#and then once with her so i can sometimes add flavor text explanations or like flavor commentary on characters and shit

[murasaki-sama]

Finally starting watching season two of WOT and omgs

Egwene: clearly talking about handling two weaves at once

Alanna: thinks this is about having sex with two other people at once

[thelonelyshore-if]

Is coy flirtation the only way to raise romance with the ROs or are we able to do so by raising their approval in general? Mainly asking because my current MC is a very pragmatic woman who wouldn't be the one immediately engaging in flirting because 1. She feels like she's going a bit crazy atm since she doesn't believe in supernatural stuff and is trying to deny everything 2. She's still absolutely confused as to where willow is.

So far I've been avoiding flirting options in favor of her being polite to strangers but slightly detached. Very tired.

I know sometimes people add in oblivious routes or ones where the mc is the more withdrawn one in the romance so I figured I'd ask. If there's not that's fine I just wanted to know my options! Thanks for your hard work.

Currently, the most direct way to raise romance is to flirt or to pick options that indicate interest. Though, to be honest, there aren't many of those at the moment!

Once chapter 2 rolls around there will be more opportunities for romance (especially considering that the MC is currently kind of Going Through It and also just met everyone), and those opportunities will be more varied.

Also, I think I'll use this ask as a bit of an opportunity to go into my plans for the romance system, because it's something I'm super excited to get into. Apologies in advance for the amount I'm about to write.

Explanation of planned systems beneath the cut <3

Currently I'm planning on using a system with three different parts.

The first part is interest, which is a base indicator that the MC is interested in a RO (or multiple ROs) romantically/sexually. These will be options that straight up say things like 'I think (RO) is cute'. Once interest is toggled on, the RO(s) are able to develop a crush and/or pursue the MC of their own accord. Interest being on will also activate certain flavor text.

The second part is flirting, which directly raises the romance variable. These are things like flirtatious dialogue, grabbing a RO's hand, acting flustered around them--that sort of thing. Actions that are observable by the other character(s). Flirting doesn't automatically turn on interest, but since it raises the romance stat it means that you can flirt with a character/choose romantic options throughout the game and, once interest is on, you can have built a bond.

I plan to have different flavors of flirting. At this point I think I'll mostly stick with the typical shy/direct options, though we'll see. I might get a little silly with it.

Finally, there's approval, which is your character's general relationship stat with each RO (as well as Willow and a few other npcs). Approval can be gained whenever the MC does something the character likes or generally builds the relationship. Tbh I'm a little iffy on sticking with 'approval' as the term, because I don't want to write characters who only like the MC if they agree with everything they do, but it's the only word coming to mind atm lol.

All this to say, I hope that with this system you can have characters like your MC, who are maybe a little more oblivious or withdrawn, who can mark interest in a RO and have the RO be more forward (raising the romance bar that way). Plus having more subtle 'flirt' options that also raise romance without being super direct flirting.

I'm so sorry to have taken your ask and run with it, but I hope this explains the vibes I'm going for a bit!! The system still needs to be actually implemented, so take it with the usual caveat that this is a WIP and these are just my current plans, but it's ideally what I'd like to do!

[camdentown-library]

The flames in your eyes || ENG ver. Ethan Torchio x reader

❝ 𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐝𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐬, 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐚 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞, 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐚 𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐲𝐬. 𝐀𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐠𝐨 𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐚. 

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐲 𝐞𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬, 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐜𝐪𝐮𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐚𝐧 𝐮𝐧𝐮𝐬𝐮𝐚𝐥 𝐛𝐨𝐲, 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐩𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐢𝐟𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐡𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐭𝐨𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠. ❞

Genre: Fluff ;; romantic ;; slowburn

Pairing: Ethan Torchio x fem!reader

Warning: English is not my native language, I may have made grammatical errors. do not hesitate to correct me

N / A: The facts told are purely the fruit of my imagination, it is not my intention to do any wrong to any person mentioned, and above all the character of Ethan could (surely) not reflect the person in reality.

Happy reading to you all!

CHAPTER 1

The first rays of July had cast on the roofs of the houses in Rome, giving the off-white plaster and rosy tiles a golden sheen that tasted like honey. The wisteria were in bloom, as was the medlar tree under Marlena's house; the scent of life in the full act of her cycle, always knocked on her dining room window, filling it with sweet fragrances.

The girl used to take her place at the table during the late morning hours, surrounded by books and tomes quite old and gnawed by the dust, with the good resolution that even that day she would read and study those very boring pages of that equally boring examination. of Egyptology. The university summer session had already begun, she had just taken a couple of exams last June and was now preparing two more that she would take in the first weeks of September.

That time could seem apparently short, Marlena didn't care that much, what could ever distract her from her work? She had no friends, and by now, even though she had crossed the threshold of 21 years in the autumn, the girl was now completely extinct her naive youth, as well as her desire to laze.

The out of tune and unexpected sound of the intercom triggered her head bent over the books of the young woman, who after having heaved a sigh perhaps a little annoyed, she decided to get up from her chair, leave the dining room and cross the wide and not too long corridor in the shape of an "L" of his apartment, finally arriving at a brisk pace towards the device it had croaked in order to answer.

"Yes?" she asked quite firmly but not too cordially.

"I'm the postman, will you open me?" answered a stranger, as she pushed the button to open the gate.

Marlena therefore opened the heavy old door of her house, remaining patient to wait for the man to arrive at the door. Although she had lived in that condominium with her father for as long as she remembered it, she had not yet found a rational explanation for its lack of mailboxes. Was it because it was a palace built in the 1920s? Well that would explain the absence of an elevator as well, but a damn mailbox wouldn't be hard to add.

The man's gasping breath brought her back to reality as her eyes saw him peeking from the flight of stairs. Was he already that tired after not even crossing the second floor? The young woman wondered a little disappointed.

"Are you Madam Levavi?" the postman then asked, catching his breath and rummaging through her purse. Marlena wrinkled her nose instinctively.

"Ahm ... not madam, I'm her daughter" she replied shaking her head, what could that postman ever care if she was "miss" or "madam"? The girl lightly bit the inside of her cheek as a reproach.

"Here you are. How many floors are there still?" She asked the man wiping her sweaty forehead with a handkerchief after giving her the mail.

"Two more ..." Marlena replied disinterestedly as she closed the door, observing her letters.

Bills for electricity, water, the tax to be paid for the next university year and ... a letter?

Well, it certainly wasn't sent by her father...

The girl looked at the text of that letter once more, rereading it and rereading it several times, wrapped in a silence that was probably inherent in memories that clouded her common sense, while slowly after taking a few steps back, she gently placed her back to the wall.

"Dear Marlena,

I know perfectly well that it might have been easier to call you, but you know I've always enjoyed writing you letters.

Unfortunately I noticed that in the last few I sent you you didn't answer, I guess it's because the university keeps you very busy ...

However, I learned that your father is out of Italy on a business trip and he will be away until the end of August; It seemed only right to invite you to spend these last months of summer in our house outside the city.

I know that since your mom left, you haven't had the desire to visit us anymore, but I think it would do you good to change the air for a while. The place is quiet, there is the sea and also a large and extensive countryside with a pine forest and the locals are really friendly and helpful.

You can also bring Lapo if you want, I know you are very close.

Either way, let me know your verdict.

A strong hug.

Grandmother Agata.”

She had distant memories of that house, distant but still happy. He remembered when he woke up early in the morning with grandmother Agata and grandfather Laertes to be able to go to the sea and his little hands while looking for hermit crabs and shells on the shore, as he remembered the music in the square and the laughter echoing in the same way as the bells of the church on Sunday, everyone was happy ... and life seemed to be less unfair to those who deserved it less, it tasted like jam and fruit jellies, salt on the lips and bees flying.

Marlena's chest swelled with air, as if she had been holding her breath until then...perhaps because diving into one's childhood was like floundering in a stormy sea pretending to stay afloat.

The cheerful barking of her dog Lapo brought the young woman back to the present, who decided to place the letters on a window sill not far from the front door and set off together with the playful animal towards the kitchen. Lapo was a nice Bernese Mountain Dog, with a black, brown and white coat. It had been given to her five years ago, perhaps because her father had sensed that even his absence had created in the heart of his only daughter, a sense of distressing loneliness, which had consumed her to the bone making her totally apathetic for certain verses.

But Lapo, Lapo had saved her from her, with Lapo she spoke and shared gestures of affection, such as caresses and little licks between her fingers and hair. Sometimes Marlena fell asleep in her bed, with the bulky dog ​​on her, because feeling her warm and humid breath on her blankets reminded her in her sleep that she was not alone in the dark of the night. As long as Lapo's heart had beaten the young girl she was not afraid of having to wake up or sleep.

Although she tried to convince herself that staying in her comfort zone would be easier than answering "yes" to her grandmother's request, a part of her was again attracting her to that letter; her gaze was captured by the horizon of her mind, while in the distance she could almost hear the sounds and flavors of a place almost too fairytale to be part of the material world.

"I know I should answer..." she murmured as she was intent on washing the peel of a red apple in the kitchen sink. Meanwhile the dog sat up looking at her intensely while she wagged his tail waiting for her.

"...It's just that, that place...and then I should finish studying, I have an exam to take at the end of the summer, Lapo" but the dog tilted his head in disappointment and then got up and trotted out of the room, looking for of who knows what amusement, leaving Marlena to her thoughts, as she bit into the freshly dried fruit with the kitchen towel.

All of this would only be for a little over a month and a half, just a month and a half and then she would leave it all behind her again, as she did a long time ago.

“Hello grandma. I'm Marlena..."

Marlena after putting the letter back next to her bedside table, she grabbed the cell phone not far away and typed some numbers on the screen, not too convincingly, and then brought the object to her ear.

There were those ten seconds of waiting that seemed the stroke of half a century, until a voice said "Hello?".

Marlena had brought two large bags with her. One for clothes and the other full of junk such as: books, objects for the dog, tricks and everything that for her mind, not so familiar with travel, she considered indispensable. She was not so convinced that both of them would enter the trunk, but the exemplary ability to know how to adapt and make do with her grandfather always left her with amazement on the edge of her lips.

It took two days before grandfather Laerte's small and overly backward FIAT Punto made its peerless entrance next to the bottle-green gate of the small cloister of the Marlena palace.

The man had taken more or less ten minutes just to park, the niece had wondered how long it would take him to get there and start again.

The young woman was sitting in the back seats, together with Lapo. She held in her hands a small bunch of tulips that Laertes had brought her, made by herself. He said to her:

"I went for a walk in the countryside and tried to capture the most beautiful of all, like my granddaughter!" followed by a proud, croaking laugh. Laertes had always been a proud and incurable romantic, without ever giving up some of her drama, grandmother Agata did nothing but remind her of it in her letters.

Like when Marlena pointed out to him, that the steering wheel of the car was too damaged for the latter to be considered in accordance with the law, but he had always replied that a good soldier and partisan would appeal to his driving experience and a little 'of elbow grease, in order to be sure that the itinerary of the journey would be peaceful and without unpleasant hitches.

Lapo let out an enthusiastic bark when the croaking car left the endless concrete of the highway behind, and then took a narrow, winding, uphill road that would have led them to the small town.

Her gaze stared blankly at what was running, like tape in a movie camera, out the window; She saw the buildings of the city become less present, as well as the stench of smog, then there was a long stretch of highway, immersed in the wheat fields and every now and then some small farm or spare parts industry or other jobs would emerge.

In the car there would have been complete silence, had it not been for the old radio which played an entire disc of all of Lucio Dalla's masterpieces; Marlena's grandfather liked that singer, but not in the same way chatting while driving, because according to him it would have increased the chances of road accidents by 50%, and frankly, the granddaughter didn't mind at all this acknowledgment ... she didn't even know where she should have started and however much her relatives tried to make her feel at ease, she imagined herself as a stranger, a stranger, who had knocked on their door and was now just trying to learn and remember their common manners.

"If you look to the right you will see the sea, Marlena" Laertes informed her, while he struggled with the steering wheel at every bend, but he did not dare to make even a moan under stress. The girl decided to accept those words, and looking out (after rolling down the window) a crisp air of salt pervaded her nostrils like the balm of a mint. Her eyes tried to show as little as possible the defeat of an amazement that had overwhelmed her like a raging wave, making her heart pound.

The sea. Marlena loved the sea. And for a few moments she was wondering what she had forced her to shut up in the house all that time, but then her mind went back to static and clear. She knew why, and there was no other reason to get her back together, even if it was difficult.

Yet there seemed to be few people around the streets, perhaps because at that time anyone with a minimum of wit would have holed up in the cool four walls of their home, just to escape the scorching heat that did not yield until the stroke of five in the afternoon .

By now it was almost two in the afternoon when Laertes' car passed the threshold of the square of the small town, while the attentive (even if apparently lost) gaze of his granddaughter observed everything in detail.

Nothing seems to have changed in that place since the last one who went there. The street was always covered with the usual, old and coarse slabs of white stone and eroded by the weather, as well as the various shops that surrounded the square and the small houses side by side, glazed with a fresh off-white plaster and dark brown roofs, the fountain in the center, and the small restaurant with its balcony overlooking the long pine forest that extended at the foot of the modest hill that supported the town.

A jolt suddenly shook Marlena, when her grandfather decided to pull over and pull up the handbrake of his FIAT, thus causing a slight recoil unexpectedly enough to suddenly wake the girl from her thoughts. She cleared her throat, while she opened her door, so that Lapo could finally trot and wag his tail excitedly around, on the other hand she didn't blame him, it must have been hard for a dog to stay good in the car for so many hours.

"Here we are!" proclaimed the elderly man putting the car keys in his pocket and then ring the bell of the small house next to FIAT "Your grandmother will be so happy to see you, I bet she will have prepared ciambelle with red wine to celebrate your reunion" he added while he waited for the woman he mentioned to open to him, already anticipating on his lips the pungent and sweet taste of those sweets he loved so much.

"So I suppose you made at least thirty" commented the young woman ironically, as she dragged out the two bags with extreme difficulty, attracting the attention of Laertes who, hastily adjusting his frizzy white hair, hastened to reach his niece to give her your support.

“Ah don't worry, kid. I'll take care of it, maybe you can ring the door, your grandmother has now gone deaf as a bell...” he said as he gave a slight snort and then muttered something.

"C’mon, grandpa" Marlena replied then raising her eyes to the sky trying not to smile, how melodramatic could that man be?

After pressing her finger on the bell again, the girl waited for someone to answer and hearing the approach of some quick steps together with the rubbing of flip-flops on the floor, made her realize that Agata had finally heard their arrival. Marlena did not even have time to greet the elderly lady, who took her in her arms, wrapping her in an embrace that caught her unprepared and to which she did not respond immediately.

“Oh my love! I’m so happy to see you again! But look how you have grown! It seems only yesterday when you reached mid-thigh and now...” the hands a little gnarled, but from the soft fingertips of the woman, gently took the face of her niece like a cup, as if to feel if her presence was only fantasy or reality "...You are a woman to all intents and purposes" she whispered and then fussed with kisses all over her face, while Marlena whining pretending to be somehow annoyed.

After climbing a short flight of stairs that led to the house located on the upper floor, the girl's nostrils and consciousness were flooded with memories and sensations already savored. She observed the now old floor of the house, granite tiles that alternated with one hand painted and another not; Marlena rejoiced with a touch of amusement when she as a child she spent boring afternoons playing on them, jumping only on the decorated ones because according to her imagination those remains were made of incandescent lava.

The walls were always the same, covered with a light blue paint and slightly lumpy at times, she could feel it, when the index and middle fingers of her right hand absently brushed the surface.

The house of Marlena's grandparents was very simple and perhaps apparently a little cramped. Having opened the wooden entrance door, after having passed the landing and the stairs, she had in front of her a corridor that extended along to her right, thus marking the various doors of each room that the house gathered inside. Almost parallel to the entrance there was the kitchen door on the opposite wall, without doors, next to it the bathroom door, and then the door to the room of the two elderly spouses. At the end of the corridor there was a small balcony with the railing covered with hanging vases where, like a multicolored waterfall, a thick branching of coral red bucanville came out which, in addition to poetically letting itself fall from the small niche, climbed elegant and graceful on the handrail of the then hug the outside walls of the house.

Marlena took advantage of it, to be able to peep there, while she deeply breathed the fragrant and velvety scent of those petals, mixed with the sea breeze that came from beyond the pine forest that surrounded the town. She observed the small houses around her while if she winked she could distinguish the clear line of the flat and calm sea that merged in perfect alchemy with the clear sky on the horizon.

The young woman tried in every way to convince herself that that enchanted place, that little corner of paradise had never failed her...but she suddenly proclaimed herself foolish for having thought such a cynical thing in the least.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .

[lxveille]

asking daisies and the art of faking

woozi x reader

word count: ~ 2500 warnings: some vague talking about sex a/n: part of the morning after shuffle; sometimes i wonder why you guys let me get away with writing lmao

You’ve never really been a heavy sleeper.  It had been quite an obstacle to overcome when you’d first moved into your downtown apartment. Sirens and faded thumps of basslines from bars eventually became like white noise. Strangers shouting on the sidewalk sometimes sound like they’re trying to get your attention specifically. Even with your bedroom window shut. And experience had shown it rare for anyone to be able to sneak out of your bed without you rousing in the process. 

A dip in the mattress and a rush of cooler air, and you’re awake. You don’t move much; unaware of the time and unwilling to accept that you could possibly need to get up already. But you listen to Jihoon’s footfalls on your bedroom floor and the barely there rustles of him pulling on clothes again. 

It isn’t until you hear him leave the room that you roll over in bed and stare at the empty spot he left beside you. 

Your mind drifts back to any number of times this has happened before with different men. There were always variables on what hour they would slink out at. And whether you caught them at the door, and whether you wished they would stay. You’d gotten used to falling asleep with company and waking up alone. Still, it isn’t something you’d expected to happen with Jihoon.

Spending a night with a boyfriend was supposed to be different, you’d thought.

You push the sheets down and swing your legs off the side of the mattress. When you leave the bedroom, you find him crouched near the door, finishing tying up his shoes. 

“Morning?” You do little to prevent your voice from sounding as puzzled as you feel. He lifts his head and smiles. It isn’t the smile you’ve come to expect from him over the weeks since you’ve started dating. It’s more reminiscent of when you’d first met, when he’d been hesitant and short on things to say.

“I was gonna go for a run,” he jumps straight into explanation. It’s part of his morning routine. He doesn’t need to tell you that. Nonetheless, it takes you by surprise. Does it make you clingy if you’d wanted this morning to be a change from his usual? 

“Okay,” you try to hide disappointment. “Are you coming back after…?” His apartment building is only around the corner from your own. If it were any further, you would’ve restrained yourself from asking that much too. 

“I could.” He stands up, and adjusts the cap on his head. “If you want me to.” 

“You’re always welcome here.” 

His smile is almost comforting at that. But he leaves without coming any closer to you. 

The moment the door clicks shut, you let out a long sigh. 

You drag your feet back into your bedroom to find your phone. Which of your friends do you possibly ask about this? How do you even word how you’re feeling now? Are you even sure there’s a problem to go texting about?

Well, yes. There must be. Hollowness is one thing after a good one night stand. It’s a different being in love. Surely, this part should feel better. Your thumb hovers over Chaewon’s name in your recent messages for a moment before you end up clicking out and locking your screen. 

A bath will help, you decide. The tiled floor is cold, and the sensation is somewhat grounding. Things are different with Jihoon. Whatever experience you have under your belt, relationships are still new territory. Maybe he didn’t know any better than you did what a couple’s first morning after was supposed to look like. 

You shake your hand dry after testing the temperature of the running water. The sound of the faucet’s heavy stream hitting the ceramic of the tub is a welcome change from the silence he’s left behind in the apartment. 

While the water level rises, you slip slowly out of pajamas. Taking this as a moment to get a look at yourself. There’s splotches from kisses he’s gotten too intense with at your collarbones and at the top of your thighs. A single one sits near your left hip as well. Your fingers brush over that well-intentioned bruise. The memory of his half-clumsy kisses brings a lightness back to your chest. 

You try not to think too much once you sink into the bath.  It’s hard to keep your mind quiet for long, though. 

Last night was good, you insist. He’d been sweet, and eager, if brief -- and so odd in your brief exchange this morning. You take a breath and plunge your head under the water. 

The bath gets chilly before you manage to come to any kind of solution. 

Once you dry off and pull on some clean house clothes, you send a text to Chaewon. 

‘Jihoon stayed over last night.’ You keep it simple. Vague. You don’t even know if she’s awake or if she’s busy. You can spare her from jumping straight into a total barrage of your worries, at least.

You set the phone down on your dining table and sink into one of the accompanying chairs. Arms fold atop the surface for you to rest your chin on. When you sigh, you wonder just how many times you’ve done that this morning. You look at the black, shiny screen of your phone and will it to light up with a message. From Chaewon or Jihoon. You’re not too picky which.

Your eyes lift from the screen to vase of daisies in the center of your table. Cue your nth sigh of the day. 

You’re not sure how he goes from bringing flowers last night to seeming so distant this morning. You wonder if he’ll dump me; he’ll dump me not has been played before while picking petals. 

Do people break up over one night of bad sex? 

You fingers itch to google it. Thankfully, your text tone interrupts that train of thought just in time. 

‘How was it?’ Chaewon has asked. 

Perhaps the last question you wanted to be asked. ‘Fine,’ you type out the denial easily, ‘but he took off really early.’ 

Only a minute later, she replies: ‘What’d he say?’ 

‘He wanted to go for a run’

‘Weird’

Her one word response makes you sink further down in your seat. 

‘Do you want to do brunch?’ she follows up. The standby cure-all for disastrous dates and small heartbreaks that came with guys sneaking out when you thought there had been a spark. You don’t think Jihoon counts as either. Not really. 

‘I’m okay,’ you text back. 

Chaewon knows you well, though. Maybe you ought to ask her how you feel about this all, since she gives the impression of having a better grasp on it than you when she messages, ‘Call me if you wanna talk’ 

Instead, you seek distraction, and ask what she got up to last night. She must understand that selfish bit behind your question, because you starts giving you long stories of what she’d done. 

She’s gotten through three and your hair is just barely damp when there’s a knock at your door.

When you open it up, you find Jihoon in a change of clothing and with an iced coffee in either hand. Only one is still entirely full though. “You didn’t go get any while I was out, did you?” he asks as he holds out that cup to you. 

He sounds like himself again. For a second, you think that perhaps everything can just be fixed if you pretend nothing had happened. Maybe nothing had happened, and you’d just felt as if it had. 

Except a feeling is something.

Still, you smile when you take the coffee from him and step aside to let him in. Pushing the door closed once more, you take a sip and wonder what you’re supposed to do now. Whether you carry on with the easiest option or let him know you’ve spent all morning in a tizzy. 

You can guess what Chaewon’s advice would be without even having asked her. Perhaps it’s a benefit of just how well you know each other.  

“Does this mean we can talk now?” You ask after taking another swallow of coffee. 

“About what?” he asks, turning to you.

“Whatever got into you.” It’s easier to bristle than phrase it as your own uncertainty. His expression changes from curious to a bit of a scowl. 

“I’m fine.” He sounds more confused than anything else. You have trouble believing you’re really the only one who found anything odd about this morning.

“Jihoon, you pretty much literally ran away this morning.” 

He opens his mouth only to decide to take another drink from his straw. Your fingers tighten a fraction around your own cup. You can recognize a stalling tactic.  “I feel like we should talk,” you add. It’s the same sentiment you’d expressed before, but you try to make it sound a touch less confrontational. Given how little his face changes, you don’t know how much of a success it is. 

“About me leaving?” When he puts it like that, it doesn’t sound like such a big deal. Especially not given the fact that he’d come back. And with coffee for you both, at that.

You set the cup down on your table. “You left like nothing happened last night.” Your tone stays as casual as it can. Wiping your hand against your leg to rid your palm of leftover condensation gives you a good excuse to avoid looking his way as you speak.   

Your eyes trail back to him in time to spot the end of his small nod. He looks as if he’d just tasted something new; trying to decide whether or not he liked the flavor or not. It takes a few beats too long to be comfortable for him to reply. “I thought you might want some space.” 

That admission doesn’t make things any clearer to you. You’re not even sure if a one night stand had ever cited that as a reason to be heading out early.

“Why’d you think that?” 

He shrugs at first. You keep your gaze on him, quietly holding out for something more as an answer. “I don’t know,” Jihoon fills in before the silence can linger too long. You don’t accept it either, though, and look him up and down inquiringly. The quiet urges him to carry on, as if it was what he’d been intending to say from the start, “I don’t know if it was what you expected.”  

“I definitely wasn’t expecting you to leave,” you answer. 

His feet shuffle in place on the floorboards. “Before, I mean.” 

That makes you pause, and not out of some desire to hear more from him. “Well,” you reach out for the cup of iced coffee, wrapping your fingers around the top of lid without lifting it off the table, “It’s not like it was my first time.” 

“I know that.” It’d be difficult for Jihoon not to know. You’d never been anything but straightforward with him about your time with him being the slowest you’d ever moved with someone. It had felt strangely refreshing not move straight into sex with someone. Though that was hardly the descriptor you’d choose for it now.  “That’s why.” 

That’s why? You repeat over inside your head. You go over the line of thought: knowing it wasn’t your first time was why he was feeling unsure. So had he spent the whole night comparing himself to other men you’d never given specifics on?

“Are you trying to ask if I came last night?” You come to your hypothesis.

His expression shifts. A twitch in his eyebrows and an uncertain, downward tug at the corner of his lips. It reads like that question hadn’t quite been the point before, but it certainly had shot up his list now. “Did you?” he asks back. 

You inhale sharply and twitch your head to one side. It wasn’t as if you had lied to him last night. At least not as far as having actually told him otherwise.  

“I mean…” you begin, voice pitched higher than usual. It’s essentially an answer all on its own. Be honest, a piece of advice flits through your mind. People are supposed to be honest in relationships. “It’s kinda late to ask now, yeah? You know--” and again, your tone pitches upwards. As if you could ascend out of this conversation if you just spoke high enough. “-- don’t worry about it.”

It’s nearly a squeak by the time you finish. And Jihoon looks more and more discouraged with every wincing note you go up. Avoiding a definitive answer was a clear enough answer on it’s own. 

“You know, sometimes first times aren’t great,” you rush to salvage the conversation. “It’s fine. We just need to, like, you know, get to know each others’ bodies more. All that.” 

He only hums a stiff, low note in reply. 

“What, like you’re used to having mind-blowing sex on the first go with someone? Is that it?” You mean for it to be lighthearted. You’re ready to take the brunt of the blame for this; pin yourself as the one who’d made it out like things had been better than they were in the moment. Be the one to promise to be more honest next time. 

It doesn’t appear to strike Jihoon that way. He’s the one averting his gaze now.

“I haven’t -- I hadn’t…”  He starts, and corrects, and pauses. He looks to you, some part of him desperate for you to fill in the blanks. “...Before last night,” he gives you just a little more to go on, and it clicks into place.

Oh.

Knowing it wasn’t your first time was why he wasn’t sure if he met your expectations. For any of it. Because you were his first. No wonder he hadn’t even gotten around to wondering if you’d faked an orgasm or not before you brought it up. He’d been too busy faking knowing everything he was doing.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?”

“You didn’t really ask.” His answer is more of a mumble. 

He’s right. Of course. You’d both confessed about being each other’s first labeled relationship. You’d taken what that implied for granted. 

Before you can get into a slump of your own over making assumptions, you re-prioritize. 

“Jihoon,” you draw his attention, and smile when his eyes meet yours, “That’s kinda the best news in this scenario.” 

He looks as skeptical as you expect. 

Your fingers unwind from their anxious grip around the coffee cup and take a few strides towards him. “People learn by doing,” you tell him, “you can really only go up from here.” 

“But you--”

You place a hand on his arm and interrupt, “I bet I could be a pretty good teacher.” 

Lesson number one turns out to be for both of you: talk a lot more. There’s a world of difference between having a question and asking it. 

[stopthepres]

“you don’t like her.”

it’s not a question. honestly i can’t remember a single time doe ever actually asked for my opinion about a girl. she always announces the final verdict after x amount of time and i just… well, we both know she’s right. because she’s always right. about most things, especially ME things. that’s what it means to be best friends.

“i don’t like her.” i sigh and stare down at the empty glass in my hand. 

now would be a good time to side step from the conversation and ask the bartender for a refill. in fact, now would be a great time to indulge in the age old tradition of getting wasted at a wedding. unfortunately doe has this way of cornering me in crowded rooms when it’s most inconvenient. 

“i told teddy you wouldn’t like her.” she moves in a little closer to grab my face, pressing her fingers into my cheeks until i pout my lower lip. “look at you. this is not the mug of a boy who wants to fuck a yoga instructor.” she lets go, thank god, and reaches for my free hand instead, sliding her fingers between mine.

“i feel like work outs shouldn’t need instructions anyway.” i say this as a person who hasn’t seen a gym since i quit the soccer team in tenth grade. maybe more importantly i say this as a person holding hands with doe. 

not the girl teddy practically begged me to bring as a date. her name is melanie and she’s one of those people who, i guess, checks a lot of boxes on the dream girl list. she’s smart, she’s funny and she’s been pretty mean to me most of the night. she loudly criticized the menu and even asked if i got my haircut the same place as her eight year old brother. 

but she’s blonde. and she hates dancing. and she doesn’t have strong feelings about saweetie or kendrick so i don’t see how this could ever work.

“so what? you’re going to ignore her the rest of the night then?” doe sounds equal parts thrilled with my misfortune and smug that i’m here with her instead of meeting melanie in the coat room. “leave her hanging until she bails?”

“yo, i can’t just ignore her. that’s rude.”

“you’re literally ignoring her right now.”

“i’m literally trapped by you right now.”

“you’re LITERALLY, like, eight inches taller than me.” she smirks and takes a few small steps backward, slowly releasing her grasp on my hand. “if you wanna go, you go. i can’t stop you.”

but the thing is she definitely can. she knows she can. she knows i’m not about to walk away from her to possibly sleep with someone else. not because i’m head over heels or wildly obsessed or whatever you’re thinking. it’s not like that. 

happy endings are a lame cliche. i don’t want marriage or kids or one of those houses on a street full of houses that look exactly the same. little boxes made of ticky tacky, little boxes on the hillside, little boxes all the same. you know, like  the theme song from weeds. that stuff’s not for me, man. no way.

i will not move in with someone. i will not propose. i will not live happily ever after.

teddy is, however, convinced i’ll change my mind about this someday. she’s also certain doe will change hers, too. not in favor of us being together though. teddy’s a hopeless romantic but not hopeless enough to hope for romance to burst out of me like the crazy ass alien baby thing in that one movie. 

the point i’m trying to make here is i don’t ditch doe to mack on melanie. instead i pass my empty glass to doe. 

she hands it off some friend of the groom who makes the mistake of wandering by at the wrong time. “be an angel and get me something strong enough to make me want to kiss this one.” she winks and he blinks back, confused, and walks away.

“i can’t stand you sometimes,” i mumble, pulling my phone from the inside pocket of my suit jacket. i tap out a text to melanie - an apology for leaving early due to stomach problems. fingers crossed this girl doesn’t ask for any explanation beyond a series of barfing emojis i send as a follow up message. “so,” i add, tucking my phone away again, “do you wanna bounce?”

“but i didn’t get my tall glass of ‘i guess you look good now’ yet.” she smiles with her tongue stuck out between her teeth and it feels like i drank enough for my stance to suddenly go unsteady. 

“you’re a menace.” i laugh and slide an arm around her shoulders, leading her across the dance floor in the direction of the ballroom door.

i can imagine my sister’s signature eye roll off to the side somewhere and i know to expect a series of questions over lunch tomorrow. but it’s cool. i know how to shut down all the arguments for why i should man up and ask doe on a real date. i know every single reason it doesn’t make any sense to ruin a good thing with complications neither of us want.

if doe wanted more, she would tell me. we tell each other everything. it’s always been that way.

i told her about the time i dreamt a bee the size of a cat wouldn’t stop following me around my apartment, buzzing and buzzing and buzzing until i offered it a pop-tart. it was strawberry-flavored which doesn’t make a lot of sense because bees definitely don’t eat those but shit happens. 

she was the first person i told when i kissed a guy and then panicked so hard i twisted my ankle trying to rush away from the whole awkward disaster. she’s the only one who knows it was the dude my sister’s been obsessed with since we were thirteen. no, not the one with the hair. the uglier one with the camera.

i slept in doe’s bed every night the week my dad was in the hospital a year ago. i called doe crying when i was fourteen and thought my mom might be having an affair and i didn’t know what to do. when i was sixteen, i texted doe from the inside of a closet when i tried to hide from this one girl’s dad who i was pretty sure wanted to shoot me. 

doe knows everything about me and i know everything about her is what i’m saying.  like, i know she hates it when her mom tries to pressure her into anything, even if it’s ordering right away at a restaurant she’s been going to since we were kids. 

i know she cries watching titanic. every. fucking. time.

so if doe wanted this, me and her, to be more than sex? she’d tell me. fo shiz. we don’t do secrets. 

 “HEY, DING DONG! ARE YOU LISTENING?” her elbow knocks into my ribs. hard.

“what the fuck? and furthermore… what the ding dong?” 

“it’s like a doorbell, preston,” she explains slowly, like we’re seventeen again and she’s telling me how to put on a condom. like it’s necessary but she can’t believe i’m making her do this. “ding dong. i’m here. pay attention, etc.”

“right.” we step into the hotel elevator and i tighten my hold on her shoulders, bringing her in even closer once she’s pressed the button for our floor. “but why are you ringalinging exactly?”

“because you weren’t listening.”

“we’ve established that.” i lean down and kiss the top of her head, grateful it’s less of a strain when she’s in heels. “tell me what i missed.”

“you’re ordering breakfast tomorrow.” my stomach twists. “to my room, exclusively.” and then it turns. “because you’re staying over.” and it sort of jumps up into my throat somehow. maybe it’s the jolt of our bodies traveling upward. maybe it’s something else entirely.

i swallow hard as we come to a stop and the doors open. “i’m completely okay with all of this.”

“of course you are.” doe nudges out from underneath my arm and rushes right out of the elevator, quickly winding through hallways toward her room with me always struggling to keep up but determined not to lose her.

she stops to wait for me when she reaches her door and loops her arms around my neck when i finally catch up. the kiss is magical in a way i’ve only ever experienced with her - comfortable but electric. i’m out of breath when she eases back slowly, looking up at me like all my secrets are worth keeping. 

like i’m worth keeping.

“you don’t like her?” she whispers but this time it’s a question. a real one.

“i don’t like her,” i say, soft but sure of it. 

“because you like me best.”

she’s always right. about most things, especially ME things.

“because i like you best.” i sigh and kiss her again, deeper this time with my hands low on her hips until we sway and her back thumps into the door. i laugh against her lips, unable to keep it from bubbling up. 

“what the fuck?” she’s laughing, too, but i can tell it’s one of those what’s wrong with you? laughs. 

“dude, we ding donged your door.”

“…do you seriously not know the difference between a doorbell and knocking?”

“do you always have to make fun of me before you fuck me?”

anyway that’s what it means to be best friends. at least for us.

[tell--your--world]

Writing With Emotion: Part Two

Last week I talked about some common problems that will reduce the emotional impact of your story. Now I'm going to share a few techniques for increasing that impact.

The point of view (POV) your story is being told from is one of the biggest factors in emotive writing. Third-person omniscient is a bad choice if you want to get deep inside your characters’ heads; it leads to a problem commonly known as head-hopping, wherein we see through one character’s eyes for a few paragraphs, then switch to another's POV without any warning. The trick with this perspective is to remember that you're narrating the story. You're watching the characters and telling the readers who they are and what they're doing. You might share what a given character is thinking from time to time, but you do it from the POV of an onlooker. Your narrative voice, or the way you tell the story, is the key to captivating your readers in this case, but we'll address that in another post.

First-person perspective is at the opposite end of the scale from third-person omniscient: instead of a narrator outside the story, one of the characters tells the readers what's happening. We know what they know, see what they see, and the narrative text is flavored by their voice and opinions. Done well, this POV brings us closer to the main character than any other, but it comes with a price: it was never meant for stories in which several characters are narrating the action. When every POV character refers to themselves as “I”, it can be hard to figure out who's speaking at any given time, and slapping the character’s name at the top of a chapter or scene isn't going to solve the problem if all they all sound the same. The writers who can pull this style off are the ones who can give each character a narrative voice that's completely theirs, and let's face it - most of us aren't that good.

If you do write like this and want to know if the voices are distinct enough, ask a friend to read two pages told by two different characters, then give them a third page and see if they can tell you which character is speaking. Bonus points if it's neither character and the reader can tell (just make sure they know there's a third option, or they might assume it has to be one of the two they already met).

I've written both first-person and third-person omniscient in the past, but I finally settled on third-person limited as my favored POV: like first-person, the story is told by one character at a time, but because we aren't inside their heads, the narrative voice is the author's. This is the best style if you want to show multiple characters’ perspectives, because readers can see through their eyes without the confusion of everyone being “I” when their turn comes to speak. But this is another style which is susceptible to head-hopping, so make sure you’re sticking with one character for the duration of the scene or chapter.

Once you know who's narrating a scene, you need to make sure your word choice reflects the thoughts of that character. If they're being forced to do something they find unpleasant, you should avoid words that put the situation in a positive light. If two characters have different opinions on a subject, they should think of it using words which reflect their own opinions, not the other person's. This can seem obvious, but sometimes contradictory words slip in when you're working with multiple characters. The most common instances are characters perceiving things they shouldn't be able to - describing the appearance of something they can't see, for example - but I have occasionally seen writers use words which run counter to how the POV character feels about something.

Things get tricky when you have an unreliable narrator, or someone who sees events as something other than what they actually are. An abuse victim who legitimately feels that they deserve to be hurt is going to use words which reflect that, but you also need to give the readers hints that this isn't the case: unreasonable expectations on the abuser’s part or moments of confusion where the victim wonders what they did wrong are subtle but effective ways of showing the truth.

“Show, don't tell” is one of the most well-known pieces of writing advice out there, and it's true with emotions too. Many writers interpret that to mean actions: if the character is afraid, they're shown looking for escape routes, raising their arms to protect themselves, backing away from the source of their fear, or jumping at sudden noises. This clearly conveys how they feel, and it certainly gets the sympathy of the audience, but if you really want your readers to feel what your POV character does, you need to describe the emotions themselves.

Emotions might be psychological, but they have physical manifestations. Accelerated heart rate or breathing, nausea, dizziness, shaking, flushing (perceived as a rush of heat), and tingling sensations are just a few “symptoms” of emotions, and most people have experienced them. By describing them, you take something the readers are watching and turn it into a shared experience. Rather than simply seeing the POV character pressed against a wall to distance themselves from someone they're afraid of, the reader becomes aware of their racing heart, the tightness in their chest, and their dizziness from breathing too quickly. If the POV character is trying to calm someone else, we know they're trying to ignore their own rapid heart rate and keep their voice even so as not to scare the other person further. And if the POV character watches someone try to get away from them without feeling much of anything (or while trying to contain disgust or amusement), we'll be worried for the victim because we know this character isn't going to help them, and might have bad intentions.

If you're writing a tricky scene where one or both characters behave one way while feeling another, you might find the emotions are difficult, or even (seemingly) impossible to get right. In these cases, I use a technique I call layering the emotions. It requires a few rewrites of the same scene, but if you've been struggling for a while, you probably have dozens of those already and won't notice if the pile of discards gets a little bigger.

Let's say two characters are having an argument. He's angry as a means of hiding embarrassment, and she's trying to stay calm to conceal amusement. The scene is from his POV.

To begin, sketch the scene. Focus on the emotions they want to show and write their actions and dialogue accordingly. Skip over the things you're not sure of, even if that means parts of the scene feel dramatically different from others (for example, the argument getting worse or easing off without explanation). However, if something they do is caused by the emotions they're hiding, make note of it.

Once you've finished the scene, or have gone as far as you can, go back to the beginning and start adding the POV character's hidden feelings; in this case, embarrassment. Is his anger real to some extent, or is it all bluster? Does his behavior reflect that, or are his reactions too extreme or subdued? Adjust things accordingly, and don't try too hard to stick to what you already wrote. Once again, go to the end of the scene or until you get stuck. Then start over again, this time adding her secret emotion.

Emotions not belonging to the POV character are a little more difficult to convey, and sometimes you don't want them to be apparent. It depends on the acting abilities and intuition of your characters, and to a minor extent, what your plot needs. If he’s already been established as being hard to lie to, you shouldn't change that for this one character just because the plot demands he be oblivious, especially if she's a bad actor. What you can do, if the situation allows, is have him misinterpret or jump to conclusions about her attempt to hide something. Here that something is amusement, so it would be easy for him to assume she's laughing at him.

In any case, you still need to compare her real emotions to her behavior to make sure they match, just like you did with him. Make any necessary adjustments, both to her actions and his responses, and again, don't be afraid to go down a different path if it makes more sense.

You have two options when you're done. If you feel that the emotional balance is right, you can finish the scene. Otherwise, you might need to add another layer by considering how the characters feel about each other under normal circumstances. If he secretly likes her, he might feel especially embarrassed and show more anger to compensate. But if he's not the type to get angry at someone he likes for so little reason, you might decide his response is too strong and tone it down. If she enjoys seeing people humiliate themselves she might make subtle comments to rile him up, whereas if she's honestly amused she might hide it to avoid embarrassing him further and try to talk him down.

Depending on the characters and circumstances, you might find that it's not really an argument anymore, or else that it's turned into all out war. But as long as it feels balanced and true to the characters, I would declare it done and set it aside to rest a while before editing. Then take the rest of the day off, because you've earned it.

If you're curious about my fanworks or want a better idea of my abilities as a writer, you can find my fics on the following sites: just remember that older stories and chapters don't reflect my current writing style, and are slated for editing.

My AO3 account:

http://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDecepticon

My fanfiction.net account:

https://www.fanfiction.net/u/4428055/

If you wish to support this blog on Patreon, you can do so here:

https://www.patreon.com/darkstarofchaos