#chronological order because I had IDEAS and then needed to make them FIT and just. that comment has cured my stress acne and also

[miraclewoozi]

cartwheeling around my bedroom right now with no sign of stopping 🥰

DON'T SWEAT IT. - l.jh

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you.

pairing; lee jihoon x fem!reader.  content; fluff / gym crush au / strangers to lovers / kinda idiots to lovers / smut towards the end (MINORS DNI). w/c; just a breezy 18k- and some change? warnings; swearing, this is only proof read once because if i read it again i was going to lose my mind. please let me know if i've forgotten any. smut tags under the cut ( not sure that this counts as a warning but a heads up: the gym weight units, whenever mentioned, are in kilograms not lbs because i’m british and the metric system, am i right? sorry if there are any other british-isms, i try really hard to avoid them/catch them on a proofread but there are inevitably some that have slipped through the net.  )

note; gym-selfie jihoon, you will never not own my ass. ( screaming internally this is the first fic i've written since my dan + phil youtube era. i don't know what i'm doing. this has been in my wips for about two months. it's a bit all over the place. that's. literally just me. bon appetite. <3 )

smut warnings: making out, grinding, fingering (f rec), oral (f rec), blowjob started/implied (at the end), protected sex (be safe out there gang), little bit of biting, no huge power dynamics? reader & jihoon are both switches (and simps), some use of pet-names (good girl/baby).

—————

He first sees you around lunchtime on an otherwise unassuming Sunday. 

As you walk in, the gym is wonderfully quiet. A handful of regulars mill about, making full use of the rare freedom of the machinery. One of the club’s personal trainers is marching an impossibly steep incline on a treadmill. It could just be any other weekend session in this criminally over-equipped and under-used gym: the town’s worst kept secret. But when the door slams shut behind you, his head jerks up; it, in this moment, is the loudest sound in the room. It’s sort of the only one he hears at all.

Today — the first time in a small forever that he forgot to check the battery on his earphones (and subsequently had them die on him mid-workout) — Jihoon is forced to notice you as he sits with dumbbells rested against his thighs. He catches his breath as he wonders who you are, if you’ve ever been to this gym before, why he doesn’t recognise you. Are you a new potential regular, maybe? Or just visiting the area and making good use of the cheap pay-as-you-go rates? Maybe, he considers, lips turning downwards in thought… maybe you’ve been coming here for a long time and he’s somehow just always been so in his own head that he’s never noticed.

The last, he thinks, is sort of unlikely. No. He would definitely remember a face like yours.

His heart rate slows more than he usually lets it as he finds himself watching you fill up your water bottle at the fountain, taking a long sip on your way over to one of the stairmasters. His brain blanks out when he realises that he’s not just looking anymore, he’s sort of staring, and swallows the saliva on his tongue hard, looking back at the mirror. He doesn’t want to be that guy. He isn’t that guy – he just got distracted by the loud noise, and this is exactly why he checks the damn battery on his headphones before he leaves the house. 

The only problem is that now, he can’t remember how many sets he’s done. He lies back and stares straight into a slightly sketchy light-fixture, neglecting to pick up the dumbbells that he put aside for his next set of pushes. Jihoon adjusts the position of his shoulders against the bench, arches his back off it slightly, digs his heels into the spongy floor beneath them and pushes the ones still in his hands until failure. 

Today, he finishes his routine and leaves the gym without allowing himself so much as another glance your way.

He neglects to notice that your eyes are avoiding him right back. 

—————

You smile at him for the first time on a Tuesday. Not the following one – a week and a bit later.

Seungcheol is with him tonight. Jihoon prefers to train alone nine times out of ten: this is a truth widely acknowledged, accepted and respected among his friends. Gym time is his down time, his equivalent of movie marathons and comfort food, of face masks and glasses of wine. But it’s not a hard rule: occasionally, someone will ask to tag along and use one of his guest passes, and Jihoon very rarely says no. There are two reasons. One, he isn’t actually rude, contrary to approximately eighteen running jokes in the group-chat. But also, it adds a little bit of variety to his otherwise very set-in-stone regimen, and mixing it up doesn’t hurt. Like tonight, for example. Seungcheol is pulling him into the studio off the main gym floor, his own gym bag packed with boxing pads and gloves for them to play with.

Variety.

Jihoon grumbles a little at the idea, at first. He has a very love-hate relationship with cardio, favouring a simple steady-state run over everything else, and it just feels a bit against his moral code to use gym time for something like this. However, he comes to discover very quickly that smacking Seungcheol’s hands is very therapeutic; Jihoon knows he’s maybe getting a little too into it when his friend asks if they can switch around, grimacing and shaking out his wrist after a particularly beefy punch. 

He agrees, albeit reluctantly, tugging off the gloves he’s wearing and pulling on the pads instead.

This half of the activity is considerably less enjoyable for Jihoon; he starts to cool down and loses his flow almost straight away and after about thirty seconds, his breathing is back to normal and he feels ready to go again. Even so, he does what he needs to do to be a good workout partner, and goes one step further into ‘good friend’ territory as he allows Seungcheol to vent about the bad day he had at work in-between hits, offering murmurs and looks of disgust when it feels appropriate. Suddenly, the impromptu request to come to the gym tonight makes much more sense, as does the slightly bizarre choice of activity, but Jihoon tries not to ask about it in too much detail.

They swing at each other for a few more rounds apiece, working up a healthy sweat and getting out a few frustrations as the hour wears on. On the last set, Jihoon switches out Seungcheol’s hands for a punching bag, putting a lot more of his weight behind every hit and really tiring himself out. By the end, his hair sticks to his forehead and his cheeks have flushed bright red; he only stops when he gets that weird, metallic taste in the back of his mouth that says he’s probably overdone it. Again.

“Hit the shower?” Seungcheol asks breathlessly as he finishes his last set of Russian twists and lies down flat on the floor, equally sticky and flushed all over. 

Jihoon pats his face dry with his towel, shaking his head. “You go ahead. I’ll have one at home.” 

He doesn’t give Seungcheol much of a chance to respond, already cleaning down anything he’s touched or managed to sweat on and riding out the high of the endorphins flooding his veins. Secretly, he hasn’t had a cardio session this high energy or this satisfying in a long time. He isn’t going to readily admit to that though.

“Nah, I’ll do the same,” Seungcheol agrees. He starts packing the gear he brought with him into his bag and they leave together after, heading towards the exit. 

That’s when he sees you again. 

He doesn’t notice at first; you’re stowing your things into one of the higher lockers, and you have your headphones slung around your neck as he walks past. It’s the sound of a song he vaguely recognises through your speakers that makes his head snap over from the conversation he’s in the middle of. They walk past at the moment you drop down from your tiptoes, and you flash a small (but insanely pretty) smile at Jihoon.

By the time he manages to process this fact, he’s already walked past you and you’re headed over into the main gym area, so even though he turns around to try and catch your eye, all he sees is your retreating figure. He stumbles over his own feet, not looking where he’s going, and just barely catches himself on Seungcheol’s upper arm before he actually does fall over. His older friend glances down at his bicep before he adopts a look that Jihoon has seen many, many times before: just never directed at him. His cheeks heat up further and he looks away.

“What was that?” Seungcheol asks, one eyebrow so far up his forehead that it’s disappeared almost entirely under his soggy hair. He looks so smug, so incredibly entertained. Jihoon wants to smack that expression off his face, immediately.

“Nothing,” Jihoon rushes, managing not to act on the violent thought even though he wants to. He clears his throat. “No-one. I-... they’re new, I think. I don’t know.”

Seungcheol lets out a soft laugh, pushing the door open for them both to leave through. “Yeah,” he scoffs, eyes glimmering with something Jihoon doesn’t think he likes the look of. “Nothing, my ass.”

—————

Three days later, he hears you speak for the first time.

Granted, you aren’t speaking to him – at least, not at first. But that’s not really what matters.

It’s late, and it’s a Friday night. Fridays are usually Jihoon’s days rest days, but sitting around his apartment had him feeling impossibly twitchy, with far too much energy to burn and no way to do so without leaving the house. And he knows that he needs to take days off, now and again. He knows that they’re good for recovery and that it’s healthy to take time to himself that involves not lifting weights. But what he also knows is that if he doesn’t manage to shake the weird buzzing feeling in his muscles, in his joints, in his veins, he’s never going to get to sleep. So, here he finds himself at almost 10PM, walking down the street to get to the gym.

To begin with, he doesn’t know (or really care) who it is that’s coming up behind him. He can hear quite clearly that the mystery person is on the phone, and that they’re in the middle of what seems to be a rather heated argument: his brain latches onto occasional words, phrases, curses. Every now and again, their voice drops to a deep, frustrated mutter and he cringes slightly, making a point to keep his eyes forward and down so as not to draw attention to the fact that this presumably private conversation has become everything but.

He touches his entry fob to the sensor on the door as he arrives and pushes it open. Jihoon uses the opportunity to stand still, to glance back at whoever it is that’s walked behind him for the past four and a half minutes, and his eyes come to land on you. He falters, noting how your eyes are a bit glassy and your cheeks are stained with what he can safely assume are tear-tracks. In this moment, he wants to run; he doesn’t want anything to do with that, and he certainly doesn’t want to hear any more of your call. It’s none of his business, and he feels plenty weird enough already with what he has overheard. But, for some unknown reason, he stays in place.

“No – no, you don’t get to-...” you hiss into your phone. “It was our fucking anniversary, you asshole.” Jihoon’s face tightens at that, lips drawn between his teeth and his eyes blowing slightly wide. You pass through the door in front of him, flashing a small smile as you go. Another smile, he thinks to himself, but he’d be an idiot to compare them in any way; this one is so dramatically dissimilar to the first, he thinks it could almost have come from a totally different person. 

Unfortunately, there’s nothing ‘insanely pretty’ about it this time. Your smile is tight-lipped and exhausted, slightly apologetic. Maybe even forced. He does try to return a warmer one to you, but he doesn’t know if you notice. 

“Look, I’m at the gym – we’re not doing this right now. I’ll call you later.” You hang up the phone with the kind of sigh that groans in the back of your throat.

A small part of him wants to take this moment and use it to ask if you’re all right, but an even larger part of him doesn’t. It isn’t because he doesn’t care. In a weird way, considering this is only the first time he’s clearly heard your voice and he knows absolutely nothing about you, he does care. But there are a few things that stop him. Not only are you a near-complete stranger, not only would he have no idea what to say to you if the answer happened to come out as a ‘no’, not only is he already coming over a little bit clammy at the thought of having a conversation with you… Jihoon isn’t stupid. He knows from the sound of your voice and the way you’re rather aggressively typing a message into your phone that it’s a ridiculous question.

You’re walking into the gym at 10 o’clock on a Friday night, your eyes literally brimming with tears. Of course you’re not all right.

He’s still standing in the open doorway mulling all this over, but Jihoon only realises when a gust of wind slaps over his calves and sends a draught not only through the reception area, but up the length of his spine. He comes inside fully as you close the locker you’re using – he notices, but he isn’t sure why, that it’s the same one as last time – and throws his things into the one he always uses. Two below and one to the left of yours.

It’s quiet tonight: just the pair of you and one middle-aged guy. Jihoon recognises him as the friendly man who seemingly knows everyone who comes in here – including you, apparently, judging by the way he strikes up a short but energetic conversation. When the other guy walks away, you clamp your headphones back over your ears and return to what you were doing before, occasionally bobbing your head or moving your lips in time with whatever it is that you’re listening to. Jihoon steals little glances at you now and again when you’re in-between sets, watching how you breathe deeper, how your skin glows with sweat as you tap your fingertips against your thighs.

He almost drops the bar he’s holding when you catch his eyes in the long line of mirrors. He turns away, swallowing hard, completely missing how your own gaze lingers.

Jihoon becomes so obsessed with not being caught looking at you again that he doesn’t even notice when you disappear off the gym floor completely. It’s only when he pulls his headphones off at the end of his session and glances around that he registers your absence: your third companion is long gone, and he assumes you must have snuck out without him noticing too. He settles the speakers back over his ears before pulling on an old zip-up, flicking the hood over his head to shelter him a little better once he gets outside. But he’s in no rush to get home so he takes his time, resting his bag between his abdomen and the lockers, replying to a few messages and clicking his tongue at some of the nonsense being spewed into the group-chat. 

He isn’t sure exactly how long he’s standing there for, but he does know precisely what pulls him back to the world outside of the device in his hands.

To begin with, he doesn’t notice you approach, lost completely in his screen. He doesn’t hear your footsteps, or the way you politely clear your throat to announce your presence so he can move out of the way. He misses your moment of realisation that he’s listening to music and has no idea that you’re standing three feet behind him. He doesn’t even see you walk up next to him, your hair still damp from your shower and sitting loose over your shoulders.

It’s only when you try to reach over him to grab the last of your things that he snaps out of his trance. The fragrance of your body wash hits him first, and oh boy, does it hit him. Sweet, and delicate. Then, he gets something beautifully fruity: it’s not a perfume (it doesn’t smell like a perfume), but it’s you. Your shampoo, maybe? A conditioner? He can’t tell. Whatever it is, the combination of fragrances has him feeling like he’s been slammed into by a damn freight train. He drops his bag to the floor, freezing for a second, and then finally moves away just as the little door swings open. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says hurriedly, tugging his hood down and pulling his headphones off completely. “I didn’t even think you were still here.” He can’t shake the smell of you, nor the feeling of your warm frame leaning so close to his own. God, why is his heart pounding like he’s just finished a round of sprints? Why can’t he breathe?

“No – hey, no, don’t be,” you rush, shaking your head. You finally succeed in pulling your coat free and start trying to get it on; Jihoon wonders if you often struggle to find your sleeves like this, if you’re always chasing them around like a puppy after its own tail. He does it too, sometimes. He gets it. It’s cute. “It’s okay. I was trying not to disturb-... I’m sorry.”

“You’re fine,” he tells you. For the first time, he’s able to smile back at you properly. 

Why is it so hot in here, all of a sudden? Do they shut off the air conditioning after hours or something? He’s breaking out in a sweat.

“Call it even?” you suggest shyly, extending out a hand now you’ve managed to get both arms through your sleeves. He looks down at your fingers for a second before reaching to shake your hand once, a semi-firm grip securing the ‘deal’. (He feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted after, but he tries not to make that too obvious).

It goes awkwardly quiet for a moment then, and Jihoon wishes deeply that he had it in him to say something. Anything. But his brain has gone completely empty and apparently, all he knows how to do is stand completely still like a fucking statue. He shifts his gaze from you, to the wall behind you, to the carpet beneath his shoes, all the while tugging at the collar of his sweatshirt as if it might bring him a tiny breath of fresh air. The gentle sound of you clearing your throat has him looking back at your face again though; he assumes for a second that this is maybe you about to announce taking your leave. All the while, he’s cursing himself out in his own head for being totally inept, and he’s not entirely sure that it isn’t written all over his face.

“Alone, today?” you ask, idly fiddling with your zipper and succeeding in taking him by surprise. He really didn’t think you were going to continue this. And yet…

“Hm?” he questions. 

You swallow before answering. “You… the last time, you were with a friend?” you explain, and now it’s your turn to look away. He wonders if you’re a little warm too, if he’s right in what he was thinking about the air-conditioning. 

“Oh. Right.” 

He nods. An annoying train of doubt in his mind wants to know why you’re asking about Seungcheol; if maybe it was him that you smiled at the other night, even though he knows your eyes weren’t looking up at the man he brought with him. He thinks maybe he should be used to these turns in conversation by now – you certainly wouldn’t be the first person to ask if one of his friends is available, after all – but somehow, he isn’t, and he has a slightly bitter taste in the back of his mouth as he goes on.

He really didn’t have ‘you being interested in one of his best friends’ on his bingo card for tonight, that’s for sure. 

“Yeah. I think he’s with his partner, or… I don’t know. I don’t really bring other people, often. That was a one-off.”

You nod silently and Jihoon can’t quite get a read on what that means. He wonders if you’re upset at the revelation of Seungcheol’s partner, or maybe that he doesn’t tag along to every session. Or maybe, maybe, you were just being polite, and you don’t really care what his friend is up to that means he isn’t here. But whatever it is that you’re feeling, you do far too good a job at hiding it; he’s suddenly very overcome with the desire to run, again, except this time he might just bury his head in the sand too for good measure.

“How much were you deadlifting, just then?” you ask in the lull, just as he thinks he might have perfected the best way to say goodbye that doesn’t make him come across as even more of a tool than he probably already has. It throws him off kilter, but somehow, he manages to answer you in reasonable time.

“Oh, God… uh, one… 160?” He says uncertainly. “That’s not… I can do heavier-...” In his mind, he slaps his forehead. “Wait, no, that’s-... I mean, it’s true, but I didn’t mean-...”

You bite back your smile as he talks himself in a circle but Jihoon is too flustered to notice, convinced that he now sounds like every arrogant gym rat on the planet. God, he’s given himself the ick.

“I guessed you could,” you say. 

Oh boy, this freezes him. Mid-thought, mid blink, mid-breath: he’s completely stuck. What does that mean? What does that mean? He only just manages to unstick his now suddenly dry tongue from the roof of his mouth, looking at you with surprised, confused eyes and parted lips. There aren’t any words on them, though. Like a deer in headlights, he just… stares.

“I mean, okay. Come on.” Your eyes visibly drop as you look him over, gaze lingering at his shoulders, his biceps, his waist. “You can get another twenty on that at least, right?”

He doesn’t know how to explain what’s happening to him, but if he thought he was burning up before? It was nothing compared to this, now. And there’s no way you haven’t noticed how everything from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears has suddenly started staining scarlet. He bows his head and pinches his lips tight, wrestling away the train of thought that appears as you drag your bottom lip between your teeth momentarily, still eyeing his arms. God, he’s never felt so overwhelmed in his life. 

“Something like that, yeah,” he strains. He’s trying so hard to be nonchalant, even though he knows all of his personal bests by heart. Deadlift, 195kg. He hit it a few weeks ago: a couple of days before he first saw you.

“Mm. You can tell.”

Jihoon tries to shake off the compliment, but he fails. In equal measure he wishes you’d stop (he doesn’t know how much more blood can rush to his cheeks before he keels over) and never wants you to stop talking. It’s all going straight to his stomach, though, and he doesn’t remember having felt this specific brand of nervous and excited and stupidly shy since he was in high school.

He can hardly keep up. This is the danger zone.

Maybe it’s a bad idea that he says the next thing that comes into his head in a desperate attempt to change the conversation away from how much he can pull. But somehow, his voice doesn’t break when he asks, “are you parked far away?”

What? It’s dark outside, and this part of town isn’t exactly known for its upstanding citizens and pretty flowerbeds.

“Oh,” you say, eyes a little wide. “I’m-... just staying close-by. I walked here.” The space between his eyebrows must crease a little too quickly because you immediately hurry to speak again. “Really. It’s like… not even ten minutes. All main streets. It’s nothing.”

“Ten minutes longer than I’d walk around here at night on my own,” he says lightheartedly. In tone, at least. He’s actually completely serious.

You laugh at that; he lets out a chuckle, too. Now, Jihoon doesn’t believe in fairies but he thinks that if they were real, they’d giggle just like you do. 

With a smile still on your face, you say, “what? A strong guy like you? Come on, now.”

Do you have to keep doing that? Fuck, he’s absolutely done for.

He tilts his head forwards, eyes closed, trying so hard to stop the muscles in his cheeks from lifting in a grin that it becomes a workout in and of itself.

“I mean it,” he says, taking what he hopes is a subtle breath to settle the fluttering in his chest. The next thing he knows, he’s leaning one shoulder against the lockers, a little reminiscent of every douchebag in every teen movie ever made. If he doesn’t think about it too much, he won’t cringe into oblivion until he gets home and replays this interaction over and over in his head instead of going to sleep. “Maybe I’ve just lived here too long. I might be jaded, but it’s still true.”

“How long is too long?” you ask.

“All my life,” he tells you.

“No way?”

“Mm.” A beat. “What about you?”

“I’m just staying with a friend, right now.”

“Oh, right.” He falls quiet again as he remembers the first time he saw you, remembers making the list in his head of all the possible reasons he hadn’t seen you before. The second was true, then.

Why does that feel like the worst possible scenario? He decides not to unpack that here.

“Maybe-...” you start, glancing down at your hands, which have been twisting in front of you for a few seconds now. Your chest inflates, filled with the words you’re about to speak, but only a breath comes out when you shake your head instead of saying them. “No, don’t worry. Scratch that.”

“Are you sure?” he asks, because he thinks that whatever you were about to suggest, there’s not much he would have said no to. He feels like it’s only fair to give you another chance to say it.

But you don’t.

“Yeah, it’s nothing.” You pause. “I… should probably get going.” He glances over your shoulder at the clock mounted on the far wall, squinting to see the time. 11:45.

“Shit. Yeah, me too,” Jihoon agrees. He didn’t realise it had gotten so late, so fast: he’s hardly ever out at this time. Lord, he already knows it’s going to be an open inquisition when he gets back to his apartment. His neighbours, Soonyoung and Seokmin, are about to have a fucking field day. 

But it’s already long past the time he usually goes to bed, so he asks his next question anyway. He still can’t shake the thought of you walking back on your own at this hour. “Do-… you need a ride?” 

He’s not sure if you actually consider it, or just wait a moment before you answer just to be polite. Either way, you end up shaking your head.

“It’s okay. I’ve-… got a call to make, so.” Your voice is a little quieter, lips tweaking up into a regretful half-smile, and Jihoon curses in his own head. How had he forgotten about that? “Thank you, though. Really.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. “Just… get back safe.”

You smile and nod, taking a step towards the door and Jihoon does the same. He reaches the exit first and holds it open for you; when you’re both out in the street, he suppresses a shiver and looks in the direction of where he left his car earlier. Feeling the full force of the cold, it crosses his mind to ask again if you’re sure about walking home, but you’re already pulling a beanie down over your still damp hair and tapping something into your phone, so he doesn’t say anything.

“I’ll see you around, uh-…” you start to say, only looking back up when you falter, realising that this is the first time you’re about to use his name and it occurs to you both, at the same time, that you haven’t done this part, yet.

“Jihoon,” he introduces himself, lips quirking into a side-smile. His gaze is expectant and you respond to it perfectly. 

“Y/n,” you introduce yourself. 

“See you around, y/n.”

You split off in the opposite direction to where he’s heading. Before he clamps his headphones over his ears for the short walk up to his car, the last thing he hears is the retreating sound of a dial-tone. 

—————

He doesn’t see you then for two whole weeks. 

For the first couple of days, he only idly notices; it’s not a big deal — it’s not like you’re always there when he is, and he’s sure it’s the same vice versa. But he notices your absence, nonetheless. By the end of the first week, he casually wonders if you’ve had a change in schedule. Maybe you’re on a different working pattern, something that means you can’t be there on Monday and Thursday evenings and at 11:45am on Sundays. 

It’s not weird. He only knows this because prior to that first conversation, acknowledging you as you crossed paths by the free-weights became part of his routine. It’s fine that he sort of misses those little interactions, isn’t it?

Maybe you’ve decided to start training ridiculously early in the morning instead? He tried that once. Never again. It then occurs to him, in the middle of a self-enforced rest day as he sits in the dark nursing a headache, that perhaps you’re not well. He sort of wishes he’d had the guts to ask for your number the last time he saw you, now: he thinks he’d check in, see if you were okay, ask how work was going or something. 

Deep down he knows he’d probably actually just be staring at a blank text thread with a ‘casual’ message typed, tweaked a few hundred times, and ultimately unsent. But that’s fine. It’s the thought that counts. 

The next time he sees you isn’t even in the gym, at all. It’s a Sunday afternoon — he finished his morning session, went home, showered, and headed back out into town after some lunch with a few errands to run. He finds himself spoiled with the luxury of a spare few hours to kill and dips into his favourite coffee place, thrilled beyond belief to find that it’s not obnoxiously busy and that there’s only one other person in the queue waiting to be served. 

Oh, he thinks when he looks up from his phone and sees a vaguely familiar set of headphones sitting on top of a definitely familiar mane of hair, standing right in front of him. Oh, shit. It’s you.

Jihoon goes back and forth with himself over it but ultimately decides he probably doesn’t know you well enough to just say hello out in the wild like this, so even though the urge to do so strikes, he holds himself back. It’s agonising, though. He really wants to. 

You step forward to order and he’s typing out a reply to a message in his, Seokmin and Soonyoung’s three-way group chat, in which he’s literally been fighting for his life as of late. He made the mistake of mentioning you in passing a few days ago and ever since, he’s had to vehemently deny that he has developed his first gym crush, insisting that actually, he’s just made a friend. They don’t believe him, because of course they don’t. That would be far too reasonable. Seokmin says that Jihoon wouldn’t be blushing just from saying your name if you were really ‘just a friend’. Soonyoung argues Jihoon wouldn’t have mentioned you at all.

“I’m so sorry — bear with me, just-…” your voice is quiet but Jihoon hears you apologising to the cashier in front of you, and it snaps him clean away from the tiff he’s having with the men who live in his building. He glances up and you’re elbow-deep in the bag over your shoulder, red in the face with your bottom lip pulled between your teeth. He turns his head slightly and sees the small hand-written sign that says the card machine isn’t working, and they’re cash only, today. 

He can hazard a guess at your predicament. 

After another few seconds of you trying to find whatever it is you’re looking for in your bag, he starts feeling bad for you. This, right here, is his own worst nightmare. Should the roles be reversed, he thinks he would’ve just turned around and walked out. It’s exactly why he doesn’t bother with backpacks and satchels day-to-day: if it doesn’t fit in his pockets, he doesn’t take it out with him. The system isn’t perfect but it has saved Jihoon a decent amount of public distress. 

But the roles aren’t reversed, and he has his wallet already in his hand, so… he only gives himself a few seconds to wonder if it’s appropriate before he does the stupid thing anyway.

“Don’t worry — I’ve got it,” he says, stepping around you, pulling out the cash to pay for your order. You’re dumbstruck when you look  at him, head tilted to the side. The person stood behind the counter glances at you, then at him, and back at you; you don’t see this, however, because your eyes haven’t left Jihoon’s face since he appeared — as far as you’re concerned — out of thin air.

“I can’t ask you to…” you start to protest, but your hands have stopped fishing around and he’s moving the cash further towards the barista, who hesitates just a second longer. 

“You’re not asking. I’m offering. I’ve got you.” He says this with such finality that you quite literally can’t argue with him. The lady behind the counter accepts the cash and you nod, shyly, mouthing a thank you. He orders his own drink — an Americano, nothing exciting — and you both go to stand at the other end of the counter while you wait.

“Hi,” you finally say, and Jihoon can’t help but give a small chuckle. 

He doesn’t have anything hugely witty or creative in his arsenal, though, so he comes back with a matching, “hey.”

“How… have you been?” you ask. 

“Can’t complain, really,” he says. “Are you okay? I haven’t seen you around for a few weeks.” Oh, God — the second the words are out of his mouth, he wishes he could take them back. Why did he have to add that last part? Why didn’t he just leave it at the question? 

“Yeah — about that,” you breathe, ducking your head to conceal the heat that’s spreading over your cheeks. “You know how I said I was staying with that friend?” He nods, and you continue. “I was waiting for some stuff to get sorted out with an apartment and it all finally got resolved, so… I’ve been moving my stuff over to a new place.”

Jihoon feels his heart sink for a moment, but he keeps his expression pleasant and engaged. His fingers threaten to give him away as they fiddle with the aglet on the drawstring of his sweatpants. 

“Sounds tiring,” he says lightly, and you laugh again, nodding. It’s odd, having his heart taking residence low in his stomach and somehow also in his throat, all while hammering away at a mile a minute. All the caffeine in the world couldn’t have this effect on him. “Is it going okay so far?”

“Yeah.” You nod. “It’s a process, but… it’ll be worth it.”

The barista behind the counter announces herself by clearing her throat and slides your drinks across the marble surface with a little glimmer in her eye. Jihoon picks them both up, extending yours out to you. There’s a pause (in which he swallows a large helping of self-doubt) as he glances to the door, working through several combinations of his next words in his mind before he looks back at you. 

“Do you… maybe have ten minutes to sit with these?” He asks. You light up immediately, not even checking the time on any of your devices, nor the wall clock behind your head. He doesn’t let himself think about why it makes him giddy that you’re accepting the offer, just like that.

“Yeah — yeah, sure.” You smile, walking through the lines of tables and sliding into one of the big, comfy chairs by the window. He unzips his jacket and slings it over the arm of the other chair before settling in himself, his long fingers wrapping around the to-go cup. The drink warms his perpetually cold palms and he sighs sweetly.

“You must be excited to get into the new place, then?” he asks after taking a sip, letting it heat him up from the inside. It could be argued that this job is already being taken care of, but Jihoon is not about to go there.

“Oh, God yes.” You nod, relaxing back in the seat with your own cup. Jihoon subconsciously leans a little forward in tandem. “It’s been fun staying with my friend, but…” You pause, lips slightly parted, before going on. “Okay, a warning: I’m a terrible person for this, I know. She’s done me a huge favour, letting me stay there — but I can’t deal with how untidy she is. It’s driving me nuts.”

A chuckle bubbles in Jihoon’s chest, cheeks starting to ache as his smile grows and grows. It hasn’t fallen since he sat down opposite you, and doesn’t seem to be going anywhere, any time soon. “That bad?” he asks.

“You have no idea,” you groan, covering your face with one hand. He wishes you hadn’t — he thinks you look quite lovely when you’re all lit up like this. “She doesn’t clean her dishes after she eats — she piles them up in the sink for like, three days. I don’t think she’s used the vacuum the entire time I’ve been there. I keep finding wrappers and packets and mismatched socks everywhere —” 

His snort of laughter rolls off the back of his throat rather ungraciously and he settles back into his chair. You gently bump his ankle under the table with your foot, beaming at him. “I’m serious! I can’t live like this, Jihoon. I can’t!”

The more you speak, the less he can control the fits he’s descended into, and his abs start to ache after a while; there’s desperation in your voice but it’s just wrapped up so cutely in your lighthearted frustration and decoratively tied together with your sunshine smile… he can’t help it — he’s in pieces. It’s okay though, because you’re laughing too: it makes him think of fairies again, and he can picture you with dainty, intricately patterned wings under the soft lighting in the café. He wipes the corner of his eye with the heel of his hand as he starts to calm down, taking a few deep breaths all the way into his stomach.

“You’re so much stronger than I am,” he says.. “I couldn’t deal with that.”

“You know, I had a feeling you’d be a clean person, too,” you say, sipping at your coffee again. “I mean… I’ve never seen you use the gym showers, so I wasn’t sure, but…”

“Hey,” he says, mock-defensively. “I don’t trust the locks, okay? I shower at home!”

Your cup is lifted to your mouth and he can only see you from the nose upwards, but by the creases at the corners of your eyes, he knows you’re concealing a smile behind it as you nod back at him.

Ten minutes turns to twenty and then somehow becomes thirty — Jihoon starts feeling like you’re someone he’s known for years, and not just the person he accidentally ended up paying attention to in the gym just a couple of weeks ago. He bounces off you and you bounce off him. Both of you have long-since finished your drinks, too: there’s no real reason for either of you to still be here.

Except the obvious. 

“So, the apartment,” Jihoon says, leaning forwards again with his elbows resting on his knees. “Is it…?” He makes a few circular gestures with his hands with which he tries to imply something to the effect of ‘local’, or ‘nearby’, but he can’t quite bring himself to say that out loud. You seem to catch on though. Somehow.

Then again, you did say — a few subject changes ago — that Jihoon is on your wavelength. Maybe that’s it.

“About… a fifteen minute walk from here? Give or take,” you say, and his eyebrows shoot up his forehead so fast it’s like they’re on strings, being controlled by someone else. He doesn’t realise for a few seconds, by which point he isn’t even sure how to relax them. 

“No way?” he says, trying to feign nothing more than an idle interest. Obviously, he’s soaring. 

“Yeah. I’ll want to get back training soon, too, so there’s some incentive to get this done quickly. I miss it,” you tell him.

Jihoon comes out with what he says next without thinking. His mouth is moving before fully engaging his brain. It’s the coffee jitters. Apparently.

“Well, if you need any help with anything, I’ve got a car.”

“You’re too sweet,” you say. “I really couldn’t put you out like that, but…”

“You wouldn’t be,” he assures you with a shrug. “If I’m not working or in the gym… I’m never really that busy. It’s up to you, but-… I’d be happy to.”

You bite the inside of your lip for a moment, apparently mulling this over, before wiggling in your seat to pull your phone out of the front pocket of your jeans. You unlock the device and hand it over on a ‘new contact’ screen. 

Jihoon goes completely stupid: he thinks his brain stops functioning as he takes it to put his number in — for a moment, he’s staring dumbstruck, struggling to even remember the order of the digits now he’s under pressure, but it comes back to him eventually. His thumbs dart across the screen and he checks, double checks and triple checks that he’s typed it right before placing it back in your waiting palm. 

His fingertips brush against yours and it tickles, sending small shockwaves up his arms and straight into his chest. You smile down at your phone before glancing up at him.

“You need an emoji,” you tell him, and he raises an eyebrow at you.

“Huh?”

“Everyone in my contacts has one — I’ve been doing this since I was in high-school. You need to pick one, too.”

“Oh, uh-…” Jihoon swallows, and for some reason he’s completely forgotten every single little emoticon option there is. He draws a blank. “I can’t — you pick one for me. I don’t know.”

You narrow your eyes at him for a second, pouting your lips as you seem to scroll through the endless options. Now and again, you look up at him, as if trying to see what best fits him before you continue your search. He waits. And waits. And waits. He’s about to throw in an admittedly useless suggestion of some sort of boring animal when you turn your phone around to show him what you’ve chosen.

Jihoon, the contact name reads. And there’s the little angel face next to it.

“Oh, come on,” he says, blushing deeply. “You can’t be serious.”

“I totally am,” you say proudly, turning it back and pressing to save it. He hides his face in his hands. “If you won’t pick your own, you get what you’re given. You did this to yourself.”

“Wow,” he chuckles weakly, sliding his hands up into his hair and raking it back off his face. Your eyes move quickly across every inch and boy, does he notice. You shrug in response and test it, sending the same little emoticon to him. He blushes harder when it comes through and he saves your number into his own phone before placing it face-down on the table. 

More than an hour after buying your coffee, Jihoon stretches his arms above his head and checks the time on his watch. He frowns slightly, not sure how the afternoon got away from him so fast, and lets out a sigh.

“I think I need to get going,” he says reluctantly. Leaving you is absolutely the opposite of what he wants to do, actually. Alas, “I have some friends coming over tonight.”

“Yeah — yeah, of course,” you smile, leaning to one side to pick your bag up off the floor. “No worries.”

You both move to stand up and he throws his coat over his arm, leading the way out. He holds open the door for you to leave first, then follows you outside into the afternoon sun. 

“It was really nice to see you,” you say, turning to face him. 

“You too,” he agrees. “Text me if you need anything, okay? But actually do. Don’t just say you will?”

You laugh sweetly. Fairies. His ears might have actually caught fire this time. “Okay, okay. I promise. I’ll text you — thank you.” There’s a pause, but only a tiny one. “And for the coffee, too.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he insists, waving it off. You shake your head. He thinks your hands are twitching when you stuff them into your pockets but he can’t be sure. Your breath definitely stutters, though. 

“No, really. Um… next one’s on me?” 

He blinks, and blinks again. Next one? The next one? He feels like he’s malfunctioned and been forcibly rebooted. The next one? 

“I-…” he starts, his throat dry. “Yeah, okay. If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure.” You nod, smiling with — what he doesn’t realise is — relief. “I’ll see you around, okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah — I’ll see you, y/n.”

—————

Jihoon has no choice but to admit defeat to the group chat that night when Seungcheol and Jeonghan come over for a takeout.

Within minutes, his oldest friend is asking about the girl from the gym — he’s been just as relentless as Seokmin and Soonyoung in quizzing Jihoon, except it’s slightly harder to deny to Seungcheol because he did witness, first-hand, the way you had his friend tripping over his own feet with a single smile. At first, Jihoon tries to shrug it off. Play it down. Change the subject. He doesn’t mention that he’s actually spoken to you since he and Cheol trained together, or that he accidentally bumped into you and paid for your coffee, or that you stayed talking with him for as long as you did. He definitely doesn’t say that you exchanged phone numbers. 

He absolutely won’t confess to being smitten. 

All Jihoon willingly admits to is that from what he’s seen of you around, you seem nice, and with a roll of his eyes he does agree that he thinks you’re attractive. He gets a bit of a glare later in the evening when  Jeonghan asks if he’s thought about where he wants to take you on your first date, and Jihoon tells him to stop asking stupid questions and eat his chicken before he eats it for him. But all in all he thinks he evades the worst of it pretty well. For now, anyway — he knows their pestering isn’t going away any time soon. 

Especially not when, on their way out, Seungcheol leans close and whispers that whatever is going on with his gym crush, it suits him. Jihoon jabs him on the arm and the two men leave, laughing brightly.

It’s about an hour after his friends have gone home, having washed the dishes and cleaned up his apartment that Jihoon is sitting on his living room floor doing a few lower body stretches before he turns in for the night. He finds himself tapping into your text thread — not for the first time this evening — and skimming over the short conversation you had earlier. You messaged him when you got back to your friend’s place to thank him for the third time, and Jihoon replied back telling you that if you didn’t stop being silly, he was never going to respond to you again. Your reply came in the form of a “:(“ and his was a simple “:)”. That was it, but he’s been thinking about the exchange ever since. 

He’s not sure why. Nor is he certain what about that has him looking down at the messages and grinning like a fool in his apartment, alone, at 10:30pm on a Sunday night. He could probably take a stab in the dark at what it means, though. He rubs at the back of his neck with one hand as he changes conversations and types out a short message with the other. 

jihoon: fine. you’re right. 

seokmin: ?

soonyoung: probs true, does need context

jihoon: about the gym girl. you’re right. 

soonyoung: OH

seokmin: Hahahahahaha

seokmin: Yeah, you’re definitely the last to know, dude

soonyoung: fr even chan and hansol know atp lmao 

jihoon: they what?

jihoon: how do they know?

jihoon: they don’t go to my gym! i haven’t seen them in weeks!

soonyoung: because we told them????? 

seokmin: So, we might have told everyone

jihoon: blocking both of your numbers immediately.

seokmin: Hey! We’re just glad you’ve accepted it

seokmin: When do we get to meet her?

jihoon: blocked.

Well, great, Jihoon thinks as he fights the urge to lay face down on the floor and let the laminate cool his searingly hot cheeks. 

At least he’s admitted it now. 

He’s vaguely confirmed in writing that maybe he has a bit of a thing for you — it’s out in the open and at minimum, two of his friends know that it’s real. Straight from the horse’s mouth. Fingers. Whatever. No doubt by morning, all of his friends will have found out. The point stands that he hasn’t confessed to something like this since he was approximately sixteen years old, so whatever you’re doing to him, whatever this… is, it matters. 

So, he asks himself, standing up off the hardwood floor and stretching his spine, arms locked behind him and pushed back as far as they can go. He turns off all the lights, checks the front door, goes through the motions to get himself ready for bed. So… what the fuck am I supposed to do now?

—————

Come Monday evening, he’s about ready to hit the roof.

As far as bad days go, Jihoon thinks he’s in the running for one of the worst ever. He slept awfully, tossing and turning through the night despite the usual winning combination of freshly washed bed sheets and his white noise machine drowning out the occasional disturbance from the street below. He wakes up two minutes before his alarm is due to go off, only to discover he fell asleep before plugging his phone in to charge overnight, and it’s sitting at a very risky 13%. The gel he uses to keep his hair off his face at work has gone weird and only does half a job, strands tumbling back in front of his eyes the second he goes to leave his apartment, very nearly forgetting his keys. Then, to really put the cherry on top, he sees that — at some point between getting home yesterday and now — someone has scraped his car while parking up next to him. There’s a large scratch right down the passenger side, with no note nor reliable CCTV in his apartment’s parking lot to confirm who it was, and of course, the space is currently empty. 

All this before he even gets to work.

He fundamentally knows that starting the week off with a bad attitude will only lead to a really shitty remainder, but when Vernon sends his routine ‘Monday Motivation’ booster message — “you’re going to have a great day, today!” — into the group chat, Jihoon responds with a crude photo of his middle finger, right in front of the massive scuff on the bodywork of his Hyundai. Jeonghan replies with an ‘oof’, Wonwoo with a ‘yikes’, and Joshua, ever the comedian, sends a picture of Garfield lying face-down captioned ‘Mondays’ that nobody replies to. All responses feel kind of appropriate. But he pockets his phone without sending anything else, sighing again; he locks the car and checks the handle just in case before he finally heads into the building.

It’s going to be a long day. He just has to get through it.

Things don’t necessarily improve. He ends up in and out of meetings all day, so when 5 o’clock rolls around and he’s on his way out the door, he’s feeling a bit like he’s done nothing of actual value. Just, for some reason, thinking about you and tapping out a catchy beat on the top of his desk as he pretends to pay attention to useless presentation after useless presentation. But it’s still somehow been exhausting on his brain and on the drive back to his apartment, Jihoon feels so drained that he contemplates skipping the gym altogether and going straight to bed. This internal argument takes up most of his journey, but it does keep him occupied during the rush-hour traffic if it does nothing else. 

Nothing has ever been fixed by ruining a perfectly good routine, however — so no sooner than he’s back in his apartment, he changes out of his button-down and trousers and into his regular gym gear. His protein shaker is ready on the counter for when he’s home again, the lights are off, his bag is on his shoulder and the door is locked. He pushes against it a few times, checking out of habit, despite the fact that his only neighbours on this floor are Soonyoung, Seokmin and an elderly couple with a cat they’re not technically supposed to have. Nobody tells, though, because Boots has become everyone’s emotional support animal. The only actual security threat is Seokmin maybe stealing something from his fridge, but he’s only ever satisfied after the third test anyway. 

A quick warmup and a few easy stretches later, Jihoon sets about his business. Mondays are for training legs (and often, as a result, incapacitating himself for the rest of the week), and these workouts are always some of his most intense.

So intense, in fact, that he’s sweating buckets and cherry red when he steps away from the squat rack, tugging up the hem of his t-shirt to dry his face, a brief flash of his toned abdomen on full view. He’s just about catching his breath when he glances in the mirror, and his knees nearly give out when he sees you walking in. You lock eyes and smile at him in the reflection as you start to walk towards him.

It’s not just any smile, but he’s way too flustered to notice.

He spins around to face you, mortally embarrassed that you definitely just saw that, but in a weird way… kind of elated? You drop your headphones to sit around the back of your neck to greet him as you get closer. He pushes his hair back off his forehead and tries to act as cool as he can, but Jihoon suddenly becomes incredibly aware of everything about himself in this moment: his posture, how his arms hang by his sides, the exact positioning of his feet. The fact that he’s breathing pretty deeply, that his pulse is so loud in his ears that he can see your lips moving but can’t quite hear what you’re saying.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit — you’re talking. Focus. He needs to focus. 

“Sorry — what was that?” he asks, eliciting a soft laugh from you.

“I like your shirt,” you repeat, a fraction clearer. Jihoon glances down at himself, at the same sweatpants and tight black workout top he wears in here several times a week, and looks back at you with a raised eyebrow. God, he lets himself think for half a second, entertaining his own stupidity with the idea that you’re finding this as hard as he is, too. Maybe I’m not alone in this. 

“Oh?” he says. “Um — thank you?”

“How’d it go with your friends last night?” you ask, hardly skipping a beat, and he’s a little thankful that you skim over his poor attempt at gratitude for a compliment he isn’t sure he deserves. Instead, his confusion wraps itself around the fact that you actually remembered what he was doing last night. Hell, even he’d forgotten in the heat of the day he’d had, but you remembered. He’s sweating over it a little and briefly wonders what the chances are of the gym floor opening up and swallowing him whole.

Slim, he decides. But not zero. 

There’s hope.

“Yeah — yeah, it was nice,” he says, internally kicking himself for overthinking this so much that he’s apparently lost his ability to speak. In the space of 24 hours, he’s gone from giggling over coffee with you to completely weak just at the sound of your voice. It should be easier here, if anything — this is home turf for him. His comfort space. He supposes the tight fit of your gym clothes accentuating your hips and thighs isn’t helping matters, and neither is the wide neckline of your own t-shirt exposing your throat and a collarbone. But still. He’s not a teenager. He should be able to handle a little bit of skin. 

He clears his throat, rolling his head side-to-side. Focus. “Sorry — I’m-… I just didn’t expect to see you back here so soon.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle. “I-… couldn’t stay away. Missed it a little too much.”

“I get that,” he concurs, willing his eyes not to drop down your frame to a newly exposed area of skin just around your waist, your t-shirt riding up as you adjust your bag on your shoulder. “It’s good to-… have you back, anyway.”

“Good to be back,” you agree. “Hey — can you leave that set up for me, when you’re done? I’m on legs today, too.”

Jihoon doesn’t want to say that he knows Mondays are your leg days, as well, so he doesn’t. Even if it is true. He wonders if you would find it odd that he’s remembered. “Sure,” he says with a small smile, which you return. Just as you’re about to walk off to drop your things into a locker, he pipes up again. “I mean — hey, if you wanted a spot, or to-… do, you know… anything…”

“Are you asking me to train with you?” you ask, eyes bright and smile wider than he thinks he’s ever seen it. This is torture. He’s not even lifting anything and his heart is about to burst out of his fucking chest — God, maybe this was a bad suggestion.

“I-…” he starts, but he lets the breath out of his lungs and shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah. I am.”

“Give me two minutes,” you agree, hurrying off to put your stuff away and fill up your bottle.

He manages to squeeze another set of squats in before you get back, which is sort of a miracle seeing as how his knees have gone completely weak ever since you arrived. He’s scrolling through his playlist as you cross the gym floor on your way back to him, but he looks up and smiles as you approach. 

“You go ahead — I’ve just finished.”

He knows he’s really fucking done for when, after the first round, you add plates onto the bar to out-lift him. All before he’s even positioned himself behind you to be a good spotter.

Jihoon doesn’t go down without a fight though, and things get a little competitive from there. Both of you throw some of your favourite (see: most agonising) exercises into the mix over the course of the hour, taking it in turns on the equipment and creating a session that just about has him able to move by the time you’re finished. You talk to each other when you’ve got the breath to do so, otherwise focussing on your workout with more intensity than either of you remember training with for a long time. 

And so what if he has to turn away from you once or twice to compose himself when breathless whines spill from between your lips on your last few reps, the sheer effort of the movements pushing your muscles to their absolute limit? So what if he feels his entire body run a thousand degrees every time you sweetly encourage him to manage just one more? So what if his palm stays tingling for fifteen seconds every time you high-five him for a set well done?

You slide out of the hamstring curl machine with a deep breath and legs like two sticks of jelly at the end of the session, and he holds a hand out to steady you as you regain your ability to weight-bear.

“You okay?” he asks, and you nod, patting what’s exposed of your chest and neck with your towel. 

“Yeah. Yeah — just… fuck.” You laugh, laying your hand over the top of his and squeezing. Only for a second — not even, only for a breath — and really just to let him know that you’re okay to stand on your own, but Jihoon feels a bit like he’s been electrocuted straight up his arm all the same. “You don’t come to play, do you?”

“Says you,” he scoffs, only now moving his hand from your upper arm. “I was wrong about you — you’re insane. Clinically insane.” 

Using the paper towels he went to gather while you were finishing up, he wipes the machine clean as you stretch out your now slightly exercise-swollen thighs. 

“I was just gonna finish up on one of the stairmasters,” you tell him, taking a long sip of your water. His eyes widen to the point of comedy, eyebrows high on his forehead. You snicker at his horror, the rim of your bottle hovering tantalisingly over your bottom lip. “What?”

“That’s-… got to be a form of masochism,” he says, exhausted just at the idea of marching up the never ending staircase even for a minute. You almost choke on your mouthful of water, only just swallowing it in time before a sudden, uncontrollable laugh erupts from your chest. 

“How?!” you ask, covering your mouth with your hand. Just like yesterday, the urge to pull your arm away, to reveal your hidden smile strikes him. He doesn’t act on it, but he wants to.

“What do you mean, how? Why would you put yourself through that after what you’ve just done?” It’s completely lighthearted, and the rush of heat on your cheeks intensifies at the cocktail of shock and awe in his gaze.

You shrug your shoulders once. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just better than you.” The way the tip of your tongue teasingly sits between your teeth as you grin at him sends bullets of adrenaline through his veins and Jihoon runs his hand over his face.

For about three seconds, he tells himself he isn’t going to take the bait. He’ll lose, he’ll admit it — he’ll put his hands up and say you’re absolutely, definitely better than he is, if it means he doesn’t have to push through a round of cardio after surpassing every single one of his physical limits. But God, he thinks you look completely irresistible standing there challenging him like this, your hands on your hips. His eyes don’t leave yours and yours don’t leave his; both of your chests stutter, just a little bit, and he can see your smile grow in his periphery.

How the fuck is he supposed to walk away?

“Ten minutes,” he concedes, matching your footsteps as you start to walk backwards towards his least favourite line of equipment in any gym, ever. “And you’re definitely getting the next coffee, now.”

——————

That Friday, you finally text him again.

His muscles have just about returned to a working state and Jihoon is quite proud to say that he has regained the ability to sit down without needing something to hold onto. He got home from work, showered the day away and has just settled down into the sofa to start on the book Wonwoo has been on his ass about reading when his phone vibrates on the side table. He reaches over for it, trying to figure out which of his friends might be trying to get hold of him early evening on a Friday, and already going over excuses in his head as to why he can’t go out to do whatever they’re inviting him to. But when your contact name flashes up on the screen, every single thought disappears from his brain.

y/n: hey :)

y/n: just out of interest, how good are you at assembling furniture?

He furrows his brows at this. There’s a very obvious answer, which is that he’s not. He doesn’t want to reply saying so, though, so he goes for what he thinks is the next best thing.

jh: well…

jh: what are you trying to put together?

y/n: a bed :(

y/n: today’s your rest day, right?

y/n: can i bribe you with dinner after? :)

Oh? His brain stalls, fingers hovering over the keypad. He can literally see your face forming a little pout before growing into a hopeful grin in his mind’s eye. He doesn’t see how he could ever say no. 

jh: apparently yes, you can.

jh: text me the address? i’ll leave in 5.

He changes out of his basketball shorts and hoodie in record time, abandoning Wonwoo’s book on his couch in favour of attempting to look at least somewhat presentable for you. He tugs on a pair of jeans that he hasn’t touched in about 6 months and one of his nicer t-shirts instead, even going as far as to spritz aftershave on the column of his throat. You’ve sent him your address and he makes to leave, doing his regular essential item pat-down on his way out the door. He puts your new apartment into his phone as he crosses the parking lot, stupidly delighted to discover it’s only 7 and a half minutes away from where he lives, and settles into his car with a series of deep exhales.

The breathing exercises don’t achieve much. His head is still spinning when he parks up in the street by your new place and lingers just outside the building. He sends you a text to say he’s arrived and you reply saying you’re on your way down. You appear in the lobby just a few minutes later.

“Hey,” you greet him warmly, crossing the space and putting your arms around him in a hug. He goes limp for a fraction of a second before his arms slide around you, too. God, he hopes you can’t feel his heartbeat right now. He thinks that the effect you have on him should be considered dangerous. But whether you can or not, you tighten your arms to squeeze him once before you unwind them from around his neck and step away. 

“Hi,” he says, feverish from the tops of his ears all the way down to his toes. His hands find his pockets as you take a few more polite steps back.

“Thank you so much for this.” Your bottom lip finds temporary home between your teeth before you’re nodding back towards the stairwell. “I’m on the third floor. Follow me.”

He does. He walks up the stairs behind you as you ask about his day at work, and he tells you that he thinks today has probably been one of the best he’s had in about 2 months. When he asks how your day went, you turn your head back to look at him and stumble on the next step, gently laughing and saying that you think you’re at your tether’s end with D.I.Y, but it’s been pretty good otherwise. By the time you reach your floor, his thighs are aching, a bit of residual fatigue from your session earlier in the week making it a little harder than it ought to be. He can’t imagine how you’ve coped every day since then; if his own building didn’t have an elevator, Jihoon thinks he’d have been sleeping in his car.

You give him a little tour of the apartment, and he stands next to you at the window as you point out where you were staying with your friend a few blocks away. He thinks the view is seriously pretty in the evening light, enchanted by how he can see the tops of the slightly lower buildings and the street below, lined with neon storefronts and currently alive with shoppers and bar-goers, but… He cringes at himself for thinking it, but the view through the glass is nothing compared to the one he has inside. 

You’ve started to put up a few decorations and knick-knacks around the place too. He doesn’t know you very well, but he still thinks it’s very you — all of it, and he likes them. Even with the room full of boxes and half-unpacked cases, there’s so much personality in it already. Charm. He brushes off your attempts to apologise for the ‘mess’, as you called it, despite everything being neatly pushed out of the way of the main space. It’s easily tidier than any other mid-move apartment he’s ever been in. 

“Did you want a drink?” you ask him, walking over to the refrigerator and resting a hand on the door. “I’ve got wine, or-… anything, really.” 

“Just some water would be great,” he says appreciatively, and a few seconds later you’re handing him a bottle, turning another one over in your hand. “I really wouldn’t be much help after a couple of glasses, trust me.”

“Does this mean you are good at it, then? Before a drink?” you ask him. Is it hope in your voice? Or do you somehow know how hopeless he is, and are you teasing? He can’t tell. Regardless, clearly his evasion earlier wasn’t quite as successful as he hoped it would be.

“About that…” He chuckles, taking a sip from the bottle and glancing sideways at you. “I’m sure between the two of us, we’ll figure it out.”

“My knight in shining armour,” you say with a laugh, closing your fingers around his wrist and leading him through the door to your bedroom. You’ve managed to separate all of the individual pieces, but you haven’t made any real progress otherwise. He settles himself down on the floor and reaches for the assembly manual, pursing his lips as he looks at the little baggies of screws and bolts and various other things he doesn’t know the names of.

“Okay.” He frowns, looking back up at you where you’ve kneeled down a couple of feet away. You’re grinning innocently back at him, but Jihoon’s lips are more aligned with a pout. “You maybe should have mentioned that the instructions are in Swedish.”

——-

Ignoring the fact that you can’t understand the directions printed on the flimsy little pieces of paper, you get to work. It’s… an interesting process, but somehow between the pair of you, you successfully manage to assemble the bed in just under two hours by mostly following the diagrams (and having to backtrack several times because Jihoon managed to miss a few steps). At three minutes to nine, you’re both finally standing up off the floor, stretching out stiff joints and tight muscles; the bed is fully assembled and made up with your sheets in the centre of the room, headboard against the back wall, the lamp you set on the dresser casting a pleasant orangey glow on every surface.

“We did it,” you say, a little in shock, a lot exhausted, and absolutely starving. At least, that’s what he assumes you’re feeling, because it’s what he is. “We actually did it.”

“I mean, you did most of it,” Jihoon says. It’s true; at a point, he was just handing you the pieces you asked him for and holding parts steady so that you could fit them together. But if you want to call it a joint effort, he isn’t going to stop you, and the roll of your eyes tells him that you do want to call it that. 

“Shh. You helped,” you scold him, bumping his upper arm with your elbow. “I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“If you say so,” he chuckles, taking another sip of his water. Jihoon isn’t sure he believes you, but the way you’re challenging him to argue further with your tongue pressed against the inside of your cheek scrambles his brain. Any remaining argument dies on his lips. “We make a good team.”

“We do,” you agree, expression shifting into a shy smile, bumping his arm again, your elbow lingering against him for a second longer. “Come on, I think I promised to feed you, too. What are you in the mood for?”

A movie has been playing in the background for about an hour by the time your food arrives and you’ve eaten everything. Jihoon relaxes back against the cushions of the couch and you’re settled comfortably next to him: there’s plenty of space on either side of you both, so there isn’t really any need for you to have your upper arm basically pressing against his, but Jihoon is too comfortable to say anything and you certainly aren’t making any attempts to move away. You shift your legs after about ninety minutes, bringing them up underneath you so your thigh is pressed against his now, as well, and you’re twisted slightly so you’re physically facing him but your head is still turned towards the TV.

Everywhere your clothed body touches him is scorching, and he wonders if maybe he should’ve worn a thinner t-shirt, or at the very least something a little less heavy on his legs. His jeans, slightly tighter around the thighs than perhaps would be their peak level of comfort, are clinging to him everywhere and he’s so aware of himself, so aware of you, of your sweet body wash, your fruity shampoo, every single one of your breaths… He’s cursed people out for breathing too loudly around him before, but he thinks he could replace his white noise machine with an eight hour track of just this and he would sleep like a fucking baby.

One of your elbows is propped against the top of the cushions behind you and you’re resting your head in your palm, and (not for the first time this evening) he glances sideways to look at you. They’ve been fleeting glances thus far, only stealing fractions of a moment before he turns his attention back to the TV. But this? This is the wrong moment. Entirely the wrong fucking moment because as his head turns, so does yours, and you catch him in the act. Fuck, if he thought he was burning up, before? He’s pretty sure he’s somehow just descended straight to the second circle of hell, greeting all the other lusty sinners like old friends. Several of his thoughts tonight have been considerably impure, and in this half second of blistering eye contact, they all come rushing back.

The universe is really testing him this evening, and Jihoon is stumbling. It feels like any minute now, he’s going to explode.

He straightens his spine and looks back at the TV, trying to force his eyes to focus even though he’s completely swallowed by the feeling of your arm straightening across the back of the couch, your fingertips grazing over the skin at the bottom of his hairline. He can feel your eyes still on him, your gaze burning into his cheek, no doubt following as his tongue darts out subconsciously over his lips. But he can’t quite help himself, can’t get the image of how sweet you looked out of his head; he clears his throat quietly and looks over at you again, coming over almost completely blank the second he notices the glimmer your eyes hold when they’re trained on him. 

Any. Fucking. Minute. 

“Jihoon, I-…” you start to say, and he turns himself a little bit so that he’s facing you better, completely forgetting about the movie now. That’s not a great loss: he couldn’t explain the plot even if he tried. “I don’t know if-… you can tell me if I’ve read you wrong…”

“You haven’t,” he hurries. Relief starts to ease the tension between your brows, before you scrunch them again and cock your head to the side. “I’m sure you haven’t, I mean.”

In this new position, one of his legs is bent and sitting up on the couch beneath him and you’ve adjusted your own posture to accommodate. Your knee sits just over the top of his, more of your impossible body heat radiating through his clothes, and he glances down at the site of contact before he looks back at you. 

“I just-... I don’t know, I think I knew I was interested in you from the first time I saw you, but the last few weeks especially…” You’ve been rehearsing this. He can feel it. It’s written in your eyes, holding the weight of the words you’re struggling to say, and behind them he can see cogs turning as you try to get the words in the right order. (He knows how that goes, because he’s been trying to figure out how to tell you, too.) He nods, urging you to keep going.

“I can’t get you out of my head. I really like you.”

He short-circuits, then. Even though part of him knew what you were going to say, hearing it out loud flips a switch inside him and he stops functioning. Blinking at you slowly, lips parted, heart racing – he feels as if his brain has been sucked clean out of his ears and is floating somewhere way above his head. Way outside of a contactable range, way beyond any level of rational decision-making. Jihoon knows what he wants to say, of course – he knows that he wants to say that he likes you, and that he has for a while, and that maybe you should let him take you out on a date or something, but all of that sits just behind the barrier of his teeth, so…

He leans forward and kisses you, instead.

He almost can’t believe that he’s only wanted this for as short of a time as he has; it feels like it’s been building inside him for so much longer. Relief floods through his veins, the emotional dam finally breaching. It only lasts a few seconds, but with his lips pressed to yours and yours pressing back, the static in his brain goes quiet, the movie falls silent: everything stops, except you. He thinks you could’ve been carved from stone around each other — he thinks something just feels so inexplicably right. Your hand tightens in his hair and he gasps softly as he pulls an inch back, eyes heavily lidded and looking straight at you through his lashes. You move forward, leaning your forehead against his, and the feather-light hold he has on your chin slides up to your cheek instead. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know how to-…” he says after a long, long moment of remembering how to breathe, how to blink, how to exist in your space without combusting on the spot. He still isn’t sure he knows how to do any of those things, especially not now he can see every single line of your face this close. He’s trying, though. “But — shit, I’m crazy about you.”

You kiss him, then, harder than before, colliding in a mess of half-finished breaths and bumped, stinging noses. His other hand comes up to sit against your rib cage, yours pressing into the material of his t-shirt over his chest. He smiles and parts his lips as yours move against them, your tongue gently sweeping into his mouth, finding his own; a soft, low moan tickles the back of his throat, his fingertips curling slightly to tighten his hold. 

Jihoon isn’t sure how you end up on your knees, straddled astride his legs with one of his hands tucked between your thigh and calf, the other on the curve of your ass — he just knows that he doesn’t mind one bit. You’re warm and comfortable, the arch of your back pressing you into him deliciously. He’s kissing you like his life depends on it (he really fears that it might), and you’re doing the same back, licking against his tongue and rocking slightly with every separation and reconnection of your lips. He feels your fingers brush at the hem of his t-shirt and slip just underneath at the same moment as you pull away from him, and he’s so dazed, so fuzzy, so lost in you that he can only tilt his head back to stare up at your face. In your current position, you’re towering over him. It’s easily the best view he’s ever had.

“Can I-…?” you ask breathlessly. The new roughness to your voice goes straight to his cock and he has to restrain himself from bucking his hips upwards.

“Yeah,” he says, leaning forward slightly to try and aid you. Your hands tug at the bottom of his shirt and peel it up over his chest: he raises his arms slightly and soon, you can toss it to the unoccupied side of the couch. He shivers slightly as he relaxes back, both at the chill in your unheated apartment and upon noticing the way you’re staring down at him. It’s addictive. 

“Oh my God,” you whisper, jaw a little slack, smoothing your hands over his shoulders to feel every ridge of hard-earned muscle. You travel down his arms, over to his chest, down his stomach… Jihoon sucks in a breath, your warm hands absolutely searing against his skin, and his abdominals tighten beneath them. Tilting your head, you press a line of kisses down the side of his neck, your lips brushing against one almost unbearably sensitive spot when you continue. “Fuck, you’re so hot.”

He smiles bashfully, rolling his head to the side and giving you all the access you want. Your lips tickle euphorically against him as he tugs you flush against his chest, both his hands now tightly pressing against your ass, fingers kneading the muscle concealed by your pants. You’re sitting right over his clothed cock and he’s reasonably sure he can feel your pulse between your thighs, letting out a soft grunt when you roll your hips deliberately down into his own. Your kisses travel to the swell at the curve of his shoulder before moving back up to his lips, where he meets you with a fire that he’s never kissed anyone with, before.

“Says you,” he murmurs into your mouth, your teeth clashing, his hips pushing slightly up off the couch. Just enough to make you sit back from him, just enough for Jihoon to open his eyes and look at you. His hair, thoroughly scrunched up and pulled around by your desperately gripping fingers, fans out at all sorts of angles and his chest has taken on a rosy hue since you last looked at it. With swollen, shiny lips, glossy eyes, breathing deep, he looks completely blissed out, like a man who could unravel beneath you if you moved just right. All from a little tongue action. He’d usually feel embarrassed, but it’s hard to when you’re the person on top of him; to be honest, neither of you would mind much if he did.

You’re pushing yourself up and off him before he can really get his bearings and an audible whine of despair parts his lips at the loss of your weight against his cock. Fuck, these jeans were a bad idea: he’s straining against the denim so much that it hurts, and there’s a near perfect outline of his hard-on. He stops pouting the second you take hold of his hand and tug him upright, though, your eyes dark and determined and intense. He thinks he might faint, actually: from standing too fast and feeling as though all the blood in his body is pulsing through his aching dick, he has to take a moment to stop the edges of his vision going dark before you’re pulling him through to your bedroom.

Something flips inside him the second you have him there. Jihoon, who was more than happy to sit beneath you and let you take all the control in the living room, is pushing you back onto the mattress by your shoulder and slotting himself between your parted thighs the moment the door is closed behind him. He’s past the point of wanting you, now: he needs you, and he needs you to need him, too. 

And God, do you. You prop yourself up on one elbow, staring at where he’s now leaning over you with wide eyes and your bottom lip drawn between your teeth. He bends down and kisses along your jawline in response, nipping gently just below your ear. Your back arches up and in a flash, one of his hands is beneath you, snapping open the clasp on your bra with a few slides of his fingers.

“Wh-…” you start, giggling and panting at the same time. He smirks against your pulse point. 

He flattens his tongue against you and licks a salty bead of sweat off your skin. “What?”

“Had no idea you could-…” You’re cut off by a gasp as one of his hands slides under your sweater, slipping beneath the garment he just unfastened. His fingertips graze over your breast and a pleading sob escapes you. His smile grows even wider. “You were so…”

“So what?” he prompts, pinching your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Another one of those beautiful sounds breaks the air above you. He does it again, massaging your breast with the palm of his hand. “Come on… talk to me.”

“So good,” you gasp, lying down flat and tilting your head back against the pillows. He rocks forwards to press his cock against you again and your thighs tighten around his hips, one leg hooking around his to keep him there. “So-… fucking good.”

You’re so impossibly irresistible to him, especially like this, and he sits up, settling on his knees to look down at you. Jihoon doesn’t even get the chance to move his hands towards the hem of your sweater to tug it off you though: you’re already grabbing it yourself, crossing your arms to pull it over the top of your head. He can see your bra now, and hell, it’s pretty even if it is just hanging off you. Baby pink and lacy. He thumbs over the material as he helps you pull it down your arms, briefly letting himself wonder if-…

“If only you’d been patient enough to see the set together.”

Oh, so you can read his mind now, too? 

You glance down to the small space between your bodies and his eyes follow, lips slightly parted, a heavy sigh on his breath. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck — he wishes he had. Even imagining it, he’s throbbing.

“You wear all this for me?” he asks, hands creeping up the insides of your thighs. You nod up at him and he smiles down at you. “Fuck. I bet you didn’t even need my help tonight at all, did you?”

You’re bucking your hips now as his thumb brushes, agonisingly slowly, over your clothed cunt. One arm has come up to cover your face: for the first time, he acts on his impulsive need to see you shy, see you needy, and leans over you to gently pull it away and pins your wrist down against the mattress. He kisses you, his fingers on the other hand pressing slightly more firmly to where he’s pretty sure your clit is.

“Y/n, you’re so pretty. Let me see you.”

“I didn’t,” you admit, voice wobbling as he works you up so much you’re actually soaking through not just your pretty underwear, but the leggings you’ve had on all night, too. He can feel it against the pad of his thumb and he raises his eyebrows for you to continue. “Just… really wanted you to come over…”

“Mhm. I know,” he soothes, bending low again and kissing down towards your chest. His lips purse over one of your nipples and he sucks it up into his mouth, flicking his tongue over the bud. He releases your wrist with the hand currently taking most of his weight and leans on his elbow, teasing your other tit with his fingers. The weight of it in his palm has him murmuring soft praises against your skin, telling you over and over how good you feel. You push up onto your elbows to try and press him closer — when his teeth tug just slightly, you’re about ready to beg.

“Jihoon, please,” you murmur. He short-circuits, again. Goes blank. His name has always sounded so much sweeter on your tongue, but this? This? Oh, he doesn’t know if he’s ever going to recover. That sound is going to stick in his head for days, months, forever, if he has anything to say about it. But even if his brain isn’t working, his body moves on autopilot: he sits up and hooks his fingers under your waistband, pulling your pants down your legs and discarding them onto the floor. 

He’s staring between your thighs with zero functioning brain cells and literal galaxies in his eyes, trying to figure out what cosmic miracle brought someone like you into his life, how on Earth he’s ended up between your thighs. The question is so overwhelming in his mind that he barely notices that you’re moving, at first. Jihoon doesn’t know what causes you to try and bring your thighs together — if it’s shyness or arousal, desperation, a search for friction? — but he stops you as soon as he realises, laying a hand on each of your legs, pinning your knees down now, instead.

“Keep your legs wide for me?” he asks, to which you punctuate a nod with an assenting hum. “Good girl.” 

You’re so wet that when he strokes two fingers over your covered pussy, pressing the fabric of your panties into your heat, they come away thinly coated in the arousal that’s seeped through them. He brings his fingers to his lips then, eyes fluttering as he licks your slick off them. You taste otherworldly and he doesn’t hesitate to tell you so with a groan.

“God,” he murmurs, tugging at the waistband of your panties with his other hand. His eyes ask if you’re ready — if you’re sure, and when you nod down at him, he pulls them off completely too. His middle finger slips between your folds, collecting the wetness dribbling out of you, and he drags it slowly upwards towards your clit. He repositions himself again, leaning down over you with his head at your neck, the heel of his hand resting against your lower abdomen. He draws small circles over the bud, laying open-mouthed kisses at your collarbone and listening to the gorgeous sounds you make, learning what you like, following each gasp and moan and chasing as many of them as he can draw out of you.   

At the same time as you start rocking your hips up to meet his hand, your nails scratching gently against his scalp again, Jihoon slips his finger down from your swollen clit to press it inside you. You gasp, high-pitched and needy, your cunt spasming around his finger and pulling it in deeper. He’s only in up to his second knuckle but the way you keen for him has him pushing further until it’s buried inside your pussy completely. 

“S’this okay?” he asks, but he knows your answer thanks to your vocal responses to him already slowly easing his finger in and out, in and out. You nod your head almost aggressively as he glances up at your face, your eyes squeezed tightly shut, jaw tense, throat bobbing as you swallow hard. 

“More — please,” you say not long after. A breath hitches in your throat when he does exactly what you ask, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit and positioning another finger at your entrance. He flexes his wrist slightly to get comfortable, pumping both fingers into you now, and he curls them upwards at just the right time to make your back arch off the bed. “Fuck — mhm, just like that—…”

He moves down your body slightly, reattaching his lips to one of your nipples as he fingers you deep and slow. He’s in no rush: Jihoon thinks he could do this all day and just deal with the RSI later on. You look so unbelievably hot with your face scrunched in pleasure, your thighs quivering as you fight to keep them apart like he asked you to, with your hips twisting down against his hand to try and get his fingers deeper and faster. When he lowers himself all the way down, settling completely between your thighs, he flicks his tongue out over your clit and your back arches up off the bed with a gasp.

“Don’t stop,” you whine, all high-pitched and rushed, both syllables merging into one hurried sound. “Fuck, fuck — please, don’t stop.”

“I’m not going to,” he murmurs, keeping pace and rhythm as he works you towards your high. God, he thinks there couldn’t possibly be anything in the world more sexy than watching you come undone from this angle. Your chest rising and falling in stuttered breaths, your hips rocking down against his hand, your pussy right on his mouth. Just the thought of it has his cock jumping in his boxers. “You gonna come for me, huh?”

“I-…” you start, releasing your death-grip on the bedsheets to bring a hand to cover your face. He clears his throat deliberately — perhaps it’s sort of closer to a growl than a cough — and he thinks maybe you really can read his mind, or maybe you’re learning that he wants to see every inch of you (especially like this), because a second later, it’s tangled up in his hair and holding him in place. “Y-yeah, fuck, I…”

“Good girl,” he coos again, and that breaks you. Your pussy tightens around his fingers and you feel yourself convulse, muscles clenching and releasing as you go over the edge with a cry. He eases you through your climax, tongue laving over your clit, fingers slowing but not stopping inside your cunt until your thighs close around his head in your oversensitivity. He takes the hint, then, and he slowly pulls away, sucking his fingers clean of your arousal while you take a few breaths to recover.

“Oh, my God,” you sigh as he moves back up and starts pressing small pecks over your chest and collarbones, your fingers lacing through his hair again to pull him up to kiss you. You groan softly at the taste of yourself on his lips, and can’t blame you. He still isn’t over it, either.

“You’re so gorgeous,” he tells you in-between kisses, one hand supporting the back of your neck to keep you close. “So pretty. So sweet. So good.”

“Shh,” you giggle, but he doesn’t. Just about every adoring adjective Jihoon has in his arsenal is murmured against your lips until you’ve gathered enough strength to get up on your knees and push him back onto the mattress, fumbling with the button of his jeans. 

He groans at the relief as you tug them down over his hips and thighs. “We don’t have to do anything else if you’re—”

“Shh.” This one’s a little more insistent, and he makes a show of clamping his lips back together. “You wore the tightest jeans on the planet, had your cock on-fucking-display for me all evening, and you think I wanna stop now?”

His jaw falls slack at the words that come out of your mouth. The incredulous way with which you say them has him involuntarily bucking up into nothing. Your expression matches his when you finally get his jeans all the way off and his thin, black boxer-briefs are the only barrier between you. The outline of his cock strains against them, tenting the fabric: Jihoon doesn’t miss the way you lick over your lips before glancing up at him through your eyelashes. It’s your turn to give him the look, now, asking that this last part is okay, with your fingertips hooked underneath the elastic waistband. He nods feverishly up at your heavy gaze.

“Please,” he groans, lifting his hips so you can pull them off. His length springs free the moment they’re pulled low enough, slapping back against his abdomen, sitting pretty against his toned muscles, thick and veiny and red-tipped. Desperate. His underwear joins the pile of clothes down the side of the bed as you throw one leg over him; sitting across his thighs, you take his cock into your hand, giving it a few gentle strokes. He fucks up into your palm when you squeeze your fingers around it.

“I need you so fucking bad,” you murmur, head spinning, and Jihoon isn’t in much of a better state himself; he’s fighting to keep his eyes open, fighting to keep his breaths coming. He sits upright, one arm behind him for support, and kisses you hard as you continue to tug at his length. 

“Need you, too,” he breathes, shifting so he has both arms around you. In a swift movement, muscles rippling, he lifts you off him and turns you over so he has you sitting on your now impossibly scrunched comforter.

He finds home back between your legs as you reach over into the drawer at your bedside and fumble around for a few seconds. He hears a little clatter and a rustling and when your hand resurfaces, you’ve pulled free a small foil square. You don’t even give him a chance to lean forward and take it; you’re ripping it open and looking up at him with the biggest doe-eyed stare he thinks he’s ever seen. He nods at the silent question, a grunt tumbling free as you roll the condom down his length. This is the most pathetic little bit of contact and he’s fighting demons.

“Okay?” he asks, shuffling back a little and giving you space to lie down flat on your back. You nod up at him, already wrapping your arms around his shoulders. 

“Mhm, just-... take it slow?” you ask him, anticipation rendering you already a little breathless. “S’been a while.” 

A grin blooms all the way from his lips to his eyes and he leans down to kiss you again, positioning his tip at your hole and pressing forward just enough to tease.

Your thighs tighten around his hips and he pushes himself further inside you with a stuttered groan, agonisingly slowly, inch by inch. He stills every few seconds, both to give you the time to adjust and so that he can take a steadying few breaths and not collapse at how good you feel wrapped around him; he stops pressing his hips forward before he’s fully sheathed inside your pussy and you let a whine slip, the stretch slowly easing. 

“You can move,” you tell him, laying a kiss to his chest. “I’m okay.” 

Jihoon gives a soft laugh. Oh, he wishes this was just to be polite, but no. He’s in real danger of losing control any second. “Yeah, this isn’t for you, baby.”

“Oh?” you ask. You clamp around him and he gasps at the tightness, hips jerking forward until he’s buried up to the hilt. Fuck, there’s a bruised cervix if you’ve ever had one; a high-pitched whine erupts out of your lips and he ducks his head down to your ear.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “You just-... fuck, you feel so good.”

“Mm, says you.” 

It’s another moment before he thrusts with intent, though. But when he does? When he pulls out halfway before sliding all the way back inside you, losing and regaining the feeling of your heat enveloping him entirely, hearing your gasps against his collarbone? The invisible reigns holding him back unravel and he settles into a slow but intensely deep rhythm, guiding your legs around his waist. You hook your ankles behind his back and somehow, you suck him in deeper still, your bodies touching everywhere they possibly can, so impossibly close.

The arm not holding his weight slides beneath your hips and raises them just a little. Now, at this angle, every time he rolls into you he grazes against your sweet-spot and you’re reduced to an incoherent mess within a few minutes. Good, he thinks, because he’s not doing much better, himself.

You hug him tighter after one particularly well-angled thrust, sinking your teeth into the muscle of his shoulder. He hisses at the sting, and your lips part as if you’re about to apologise but he doesn’t give you the chance to; he bumps your nose with his own to ask you to lift your head slightly, before he bends down and kisses you hard.

“Do that again,” he gasps, almost all of his weight against you as the hand not around your hips comes up to rest on your cheek. When your brows tighten, he swipes his thumb over your spit-covered, swollen lips. “Please. ”

So, you do.

Maybe not as harshly as the first time, but your teeth find his collarbone and you suck a bruise into his skin, drawing from him the highest pitched sound you think he could possibly make. He squares his jaw, ducking his head back down, biting on his bottom lip before he has no choice but to speak.

“I’m close, y/n,” he confesses, fucking into you slower, trying to stave it off for a few more seconds, his hips stuttering. “Can-... can you give me one more…?”

You nod, the knot in your stomach already growing tighter and tighter with every movement he makes, and when one of your hands unwinds from around his back to slide between your sweat-slicked bodies, he moves slightly away, letting you reach down.

It’s the sight of two of your fingers finding your clit and rubbing your favourite movements out on yourself that takes him past the point of no return, his cock sliding in and out of you messily, desperately, chasing the high that he’s right on the brink of. He kisses and nips just below your ear, breathy groans tickling your neck, and your high-pitched whine tells him you’ve hit your orgasm just as he starts to spill his into the condom, gushing around him, your walls fluttering and milking him for all he’s worth. 

—

You offer for him to shower first – an offer he gratefully accepts. While you’re taking your turn afterwards, Jihoon hunts down a fresh duvet cover in your room; he changes it, grabs you a glass of water for when you’re done, and sits on the edge of his bed with just the towel wrapped around his waist, scrolling through his phone. He looks up with a bright grin as the door opens and you emerge through it in your pyjamas, glowing from the light behind you, stray droplets of water clinging to your arms. 

You pause gently rubbing your hair dry with the towel, eyes brightening when you see him. “You didn’t have to do all this,” you say, and he pushes a hand through his own still damp hair with a laugh.

“It was the least I could do,” he counters. You raise your eyebrows at him, crossing the room to sit opposite him. He drops his phone down onto the mattress. “I couldn’t leave and make you change them yourself.”

“Leave?” you ask, picking up one of his hands and playing idly with his fingers. 

“I mean, it’s getting pretty late, so…” he says. “I probably need to get going at some point.”

“Or…” you say, tongue darting out over your lips. “Maybe you don’t.”

Jihoon looks down at your hands, then back up at you. Are you suggesting what he thinks you are, or has he still not quite come back to himself from earlier? It’s hard to say if the look on your face is hope, or something else.

“Are you… asking me to stay?” he asks. 

“Only if you want to,” you tell him. He lifts your hands up, pressing a kiss to one of your knuckles, then using it to tug you closer to him until he can plant one on your own lips. “I’ve probably got an old t-shirt you could sleep in.”

“Of course I want to.”

So you slip away from him to go rummaging through your drawers, trying to find the promised article of clothing. The whole time, he’s awestruck. Jihoon can’t take his eyes off you.

——————

He wakes up next to you for the first time on a Saturday morning. His sleep-fogged brain registers lying on an unfamiliar mattress, tucked beneath new bedsheets, eyes fluttering open to take in a room he doesn’t quite recognise at first. Part of him wonders if he’s still dreaming. When he rolls over onto his side, and his eyes land on the curve of your shoulders, the fall of your hair down your back, he has to ask himself the same thing again. 

All of last night must’ve been a dream, he muses, smiling shyly to himself and watching your frame rise and fall with every slow breath you take. There’s no way you really told him you liked him, too. There’s no way any of it could have really happened.

“Y/n?” He asks in the gentlest of whispers, only wanting to stir you if you’re awake already. When there’s no response, he moves a tiny bit closer to you, hesitating before he slips his arm around your waist and settles with his chest pressed against your back. A wildly insecure part of his brain tries to argue that just because you wanted what happened last night, that doesn’t mean you want all of this now. Maybe you only wanted to sleep with him, or maybe you’ll have changed your mind somehow now the sun’s come up. He considers moving away again, lying on his back and staring at the ceiling until you wake up and he can have a real conversation about where both of your heads are at with everything, but he barely gets a chance.

Those thoughts are silenced almost immediately, his brain falling quiet the second you roll over in his arms. You bury your head in the valley between his pectorals, tucked away from the world beneath his chin. His arms tighten around your sleep-warmed body.

“What time is it?” You ask. He contains a shiver at the softness of your voice, bliss running the length of his spine. Jihoon thinks that he could get used to this.

“I don’t know. Early, I think,” he murmurs, and you whine softly, burrowing deeper against his chest. “Go back to sleep.”

“Not if you’re awake,” you say. He’s not entirely convinced you can stick to that promise, though, with the way you yawn and he feels your eyelashes fluttering. 

“Don’t worry about me,” he tells you, the tips of his fingers ticking against your side. He ducks his head, pressing a kiss to your hair. A soft hum rumbles in your throat and he can’t hold back the smile that spreads over his lips. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

True enough, you fall back asleep curled up against him and Jihoon, to the sounds of your slowing breaths, drifts off too. A few hours later, at a far more reasonable time, you wake him up with a press of your lips to the tip of his nose.

Innocent, exploratory kisses grow heated in the warmth of the sun that streams through your blinds. Hands start to travel, sleep clothes get discarded, and you have him lying on his back, pressing kisses down his chiselled stomach when his phone starts to vibrate on the floor next to the bed.

He groans at the distraction, again as you shuffle up to sit on your knees and look at him expectantly. 

“Are you gonna answer that?” you ask, the tips of your fingers grazing his thighs. He shakes his head, no. “Come on, Jihoon. It might be important.”

“Not important enough,” he sighs. 

“At least see who it is,” you laugh. Despite a huffed protest, he props himself up on one elbow, leaning over the side of the bed and glancing down at his phone screen.

Seungcheol.

The arrangement to go for a run this morning comes rushing back to Jihoon, who slaps a hand to his forehead and reaches down to grab his phone off the floor, looking at you apologetically.

“Give me two seconds,” he says, and you grin wickedly up at him, ducking low to press a kiss to one of the lines that disappears down into his boxers. 

“Take all the time you need.”

He answers the call frowning, flopping his head back against the pillows. 

“Hey, look – I’m really sorry,” he starts to say, but Seungcheol’s voice cuts him off almost straight away.

“Jihoon, where the hell are you? I got to your apartment and your car wasn’t here, and Seokmin said he didn’t hear you come home last night. We all thought you’d died,” he hurries. Jihoon can picture the expression on the other man’s face perfectly, which is pretty unfortunate seeing as how you’ve moved to start palming his hardening cock through his briefs.

“I stayed out,” Jihoon says, a little wobbly. “I can’t make the run, someth-... shit.” You press an open-mouthed kiss to the outline of his length, the heat of your breath through the fabric sending him into overdrive. “Something came up-...”

The line goes silent for a second, and his breath stutters as you do the same thing again. Each press of your lips is euphoric agony, and he’s really not hiding this as well as he wishes he could. One look down at you tells him that you’re very proud of that.

“Dude,” Seungcheol gasps, snickering suddenly. “Tell me you’re not with a girl right now.”

“Shut up. Go away,” Jihoon grunts. “I’ll call you later.”

“Oh my God, is it gym girl? Did you finally-...”

“Bye, Cheol,” he hurries, hanging up before his friend can say anything else. He drops his phone onto the mattress, fake-glaring down at you and shaking his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Yeah?” you ask, pulling at the waistband of his briefs to tug them down his legs. “Let me make it up to you, huh?”

[pixelxgore]

hers a billfold wip as a treat i changed his face bc i have free will

The art is to encourage you to read my silly little insanity (you should totally do it btw)

I'm dyslexic so sorry if anything is spelled grotesquely wrong lol autocorrect sometimes has no idea what i’m trying to spell

Starting with my head cannon because every thing will make more sense with it (or it wont that's entirely up to you) Imma try my best to make this enjoyable

So I head cannon both bill and ford as aspec this is important for the rest trust (I'm Aroace myself so some of my words are based of of experience ) being aroace doesn't mean you can't have a toxic one-sided relationship with a triangle

(most of this is pretty vanilla but I still wanna talk about it)

I believe it started of as a one-sided relationship on fords part (wow shocker) but it wasn't really love because he's ace it was more of infatuation (this stems from the fact he is a science boy and like ooo demon triangle thing) mistaken for love (I'm pretty sure this is common among aroace people or I just had an original experience) and maybe bill had just a little bit of the same feeling but instead of infatuation it was just pure obsession and when they had there little “tragic break up” and bill finally came to realize his obsession and it consumed him (idk i think that how abusive obsession is) and he realized he can’t live with out ford (i man he can but unhealthy obsession) and thus bills one sided relationship with ford where he just tries to get his puppet back but can’t figure out why he needs him so bad so he comes to the (subconscious) cuncultion there in love (because of course that’s the reasonable decision) and then you all know what comes after

I think bill has major will wood music vibes so I have nominated three songs of his for bill ford (cuz I'm genuinely going insane over them)

This is for fun and based off my head cannons

All of my discussions are made purely of the vibes the song gives me and how cool than animation in my head looks so take everything you know about these will wood songs and throw it out the window cuz none of that is relevant :3

i saw someone say “Will Wood songs can really be interpreted in different ways, and most of them seem like wisps of similar thought rather than a concrete narrative, so you're always a little bit right and wrong when you take a guess.” and i think you should keep that in mined

(I'm gonna embarrass myself so hard (⁄ ⁄•⁄ω⁄•⁄ ⁄) )

I'm not gonna elaborate much but just trust me ok I put it kind of in chronological order

fords one sided relationship with bill: ...well, better than the alternative

Ok so this one is the least perfect out of all of them cuz it only half what I want (obviously this song is a stretch but hear me out) It's mostly for the like the last half of the song (remember what I said about throwing out the meaning for get that i lied) this song about the struggle ls of growing up and is a heartfelt plea to be understood and accepted for who we are (which obviously ford was a wired kid) and this kinda ties into the one-sided infatuation because it also is about the romanticism of nostalgic love, and the pressure of society telling you to find someone and "settle down" as we get older (witch yk aroace can’t really do that) so he’s grasping at the fact that he is enamored with this demon he just summoned (because science) so he can come up with this narrative in his head of how he is in love and can finally fit at least one of the societal boxes (idk it sounds like something to me probly ooc but I'm having fun)

bills one sided relationship with ford: ¡Aikido!

obsession with someone and how people often use coping mechanisms such as drugs to help with their feelings of uncertainty and helplessness. (yes this is copied not fully of a site this is tumblr not an english assignment) it also explores the idea that love and obsession can often manifest in neurotic and even pathological behavior.(oooo oooo look i’m so smart like staring the apocalyps) i’m not this cool this whole thing started with the first like whit h is “I apologize for playing with your eyes But I’m obsessed with you” witch reminded me of how bill used for as a puppet and then yk fords whole world came crashing down (this one explained its self more i have to do less mental gymnastics) and he’s like im sooo sorry i can’t live with out you

there whole relationship from the deal to the end of bill: Misanthrapologist ("In case I make it,"

Outtake)

ok this one is the one that mostly made of vibes because the song is about an unhappy codependent relationship through metaphors of christianity, nihilism, outer space, and mozart (witch only really encompasses a portion of the relationship) the song stars with “I wanna meet your make Shake him by his ensanguined damask lapel Holler "Look what you've done Gave this planet a sun And made a man to wonder if he's more than the sum of his cells"” which makes me personally think of obviously the deal fore made with bill and how bill stroked his ego all the way through there partnership um you can see where i goes from here just go listen to the song

ok this one’s off topic and only for my imaginary animation but the line “So how could I stand a chance, let alone dance With the way you sweep me off these two left feet?” just like imagine this with me it’s bill (human probably cuz i don’t work with the triangle) and young ford in the minedskape thing and its bill dipping ford and when it goes down it switches to bill and fort in bills pyramid thing with ford chained up do you see the vision ok I’m done now (´°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥ω°̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥｀)

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Information

I am bored and so decided to go write a little thing on this as I had an idea again.

First Drabble over here. original prompt by @spotaus

Prev Drabble

Next Drabble in chronological order here

This one is around the time after the gang met back up again to return to Nightmare but found the castle starting to collapse. about a week after they left.

Also, apology in advance. I slightly re-did the story of Dream and Nightmare. Just to fit it me more. The original story you can find with Jokublog as their original creator.

Warning, unbeta'ed and unedited as always lmao

-----

Dust sighs as he glances around the empty and dark halls. The whole castle so far had been empty and deserted.

Because they had deserted him. They had betrayed him. They had-

Dust shakes the thoughts and familiar voice out of his skull. No time. They need to find somekind of clue.

Dust looks from side to side as he thinks. The four of them had searched the bottom floor together but found nothing. Horror had split up to search the forest and gardens. Cross went to search all storage rooms. Killer had went to search the basement and cellar.

Which left the normal rooms for Dust to search.

And he had found nothing. Dust groans as he slides to the ground. Where he just sits for a moment.

It didn't make sense. Because Dust had noticed stuff being gone from their rooms. Dust know one of his old hoodies disappeared but it would be the first time they had a laundry mishap. But the other rooms it felt like stuff had been missing.

But there were no signs of breakins or anything. Nothing that suggested that anyone had been here. Which probably won't be for long.

With how difficult it had been for them to even get back here... It is obvious that the magic keeping everything together and hidden is failing.

It is a matter of time before the universe is no longer hidden and then the Stars will come and mess things up even more.

Which... Nightmare most likely realised. And so he left...

Dust groans as he covers his face and thinks. Fuck. They didn't even know what was affecting boss. What had been causing him to grow weaker and younger. To cause him to lose his powers.

And they FUCKING left! Like fucking assholes and ungrateful little shits!

No wonder Nightmare decided to leave as soon as he realised this universe was a lost cause.

Dust sighs as he looks around the hall before his sight stops at one last door. The door he hadn't dared to enter.

It is stupid.

It isn't like they had been good followers before. With them just abandoning the person who had saved them from their own dying AUs as soon as he lost power.

Yet it felt disrespectful to just enter his room.

Dust shakes his skull again and gets up. He marches over to the door and pauses. He raises his hand and knocks.

No answer.

Dust waits for a moment before knocking again, a tiny bit louder.

Still no answer. Dust still waits before trying the door. He isn't sure if he wants it too open or be locked.

The door opens.

Dust stays still for a moment before pushing the door fully open. The room is dark and empty nad Dust makes sure to check all hiding places.

But still nothing.

Dust sighs before aglimmer of silver catches his eye. He tilts his skull and walks over to the bed. On it lays a shining silver band. Dust hums as he studies it and rubs some of the old dust and grim off of it. only to reveal a crescent moon.

Dust stares at it for a long time. It... it kinda looks like the crown simular to Dream's but it is so much smaller. It looks so much more fragile and dull. Dust takes a seat on the bed as he rubs the soft metal. It is clearly old. Very old. But it seems cared for.

Why... Why would he leave it?

Dust looks around the room again and stops to stare at one of the bedside tables. The drawer isn't completely shut. He pulls it over and immediantly sees that a false bottom has been removed and not bother to be put back. Dust looks at the crown and the drawer before testing it out.

The crown fits perfectly in the drawer and once shut you wouldn't even see it unless you knew it was there. He removes the crown again before turning quickly to the other bedside table. Dust dive crawls over the bed and reaches the other side.

He opens the drawer and removes all the pens and papers and notes from it. It seems to be notes on possible universes for them to raid and notes on what to pick up from where. Small 'to do' lists. The drawer is soon empty and he feels around it.

Click.

Another false bottom pops open and Dust grins as the removes it. Only for the grin to fall as all he can see is an old fairytale book. Dust puts the drawer piece to the side and takes out the book.

It is old. Older than any of Nightmare's books in his library. Older than the castle now looks. Even broken and falling apart.

Dust sits back upright and crosses his legs as he lays the book in his lap. The cover shows a large tree with a female like figure next to it. Golden letters at the top spell out DreamTale.

Dust freezes before he quickly opens the picture book and starts reading.

It is like a childrens tale. A fairytale.

A young powerful woman by the name of Nim. The keeper of emotions who spreads them across the multiverse. Who prefers her privacy. Positive and negative send out as equals and spread where there is a need.

A man. A mortal. Bold and brass. Greedy for things not his. Goes to her and demands a power he has no right to. A fight happens and Nim wins. But the cost is high.

She has been hurt. Hurt by the mortal who she had to kill. The mortal who forced her to bloody her hands. Make her guilty of a crime she never wanted to commit. With her last power she tries to create a way to continue. A way to exist. Before her, two spirts appear.

One is a golden light made of hope and dreams. positivity shines out as the spirit seems happy already. Nim smiles at them and names them Dream. As the little spirit already seems to be a dreamer and a being of hope. A name fitting for the small spirit.

A second spirit, she hadn't expected, takes form moments after the first and Nim pauses. She ends up naming this one Nightmare, only because they seem to be the oposite of Dream in ever way with their dimmer light and purple colour.

Dust stops and frowns "Wow lady. Talk about clear favouritism with your children." Dust frowns as he traces the picture of two small balls of light in the hands of the woman, Nim.

He shakes his skull and continues reading. For how old the book looks it isn't that long.

Nim felt her time nearing its end and searches the multiverse for a vessel to fit her children. Something that can withstand their magic and beings.

Many failures as he desperation hightens and hightens. Until she comes across a skeleton who just shines out with briliant positivity. She doesn't think and uses the last of her powers to recreate that form for her children.

Nim becomes one with her tree as her children begin to move their new bodies. Young and new to the world. Only been made days before. But they have one another and the tree.

Dust glares "Are you kidding me? You give them just... bodies which clearly only fit one of your sons?! What the hell lady?" Dust takes a deep breath before continuing to read. Why doesn't the multiverse know this? Most of their stories are known across it by now.

Neither Dream nor Nightmare know what to do. Both are young and only just been born. Luckily their mother is still with them to guide them. She warns them away from mortals and tells her children it is now their duty to protect her and her tree. But most important the apples that grow from it.

The golden and purple apples. The golden apples will cure any illness and body harm. While the purple apples will heal any magical illness and mental harm.

Nim tells them again and these apples can not be given away as they also hold the key to keeping the multiverse in balance concerning positivity and negativity. That Dream can only touch and pick the golden apples and Nightmare can only touch and pick the purple ones.

But that they should never eat one. Never.

Both the children look up at their mother before nodding. They promise they will do their job and duty and protect her and her apples.

Dust huffs "Wow. Child labor now lady? You are so getting the mother of the year award." he continues reading.

Time passes as Dream and Nightmare stay with the tree. The live and sleep under it and relax near it. That is until the settlers come and people make a village nearby. Nim reminds them again that mortals are not to be trusted.

Dream however wishes to meet them. See who they are and make friends. Nightmare tries to convince his twin to stay near the tree. They job is to guard it and make sure no one tries to take the apples. Dream reassures Nightmare that he can do that by himself before going down to the village.

The villagers are quick to adore Dream. It is no surprise after all. Dream radiates an aura that makes those around him happy and he is happy to help. He goes to the village daily to help around and make friends.

Nightmare however is more distrustful. He remains near the tree and makes sure no one tries to take from it. The villagers are unhappy wiht him. How dare he keep the treasures of the tree to himself. He tries to explain he can't give them the apples but the villagers are quick to leave.

Dream reinforces the rule that no one can be given an apple and the villagers seem to accept this easier.

It continues on. The village keeps expanding quickly and Nightmare shares his worry that they will eventually hurt their tree and mother. Dream nods and promises his brother he will talk with the villagers.

The villagers do not stop expanding but instead gift Dream a large cape with his symbol of the sun on it. To wrap around the tree to reinforce it is special and no one is allowed to cut it.

Nightmare and Dream happily work together to secure it around the tree.

As Dream grows more and more loved by all those around him Nightmare grows more distrusted and shunned. The villagers agree him to be a bad omen and if something bad happens it must be his fault. After all, Dream is the one who helps them and makes them happy. That must mean that Nightmare is the source of what is bad.

Nightmare tries to explain this isn't the case but no one listens. He tries to explain to Dream what the villagers say but Dream just tells him to spend more time with them and get to know them.

Words change into actions. But Nightmare stays quiet. It is no use. And he doesn't wish to make his brother sad.

Wounds and broken bones are eaisly hidden by long sleeves and excuses are easy to make up. Nightmare doens't like lying but no one beleives his truths anyway. His mother reminds him that mortals are not to be trusted but try to keep Dream happy.

It all comes down to one faithful day. Nightmare begs his brother to stay with the tree but Dream had been promised a nice cup of tea from one of his friends.

Dream promises Nightmare he will return quickly after the tea.

Dream drinks it and feels sleepy soon after.

As Dream rests the villagers band together to take what they are owned. After all. They have lived her for so long and that terrible Nightmare refused to share the apples and forbid Dream from sharing them as well.

Nightmare sees them coming and reminds them again. He isn't allowed to give them the apples. As he had reminded them for the last six years of his short life-

"Six?!" Dust stares at the word. Soul beating fast. Six. They had been six. Nightmare had been six! Those... those disgusting creatures saw a babybones. a six year old and younger before that. and decided he was a horrible creature?

Dust has to take deep breaths to calm his racing soul and thundering magic. It is no use. Contain it for now. Read. Learn. Plan. Then act.

Dust quickly finds the spot where he had left off.

As he had reminded them for the last six years of his short life. He isn't allowed to share the golden apples. He can give them a purple apple-

But as soon as he offers the villagers grow more angry. How dare he try and hurt them with those harmful apples?! The apples that no doubt will cause harm and poison them!?

Nightmare was confused and unsure what to say. None of the apples cause harm. They all have ways to help someone in their own way. They just also help the multiverse as a whole. Nightmare steels his nerves and hides his fear as he repeats what he alwyas said 'I can't pick the golden apples for you. I am not allowed. Please leave.' after which he turns and returns towards the tree.

This is when a village grabs their chance. They grab a large rock and bring it down on Nightmare's skull.

It caves nad Nightmare falls down. His head hurts and he can't seen. His soul cries out for his twin. Brother. Brother where are you? Why aren't you back. You promised. You promised me.

Nightmare watches as the villagers near the tree. His mother asking and begging him to help her. That the villagers are killing her and that Nightmare needs to do something to defend her.

Nightmare doens't know what to do. he is afraid. He will die. an apple falls near him. a golden one. and in desperation he grabs it.

The golden apple's colour changes from the beautiful gold to a sickly black. it drips and shimmers. it smells sour and feels wrong. But Nightmare is afraid. He doesn't want to die. and selfishly. Eats the apple.

Dust glares "Selfish?! Selfish?!" he seethes as he looks away from the words and back to the drawing. It looks like a pencil drawing and Dust feels slightly ill. because most of his skull is done in the drawing. the crown broken and dented next to him as the rock caused most of the tiny skull to break. his whole right side is done until just above the mouth. the broken broken edge continues right over the nose bridge and just barely misses the left socket before going all the way around.

The top of his skull had been gone.

Those... They... a six year old. a babybones.

Dust's sockets find the next line and continues on.

Once he starts to eat he can't stop. As Nightmare's own negative emotions and being had infected the pure positivity that the apples were made of. As Nightmare ate the apple all of his own negative emotions came back to him. all the pain he had felt. all the anger, sadness, loneliness and betrayal. All of it came to him and it covered him.

Selfishly, Nightmare felt safe for the first time in a while. uncaring that the very thing protecting him. Would become the undoing of everyone.

Instead of just acceptance Nightmare chose the path of destruction. Once he ate one apple he could not stop himself. He ate and ate and ate.

This is when Dream wakes up. To screams on the couch of his dear friend. He looks outside and sees the tree on fire. He rushes outside and runs towards their hill. towards his brother and mother.

Only to see the damage his brother had caused-

"Are you kidding me?!" Dust glares "It wasn't his fucking fault! Why!? How!? Why faulting him when all he did was try to finally protect himself?! To finally fight back against the abuse?! To... to... fight... the fate this stupid multiverse gave him and... and..."

To... break out of his prison... to escape...

No wonder Nightmare grabbed all of them... No wonder he freed them... and what did they do? They left him alone when he needed help.

Dust shakes and ignores the fact his own view is getting misty.

Only to see the damage his brother had caused. Dream has shocked. He had always defended his brother when the villages were rude about him. Always said that his brother was jsut shy and needed patience. only for his brother to do the very thing the villagers had said he would. That Nightmare would destroy them all.

Dream stood frozen at the edge of the field. The hill covered in the dead and blooding bodies by the cut down form of his dying mother. Dream couldn't hear any words in their mother's panicked and pained screaming.

He runs forwards and reaches for her. A hand touches his shoulder and Dream turns only to be meet with a horrifying image of a black melting creature. In his panic he strikes out and hits the being in the face.

The creature takes a few steps back before raises a hand to touch the spot where he had been hit. Dream looks up afraid before his soul gives a panicked pulse. Finally seeing just who it was and who he accidentally hit in his panic.

Dust huffs "Oh yeah. excuse all of his actions because he is afraid yet punish Nightmare for it. Real good story telling there narator."

Nightmare, now corrupted, pauses before turning back to the tree that had been cut down, their dying mother. And pulls off another apple before he eats it as he stares at his brother 'Well look at that. The betrayer finally showed up. Had enough of leaving your brother to deal with everything alone? With the pain on his own? Wanted to hurt him yourself I see.'

Dream shakes as he holds out a hand 'Nightmare. Nightmare please. stop this. this isn't you.'

Nightmare tilts his skull at his brother. negativity dripping of his form. No longer hurting from physical wounds. all that burns through him is rage. Dream had left him. Dream had never been there for him. Ngihtmare smirks. 'You finally decided to see what your brother is doing? What is wrong? Wanted to make sure your dear friends had time to hurt him first? As always? Because he deserved it?'

Dream shakes 'I don't understand... why...' something hits his foot. Dream looks down and sees another apple. another golden apple. He reaches for it and picks it up. Unlike with Nightmare it doesn't get corrupted. Dream's being is perfect for the positivity and the healing it provides.

Nightmare eyes the apple before looking at Dream 'Give me that.'

Dream shakes his skull and hugs the apply close. Only for his soul to absorb the positivity. Nightmare glares but ends up laughing loudly. Dream takes a few steps back but Nightmare just smirks 'Fitting. Even when your own brother is dying you will defend those stupid villagers first.'

Dream shakes as the apple is now part of him and part of his soul 'Dying? Nighty... please i don't understand.'

Nightmare doesn't react as he turns towards the village, where more ligths are on 'That is because you never listened.' and Nightmare left towards the village. To hurt those.

Dream tried to follow but the negativity around him made him weak. The negativity his brother caused and powered made him lose his powers. With shock he realised that he was turning to stone. Dream tried to reach for his brother. To call for him.

But nobody came.

It isn't until many many years later that Dream breaks free of his stone prison. One of his old villagers friends helps him out fo the stone and tells him all abuot how Nightmare had destroyed everything in a fit of jealous rage.

Dream shakes and says it must be something else. that Ngihty would never. He begs that it must have been the apple. That eating the apple corrupted him. That the corruption must have destroyed him and taken over and done all those terrible things.

His friend asks him what he plans to do now.

Dream thinks before deciding that he will find a way to fix the corruption. the cure Nightmare and fix all the wrongdoings he has done.

The years that follow Dream grows into a formiddable warrior of light and hope. Someone who holds the care for everyone in his soul and meant to battle the darkness. Dream promises himself that he will save his brother from the corruption and makes sure everyone has their chance for a happy future.

The end

Dust stares at it. What about the balance? What about the fact that Nim clearly set one up for success and the other for failure.

What about the fact that Nightmare had been six and had been abused for years on end until that tiny six your old broke under the pressure.

That that same corruption everyone feared was the one thing keeping him safe and giving him power?

Dust stares at the pages for a long time. Things starting to shift around in his mind as a clearer picture starts to form.

"Dusty? Are you here? Found anything?"

Dust traces the crown and feels a small dent and finds the fixed cracks.

All this time he had been working on the balance and trying to right his own wrongs. That had never been wrongs, at least not in Dust's opinion. The wrongs a desperate child made o finally feel safe.

And the very multiverse and fate decided to punish him for it.

Dust's grip tightens on the crown. And they had abandoned him. As soon as his powers started to leave. No doubt the magic of the apples reaching their limits. As soon as Nightmare started to return to his original form. They abandoned him.

Nightmare is somewhere in the multiverse. As the original version of himself. the version he was before he ate the apples. six years old and probably hurt.

Woudl he even have his memories?

"Dust?"

Dust looks up from the book and sees three familiar faces in the doorway. Cross frowns as he takes a few steps closer "You are... crying."

Dust doens't bother to fix it as he feels the book "Nightmare... Nightmare was never an adult."

Shock as Killer is suddenly by his side "Waht the fuck do you mean?"

Dust just hands both the book and crown over as he speaks "He was suposed to be six." he nods at the book "See that name? Notice any specific pattern?"

Killer stares "Dreamtale-" he stops and stares at them as he points from person to person "Dusttale, Dust. Horrortale, Horror. X-tale, Cross." Killer stops and stares down "Dreamtale..."

Dust nods "I don't think... I don't think Nightmare was ever originally meant to leave his story."

Killer opens the book and starts reading. Dust sees Horror and Cross join him as well. That is okay. Dust needs a moment.

They are going to have to find him before Nightmare finishes referting back to his real age. Dust does not want to know if those wounds that he had had would remain.

----

First. Prev. Next.

[uhohbestie]

TAMN Outline

Since we're so close to the end of TAMN, I just wanted to share what Lock and my outline looks like, especially because neither of us ever used outlines for writing fic before this LOL

The only reason we have one for TAMN is because we were determined to finish this thing within a year of starting it and really wanted to post a chapter a week. Realistically, between work and irl and different timezones, there was no WAY we'd be able to keep up with a weekly posting schedule OR our self-imposed deadline if we were writing on the fly, so an outline was a good way to keep us on track.

(Details under the cut 'cause this got long af lmao)

SO FIRST OF ALL. We have quick chapter markers to refer to just to keep track of where we're at. The obvious ones are as follows:

🐈 Scar POV Chapters 🦜 Grian POV Chapters 🧟‍♂️ Some sort of significant zombie encounter that chapter 💦 Smut

I took this screenshot a WHILE back so Chapter 12 was actually split into 2 chapters, as was Chapter 14. So while the two emojis in Chapter 14 were meant to signify both Scar and Grian's POVs in that chapter, we ultimately just split it into a separate Scar chapter and a separate Grian chapter.

As for the other markers, this is what they mean at a glance:

✔️ Chapter is written ✔️✔️ Chapter has been edited by one person ✅ Chapter edited by both of us; Ready to Post 💯 Chapter has been posted to AO3

The last one isn't in the screenshot above, but is another one we use. And, ofc, if it doesn't have any of those markers beside it, it means the chapter hasn't been written yet.

Other than that, every chapter heading has not only the chapter number, but a reminder of where Scarian are, the time of day that chapter starts at, and how long of a walk/drive to their next destination remains. Plus, the very first point is always the current date and the weather (in Celsius 🍁) for the day. It looks something like this:

For a short chapter like Ch. 6 where not too much happens, the outline is just a handful of points. Also, we put a strike through things we skipped as we wrote when we felt they no longer fit the mood we were going for. (Basically, the outline is here as a guide and we adjust as needed for full creative freedom.)

Now the LINKS at the bottom lead to ANOTHER document where Lock and I's original conversations are sorted, in case we need to reference back to something we don't remember. That looks like something like this:

So when you click the link, there's a pop up that will take you directly to the original conversation about it located in another doc.

Basically, Lock and I had talked about TAMN for months before every writing it, so when I suggested making an outline, Lock was like "yeah, we basically have a skeleton already with how much we've talked about it". So what we did was, I copy-pasted EVERY conversation we had about TAMN into a Google Doc, and then Lock went through and SUMMARISED EVERYTHING in each conversation into The Main Points. After that, I went and put them into chronological order in a new doc which then became the outline we use today! 💫

Thus, when you click on a link from the outline, you get taken to the conversation summary, and if you scroll down past the summary you get to the actual conversation itself, minus our usernames/formatting/timestamps to make it easier to read at a glance:

And then, ofc, the further along we got in the fic, the more complicated the plot and the chapters got. So instead of short and sweet outlines with a link or two to old conversations, we had to come up with a lot of in between events that still somehow added to the plot and moved the story along to the main points we wanted to hit.

This was actually what took me the longest during outlining, and poor Lock kept going "JUST LEAVE IT BLANK, WE'LL FIGURE IT OUT AS WE GO" but I really wanted to have SOMETHING down just to give us a springboard to launch off of, because we had no idea if we'd have time WHILE writing to come up with anything.

(This continues on for more pages since we combined two chapters into one here, but this is the gist of what the outlines turned into per chapter as we got later and later in the fic LOL)

Turned out to be the right call, because it's saved our asses more than once when on a time-crunch! That said, there were a couple chapters where we DID in fact go "idk about what's in the outline, what if we do this instead?" and then do that because it Felt Right. So again, the outline was super helpful but not a hard and fast rule. (Though Lock and I had our fair share of "WHY DIDN'T YOU WRITE WHAT WAS IN THE OUTLINE"/"I FORGOR" moments that have been fun every step of the way 😂)

AAAND, I THINK THAT'S IT! THAT'S OUR OUTLINE! 🎉

Just wanted to make a post for it to document because it was such a novel experience, hahaha! Like I said earlier, neither Lock nor I ever used outlines before, even when writing fics together for other fandoms :')

I've got two completed longfics under my belt from before TAMN in my last fandom and I wrote those completely on the fly as well. Worked out just fine, but like. It took me 2-4 YEARS to finish the fics, and they were both MUCH shorter than TAMN is. 😅 Nothing wrong with that obviously, but it was a lot of fun to try something new and it felt incredible to be able to have a new chapter ready to go each week! ;w; 💜

We're almost done writing the fic and honestly idk what we're gonna do with all this free time once we've wrapped it up... time to come up with a new longfic ig LMAO

IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR, HOORAY! 🎊

Here's a little bonus for you--

From the time I went to a gun range and shot both a rifle (near the head) and a shotgun (the spray by the stomach) and took notes so that we could use it in our fic JHGFDSKJHDF THE CRAZY RESEARCH WE'VE BOTH DONE FOR TAMN I STG 😂😂😂😂😂

[reclusivebookslug]

Bella Swan is Autistic: An Analysis

(Disclaimers: I enjoy Twilight in spite of its problematic elements, not because of them or in ignorance of them. There are as many different ways to be autistic as there are autistic people. Many allistic people will relate on some level to some aspects of the autistic experience; this does not make them autistic. This is all just my opinion, based on my experience as a late-diagnosed, low-support-needs autistic woman. I am aware this is not a brand-new original idea.)

I reread Twilight (I think for the first time since getting diagnosed 4 years ago) and I found a bunch of things I relate to Bella about. Below the cut is a list of some of her autism-related character traits with quotes for textual evidence. The links lead to articles explaining how these traits relate to autism. The list is ordered chronologically based on page number of the accompanied quotes. Page numbers are based on the paperback edition with ISBN-13: 9780316015844. A backslash in a quote signifies a paragraph break. I’ll update if I read any of the other books or rewatch the movies and anything new comes up.

Bella has trouble regulating her emotional expressions: she has to put conscious effort into how she presents herself

"I'd always been a bad liar" (p. 4). "For some reason, my temper was hardwired to my tear ducts. I usually cried when I was angry, a humiliating tendency" (p. 25). "I had never been enormously tactful" (p. 31). "'My face is so easy to read -- my mother always calls me her open book'" (p. 50).

Bella is shy and a bit socially awkward: she avoids attention for fear of embarrassment

"Charlie wasn't comfortable with expressing his emotions out loud. I inherited that from him" (p. 7). "Mr. Varner... was the only one who made me stand in front of the class and introduce myself. I stammered, blushed, and tripped over my own boots on the way to my seat" (p. 17). "To my dismay, I found myself the center of attention for the rest of the week" (pp. 68-69).

Bella feels different from other people: she doesn’t know how to connect with others and feels pressure to fit in

"I didn't relate well to people my age. Maybe the truth was that I didn't relate well to people, period. Even my mother, who I was closer to than anyone else on the planet, was never in harmony with me, never on exactly the same page. Sometimes I wondered if I was seeing the same things through my eyes that the rest of the world was seeing through theirs. Maybe there was a glitch in my brain" (pp. 10-11). "I answered honestly, instead of pretending to be normal like everyone else" (p. 47). “'My mind doesn't work right? I'm a freak?' The words bothered me more than they should -- probably because his speculation hit home. I'd always suspected as much, and it embarrassed me to have it confirmed" (p. 181).

Bella has a unique sense of humor: other people don’t get her jokes and she doesn’t get other peoples’ jokes

"'You don't look very tan.' / 'My mother is part albino.' / He studied my face apprehensively, and I sighed. It looked like clouds and a sense of humor didn't mix. A few months of this and I'd forget how to use sarcasm" (p. 16). “Bella was being unintentionally funny” (p. 367).

Bella finds comfort in routine: the change in routine from moving was difficult for her, and she felt better once the new routine became familiar

"I fell into the pattern of the familiar task gladly" (p. 33).

Bella is academically gifted: she finds assignments easier than her peers do, she has already read the books assigned in her English course

"'Were you in an advanced placement program in Phoenix?' / 'Yes'" (p. 47).

Bella enjoys being alone: she is introverted and enjoys solitary activities

"In a lot of ways, living with Charlie was like having my own place, and I found myself reveling in the aloneness instead of being lonely" (p. 54). "I've never minded being alone" (p. 241).

Bella has motor difficulties: she is clumsy, uncoordinated, accident-prone, and bad at sports

"Possibly my crippling clumsiness was seen as endearing rather than pathetic, casting me as a damsel in distress" (p. 55). "My sense of direction was hopeless; I could get lost in much less helpful surroundings" (p. 136).

Bella has special interests: Edward and books

"... no one else was as aware of Edward as I always was. No one else watched him the way I did" (p. 69). "I was sitting in my room, researching vampires. What was wrong with me" (p. 135)? "... they didn't know how preoccupied I could get when surrounded by books; it was something that I preferred to do alone" (p. 156).

Bella is perceived as different by others: a history of social exclusion is hinted at, Edward’s mind-reading doesn’t work on her

"'It's better if we're not friends,' he explained. 'Trust me.' / My eyes narrowed. I'd heard that before” (pp. 74-75). "He enunciated every syllable, as if he were talking to someone mentally handicapped" (p. 83). "'My mom always says I was born thirty-five years old and that I get more middle-aged every year'" (p. 106). ".'.. maybe your mind doesn't work the same way the rest of theirs do. Like your thoughts are on the AM frequency and I'm only getting FM'” (p. 181). "'You're not like anyone I've ever known. ... / ... 'I have a better than average grasp of human nature. People are predictable. But you ... you never do what I expect. You always take me by surprise'" (p. 245).

Bella has sensory differences: she notices and is bothered by things others don’t and aren’t, she engages in sensory-seeking and sensory-avoiding behavior when stressed

"'People can't smell blood,' he contradicted. / 'Well, I can -- that's what makes me sick. It smells like rust ... and salt" (p. 100). "I put in my headphones, hit Play, and turned up the volume until it hurt my ears. I closed my eyes, but the light still intruded, so I added a pillow over the top of my face" (pp. 129-130). "'You're always crabbier when your eyes are black ... I expect it then' ... 'I have a theory about that'" (p. 171). “For three and a half hours I stared at the wall, curled in a ball, rocking” (p. 425).

[wutheringmights]

AUTHORS COMMENTARY FOR NEW CTB PLSSSSS😭😭😭

Thank you! I would be more than happy to explain myself.

My commentaries have, historically, been a pain in the butt to read on a formatting level. I have attempted to fix this by breaking up the commentary into labeled sections. Consequently, this led to me writing out way more than I normally would.

So, enjoy.

[The Past]

Pre-Festival & Festival Day

As I mentioned previously, I wrote a significant part of this past section for the last chapter-- all the way up until Link asks for Icarius’s name. I ended up cutting the chapter into two for space, which meant that there was a few weeks between writing the first and second half of the icarius stuff. 

I really did not spend as much time with the latter half as I wanted to, and I think it suffers for it. I’ll elaborate on that in a second. Let’s try to stick to talking about the chapter in a somewhat chronological order. 

I joked about this last weekend, but Jakucho is extremely funny for hearing Link speculate about Icarius and Nephus and deciding, “Yup. Not my problem. Have fun with that.” Of course, she thinks he’s obsessed with Nephus and not Icarius. 

Gaze upon my weak attempt to confirm Ayane is trans. I think this might have been a bit of a clunky way to do it. I never know how to get characters to confirm their identities without it sounding too much like a script read. Hopefully, this was at least clear if not entirely blatant.

Holidays are such an important part of world building, and I think it is very silly when you are in a fun little fantasy world and they celebrate not-Christmas or the like. That being said, sometimes you are so exhausted of any ideas that you have to sit down and say “Fuck it. Off-brand Halloween.”

That being said, having a holiday to mourn the loss of the Sacred Realm feels fitting for the world, even if the inclusion of masks was a bit clunky. 

I really do think an under-explored area of Zelda lore is that the goddess’s realm is just... gone. Corrupted. Where are the goddesses now that the Sacred Realm is the Dark World? Is there a holy crusade to restore the Dark World to the Sacred Realm? I think Nintendo could do a dark fantasy spin off about this. Or when I finally get around to running that Hyrule homebrew DND campaign I have been cajoling my friends into playing, I’ll make it a plot point. 

Now that I am typing this, I am realizing that I really should have had a little moment where all the masks forces Link to remember the child. Fuck. 

In my original vision, Icarius was going to be very polite and quiet while at Jakucho’s estate, only for his next scene to be him snarking at some guys during a bar fight. What a bait and switch that would have been.

When I was a kid, I genuinely thought that the keaton mask was supposed to be a Pikachu mask (in part because I had only seen it in my cousin’s copy of Super Smash Bros). Hence, the yellow fox vs yellow mouse banter. 

Link’s House / Icarius Backstory

Writing Icarius and Link banter was surprisingly difficult. I have this whole vision in my head about these two being loving to verbally spar with each other. And for some reason, the dialogue was just not flowing the other day.

And by the other day, I mean that a part of my major revisions the day of posting was to fix this entire section. Did it work? Not really. But I got a D grade prose up to a B-, and that was going to have to do. 

My biggest gripe is their conversation in Link’s house, where Icarius info-dumps his entire backstory. In my brain, this scene would have felt dark and moody while still being a little romantic. They definitely hit all the points I needed them to hit for the plot, but it just... it’s so stilted. It doesn’t feel like Icarius is unloading years-worth of grievances on someone who he can trust to listen, if only for a night. It feels like Icarius is reading from a script. Ugh.

There was going to be an in-story explanation from Icarius as to why his hair is bleached that never actually came up. For those curious, it’s that Nephus had the grand idea first to bleach his hair but was worried it wouldn’t look good. So he had Icarius dye his first. Sure enough, he thought it looked terrible and decided to not go through with his end. Icarius was going to be very annoyed by that and would bitch about how long it would take for him to grow it out again. 

I originally was not going to give him the bleached hair to begin with, but after everyone made fun of Warriors for not recognizing him in the first place, I felt like I had to make a significant change to his appearance. It actually helped to get him to play the role I needed him to play in Link’s post-war problems.

Let’s rewind. In my original outline, Icarius was never here in Kakariko. This entire chapter would have instead been Link deciding on his own terms to get over his hang-up over being involved with men and going out to flirt with one. This would have been a random soldier who had been discharged and was just passing through town on his way home from the war. Link would have subconsciously been attracted to him because he resembled the engineer. 

For example, he would have made some comment about liking how strong his hands were. 

This soldier was truly going to be a random guy. At most, he would have mentioned rooming with a friend on-leave named Arlo (who appeared earlier in story as a soldier in the trenches). The whole point was that Link felt like he could connect with another person as long as he didn’t give them a chance to look too deeply into him. 

But after the House of Nephus characters were all introduced, I realized I needed to find some way to elaborate on them. Switching out the random soldier for Icarius was the easiest move.

Does it work? Kinda? It definitely helps the obsession plotline, but the original point got lost among all of the Icarius backstory.

So, Icarius backstory. I feel terrible for everyone who was looking forward to Link being swept away in a beautiful, touching romance. I tried to warn you.

Icarius and his relationship with Nephis is fascinating to me, and I really feel like I only have time to scratch the surface. Icarius is very smart, but believes that Nephus is one the “good ones.” But he can see that Nephus is starting to lose respect for him, so he plays these tricks to remind him that he’s still needed. He knows its foolish but his entire like has encompassed Nephus and he’s scared to know what it would look like without him. It works for a while, but not long enough. The reader knows that it stops working because that smart mouth of his that always picks fights gets taken away.

And that’s not even addressing the greater society Icarius lives in or the way Philo’s addition changes things for him even more. 

All that’s to say that even if Icarius is not the perfect romantic lead people were hoping for, I intended to suggest in-story that if either him or Link were in different circumstances, there could be something there. 

I actually really like the idea of Warriors’s love interest being an agent of an enemy state who is mean to him in the exact way he thinks is hot. Instead of inventing Hylian soldier or Sheikah warrior OC’s to be Warriors’s love interest, can there be more of this? It doesn’t even need to be Icarius. I just think falling-in-love with-the-enemy-but-the-enemy-is-a-shithead-about-it is an extremely funny dynamic.

There is also nothing funnier than Icarius thinking he’s met a nice, normal guy only to realize mid-act that he Messed Up

Also I hope this contexts helps fill-in the blanks for some of Icarius’s actions in the present day, which is no doubt a lot of “oh crap, it’s that guy I screwed that one time” and “how dare you forget about the one time we screwed!”

Post-Icarius Timeskip

I really needed to spend a few days at least on that last bit about Link’s realization. It’s so pivotal for his character, and I really just shoved it in at the end there. I’m going to have to add a lot of flowery prose to the beginning of next chapter to make up for it. 

That being said, it’s important to me that there really isn’t a specific trigger for him realizing what he’s done. He just finally feels comfortable and safe enough for his brain to start processing everything he did. 

It was very important to me that Link decided to stop dwelling in his past by putting a bowl into his cabinet, only for that bowl to break when he realizes what he’s done. Symbolism and stuff. 

[Present Day]

Ganondorf’s Arrival & Townhouse

I’m really happy that so many of you were excited for Ganondorf’s arrival last chapter. That scene was so cheesy that I was worried it would dampen the excitement of actually getting to see him. 

Originally, Ganondorf and Lincoln were going to have their argument in a bedroom, but I moved it to the foyer for convenience sake. But in my mind, I never moved Lincoln’s starting place from hiding in Ganondorf’s room, hence why he started the scene at the top of the stairs and not a more logical spot (in the hallway).

The reason it was going to be in the bedroom was because I thought Lincoln had snuck past Ganondorf’s guards and housestaff. But they all know about Lincoln, so it made more sense for Lincoln to subtly enter through the back entrance. It’s a whole thing. 

I think my favorite part of the Chain already being at Ganondorf’s house is that there’s an implied subplot that happened off-screen where they plus Lincoln had to go hunting for where they thought Ganondorf was staying. 

When Spirit pretends to not know who Ganondorf is, there was going to be a joke where the boys are trying to explain everything and he’s like “oh, so we’re all being racist here.” I ended up cutting it because, well, they were being racist.

Speaking of which, the whole thing with the maid calling Warriors “my lady” is that Warriors was going to try to gently correct her (because he thinks she’s stupid), only to find out that she was just being passive aggressive

Some may remember that one of the hardest cuts I made to CTB was a reporter OC. You can definitely tell that I am massively regretting that cut right now. Imagine how could it would have been for Warriors to pressure this antagonist journalist who’s been reporting all his fuck-ups into helping him fix everything. That sub plot would have been so good. 

I was going to have a few of the other heroes confront Warriors as to why he credited Zelda, reaching a similar conclusion that his narration provided. Ended up cutting it for space. 

A lot of the black blood stuff that I came up with for this chapter really doesn’t hit with LU, but at this point, I really don’t care. 

There’s something about how Spirit viewing monsters and humans the same resulting in him very easily killing people while also being the only one who would realize that black blooded monsters could have always been cured, had anyone thought about it before. I just enjoy the way this man thinks.

Also, Spirit really enjoying spicy food is such a stupid character quirk, and I am almost ashamed of how much effort I went to develop it. Originally, I wanted Wild to get so fed up with Spirit being unimpressed with his cooking that he would demand Spirit to cook one night, only to discover that he actually can’t cook and just overcompensates with a shit-ton of hot sauce. 

Ganondorf’s speech about how to win a war is partly the result of me spending months ruminating about how the Triforce could be used to end a war ethically, and partly an exploration of how Ganondorf thinks 

I wanted to do one last scene of everyone leaving, where Wind would confront Time about being an asshole to Ganondorf. I cut it for space, then convinced myself that I would have time to add it back in, only to then cut it for time. My apologies to the Wind fans who have gotten nothing as of late. 

Hospital & Family Dinner 

I said before that I wasn’t initially going to rescue Toto until the end, which means that I had no plan for how Toto would feel until now. I realized that Toto was just... done. He wanted no part in Warriors’s life any longer. Unlike Kat, who got a lovely send off, I think this will be the last we see of Toto: an unfinished, unresolved mess of emotions.

When I was first describing Lincoln’s casual fit, I remember thinking to myself that I was just describing a semi-retired aged rockstar. The image has not left my brain, and if I was willing to throw a few more anachronisms into the story, I would have 100% described Lincoln like that. 

Fun fact: Orlanda’s family was going to come back in the form of her sibling being a prominent member of the rebellion. I didn’t do it because it was getting ridiculous how many relevant people were related to each other. 

When I was first coming up with Linkle’s character, I had the idea that she had that shallow form of feminism where it’s a big win for women everywhere when, say, generic action heroine wears pants. So I had it in my mind that Linkle hates dresses on principle. So during the fever dream sequence, when Warriors dreamt that Linkle was fawning over a dress, it was to show that he didn’t really know her that well.

But I never really established this idea that well and no one knew this about Linkle, so into a dress she goes.

I told myself that I was going to scour the entire story to double check if I had ever described Lincoln laughing anywhere, but never got around to it. But the nice thing about unreliable narrators is that if I get something wrong, I can just blame Warriors (that is not really how unreliable narrators work)

I have a friend who “tee-hees” while she laughs, and it’s the cutest thing ever. I just think it would be fun if Lincoln also has an adorable little kitten laugh. 

I had to look up how they build roads on dunes for this chapter. 

I did write the full Lincoln and Ganondorf backstory in a post way back when, if anyone wants to review it. It would be nice to get to get all the small details into the main story, but it’s really not pertinent to any of the main action

I definitely talked about Niko before, but I can’t find the posts. To refresh: Niko is Spirit’s uncle, in that he’s a member of the Macaryll family but no one can remember who he’s actually related to. Spirit’s parents are dead, and he lived with a different uncle and aunt until his apprenticeship. Then he moved in with Niko since he lived near Alfonzo. 

Warriors hating chocolate is a character quirk that’s not necessary to the story, but I just think is too funny to not go out of my way to include

The idea of Linkle and Lincoln dancing came from a completely different scene idea. I played around with doing a similar set-up while the Chain is on the road to the Zora’s Domain. The scene would start with Sky showing Lana how to do a Skyloftian dance, which would lead to everyone else showing off their moves. When Warriors admits that he doesn’t think he could dance anymore, Spirit would teach him a New Hyrulean dance that required only one hand. 

That led to an idea of Warriors dancing with Linkle and Lincoln, then just Linkle and Lincoln dancing themselves.

The night was going to end with Warriors forgetting his scarf and, when he went back to get it, he would overhear Lincoln venting to Ganondorf about how the whole stepping up as the parent thing is going. This got cut because it’s more fascinating when you’re forced to infer that a character is thinking. 

The Walk Back & Out Dancing

This scene of Warriors and Spirit walking back together and opening up is my real pride and joy this chapter, which unfortunately got massively overshadowed by everything else. 

So I will now take time to gush.

Spirit’s photography... so I wanted to give this man a hobby because the man cannot just like trains. I know everyone headcanons it as his hyperfixation, but it’s also his job. He needs a richer life than just that one thing. Granted, I took the route of making him start as a trainspotter like the Spirit Tracks NPC Ferrus. 

I just feel like I am so correct about Spirit liking photography. I want this to be my cultural impact. I know I said that already about Icarius, but I mean this more. Go forth and give that man a camera. 

The official document Spirit was carrying around was his engineering license.  

Also, I was 100% ready for everyone to flood me with questions about Spirit’s ex-boyfriend. After the ickywars ordeal, I figured that there was a significant chance y’all wouldn’t be normal about him. I was prepared. And you know what? I’ve heard zilch. So, let me info dump about this man now.

Spirit’s ex-boyfriend is named Jean. He is on the cusp of 30 (compared to Spirit’s 23/24). He’s a mechanic, which is a few steps below Royal Engineer. He lost his leg in a work accident when a piece of machinery fell on him. They met through work. Spirit goes through phases of being a serial dater before swearing off dating for a few months, but Jean is the first person to make it past an awkward first date and hit relationship status. Spirit thought that because he was older, he would be more understanding. 

And Jean tried. He really did. But Spirit is massive defensive and always on the offensive, so every slight disagreement turned into an explosive argument. Jean decided that he could not deal with someone who could not have a rational conversation with him, so he dumped him after 6 months. This was fairly recent, about three months before Spirit returned to Warriors’s era. 

Spirit was going to name drop Jean in his speech later, but I couldn’t figure out a way to make it clear who Jean was without it sounding awkward. 

I really like Spirit and Warriors’s conversation about Icarius, if only because it shows where their communication fails. When Warriors insists that you have a duty to disobey bad orders, he is criticizing himself for falling into the military mindset. This sounds like a criticism to Spirit, who insists that people will do anything under orders because that is what he did. 

After Warriors has spent nearly every chapter since his amputation bemoaning his disability, I really wanted there to be a moment where he realizes that just because his ability level is different, he doesn’t have to give up doing everything he loves. That’s just an important lesson for him to learn, even if it is a little inspiration-porn-y.

The Hot Mess

You might realize that there is a massive elephant in the room I am not going to discuss here. That is because this post is going into the main tag. No one has complained to me yet, but let’s not tempt anyone right now. Just like the Neck Thing, I’ll make a separate post later for anyone who wants it. Just remind me in a few days.

With that being said--

Them sharing a cigarette was another scene that was originally conceived as taking place during the trip to the Zora’s Domain. Spirit’s anecdote about failing to make friends would have served as an early hint about his loneliness and inability to make friends. 

I also have never smoked a cigarette before, so I had to sit there on wikiHow reading up on  how to smoke one without coughing. 

The half in Spirit’s four and a half attempts at quitting is this time he decided to quit, only to relapse after three hours. It was too short to count as a full attempt.

Spirit’s speech hopefully reveals what exactly is Spirit’s problem, both how he sees it and how it really is. Unlike Warriors, he never found support and healing once the war ending. No one understood his experiences, and his coping mechanism of lashing out ward away anyone who could help him. Spirit just wants to feel better, but he doesn’t know how. 

Like... his whole thing about starting his own garage-- he’s a child prodigy who is used to be good at the things he does. He ended up tarnishing his own reputation, so he threw himself back into work because working on trains and fulfilling his dream is supposed to make him happy. He’s successful, but he’s not satisfied.

I was also expecting people to have a ton of questions about why Alfonzo disowned Spirit. In short, Spirit was already on a thin line with his lashing out and shitty attitude. Alfonzo was willing to let that slide until he realized Spirit was breaking work regulations to go on more runs without taking the legally required amount of time to rest inbetween. Spirit was a legal liability. He fired Spirit, but made it very clear that he was doing him a favor by not reporting him and getting his Royal Engineering license suspended. 

No one else in New Hyrule knows the real reason why Spirit was fired, so they all assumed it was his personality. So he has a bit of a reputation now for being hard to work with. 

Another thing that was not 100% conveyed in Spirit’s speech was that even if he didn’t hurt Zelda, he could not be with her because he does not want to be Prince Consort. His experiences in Warriors’s Hyrule thoroughly scared him off from politics, though he would have refused anyway since he would never give up being an engineer. 

 Fundamentally, Spirit is an extremely lonely person who has felt abandoned by everyone in his life. He knows that his life is the way it is now because of his experiences with Warriors. His guiding principle is trying to find some way to fix himself so that he can get the life he was supposed to have, one where he is happy and loved. 

I just... god, I love this character.

And then there’s Warriors, who feels like he not capable of change and that any opportunity he has to change has been denied to him. Fixing Spirit and Time’s relationship was supposed to be a part of his redemption. Making Spirit happy was supposed to mean he’s forgiven. He has no friends, not in the Chain or in Toto. No one needs him.

Warriors also just means so much to me. I adore this disaster of a human being. 

Warriors’s Plan Out

Does Warriors’s plan make sense? I am assuming it does since no one expressed confusion, but nearly every comment thus far has exclusively been about the Hot Mess (understandable). 

There was a reason I was peeved I had to cut every chance in earlier in the story to go back to Castle Town, and it’s because I’ve known that it was going to be an extremely important location. 

Warriors choosing to forgo a glorious revolution in favor of maintaining (if not manipulating) the status quo is not a great philosophy for our protagonist to be spouting in 2024. In my defense: a) I came up with this story in 2021, which was a different real world landscape, and b) Warriors would never become this ideal hero.

It feels more true for Warriors to not really become the idealized hero. His best is not that great. But if he can’t help being the worst, he could at least use his methods for good. 

I have mentioned before that I have low empathy. Lincoln’s speech about people naturally being better or worst at being good is a product of a lot of my musing about how I sometimes feel frustrated and resentful at how hard I find it to follow the social cues that would make me a “better person.” Wouldn’t I be a better person if I had an easier time recognize when someone is in trouble and needs my help. Instead, I have to depend on myself to remember the cues, and I am so prone to mistakes.

I want to be a kind person. I want to be the best person anyone has ever met, but it’s an uphill battle. I feel like I am always working against myself. But it’s still important that I make the choice every day to be kind to others. 

Besides, I have been told that I am more kind and helpful than other people, if only because I don’t rely on my feelings when deciding to reach out to others. So it has its perks. 

I’m not saying Warriors has low empathy. I have expressly written him as someone with empathy. But my philosophy that kindness and caring for others is an active choice just felt like it belongs here. 

There is story-canon low empathy character that I wanted to reveal in story to help Warriors beat the accusations and get people to not armchair diagnose him. I am still holding out hope I will have time and space to explore this in story, but if I don’t--

Four is written to have low empathy. It’s a consequence of the Four Sword splitting up his emotions, making it extremely difficult to tap into more than one emotion at a time, much less his empathy towards others. He can feel how this change in himself and has some thoughts on the whole thing. 

Is that the end of the chapter. Fuck yeah. I’ve been working on this since Monday, If you read all this... congrats! I hope it was worth it.

Also, I forgot to mention that this is the end of Act 5. My act system is a scam and not that important, but I figured I should let you all know.  

[caltropspress]

RAPS + CRAFTS #33: Gabe 'Nandez

1. Introduce yourself. Past projects? Current projects?

Gabriel Matias Fernandez Traoré aka Gabe ‘Nandez. Past projects in chronological order - H.T., Sifu, Disconnected, Plaques (a compilation), Cliquetape, Diplomacy, Grove, Ox, Seven, Strife, Canis Cascus, Pangea, H.T. III, H.T. III (Deluxe), Object Permanence. Upcoming projects - False Profit produced by Thomas Maggart, a collaborative album with U.K. rapper Louis Jack, and more.

2. Where do you write? Do you have a routine time you write? Do you discipline yourself, or just let the words come when they will? Do you typically write on a daily basis?

My desk, at home. If I’m not at home, then any desk. Or something desk like, if available. I tend to write at night and during twilight, generally speaking.

And yeah I try to write every day, and usually do. That being said, I ultimately need a few days off after writing every day for an extended period of time. But that in itself is also part of my writing process, it’s holistic.

3. What’s your medium—pen and paper, laptop, on your phone? Or do you compose a verse in your head and keep it there until it’s time to record?

Pen and paper always. I’ll take walks and write bars in my head but it all comes together when I pull the pen and notebook out.

4. Do you write in bars, or is it more disorganized than that?

I write in bars, it’s all organized. Scientific. 

5. How long into writing a verse or a song do you know it’s not working out the way you had in mind? Do you trash the material forever, or do you keep the discarded material to be reworked later?

Depends. Sometimes I’ll write 32 bars and decide I don’t want to use them after all, but that doesn’t happen often. I haven’t trashed an entire verse in a minute, there’s usually always a few gems in there that I can re-purpose. If I do trash something forever, it’s usually like…four bars in. Might read it back later and go “What the fuck was I on here?”

The first two lines tend to dictate everything. The first two bars cannot be trash. That’s the headline, it has to be strong because it sets the tone for the entire verse. I make sure the first two work and then it usually stays good from there.

6. Have you engaged with any other type of writing, whether presently or in the past? Fiction? Poetry? Playwriting? If so, how has that mode influenced your songwriting?

Honestly, the text messages I’ve sent women read like straight poetry sometimes. Like I’ll structure them like a poem, stanzas and shit like that, with rhythm and shit. I’m not even trynna come off like Casanova right now, I’m just being honest. Those texts are romantic as fuck and I’m proud of them. 

I’ve had to mess around with other mediums during academia but haven’t done so since I left. 

And ultimately I consider what I do with this rap shit poetry. Not crazy about labels but I’d still classify my writing as that.

7. How much editing do you do after initially writing a verse/song? Do you labor over verses, working on them over a long period of time, or do you start and finish a piece in a quick burst?

There usually isn’t much editing involved and I rarely trip over finishing stuff once I start it. I might take a long time to actually start the verse though, the first two bars. So I’ll just listen to the music for as long as I need to until the first two bars come to me, and then it’s pretty much smooth sailing from there. Usually. Every song is different though.

8. Do you write to a beat, or do you adjust and tweak lyrics to fit a beat?

Ideally, I tailor the writing to a specific piece of music, but I’ve transplanted verses to other beats before, definitely.

9. What dictates the direction of your lyrics? Are you led by an idea or topic you have in mind beforehand? Is it stream-of-consciousness? Is what you come up with determined by the constraint of the rhymes?

It really depends. There are general themes in my life that dictate the themes in my art, and I can just go stream-of-consciousness while sounding topical in my creative universe on any song. Sometimes a specific thing will inspire me, like my song “Commerce God” for example, which was inspired by the god Hermes/Mercury, and riffs around the statue of Mercury on top of Grand Central Station.

10. Do you like to experiment with different forms and rhyme schemes, or do you keep your bars free and flexible?

I would say both.

11. What’s a verse you’re particularly proud of, one where you met the vision for what you desire to do with your lyrics?

Good question, and a hard one. I’ll say “Ox” 'cause it’s the song of mine that’s reached the most people so far. I think it’s cause it has a balanced amount of depth and flexing. That beat goes crazy too. Stars just aligned on that one.

12. Can you pick a favorite bar of yours and describe the genesis of it?

“Self emancipated from a place of permanent ruin” is one that comes to mind. It’s a comment on how I kicked narcotics and alcohol but also sounds real fly and rolls of the tongue well. 

It’s from a track called “Semtex.” Wrote that one in like half an hour off of no sleep at 5:00AM type shit . Always fond of those type of sessions.

13. Do you feel strongly one way or another about punch-ins? Will you whittle a bar down in order to account for breath control, or are you comfortable punching-in so you don’t have to sacrifice any words?

I’m cool with punching in 'cause I’m good at it and can make it seamless. Or at least seamless enough where I’m cool with it. But there are times where I know I can just one-take a section of a song, so I’ll do that.  I’m with whatever needs to get done to get the song recorded, and the procedure is never exactly the same. It’s all very instinctive when I’m in the booth.

I’ve one-taked an entire song before, my song “Up Top.” First take, one take. That was crazy. But I don’t go in there planning on doing that. That just happened organically.

14. What non-hiphop material do you turn to for inspiration? What non-music has influenced your work recently?

Old books and stories. Theology, mythology, some philosophy. From different cultures. 

Otherwise life. People, the interactions I have or have had with them. Dreams sometimes.

15. Writers are often saddled with self-doubt. Do you struggle to like your own shit, or does it all sound dope to you?

Self-doubt isn’t something I struggle with in general. All of my music is objectively great because it’s tediously well made. I might cringe at some of my old stuff, but I don’t at most of it.

16. Who’s a rapper you listen to with such a distinguishable style that you need to resist the urge to imitate them?

Off top, Prodigy. But, to be honest, I’m at the stage where I’ve found my voice, so I don’t really run into situations where I’m writing and go, “Nah, that’s his shit.” It does happen sometimes, but it’s rare. 

Sometimes I’ll throw a dart in someone else’s style on purpose as an homage.

17. Do you have an agenda as an artist? Are there overarching concerns you want to communicate to the listener?

I’m here to express myself through art. By doing so, my viewpoints are shared, my energy is felt. This action, in turn, communicates the essence of my being and my spirit, which does what it’s intended to do, according to or regardless of my intention. 

I can’t control how someone is going to react to an action I take, let alone how my art is going to make them feel. I’m confident that I can direct and influence accurately - I’m confident that we all can. But, ultimately, I don’t have a desire to sway people in a particular direction, through art or in everyday life. That’s up to people.

RAPS + CRAFTS is a series of questions posed to rappers about their craft and process. It is designed to give respect and credit to their engagement with the art of songwriting. The format is inspired, in part, by Rob McLennan’s 12 or 20 interview series.

Photo credit: Sebastian Thompson

[missgryffin]

hi! I’m a new writer and I started a fic but I just wanted to ask if you had any advice for writing fanfiction. I started my fic but I’m kinda hitting a writers block and I don’t know where I want my story to go. I want my characters to have dimension but I don’t think I’m communicating it well. And my plot line, I feel like it’s so hard to communicate in writing. I just feel like my writing is bad as a whole and I wanted to ask for advice because you’re literally one of the best writers I’ve encountered! Love your writing so much

Thanks for the kind words, anon!! 🫶 This got long, so I put it below a cut:

First off, congrats on getting started — that's always the hardest part, and there's a lot of bravery in starting something new and letting your work exist outside your head. The #1 piece of advice I hear everywhere and pass along to you is simply to keep going. Writing is a muscle, and it takes repetition, practice, reflection, etc. to find your style and get better. I came back to writing in 2020, and it took writing consistently since then for me to be where I am now of feeling like my writing's where I want it to be and feeling confident about bigger pieces.

On the direction of your story and your plot, know that this is such a common dilemma for writers!! And honestly, the advice out there varies a lot depending on if you're more of a pantser (make it up as you go) or plotter (plot it all out first). I'm somewhere in the middle. I plot a decent amount, but sometimes it's only in broad strokes, so I leave room for building out scenes intuitively as I write. I also get stuck all the time, and for me, I know that means that something's not working — either I have to go back and change something in the prior paragraph/dialogue, or I have to take the scene in a new direction, or I have to figure out a different way to bridge the gap between what happened and what I know I'm building toward.

At this point, my advice to you would be this: do some daydreaming. Go on Pinterest, browse Tumblr, go on a walk with a good playlist. Let your mind wander, mood board your fic, let all the vibes marinate. Whatever scene ideas pop into your head, write them. Write out of order (you can always massage things to fit chronologically later). Loosely figure out your ending, so you at least know where you need to end up — sometimes it's easier to work backwards when outlining the latter part of a fic. Use tropes and their conventional story beats as much or as little as is helpful to you.

Once you have that direction, my advice on "communicating" your plot and characters really boils down to the adage of "show don't tell." Which sounds so cliché, I know, but it really does work!! Think about the aspect of your plot or character you want to be coming across to the reader, and then brainstorm actions or scenes that could demonstrate that happening.

An example of when I was very conscientious of this is Castling. (Spoilers ahead!) The main plot is present day, but I wanted to build the emotion and pining and just the stakes overall by inserting past flashbacks, as opposed to just saying, Lily and James were best friends while growing up at school. So I came up with a handful of significant moments to show their friendship in action throughout their past. The second year scene sets it all up: Lily does not hesitate to confront James for Remus, demonstrating both her fierce + sassy personality and the depth of her friendship with Remus. The seventh year scenes show how everything's evolved: first there's the fight in the corridor, in which James steps in to shield Lily and punches Mulciber after an incident that escalated while they were brewing Amortentia in Potions, and then later that night Lily finds out James got broken up with. I never had to say that they were starting to subliminally have feelings/attraction toward each other — we pick up on that based on what happens: James doesn't just defend Lily out of basic nobility; he's "a caged bull in Sirius's arms" in the immediate aftermath of Amortentia 👀, which is the breaking point for his girlfriend. James picks Lily's friendship in his girlfriend's ultimatum without second thought. And they don't hug. It's not a sibling-like consolation because there's an undercurrent of tension that's decidedly not sibling-like anymore — they're just in total denial about it. And then finally there's the post-school scene, in which they're more comfortable around each other in part because they're simply more mature and have figured out how to care about each other without crossing the boundary of friendship (yet).

Something I tell myself a lot when it comes to figuring out plot and "showing" the reader is plot can be small. I'm constantly saying this to myself. And what I mean by that is, "plot" doesn't have to be some sweeping, complicated thing. Of course some stories go that way and longer stories often necessitate more complex narratives, but there can be just as much plot in "discovering feelings for each other" (As Lovers Go) as there is in "planning a complicated mission that goes awry because of a secret double-agent" (Vindicated). It's simply a matter of going more deeply into smaller details and the emotional trajectories of the story. So "plot can be small" doesn't mean the plot itself is "smaller" or "lesser," it means that plot can be based in small actions that are incredibly important or meaningful to the characters, and the story then teases out all the little details surrounding those small actions.

And finally, the last thing I'll say (this already getting way too long 😅) is that plot and character development are both very layered things. The Castling corridor fight initially was just a corridor fight — the idea for adding the Amortentia element came later, and the idea for connecting the fight with the ultimatum and the breakup came even later after that. Don't put pressure on yourself to figure things out entirely the very first time you write something down!! Ideas build on each other as you keep writing. You'll add layers that make scenes better. And the layers of the story and the characters will keep building throughout the story. This is where dimension comes from. We don't need to know everything about a character right away — let the layers peel back as the story goes on.

If you're still reading: I hope this can help!! Best of luck with your writing!! 💗

[professorspork]

the big 'Faunus worldbuilding in Newsbees' post

as requested by EVER SO MANY OF YOU (!!), I now embark upon a post to talk much more about the Shallow Sea Verses and about the Faunus culture and worldbuilding I did for Newsbees. I've talked about them a little bit before, and I'll try not to repeat myself too much there but there's gonna be some overlap.

I imagine when some of you asked me to say more about this, what you were hoping for was like a "here's all this great stuff I came up with for other traditions that I never got to use in the fic!" and that is--not what this post is, sorry. by virtue of the fact that this was, ultimately, a literary device very much devised to move this story forward, I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about in in ways that weren't plot-relevant. if you have prompts for, like, "how would they do/think about X" I'm delighted to give it a think, but it's not something I have just lying around.

instead I'm gonna talk about how it came about, why I did it, and what my priorities were

okay so I'm gonna take this in... I guess chronological order is the best way to make sense of it

from the outset of the fic's conception, I knew that I wanted it to be a reflection of my values. like. it's about unionizing a workforce, it's about socially-conscious community-building and class struggle and FUCK COPS. to disregard the minority oppression of the Faunus (which you'll note is something I always capitalize, for what I should think are now-obvious parallel reasons) in a world and a story like that just felt... not just insulting, but downright stupid. a missed opportunity. and I've always felt like this subject deserved much greater forethought and much better execution than canon provided, which I think can be described most charitably as "mostly serviceable" but is mealy-mouthed, inconsistent, and both-sidesy-whattaboutist at way too many points for me to feel like it merits any credit. like. if you're gonna do catgirl racism and intra-community disagreements over praxis, you gotta actually do catgirl racism and intra-community disagreements over praxis, you know?

(gee, I'm sure you're shocked Sienna is very much alive in Newsbees, wonder why that is)

ANYHOO

so that was thing one.

thing two is that this is perhaps the GREATEST ARGUMENT I HAVE for why I prefer writing everything in advance and then posting on a schedule, because I knew it was something I could then find my way into and then retcon back in, if needed, and that I therefore had the entire canvas available to paint on. and it's a good thing, too, because it saved my ass multiple times plot-wise and not just in this worldbuilding way.

to combine those two thoughts, the first time ANY of this actually came up in the drafting process was when I hit the Ilia scene in chapter 6. I knew what I wanted Blake to say to Ilia in that moment, which she absolutely couldn't say, which was: "I said the Mourner's Kaddish."

which: that's already a lot to unpack, so let's do that a bit! the first thing that drew me towards formulating my conception of Faunus culture around parallels to the diasporic Jewish experience is, of course, "write what you know." I'm not a racial or ethnic minority but I am Jewish, and so it was something I could use the 'draw from wellspring of personal knowledge and emotion' part of my brain for, rather than the 'radically and empathetically imagine the other' part of my brain. I've seen all sorts of fanon Faunus ideas where people drew on different and likely personal interpretations-- including things like the Faunus having their own language, Faunus interpolations of the Maiden myths and other Remnant lore having different values or being scaled more towards the God of Animals, Faunus having their own foods... if someone not-me had written this fic, this could have manifested in any number of ways. because the Faunus don't fit neatly into my (very American) notions of race, religion, or even X-men style "maybe we should regulate the people who have nukes for hands" minority/majority frameworks, I had the freedom to use the one that had the most personal meaning to me... and to deviate from that when it suited and felt appropriate. Neon's rightfully combative stance about Faunus mistreatment and how she reacts to it, for example, is far more aligned with the experiences of my friends and loved ones who are POC than it is anything I've personally gone through as a Jew.

so!

knowing, then, what my destination was (a Faunus cultural framework that would have specific death rites and rituals), I worked backwards from there. what makes a culture FEEL lived in is that people LIVE in it, that it relates to their everyday lives as well as its most significant moments-- what do we eat? how do we treat guests in our home? how do we handle life cycle events (birth/marriage/death)? without a country of origin, as the Faunus have none-- they made Menagerie, not the other way around-- and not wanting to go TOO explicitly religious by having there actually be some sort of dogmatic (har har DOG-matic) text about the God of Animals, I instead lit upon the idea of old poems whose metaphors have been transformed into material gifts. this felt intuitive to me probably largely because I'm Jewish (we're called the People of the Book for a reason lmao, we're all about interpretation and re-interpretation of text) but also, honestly, because the written word is WILDLY IMPORTANT in newsbees. they work at a newspaper! there's a reason the very last words of the story are Blake saying "for the record," which is a reporting pun. in hindsight, however, this is also sort of Sappho-y, which is also neat and, again, shows that ALL the ways I've experienced my own Otherness show up here.

having a text then gave me a scale of orthodoxy to work from, as in "very traditional people still recite these texts in a ceremonial way," but also a background radiation-level casual level of interaction, which is "yeah I leave shells at graves because that's what my parents taught me and I don't even really know why." this also means that all Faunus have the same sort of playbook to work from, regardless of where they're from geographically or what kind of Faunus they are.

once I had that in place, I immediately realized that whatever traditional Mourner's Verse there would be probably would feel kind of insulting re: what happened to the Amitolas, which is why I came up with the Traveler's Verse workaround. and the second I came up with that, I knew I could use it to connect Ghira and Kali back into the text at the end-- I'd been wanting to find a way to do that and hadn't come up with a method.

the first draft of that scene then promptly infodumped every thought I could possibly have about the Verses, immediately. @theseerasures teased me that it read like a Codex entry from Mass Effect, and she was 100% right-- and it totally interrupted the flow of the VERY EMOTIONAL scene with Ilia, which wouldn't do at all.

and that's where the 'writing it all before posting it' thing comes in. that infodumping then became the scene at Doc's in chapter 3. this also solved another problem I had, which was that in the VERY first draft chapters 3 and 4 were one very long chapter. I'd subsequently split them, which left chapter 3 quite short-- but at that point, the moment where Blake is upstairs getting her snack was only a brief explanatory paragraph. moving the Verses stuff back made the chapter a chapter, so it did a lot of heavy lifting for me. wanting the Verses to feel integrated, I also at that point went back and added the engraving on Tukson's door to the prologue, so that it would be seeded in from the start.

which is kind of to say that ALL WRITING IS CHEATING. we get to manipulate circumstances to best suit our needs! callbacks feel elegant and cerebral, but they're actually a very blunt and easy tool to use-- you get tons of mileage out of just establishing something and then bringing it up all the time. I'd already written the thing about Tukson being picky about book damage, and so I let that become a part of the Verses lore by saying it was a Faunus thing, and then doubled down on it with the "throwing the book at Ghira" anecdote.

as for what things mean what, the basic rule I gave for myself is that everything had to be common and easily-obtainable for a community often left impoverished and on the margins. that's why so many of them are food-based, because that's a very "even if we have nothing else, we have THIS" sort of thing. when coming up with the thing that would represent love, I lit upon honey BEFORE i realized "oh duh, lmao, bees" because... I'm an idiot, but luckily I figured it out after a bit. I was very enamored of the idea of it representing not just sweetness, but industry (as in "busy bees"), that love takes steady and determined work. the second I did think it up, the Velvet gag gift ("they're making fun of me") sprang to mind, though ironically it wasn't necessarily tied to the Mantle Bee yet, though that was also already a concept on the page.

probably the hardest thing to come up with was the NOT-honey gift for the epilogue (which ended up being nuts for growth), because I was like... is it a pen and paper for a first job? Is that too bougie? maybe a cute little desk succulent? but what would it represent?

and yeah, that's pretty much how I got there. it was a question of making something specific enough that it would feel authentic, but open-ended enough that I could make up whatever I wanted to suit the moment and have it all feel of a piece. from there, it was just about USING it-- keeping it in the back of my mind in Faunus-related scenes to see if there were ways I could weave it in somehow.

phew! okay I think that's pretty much everything. if anyone is so very enamored of the Verses that they'd like to use them for their own fics, you certainly have my permission to do so (with a link back to Newsbees for credit, please). I'm intrigued to see what you'd do with them! but also, like-- I love how multi-faceted and varied different interpretations of Faunus lore can be, and I'd love to see what y'all come up with for your own systems!

CONSIDER THE GAUNTLET THROWN. HAVE FUN OUT THERE.

<3

[panlight]

First off, I want to just say congratulations and thank you for keeping this blog alive for so long. I've been following you for YEARS at this point and it's crazy to think just how long it's been. Secondly, how do you feel about the Cullen relationship dynamic? Most people I talk to don't mind the foster family story, but just wish Carlisle and Esme were older and/or the "kids" were younger. But I much rather prefer the idea that some of them are "blood related". I always think that Esme and Edward are related (siblings/nephew and aunt), Carlisle and Rosalie are related (siblings/niece and uncle), Emmett and Alice are siblings, and then everyone else married into the family. To me it adds a bit of a foundational arguement for why they all seemingly look alike to outsiders and why there's so much "incest" going on. Having a bunch of foster kids that have sex with each other just gives me the creeps.

I think a lot of this problem comes from SM creating the Cullens kind of backwards. That is, instead of being like "okay, if we had a group of vampires living together in a family-like structure, what might that look like?" she was instead like: "So! Edward needs a sister, her name is Alice and she's psychic. He needs parents, too, a mother and father. He needs a brother, too, someone fun. Oh and I guess Alice and the brother will need partners, because true love" and we end up with the Cullens in canon.

(As an aside, I'm going to be talking mostly about the cover story going forward, as while I do think they are a family I think it's a 'family' in a looser sense than literal mother/father/kids and sisters/brothers. They used those terms sometimes but they are words for human relationships and the vampire family dynamics aren't a perfect one to one fit with the human counterparts -- ie Rosalie and Edward are siblings in that they have the same creator; but so does Esme, and none of them think of her as a 'sister.' Edward thinks of Emmett as a brother, but Rosalie obviously does not. Also birth order kind of means nothing because Emmett is physically the oldest while [until Bella] chronologically the youngest sibling. Which is all to say, it's complicated.)

I agree that they should have just said some of them were related. They do that with Esme and Rosalie and Jasper, saying she is their aunt who took them in. But that's a weird choice because Rosalie and Jasper don't look like Esme, who is a brunette of average height. They LOOK like Carlisle -- tall blonds. Of course nieces and nephews don't have to look anything like their aunts or uncle, but if you were going to go with that cover story, wouldn't it make more sense to claim they were related to Carlisle? Rosalie could still use 'Hale' if her fake mother were Carlisle's sister and her equally made up husband.

But I do prefer the sibling angle, because Esme and Carlisle are not physically that much older than their 'kids.' I can buy them having a parental dynamic in the vampire truth sphere, but they cover story makes no sense. Rosalie and/or Jasper could easily be Carlisle's siblings and if Rose insists on keeping Hale, then Carlisle could use that name or they could be half-siblings with different fathers. Likewise Esme and Edward have reddish tints to their hair, it makes sense for them to be related. They have the largest age gap of anyone in the family -- 26 and 17, so 9 years -- so they could be an aunt/nephew situation, or an older sister who looked after her brother when their parents died (I believe in the guide it mentions they have used this cover story before, when it was just Carlisle, Edward and Esme. C/Es were a couple and Ed was Es' little brother). That all just makes more sense with their ages than going with a public story of literal parents. Carlisle is 23, Emmett is 20. You can't tell me that standing next to each other people wouldn't be able to be like "hey . . . you look about the same age" no matter how old Carlisle dressed/acted or how young Emmett did.

I also think it makes sense to lean into the fact they do share some features -- the pallor, the eye color. Pretending it's all a coincidence that they adopted people who look like that seems farfetched.

The other option that I like it pretending they all have some obscure illness and that's why they look alike and that's why they are living with a doctor -- Carlisle is young, but he's the foremost expert on this made-up disease and parents send their kids to him for treatment. Maybe there's even a sun sensitivity issue which is why Forks.

Either of these options make way more sense than a 23-year-old and 26-year-old pretending to be in their late 20s/30s adopting a bunch of teenagers.

[confusedspaceotter]

Daily avatrice analysis (day 2)

day1 day2 day3 day4 day5 day6 day7 day8 day9

Hello and welcome to day 2!

I love to see you guys adding on to my analysis! please keep doing that, agree with me, fight with me, whatever you wanna say, let's talk about avatrice together :))))

So

Season 1 Ep 3 (yes im doing this in chronological order cause why not)

ah yes the first breakthrough of avatrice 

where we got some actual interaction between the two

(surprise is still not the canteen scene lol)

But here Bea said “and if she dies?” does indicate there is some level of empathy from Bea

Since she no longer view Ava as just the mission, then a actual person after seeing her 

here we can see that Bea took the more soft and suggestive approach(compared to lilith which is more demanding) to calm Ava down

Further suggesting there has been a change in Bea’s attitude towards Ava(as shown in the gif below)

which leads to the first time they interacted one on one(yesss is the canteen scene)

Bear in mind that this scene happened after she sparred with(pissed off)Lilith and mother superion

She is starting to pick up that the members of the OCS didn't exactly give her the warm welcome, making this interaction more heartwarming in a way

It just makes so much sense that Beatrice is the one who welcomed Ava into the OCS

If I have to guess why

must be because this is how Beatrice feel when she first arrive to the boarding school her parents shipped her to

an outcast, the odd one out of the bunch, someone who stands out

and she doesn't want Ava to experience what she hand been through 

so she decided to be the one who welcome her and try to help her fit in 

Which Ava gladly accepted(I mean who wouldn’t is Bea we are talking about here)

now back to the scene

(this is kinda out of topic but NO ONE sits with Bea??? How??? Where is camila??)

reasons why I think Ava does this assessment thing and why is it important:

a. from being quadriplegic she quite literally had to intact with people by observing them since she can’t initiate the interaction with physical contact 

b. confirming the avatrice endgame agenda (Bea was saving the sit for ava, and giving of friendly vibes because she wanna help/get to know ava more)

Father Simon did say that they planned Avatrice from this start so

c.she took inspiration from shows she watched and she recognize the trope(potential love interest trying to subtly interact with main protagonist) 

(you can't tell me this is not what happeded lol)

anyway

Starting of a conversation with a joking manner, classic Ava silva

which were met with Bea trying to ground her to reality/truth that is Ava needs to start seeing the bigger picture here

Bea your logical is showing 

Bea countering Ava’s attempts to underestimate the situation with logical explanations we love to see it

To be fair Ava is just trying to lighten the mood which is understandable but is not what Bea and rest of the OCS sees

OCS saw Ava as someone who was unfit to bear the Halo, which yeah I kinda have to agree with the OCS

but Ava’s weakness(? is also her strength

her out of the box mindset is literally what saved the world in s2

the OCS needed someone with a fresh pair of eyes

normally that would be Mary

but with Ava being the new kid in town, the collective dislike towards people/ideas that are solar opposites to the religious traditional cathlic values that OCS follows went to her instead

(okay i'm getting off topic again back to avatrice

This is where Ava realized that shit is real

People have died(Rip Shannon 

Now is not the time to take things lightly 

So being the kind hearted kid that she is

She asks Bea what’s Shannon like 

As a way to try to comfort Bea

Really love the way Ava is looking at Bea while she is reminiscing her first encounter with Shannon 

Moments like these reminds me how kid like Ava is

Yeah sure she’s an adult(19 years old is still young as hell btw, as a fellow 19 year old)

But because of what happened to her 

The child like behavior never fades into adult responsibilities

The way Ava looks at Bea like a kid listening to their parents telling them stories is just ughhhhh

(Plus Alba had no reason looking this good

Avatrice really said:

Anyway the conversation ends with Bea and Ava bonding over being the odd one and Bea encouraging her to give OCS a shot 

okay thats a lot of words what the hell

so i think i'm going to continue the first avatrice hug and that hallway scene tmr

stay tuned for ep 3 part 2 :)

day3

[asteria7fics]

i'm back!!! o(>ω<)o i don't usually make outlines (mostly because i was never taught in a way that makes sense to me) i guess what i wanted to ask is how u make your outlines? or how you decide what will be in ur story ik i could just search it up but i like hearing it from someone I'm mooties w/ or someone in the same genre as me sorry for bothering u w/ this pooks (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

-i'm stalking ur blog and inbox again (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ)

Welcome back! Thank you for gracing my ask box once again!

I'll happily break down my outlining process! I've tried a couple of different methods and have found success with both! (´⌣`ʃƪ)

Mild spoilers for TSOB under the cut, so if anyone hasn't read it yet tread lightly!

SO specifically for TSOB I kept my outline really simple because I ended up coming up with the logistics of a lot of the events as I wrote them (a bad idea, truthfully! If you don't have to do it this way, don't!)

I literally found some kid's presentation on the Trojan War (paired with my existing knowledge of the war lol I promise I know things) and copied down the events in chronological order, using the original characters names and everything.

i.e:

Wedding of Peleus and Thetis

Judgment of Paris

Paris goes to Menelaus 

Paris steals Helen

Menelaus goes to Agamemnon for help

And so on and so forth, until I'd covered the entire war. I chose to use events outside of just The Iliad because I thought the additional context would be helpful for readers who maybe weren't as familiar with the source material.

I did make a few small notes for events I had planned in advanced (the crappening was one such event!) but for the most part, that list was a majority of my planning. The rest of my notes were character based, or just small things I wanted to remember to include (like all of Jimmy's jokes, I would write them down as people told them to me irl)

I cannot lie, my outlining for this fic was not very extensive. If you want a more effective idea I'd honestly recommend trying the method I used for my next fic, Exactly Where I Left You (coming to an ao3 near you veeery soon!!)

For that fic, I ended up with a whole board absolutely covered with sticky notes. I posted this picture a while ago, but I'll drudge it back up because I know a visual can be helpful!

Obvi I blurred it because I don't need you goobers getting spoiled for the whole dang fic before I even post it, but I found this method to be extremely helpful for crafting a narrative fully from scratch, rather than pulling it from a pre-existing source like I did with TSOB.

You don't have to follow a 3 Act structure (I hardly did myself) but I found it easier for my own creative process. I also prefer using stickies to, say, writing on a whiteboard or chalkboard because if an idea didn't fit in a specific part of the story I could easily move it. I regularly rearranged entire arcs as I was working on this fic.

I don't have a photo of the backside, but that's where I wrote down character information, as well as plotting out the overarching narrative of the story. This will all make a lot more sense once the fic is out!

I hope this explanation has been helpful for you! Finding the right strategy takes time and lots of trial and error, but if you try either of these let me know how it goes for you! (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) ♡

Thank you again for the lovely ask!!

[thisselflovecamebacktome]

Anne of Green Gables: The first impressions of someone reading the series for the first time in 2024.

To start this off, I'm just going to preface it with this is not going to be an academic/professional essay. Realistically it'll be closer to dotpoints and free flowing thoughts that jump around the place. It is also not official or objective or anything else, just my thoughts and feelings. Argue with the wall if you disagree lmao. I will also note that nowadays I am primarily a non fiction reader and that it's been long since this has been my genre of choice, but I had all the books on my shelf and want to read everything on my shelf at least once lmao. I went into this series with a vague idea of the plot around the first novel and knew that Gilbert and Anne ended up together, but that's it. I also read the books in Anne's age order, which, according to Wikipedia, was:

Anne of Green Gables

Anne of Avonlea

Chronicles of Avonlea

Further Chronicles of Avonlea

Anne of the Island

Anne of Windy Willows (yes I am Australian so I own this as opposed to Windy Poplars)

Anne's House of Dreams

Anne of Ingleside

Rainbow Valley

Rilla of Ingleside

The Blythes Are Quoted

So I guess a good place to start off my thoughts is to note the obvious: This was not the release order of these books. And that is super interesting to me.

Firstly, I want to applaud Lucy because I feel like often times when writers write a novel in a series in which the new novel happens chronologically before ones that came before it, it is made clear in a bad way that that's the case. However, had I not known this was not the chronological order beforehand, I never would have questioned it while reading. It also makes me want to talk to someone who was a fan of these books as they were being released and ask them what they thought about the books coming out in that order then. However, I am well aware that most if not all people in the world who fit that category have unfortunately passed on by now.

Secondly, I think this is particularly interesting in regards to Rilla of Ingleside and the two books that followed within Lucy's lifetime. I don't think I need to explain to anyone who has read the books that there is a massive tone change in Rilla of Ingleside comparative to all of the other books (barring the poetry in The Blythes Are Quoted) within the series. Given the timing of the books that followed, it would make sense to me that war was on Lucy's mind; that the war to end all wars did not in fact end all wars. It would have made sense to write a Rilla of Ingleside 2 exploring that given the circumstances, and yet she went back to Anne and comparatively happier times within the Anne of Green Gables universe. I am neither saying that is the wrong or right choice, just that it is very interesting to me. I do know that Lucy died before the war ended, so perhaps had she lived longer, she would have knowing that the allies won, but we'll never know and again, I find that very interesting.

As for my enjoyment of the books themselves, I think that with the exception of Rilla of Ingleside (which is a top 3 book of the series for me), there's a reason why the series revolves around Anne. I think she is the star of the show and I found that I enjoyed the books that heavily featured her far more than the ones that did not. I would say this to the point where if I were to reread the series, I would read any of the books starting with “Anne of” and Rilla of Ingleside and leave the rest, and to be honest, I would probably recommend that to any of my friends who haven't read the series if they felt they didn't vibe with the side characters in the first two books.

What I do appreciate the side books for is how they show that, intentionally or not, there is narrative bias and unreliable narration in the other books when it comes to how the Blythes are perceived. Throughout the Anne books, I always got the impression that while yes, people did see Anne as weird, most people came around and ended up befriending her or at least otherwise seeing her positively and that Gilbert was mostly liked. However, on top of The Blythes Are Quoted flat out saying that Anne was not liked by many, I found it interesting that a lot of the books from other points of view really showed Anne to be an annoying gossip to a lot of people and Gilbert to be quite harsh; even to the point of abuse rumours. Even in Rilla of Ingleside, we see Gilbert putting his foot down with Rilla about her responsibility in keeping the child in a way that I'd argue we don't with his interactions with Anne. The closest we get to that is the end of Anne of Ingleside where he is that overtired and embarrassed that his gift for Anne did not come on time that it came off to Anne as apathy. From memory, most to all other occasions in regards to Anne show him as stubborn but ultimately very caring and right. This difference in perception fills out the world and makes it feel a little more real, which I appreciate.

My main takeaway from this series, and I think a highlight of it, is to look at it from a lens of 'How is this different than the society I live in now?'. And the honest truth is is that it's not as different as I was expecting. There are a lot of ideas and plots in these books that are very progressive; even in 2024. Like let's be real, comparatively, there are not a lot of books that deal with miscarriages, women in higher education, the themes of love explored (marrying for love vs money, whether someone coming back for you after being separated for years/after their partner died is romantic or being a second option etc) and the impact of war on those of us left behind (whether that's veterans or those who could not fight in the first place). I was particularly struck with the comment Anne makes in The Blythes Are Quoted implying that Walter likely would have killed himself had he survived the war and Jem implying that he himself was struggling despite not being as openly vulnerable as Walter was. And I imagine there was even less of these themes in books a century ago. Likewise, I found it interesting that Lucy did not play into the idea of the older generation automatically having it worse when she made the choice to have the Blythe children grow up in the war era. As I have mentioned, Rilla of Ingleside was far different and darker in tone than the other books (again barring the poetry from The Blythes Are Quoted) and it's such an interesting choice to make given that even to this day there is a sentiment that each generation automatically has it better than the last purely because their parents (rightfully) want them to have it better than they did.

In saying all of this, the progressive nature of a lot of these books just made the conservative/traditional choices all the more obvious and harder to swallow for me. The non Anne/Rilla books are the worst offenders for me (and likely the main reason I did not enjoy them as much as the Anne/Rilla books). Like obviously there are sign of the time differences that were interesting to me (lack of Diana/Marilla, even in mentions, in the later books despite Anne naming children after them due to travelling being less common and more time consuming back then etc) but then there were also a lot of times where I found myself reminding myself that these values were the norm when these books were written. The obvious culprit was the racial language used, but I also did find myself cringing at how anti psychology it could be at times (mostly to make spanking feel like the 'correct' option which is still unfortunately common in some areas) and making jokes to my friends about how I was about to bring out my inner Ms Trunchbull over how marriage was treated in the books. From having women apologise for having boundaries/emotions to marriage being seen as the goal in life, even if it's in the worst circumstances, to Anne primarily being known as “Mrs Blythe” or “Mrs Dr” the second she got married really stood out to me and were things I had to contextualise in order to be able to finish the series. I also want to note that this is the first book/series I've read that Lucy wrote and I have been told that a lot of her other works were not conservative/traditional in the same way which is interesting to me. I do wonder if a lot of it had to do with this being her best seller so choices being made that would appeal to the masses of the time. Outside of the books themselves, it did also remind me that there are books that are being written now that we see as progressive that our grandchildren will see in a whole different light, and made me appreciate how far society has come in that regard.

I don't have much to say about the books individually... barring Rilla of Ingleside of course. I recognise that this is the third time I am saying this, but the absolute change of tone and themes in Rilla of Ingleside makes it by far the most interesting of the books in this series for me. I remember feeling a bit gobsmacked the moment I realised it was going to be a war book. And then my heart sunk. Because, in that moment, I remembered Walter Blythe and the fact that I thought something horrible was going to happen to him the minute he got into that fight in an earlier book. I knew in that moment what was to come, and that it would make sense for it all to turn out like it did, but god did I hope I was wrong. Throughout the books they were part of, Jem was my favourite of the Blythe children, but as a super sensitive person myself, I have a very special spot for Walter in my heart and think that his arc is the best put together out of the Blythe children. Also as a side note, God is having Jem find out about Walter's death so much after everyone else a choice, and one that will live rent free in my mind forever; especially because we do not get to see him grieve as we do the others.

Outside of Walter though, I find it interesting and the correct choice that this story happens through Rilla; the spoiled, vain, somewhat selfish youngest child at that prime age between childhood and adulthood. And especially with her and Walter seemingly being the closest out of the Blythe children, it tells a story that I don't know could have been told by any other character; even Anne. I also think that having this tale be told from someone who was not actively fighting in the war feels both progressive in that it's a story that is less often told (especially in the perception of it being just as important as those fighting) but aged well in many ways while still being dated/a sign of the times. Lucy did not live to see a world where the horrors of war were broadcast to the everyday people (though it was made clear that WW1 was different than past wars, the Vietnam war was the first time what happened on the battlefield was televised/shown to the masses), so it makes sense that not only is Jem 'cheerier' (for lack of a better word) about his prisoner of war days than what would actually be expected, but that a large part of Rilla's role is promoting the war and pushing for others to enlist despite her feelings about her brothers enlisting.

However, where this book has aged particularly well, and perhaps may even feel more resonate to the current generation than Anne's books for it, is its commentary on waiting during a traumatic time and feeling like nothing and everything has changed simultaneously. Many of the things said about the characters feelings regarding the war, and particularly those not fighting, were very reminiscent of things my friends who had not experienced trauma said about the coronavirus era we are living in. They also reminded me of an analogy to war an ex professor of mine made during the height of coronavirus about how those not fighting ached for a time where dancing and fun would prevail while those fighting could not find it in themselves to be that and were traumatised into a far more serious personality. Perhaps this is why I find myself wishing that we got to see more of Jem post war, but the aforementioned conversation between him and Anne in The Blythes Are Quoted in regards to Walter and Jem's war trauma gave me that same feeling.

To end this off, I want to respond to a question that I've been asked and seen others be asked about this series. Is this a children's series? Ultimately I would say yes. I was reading very similar things from the ages of 8 and above. Does that mean that it is only a children's series though? No. Had I read this series in 2003 when I was 8, I do not think I would have picked up on and resonated with at least half of the things I have spoken about in post. Instead, my main takeaways would have been about how love is not always what you think it will be or where you think you will find it and that change is a part of life, as is grief, but so is love and beauty and that they will always come back, even at the darkest of times. And I think those takeaways are just as important as the ones that I have spoken about here. It is simply that I got those takeaways from other experiences in life before I got around to reading this series. And I think that is the beauty of this series. It is by far one of the most interesting fiction series I've read in a while and really has something for most people in my opinion. Though it undoubtedly would not be the exact same story if written now, the fact that it has remained a classic over 100 years since the first book was released demonstrates that more than anything I could say would. And as someone who is writing a novel themselves at the moment, I applaud Lucy for that because god knows that is not easy to do.

[trishmishtree]

A list of things I sewed in 2022

Last year I compiled a list of the things I sewed in 2021, except for some reason, I made the list in November so it missed some of the stuff I made at the end of the year, like my reversible apron and the cottagecore/modernized chemise a la reine, among others.

So this year, I figured I’d actually do my year of sewing in review at the actual end of the year. (Btw I have no idea if these are actually in chronological order. This is just the order I found them in on my blog, which is the order in which I photographed them.)

First, a needle holder made from scraps of fabric from old projects, because I was just keeping all my needles in plastic cases and desperately needed a better way to organize them.

Then I made a short underbust c0rset I drafted myself by tweaking the fit issues I had from the previous c0rset I made and self-drafted in 2021. That previous c0rset was based on a dress pattern that I got by tracing one of my dresses that I then used to make the silk satin dress I wore to a friend’s wedding. (Yes, this c0rset was made with the same navy blue silk satin I used for the dress. No, the two projects have nothing to do with each other, as the dress was not made to be worn over a c0rset.) It has a zipper front and laces completely up in the back since it’s not meant for waist reduction. I use it as a back brace for days at work when I’m expecting to spend a lot of time standing.

Then there were the first regency shift, short stays, and partially bodiced petticoat that I made and never got around to using for anything because the silhouette wasn’t right for the 1810-1815 era gown I want to make. I still have them hanging in my closet for when I finally get around to making something from the earlier 1790s-1805 era. The partially bodiced petticoat is absolutely necessary because I made the stays a little too long and they rise above the mid-bust level and make lines. The shift works fine for this set of stays, but it’s just a tad tight in the bust to work with later stays that lift the bustline much higher.

Because the regency short stays weren’t the right shape and height for the 1810s look I was aiming for, I made another set of regency stays after that. This I made and immediately hated because the silhouette was all wrong. I used the Bernhardt pattern but didn’t get the bust and hip gusset shapes right, and I used bias tape for binding, instead of straight grain binding, so the whole top edge stretched out and flattened my bust instead of lifting it. I also found out that the Bernhardt stays pattern just inherently doesn’t work if you have scoliosis at the level of your spine where you take the measurements needed for scaling this pattern. These stays are now in my scrap bag because I harvested the boning and lacing from them for the new and improved pair (discussed below but not pictured, for decency reasons).

After that came the historybounding Victwardian shirtwaist and skirt that I made this summer. The floral skirt is a calf-length full circle skirt with a pleated back and is my absolute favorite skirt in my wardrobe, if only for the sheer amount of work that went into making it. The only issue is that I miscalculated when I was cutting out the waistband, so it ended up about 1 inch too short. It’s still wearable though, and I don’t mind it too much because the slightly tighter waistband means that the weight of the back pleats won’t drag the back of the waistband down. Alas, I don’t wear it all that often because I spend all of my waking hours either in a hospital where I wear scrubs or in a doctor’s office where people cough on stuff. While the skirt is machine washable, it’s a nightmare to iron, and the sateen weave warps with every wash. The blouse I’m much less fond of because it’s too poofy for daily wear, and the lace collar is annoying to deal with because it somehow manages to gape and choke me at the same time.

Then I took apart my purple floral skirt from 2021 and remade it because I have control issues and perfectionism issues and there is a long list of problems I had with the original skirt and wanted to fix:

Because my first attempt at a Victwardian shirtwaist was only minimally successful, I took another attempt at a historybounding blouse, this time with a Peter Pan collar and tucks instead of lace. I did go back and reposition the sleeve gathers after taking this picture. Still not entirely happy with the sleeves because I prefer 3/4 length or elbow length sleeves, so I tend to roll these up when I wear them. Also not entirely happy with the positioning of the collar. I feel like it should be higher up on the neck and sloped, not flat against the collarbone area, so I kind of want to make a set of detachable Peter Pan collars that I can wear with different outfits.

Then in August-September, I made the Capetember cape while working inpatient for a month. I didn’t end up wearing this one as much as I thought I would, mostly because it’s too short to curl up and wrap myself up to lounge in. But it did keep me warm for the like 2 slightly chilly days of autumn we had this year. Next time I’m including arm slits for practicality.

My first attempt at Edwardian/late Victorian combinations took 2 solid weeks.  The combinations themselves didn’t take all that long to assemble or drape on myself, but what sucked up most of that time was the amount of hand embroidering I took upon myself to do because I couldn’t find the right kind of beading lace to go on the waistband and leg cuffs. The combinations are based on the extant from the Met. I think I ended up making the straps too short because it’s not blousing at the waist quite right. The waistband lace is pretty, but it’s too bulky to wear under c0rsets, and I cut the buttonholes too narrow for the ribbon to come through without puckering and folding on itself. The drawers overall are just not full enough and bunch too much in certain places, so if I ever make this again, I’m going to try the Laura Baldt Clothing for Women circular drawers pattern instead. I would also go for a thinner, drapey-er fabric next time.

Then I made another c0rset. This time it’s an Edwardian S-bend c0rset based on the Aranea Black Tulip pattern. It’s made from a heavy cotton canvas with an outer layer of silk shantung. It’s also the first c0rset I’ve made thus far that actually has a metal split busk, which makes getting in and out of it way faster. It still needs some hip padding to fit properly, so that’s going to have to be a project for next year.

The S-bend c0rset doesn’t actually fit without a bust improver, which I made from stash/scrap fabric based on the LACMA extant:

And then I finally circled back to the regency era to make a new set of stays to redeem myself. They’re definitely an improvement on the old pair, but I can’t post pictures because it’s an underbust design, and the historically inaccurate cotton voile shift I’m wearing under them is completely sheer. So you’re just going to have to enjoy this photo of the new fully bodiced petticoat that I also made around that time and am wearing over it for modesty. (You can also barely see how the shift is just ever so slightly compressing my bust down because the new stays lift it into a higher position than the shift has room for.)

And then, since I was in the business of doing everything twice when it comes to regency costuming, I made another regency shift. This one is made from 100% linen (but probably not as sturdy as 19th century linen). It makes for a really comfy nightgown too.

And then, I finally got started on the regency gown project that I keep referencing but never got off my butt to do this year. I managed to embroider and finish the bodice before the end of 2022, so I’m including it on this list even though the gown is still nowhere near finished.  (Using my hand as a censor bar because my new 1810s stays are really good at lifting the bust, and my new shift was being Opinionated today and didn’t want to help contain it.) The final gown will have a front bib panel that’s attached to the apron front skirt and will cover everything that’s currently threatening to spill out of the neckline of my shift.

Not included in photos because I didn’t think they were worth photographing:

a seam roll I made from scraps of the purple floral and black and white chair slipcover fabrics

a set of fabric face masks I made from the last scraps of the same two fabrics. I haven’t worn them all that much, though, since they tend to fog my glasses and I prefer the regular blue masks

a couple of polyester satin half-slips that I made to wear under my skirts so they don’t cling to my tights when I walk

a mousepad I made for a coworker’s birthday

a wine tote and matching coasters I made for another coworker’s birthday

a couple of floral embroidery pieces I made for two other coworkers’ birthdays

an apron I made as a going-away present for a former coworker’s graduation

a fleece blanket I made for my cat

a pocket I sewed into the inside of my whitecoat so I could have my iPad on my person while rounding in the hospital without worrying about accidentally leaving it in a patient room

a newer, bigger, studier tote bag to replace the one I made in 2021 (nothing happened to the old one, I just wanted a bigger bag for work)

an alteration I made to improve the fit of a dress I’ve owned since 2017 that had since shrunk in the wash and was too tight in the shoulder area

an Edwardian dip waist belt I made from the same floral fabric I used for the skirt above

Overall, this looks like a pretty good list for someone who sews exclusively by hand. With 33 projects/items made, and me working 12 weeks of inpatient shifts in the past year, I’m basically averaging about 1 project per week on the weeks that I have the energy for creative pursuits.

Looking back, it seems like about half the things I made this year were 1800s-1810s and 1900s underwear that no one is ever going to see. Hopefully I’ll get around to making actual clothes to go over these pieces in the coming new year.

[nenyabusiness]

8 - 17 - 31 - 72 , for the writer ask game ;)

Thank you!

Do you prefer the beginning, middle, or end of a story?

The beginning and the end, and if I had to choose between the two, then the end. That's often where my ideas start. I have one banger of a final sentence, and then I have to make the rest of the fic fit it. Sometimes it's the beginning sentence that hits me first, but the middle is always a struggle.

What do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

With ficlets and one-shots, I let them simmer. I don't participate in things like fic exchanges (sadly, people seem to be having a lot of fun with it right now) because I don't want to work with deadlines. I remember how I almost ruined piano for myself back when I was close to going "serious" (four hours a day, four hours of practice a day, who cares if you're crying in the practice room you need to get those four hours), and I'm not repeating that mistake. Writing is for fun, and I'm not pushing it. I let the idea simmer. If it's a good one, it'll come to me naturally when it's ready. That's why I don't take multi-chapter fics lightly, because if I decide to make one, I go all in. It's no longer just about creativity. It's a process and a commitment. The major difference between my ficlets/one-shots and my multi-chaps is that I only write them nowadays if I have a full, detailed outline created already, which means I only have to follow the notes of my past self. It's not the same creative process as my ficlets, so pushing it from time to time doesn't feel as dangerous. I use sprints. I use bullet points that I slowly flesh out. I discuss the part that I'm stuck on with other people. Sometimes I take a small break to read a lot instead, because reading does help you write (people seriously need to read more). And sometimes I just take a shower. Showers solve a lot of things.

Do you start with the characters or the plot when writing?

Neither. It's the concept. I guess "plot" is closer, but generally, they both come at the same time.

What order do you write in? front of book to back? chronological? favorite scenes first? something else?

Ficlets are all over the place, since the focus is often on my oomph sentences (I don't know what else to call them, but it's the one-liners that carry the rest of the ficlet). With longer fics and multi-chapters, it's front to back.

Thanks again!

[scoops404]

✂️what is your editing process? I recently started beta'ing fics and I am interested in this a lot

hoooo boy, what a loaded question

Okay, so, my brain has a mental block against "editing" so i have to carefully trick myself into doing it and it works like this:

For the most part, I don't write in order. I know ahead of time enough about motivations and themes to know how I'll end up writing things (mostly), but on a day-to-day basis, I write whatever scene jumps out at me and demands to be written (does this make any sense? no! that is my brain for you). Sometimes this is just bare bones dialogue back and forth, actually a lot of times it's that--it helps me make sure the scene is going the way i want because it's easy to get off track. then the first of my editing process is to go through and fill more of that out, connect it to the scenes before and after, add in a reference to something else in the fic (this works pretty well since I write so chaotically I can add foreshadowing in as i'm writing the thing it's foreshadowing). Sometimes I'll mess something up in another section with a better idea, so I'll go "edit" it to fit the narrative (this happened to me today, I had to take something out that no longer fit) -- I keep everything on a back up doc in case I change my mind back. It's must easier to cut things when they aren't truly gone and still accessible, I've come to find. I don't like the finality of things.

Once the majority of the fic starts to take shape, not necessarily completed, i'll go chapter by chapter (especially if I'm uploading chapter by chapter) and "finalize" it on my end and then send to my betas for a looksie. They'll give me good advice and then I'll go back through and change those things in the doc until I get their seal of approval. I don't like to send to betas until the chapter is as good as I can make it OR if something really isn't working and i need another set of eyes (chapter 3 of Deep in Dream was like this, Vic saved my life and made it much better and Alison does this all the time for things, Continuously Unraveling New Thoughts most recently when we went back and forth on different endings, Luci did this in The Mushroom King and the Nightmare and suggested I add more about George's dad at the beginning).

I think of fics I'm writing like puzzles and the actual writing part is making the pieces and editing is the harder part, which is sanding them down, hacking at them, until they fit. But if I have large chunk of something written and I'm told to go edit it, things break in my brain. I have to trick myself into it. And I can't do it chronologically at all, except like read throughs to make sure it makes sense and goes smoothly.

As for betaing, which your question seems like you're interested in how that part comes into play, I'm usually looking for feedback from betas, making sure things makes sense. I have a habit of writing strings of words that make sense in the moment but don't reading back, or don't outside of my brain and they'll have to go, "Um what's this? I don't get it" and i either cut it or flesh it out. I'm looking for "hey this is a plot hole and doesn't make sense" and for Alison to correct me on effect/affect and who's and whose which I am bad at remembering. Most beta/writing relationships work on trust and honest conversation up front about expectations and boundaries. There are days I'll send something and say "please be nice today I am fragile" or days when i'm like "there's something off here and I can't find it, what do you think? be brutal" - but it's very dependent on the people involved. Some people make great friends but terrible betas and that's okay!

Anyway I'm sure that was not helpful at all!

Thanks for asking <3