighter and stalwart Gundam ally, and Lucrezia Noin. For a character that could easily have just been Zech’s love interest, Noin sees a degree of growth throughout the series to rival Quatre’s, moving from OZ instructor to Sanc Kingdom defense captain to the instigator of the Gundams as a unit, working to defeat the man she loves. The show also avoids sexualizing any of its female cast, so - a point for that, I guess.

The designs of the Gundams are all unique (as are their abilities), and some are downright beautiful. The other mobile suits are varied as well and easy to identify, making combat easy to follow. The quality of the combat - and the animation in general - is hit and miss, but it’s never atrocious, and when it’s solid, the end result is some great shots and action. The series also boasts a fantastic soundtrack, with lovely instrumental themes and two great opening songs (though why “Rhythm Emotion” was brought in with only ten episodes left to go on the series still baffles me.) 

All this contributes to Gundam Wing being enjoyable, but what makes it admirable is actually the stilted dialogue and overstuffed story that bring it down. To attempt a series that ruminates on the nature of war and the various philosophical positions around its necessity or lack thereof, of the chances for real peace, for the evolution of humanity if were to move into the stars, and the interpersonal conflicts between various characters, would be a tall order for any series, and not the easiest thing to make into visually compelling animation. That Gundam Wing made the attempt at all shows ambition and aspiration on the part of its writers and staff. As I’ve said at length here, it was frustrated by its short running time and the weaknesses of story elements and characters, but an ambitious mixed bag - even a failure - that aims high is a much more admirable (and interesting to watch) affair than a success that aims low.

And, in its failures to get certain elements across, Gundam Wing shows enough of what it was trying to do that I, at least, can forgive some (not all) rough patches. Characters like Heero and conflicts like the Gundams’ basic fight for the colonies still work despite their flaws. And the final run of episodes, where White Fang and Treize clash and the Gundams work around the battle to save the day, are incredibly strong. It’s a finale that surpasses much of the content preceding it, and if it would’ve been improved by that content being better, it still works because the intent of that earlier content can still be perceived.

I’ve thoroughly enjoyed rediscovering Gundam Wing, and I’d like to check out the dub again when I’m in a position to renew my Hulu subscription. For now, though - there’s a certain waltz to attend to...