#could have do this on one canvas but i was too tired lol

[junespriince]

Little Sparkle au (3yo wally and 6yo Dick) let him play with his chems!!!!!!

an au inside an au bec Sparkles au (3yo wally) and little chickadee (6yo Dick) made into this lol

[skzdarlings]

verisimilitude ; hyunjin x reader ; one-shot

masterlist.

( READ ON AO3. )

You are a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon. Your best friend is an eccentric pretty boy. You accidentally send him an explicit video of yourself. What's the worst that can happen?

pairing: hwang hyunjin/reader content info: romantic comedy. best friends to lovers. curly-haired reader because mood. accidental sexting. accidental voyeurism. sexual tension. resolved sexual tension. very explicit sexual content. not so much dom/sub but hyunjin explicitly prefer control. sexual discovery. very horny leads lol. (word count: 19500 words.)

-

You look like Hyunjin’s lawyer again. 

Your best friend has gravitated to a somewhat more punk persona in recent years.  You say somewhat because you are not sure it runs deeper than aesthetic, though he would probably be forgiven on account of his perfect face.   His good looks combined with his natural charisma lets him get away with most things. 

His vibrant red hair catches the sunlight like a painted flame, a perfect stroke of red against the beige canvas of the art gallery’s exterior.  He is slouching against the wall, hands in the pockets of his leather jacket, squinting in the light.  He looks like a rather put upon a vampire given the dark garb and eyeliner. 

Then he turns his head and sees you.  You are wearing one of your usual blazers and modest skirts, your untameable mess of curls twisted into an updo that is fighting (and losing) against the wind.  You try not to feel too preposterous, peeling bits of hair out of your mouth as you approach him. 

He smiles.  Some people think his smiles look a bit smarmy and you suppose they are not wrong, his lips perpetually quirked like a punchline just occurred to him, but you know your best friend well.  Despite the intimidating ring of dark eye-make up, his eyes are alight with a great deal of affection.  If you were prone to sentimentality, you might concede a heart flutter. 

You clear your throat and march ahead.  He saunters up the path to you.  You meet halfway. 

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is the only person allowed to call you that. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say.  You lack his playful charm so you do not have a nickname to return.  You are more comfortable around Hyunjin than anyone else on earth, and you are still awkward around him.  “Thank you for the invitation,” you say. “I appreciate you might have otherwise wanted the time to yourself, so I hope I am not imposing by accepting.” 

He laughs.  When all you do is blink at him, stone-faced, he covers his mouth with a delicate touch of his long fingers, still smirking behind them.    

“Sorry, why wouldn’t I want you to say yes?” he asks.  “We always go to the new exhibitions together.”

You tuck back an errant curl only for another to whip across your brow. 

“Well,” you say, tucking that one back too.  “Since I am temporarily living with you, I thought my company might grow wearisome in a way it usually does not.  Familiarity breeding contempt and all that.” 

Though you state this observation with your usual pragmatic detachment, you are very insecure about it.  You gave this risk a great deal of consideration prior to moving in with Hyunjin.  You are only staying in his apartment’s spare bedroom for a few months while your disaster of a townhouse undergoes repairs (the upstairs bathroom flooded again), but you have never lived with Hyunjin before.  You are aware of your short-comings and you were very worried that your best friend was going to tire of you within a week. 

It has been a month now and he has shown no signs of despising your existence, but it is still best to brace oneself for every eventuality.  

He just smiles and puts both hands in his pockets. 

“Are you getting sick of me?” he asks. 

Another ringlet whips across your face. 

“Good grief,” you say, frantically pushing it aside.  “Of course not!  How could anyone ever get sick of you?”  What a preposterous thought.  Hyunjin just has to wink for the universe to re-arrange itself.  People adore him.  He is handsome and funny and charming and talented and intelligent.   You have known him for most of your life and you are still unearthing his many intricate layers.  As if you could ever grow tired of him.   “I think that’s the most foolish thing you’ve ever said,” you say with complete sincerity. 

He laughs some more, tossing his head back so all that red hair flutters behind him.  The wind co-operates with his hair, of course, working in tandem with the sunlight to flatter him. 

“Are you sure?  I’ve said a lot of foolish things,” he says.

You sputter when a curl flies into your mouth.  You push it away. 

“Yes, well,” you say.  “That much is true too.”  

He looks at you for a moment.  You can’t imagine why.  The sunlight is beaming right in your eyes and the wind is beating you to a pulp.  Maybe you look so hideous that he is contemplating a means of escape. 

Then one hand lifts out of his pocket, long fingers reaching for you.  It is very unexpected.  You stare into his face, a stoic mask concealing your confusion.  His eyes do not meet yours, his gaze on a loose curl.  He is gentle in the way he scoops it up and smoothly tucks it behind your ear.  A shiver erupts under the brush of his fingertips, that heart flutter loosing itself when his touch lingers. 

Then he smiles and puts his hand back in his pocket. 

“Sweet?” he asks. 

“Excuse me?” 

“Do you want a sweet?” He whips an open bag of gummies out of his pocket. 

“Oh.”  You look at the bag.  “Um.  No.”

“Are you sure?”  He shakes the bag.  “It’s your favourite.” 

“Oh.”  Your attention went awry with the race of your heart but you do observe the candy is one you enjoy.  “Okay. Thank you.”  You take a few and pop them in your mouth. 

He upturns the bag over his mouth, finishing off the sugar.  You hope your eyes don’t widen at the flick of his tongue.  Oh, it really is cumbersome when your nether region gets an idea about Hyunjin.  You try to ignore the heat down there.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he says, already striding away.  The man is at least 80% per cent leg so it puts him ahead rather quickly. 

You are too refined to scamper-and-scurry, but you might pitter-and-patter to catch up. 

-

You are able to lose yourself in the art exhibition.  You and Hyunjin share a meal afterward, discussing everything at length.  Hyunjin is a little quieter than usual so you apologize for speaking too much.   He is gazing at you, his chin is propped in his hand.  Surprise flickers in his expression when you apologize, but he recovers, waving his hand like it’s no matter. 

You return to his home and separate for the evening.  You to your studies, him to his evening work-out. 

You are in the apartment’s quaint living room when Hyunjin gets back from the gym.  He is an absolute sight, bare-faced, his red hair yanked into a half-ponytail.  There is a subtle, rolling musculature to his arms, proudly displayed in his sleeveless shirt, and he is glistening with sweat from top to bottom.  It should be gross.  You pride yourself on cleanliness. 

But good grief.  He is gorgeous. 

You are sitting cross-legged on the couch, comfortably dressed down in a sweatshirt and pyjama pants.  You peek at him over the top of your book only to find him already staring at you.  He is rubbing the back of his neck with a towel, his arm flexed.  When he catches you looking, his lips pull into a lazy smile. 

You duck behind your book again.  It is a poor shield, or maybe he is a cunning adversary, because your heart keeps racing anyway. 

“Whatcha reading?” he asks.  You can hear his slow approach.  The towel is tossed somewhere. 

“A book,” you say. 

“Funny,” he says.  He is in front of you now.  You have no time to strategize before he plucks the book out of your hand and holds it over his head. 

“Hyunjin!”  You muster all the indignant attitude you can.  “That’s not funny.  We’re not children anymore.  Return my book at once.”

“I want a hug first,” he says, his full lips in a silly pout. 

“Out of the question.”  You hope you do not sound as flustered as you feel.  “You’re disgusting.  Look at the state of you.”

“Please?”  He blinks his long lashes at you.

You stand up and try to look imposing, hands on your hips.  His smile does not diminish.  He waves the book in the air. 

You lunge, diving at the book and failing spectacularly.  He holds it out of reach, laughing, then he tries to wrap you up in a hug.  He smells like sweat and exertion and it makes you think of sex.  This is sufficiently startling enough to cause a fumble.  You spill backwards, a frantic hand thoughtlessly grasping for an anchor.  Your fingers hook in the neck of his shirt which has the predictable outcome of dragging him with you onto the couch. 

His more athletic reflexes kick in, just enough that he drops the book and catches himself with his hands.  He successively suspends his weight above you, which is nice, but you still thump your head on the arm of the couch, which is less nice. 

“Are you okay?” he asks when you hiss and grab your head.  The laughter has left his voice, replaced with genuine concern. 

“No,” you say, petulantly.  “A horrible sweaty man stole my book and beat me up.” 

He laughs, a twinkling sound that enchants you despite everything. 

“Poor baby,” he says.   “That sounds so disgusting.  Will a hug help…?”

“Don’t you dare—hmmf!”  He lowers himself and squishes you.  You can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of you, partially because he swipes his nose on your neck and it tickles, largely because his laughter is infectious.   “Oh,” you say, pushing his face away. “You are a horrible person.”  

He giggles with boyish mirth.  It is at odds with the man he is, all hard planes and sturdy lines, an unfamiliar twinkle in his dark eyes.  You look back at him, at a loss for words.  Even if you were the sort of person to confess attraction, you would surely seem strange for finding his dishevelled appearance so desirable.  

Finally, you push him, diverting your gaze with an eye roll. 

“All right,” you say.  “That’s quite enough now.  There’s a shower at your disposal and I recommend you make use of it sooner than later.  Go on, get.” 

He obliges, but not without a cheeky kiss to your forehead.  It flusters you more than a chaste kiss should. 

He just winks, because of course the charmer is unaffected by such an innocent touch.  Hyunjin is too gushy and romantic to womanize, but he is certainly liberal with his sexual appetite.  You had the displeasure of running into a one-night stand your first weekend here.  Hyunjin left for work and let her sleep, assuming she would show herself out.  She was a pretty chatterbox and she bounded into the kitchen to strike up a very one-sided conversation with you in your bathrobe.

He did apologize for that.  He knows you do not like unexpected visitors at the best of times, never mind first thing in the morning, and certainly never mind ones he knew intimately.   Fortunately, it was the first and last time you made scrambled eggs for his hook-up. 

You are not in the habit of hook-ups, to say the very least, preferring a serving of scrambled eggs for one.  You had one boyfriend a few years ago but he was not the sort of man to tackle you onto the couch in a sweaty, flirtatious tangle.  You would have bopped him on the nose for trying, in fact.  Hyunjin really does get away with everything. 

Your nethers are getting ideas again.  The territory below your belt is usually well-behaved but unfortunately it lacks any sense when it comes to Hyunjin.  More time spent in proximity appears to be worsening its condition. 

You assume a blank face in the hopes of concealing any trace of arousal, watching Hyunjin amble his sweaty way to the bathroom. 

Oh dear.  You are very wound up.  Something will have to be done or you will never sleep tonight. 

You are blessedly granted an opportunity to satisfy your baser urges when Hyunjin emerges fully dressed for an evening out.  Some friends are at a bar down the street and they invited Hyunjin to join them.  Hyunjin tries to cajole you into joining him, promising it’s just a few drinks and teasing that your book won’t go anywhere, but your book is not how you intend to pass the time alone so his encouragement does not tempt you.  

“I’ll be back soon,” he says, shrugging on a leather vest.  His back is to you so you openly admire his form, his arms on display, his long legs, his ringed fingers as they gather his hair to tie in a knot.   He turns around before leaving, giving you one last finger-wiggle wave and a bounce of his eyebrows. 

He looks sinfully good.  You hope you look casual.  Innocently awaiting a quiet evening. 

Fifteen minutes later you are sitting in front of the full-length bedroom mirror, admiring yourself in a white satin babydoll.  Flaws like frizzy curls or unflattering shapes seem insignificant in the soft lighting and lingerie.  Your curls seem curlier, your face lovelier, your body more tempting than ever.

Though the idea of pursuing a real fling is mortifying, you lament the lack of company in an abstract way.  You feel pretty and ready and wound up.  When such a fancy strikes, the best form of satisfaction is found in self-appreciation.

The taboo of filming yourself always triples your arousal.   Even if there is no real audience, you can’t help but feel regarded. 

Eyes closed, phone camera filming, you imagine a certain pair of dark eyes on you.  You make the vaguest attempt to think of something else, peripherally aware that you shouldn’t fantasize about your best friend like this, but the attempt is useless.  It will always be Hyunjin.  Hyunjin with his fiery red hair, his smirks, his expressive brows and dark eyes.  Hyunjin’s hands, his fluid hips, his athleticism.  Hyunjin in black and leather, so contrary to your modest simplicity. Hyunjin sweaty and raw and determined, pinning you under him. 

Hyunjin, the person you know and like and love more than anything. 

You lift the babydoll and twist, filming yourself through the mirror, showing where a thick toy disappears inside of you.  You rock a little, so wet you can hear it, every nerve tingling as you become someone else in your reflection.  With the apartment to yourself, you don’t restrain any noises, especially when you sit back and fuck yourself with the toy.  You stop filming because you need that hand to finish, but you are so close that it only takes a few touches to climax. 

You slump back, satisfied for a while, then a little embarrassed.  You have a quick shower then climb into bed where you can’t help but watch your video.   You imagine a particular someone else watching it and it winds you up all over again.  You are still wet and sensitive, your fingers slipping smoothly into your shorts.  Your put the phone down and think of Hyunjin’s long fingers, his breath on your neck and his lips grazing your skin as he works his lovely hand inside you. 

When you are finished, truly finished, you feel momentarily miserable in your loneliness.  You try to imagine a version of yourself that went with Hyunjin to the bar, but even that fantasy only gets you so far.  Nothing would have happened.  Nothing has ever happened.  

Hyunjin interrupts your wallowing stream of self-pity.  He texts you a rather exasperated-looking selfie, captioning it with, I miss you, I’d rather be at home.  

It makes you smile.  It is probably foolish, but suppressing it is useless so you surrender to the warm glow in your chest. 

You text back a heart.  He replies, you never told me what you were reading.   He must be truly bored if he is texting about your books, but you dutifully reply like there is nothing unusual about the question.   He sends back a smiling emoji and a string of hearts.

You fall asleep after that.  You wake in the morning to a slew of missed text messages, Hyunjin insisting that he is having the worst night of his life because you didn’t come with him.  This is nonsense, of course, but he attacks you with an arsenal of teary-eyed emojis so you send an obligatory heart his way.  You are too sleepy to formulate a rejoinder, much less type one, so it will have to suffice. 

You click through your phone to wake up, still foggy after exhausting all notifications.  You open your photo album and find your video from last night.  You click on it just as a message alert swings down.  You instinctively swipe it away, but your clumsy finger opens the messenger.  You click around a little haphazardly, finger flying everywhere. 

After a bit of sleepy swiping, you close everything then check the message.  The text you just swiped was from Hyunjin, some goofy good morning remark with a squinty-eyed selfie under it.  Hyunjin does his make-up so severely these days so you like his softer, bare-faced selfies, especially because you know he sends them to no one else.  He will post elaborate photos all over his social media, but the simple stuff is for you. 

But you have no time to enjoy the selfie, because you are distracted by your own unwitting reply. 

Oh no.

You snap up so quickly that it nearly causes whiplash.  You are wide awake now, staring at the paused video of you in a white satin babydoll. 

You slap a hand over your mouth.  For a long moment, all you can do is stare.  Your head feels fuzzy, a radiating aura of fantastical insanity clouding your periphery.  Then you realize it is actually just your hair, because you fell asleep so suddenly and didn’t put on your bonnet. 

You look in the mirror.  You look like someone electrocuted you.  Fitting, because that’s what you feel like. 

Your phone buzzes.  In your silent but sublime mania, you dropped your phone facedown on the blanket.  You are tempted to hurl the demonic device across the room but that will solve nothing.  

You pick up the phone.  This is probably what execution feels like. 

Hyunjin, perpetually artistic in every capacity, even the literary, summarizes the exchange with one poetic text:

?!     

You fling yourself facedown on the bed and kick your legs like a petulant child.  The sky does not open, you are not struck by lightning, and the earth does not gobble you up, so you roll over and shakily type a reply. 

That was an accident, you write.  Surprisingly, once you start typing, it is hard to stop.  You continue:

Oh my good gracious, Hyunjin. 

Hyunjin, I am so sorry.  I cannot apologize to you enough. 

I assure you that was a complete accident.

I would never accost you so unsuspectingly with unprovoked licentious content.

An ellipses appears in the corner, Hyunjin typing a reply.  It feels like your stomach has folded in on itself.  You lay there with your hand cupped over it, willing yourself to explode.  But no, it would be very rude to explode in Hyunjin’s spare bedroom.  Bad enough you have attacked him with your inappropriate spank fodder, it would be uncouth to make him clean your spattered guts off the wall. 

Hyunjin finally replies, that makes sense… you aren’t the unprovoked licentious content type usually…

I assure you I am not, you reply.  I keep these videos to myself.  I would never intentionally spring them on you.

There’s more than one?? he replies, and you are mortified all over again.  Maybe you should just explode after all.

I assure you I will keep those where they are, you reply.  I cannot apologize enough.  If you want me to leave, I will pack my things immediately.  You are not one for extreme emotion, but you feel an unfamiliar stabbing in your eyes.  You realize with horror that it is the threat of tears as you imagine Hyunjin banishing you from his life forever.  Other people come and go but there is only one Hyunjin.  He is irreplaceable in your esteem, even if he dresses like a goth Las Vegas showgirl.

His replies come flying in, one after the other:

Whoa whoa

it’s okay

calm down

pretty girl hey hey hey

I don’t want you going anywhere

You take a breath and calm yourself.  You do Hyunjin a great disservice by thinking he would destroy your friendship over an accident.  You blame your embarrassment for your poor rationality. 

I should be apologizing to you, he says.  He continues swiftly: 

I kinda clicked on it…? 

I didn’t know what it was.  But I stopped once I did

I feel really bad

See baby now we’re both embarrassed idiots <3     

You can’t help but laugh, just a little, the entire mishap suddenly comically preposterous.  You smile fondly at your phone.  The unexpected address of baby gives you a heart flutter, but then the rest of it makes you pause.  A different embarrassment creeps into the corner of your brain, something gross and mean that interprets his words ungenerously.  Stopping would be the gentlemanly thing to do, so you should commend his restraint.   Still, some half-insane part of you is offended that the only emotion it invoked in him was “bad”. 

It made him feel bad.  Goodness.  Talk about an ego blow. 

The least you can do is soothe his conscience.  You have already put your foot in your mouth, not to mention toys in unspeakable places, so you figure another penetrative misstep cannot hurt the situation.   You write, I don’t mind you watching it.  I just feel horrific for sending it in the first place.  I really am sorry.

The ellipses appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears.  Then appears.  Then disappears. 

You start to wonder if you should check on him.  He is just one room over, after all.   But you would rather explode once and for all than face him right now. 

The buzzer goes off in the main room, signalling a visitor outside. Hyunjin finally texts, one sec.  Then you hear him clamouring around in the next room.  Hyunjin is very graceful when he deigns to apply himself but other times he has the equilibrium of an overgrown gazelle.  All those limbs clatter around his bedroom and you think he knocks a lamp over. 

It sounds like the visitor is just a package delivery.  You leave him to his devices.  In the face of chaos, routine is a reliable companion.  You get up to dress yourself for the day.  Your hair is trying to force its way into a new dimension so it should take a while to fix.  

Everything will be fine.

-

Everything is fine until it is not.   Well, Hyunjin’s complexion is red as his hair when you meet face-to-face, but he recovers with an expected degree of poise and equanimity.  Despite your own internal chaos, you feign a similar indifference. 

Verisimilitude, you tell yourself.   Pretend everything is fine and everything will be fine. 

You think there might be an undercurrent of awkwardness to your interactions, but your social ineptitude makes it difficult to discern.  Your usual frankness fails as deliberately enquiring after Hyunjin’s opinion would consequently highlight the very issue you are striving to ignore.  Verisimilitude means nothing if you look him in the eye and ask if your pussy has made the friendship awkward.   

After a few days of polite camaraderie, you opt to solve your problems by running away.  You inform Hyunjin you will be occupied with a research project and thus mostly absent for the duration of its completion.   By the time you emerge from the depths of the university library, hopefully this entire embarrassing situation will be forgotten.    

You throw yourself into your academic distraction.   A truly comprehensive research project encompasses obstacles, minute quandaries you inevitably resolve, but this time it feels like there are no answers to be found.  No resolutions, no conclusions. 

Your anxiety is ultimately exacerbated.  Even your dreams suffer.  You wake multiple nights in a row from nightmares caused by stress.  Your usual pragmatic thoughtfulness abandons you in the dark, every shadow just another terror waiting to unleash itself. 

You wake from yet another nightmare.  Your heart is palpitating and you are too hot under your covers.  You kick to freedom and swing out of bed, whipping your silk bonnet onto the floor in a rare display of aggression.  You are frustrated with your seemingly inescapable burdens.  You want to pick up your phone and text Hyunjin despite the late hour, but that is the one thing you vehemently cannot do right now. 

You sigh and leave bed.  It is the middle of the night so you cannot start the day, but maybe a glass of water will refresh you. 

It seems your friend had the same idea.  Hyunjin is puttering around the kitchen when you stumble into the soft golden lamplight.   

“Hey,” he says, not unfriendly but maybe a little uncertain. 

“Hello,” you duly reply.

You are definitely awake now.  Hyunjin is standing there wearing a pair of black boxers and a t-shirt.  His red hair is loose around his bare face, unkempt but somehow still charming.  He is so effortlessly beautiful.  You feel like a mongrel in your baggy shirt and panties, your hair down like a messy lion mane. 

You try not to stare at him, meeting his gaze politely only to find him blinking quite wildly, a stuttering breath spilling over his full lips.  He clamps his mouth shut and returns your stare, smiling a thin smile that does not reach his eyes. 

“Are you okay?” he asks. 

It is a thoughtless query, no doubt.  The sort of inane question one poses because decorum dictates it is appropriate chatter.  Are you okay.  Yes, how are you. 

But you are looking at the beautiful and completely unattainable man you are so irrevocably in love with, and you feel horrible and disgusting, and you sent an embarrassing video that somehow humiliated him even more than you, and even your reliable books and academic joys are lacking these days. 

You can count on one hand the number of times you have cried over the years.  It is not something that comes easily to you.  You are not made of stone, despite the occasional lambaste at your expense, but your emotions seldom manifest according to the unspoken rules of human conduct.  But right now your eyes strain and your throat feels rough.  You sniff and shake your head. 

“No,” you say.  “I’m not okay.”  

A single tear falls.  From you, that is practically a waterfall. 

Hyunjin snaps out of whatever trance had him so enthralled.  You cannot see him clearly through your watery eyes, but you feel his hands as they wrap around your arms.  Hyunjin is an artist, those long fingers deft and nimble and steady.  You shiver when he brushes your hair off your neck, when he cups your face in his hand and strokes your cheek tenderly. 

“Hey, hey, pretty girl,” he says.  “What’s this?  What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you say automatically.  You hate being a burden.  Feelings belong in bottles, not streaming down faces in salty rivulets in the middle of the night when everyone is in their underwear.  

But it is too late to spare your dignity.  Hyunjin is wiping away your tears and looking at you with abject concern, his expressive dark brows furrowed and his eyes so intensely locked on yours.  You heave a sigh. 

“A lot of things,” you admit.  “I’m sorry, Hyunjin.  It’s just stress.  My research.  You know how it is.” 

He does not look satisfied, all that concern still scrawled across his face.  He swipes his thumb across your cheek again.  Then he is pulling you towards his chest, arms open for an embrace that makes no demands but simply offers.  You are usually stiff and awkward when people hug you, but Hyunjin is not just people.  You fall into his arms and all but collapse there. 

Your next sigh is filled with relief, your head on his shoulder and your hands curled up on his chest.   He runs his palm down your hair, soothingly, his other arm secure around you. 

You do not know how long you stand there.  Long enough he stops catching his pinky on errant curls.  Soon he is smoothly running his fingers down your hair, a gentle rhythm that lulls you to drowsiness even while standing on your feet.        

“Come on,” Hyunjin says when he sees your drooping eyelids. 

You blink to attention, looking at him questioningly.   He gives you a quick smile then takes your hand.  To your surprise, he leads you to his bedroom.  The lights are off but the blinds are open and an ocean of blue moonlight floods the room.  It is bright enough you can make your way around his bed without stubbing any toes. 

While he folds back the bedcovers, you stop at his desk, brow crinkling at the scraps littering his work space.  His canvas depicts something floral, half-painted and oversaturated but clearly a bundle of flowers.  The rough sketches scribbled in the margins of his drafts do not depict flowers.  They are little portraits, some doodled distractedly with wiggly lines, and others more precisely drawn, painstakingly, almost lovingly.

That’s me, you think, looking at the woman who overwhelms his art.  It must be.  The unmistakable cascade of curls makes it irrefutable.  But the likeness is far too flattering to bear your full resemblance.  This girl is extremely pretty, even if she does have your quirky, lopsided smile.  Either Hyunjin has met your better looking doppelganger, or… this is simply how he sees you. 

“This is your room,” you say instead of that drawing is me.  It would be embarrassing if he denied it.  It would be even more embarrassing if he confirmed it. 

“Ha-ha, yes,” Hyunjin says, none-the-wiser.  He is arranging pillows for you.  By the time he looks your way, you are facing the bed.  He beckons you over.  “Come on,” he says.  “Like the old days.  It’ll make everything better.  I promise.” 

Your heart is working overtime in its rushing and pounding.  You shuffle to the bed, smiling your quirky smile then feeling even more feverish, thinking about him having your smile memorized.   Oh dear, why is that so deeply embarrassing?  It should be a compliment.  Maybe it is because no one else ever looks at you that closely, at least not with such affection.  

You are not good with attention.  You were bullied for your peculiarities quite badly in childhood.  Invisibility became something you sought, because the alternative was always much worse.  Attention meant derision.  If someone was paying attention to your half-smiles or awkward reactions, it was for the express purpose of mocking them. 

When you were ten years old, Hyunjin and his family moved in next door.  Those ramshackle houses, long weathered and much loved, leaned towards each other as if magnetized.  At the closet joining, the sill of your bedroom window touched his.  

An elderly widow previous owned his house. She had a puppy who would scamper up to that window.  You were quite devastated to learn a boy would be replacing the dog.  Boys and dogs were both slobbery creatures, but at least puppies could fetch. 

You were resolved to ignore your new neighbours.  You spared a fleeting glance at the moving van then occupied yourself with a book.  

A few hours later, your peace was forever disturbed.  A toy car flew in your window and landed at your feet.  You popped your curly head over the sill to face a dark-haired, dimple-cheeked boy. 

“Meet me downstairs,” he said.  He did not wait for an answer, dashing away before you could even blink at him.

You picked up the toy car and marched downstairs, determined to return it and explain to this boy, in no uncertain terms, that he was not allowed to throw things in your window, that he could have hit your head or one of your dolls, and unless he was prepared to offer financial compensation he should keep his cars to himself. 

The second your feet touched the lawn, he was there.  He grabbed your hand and dragged you off, already prattling about where he came from and where he was starting school and his favourite food and – everything.  You did not speak for a whole ten minutes. 

“My name is Hyunjin,” he finally said, after regaling you with the detailed events of his decade-long life.  “What’s yours?” 

You told him.  You also returned his toy car but you could no longer remember the script for your lecture.  He smiled at you, took your hand, and raced off again, towing you behind him.  

Hyunjin was very loved, even as a child.  It never occurred to him that someone might not like him.  He made friends so effortlessly.  His confidence was easy, his gravitas electrifying even at that age. 

His congeniality was infectious and you found yourself reciprocating his enthusiasm.  He was a natural showman and a creative visionary even at that age, coming up with detailed games of pretend with very involved storylines.  You ran amok in your yards, dressed in your costumes, and at night you giggled at your windows, close enough that if you stretched out every finger you could clasp hands.   

Climbing across that meager gap was an obvious inevitability.  When you were teenagers, your parents expressly forbade spending the night unsupervised.  The boy-girl dynamic concerned them despite your ardent protestations that it was not like that.  It just meant you got good at sneaking around. 

You sit on his bed now, remembering the many nights you curled up together just like this.  You would talk about utter nonsense and you would talk about your deepest thoughts, at least until the sound of your father’s footsteps sent Hyunjin hurtling back towards the window. 

There are no interruptions now.  You lay down beside him.  You squeak when he tugs you across the bed, pulling you closer to him.  You find yourself clinging to him, like you are suspended in that blue ocean of moonlight and he is your only life preserver.  He does not seem to mind, wrapping his arm around you, fingers tracing circles down your spine.  

“Your research will be fine,” he says.  “I wish I could help with those things, but I’m not smart like you are.  You’ll figure it out, okay, baby?”

You hope he does not notice how the pet name makes you shiver.  It really is quite unfair.  How is a person meant to maintain verisimilitude if Hwang Hyunjin is calling them baby so nonchalantly?

The flattery brings discomfort so you deflect.  “I’m not that smart,” you say.  “I’m just pathetic enough to waste my life in a stack of books.” 

You concede the self-deprecation is fishing for reassurance.  You burrow yourself deeper at his side.

“Hey,” he says sharply, tugging on a lock of hair so you look up at him.  He tsks and shakes his head, wisps of red hair appearing dark in the moonlight and falling into his face as he gazes at you.  “Don’t talk about my girl like that,” he says with another playful tug.  “You know what happens when people do that.” 

You find yourself smiling despite yourself.  Because, yes, Hyunjin has often defended you.  One time, when you were about fifteen, you were at his house with him and his school friends.  You were all in the yard and you excused yourself to wash your hands.  You returned just in time to see Hyunjin backhand one of the boys.  The boy stumbled then swung back.  Soon everyone was trying to pull the pair of them apart while they bit and kicked and swung at each other. 

When everyone went home, you and Hyunjin sat on his bed.  You were cleaning a nasty cut on his cheek, where the other boy’s ring broke skin. 

“Stop that now,” you said, because he was dramatically hissing and cringing while you rubbed ointment in his wound.  “You brought this on yourself,” you scolded him.  “I hope you learned your lesson.  There is absolutely no argument worth escalating to that degree of violence, you understand?”

“There is,” he said, pouting. 

“No.”  You pinched his arm and he yelped.  “There isn’t.” 

“This time there was,” he said.  Your mouth opened with a ready retort, but he interrupted, “It was you.” 

There was a moment of silence, your hand still on his cheek.  He was pouting into the distance and avoiding your eyes. 

“What was me?” you asked after a beat. 

“He called you strange,” Hyunjin said.  “And other things. I told him to stop and he didn’t.  So I made him stop.” 

It honestly never occurred to you that someone might stand up for you.  You hardly even defended yourself, long since resigned to the reality that some people were just not nice.   You were stunned into silence at your friend’s confession.  Only when he looked at you, a tentative sideways glance, did you clear your throat and nod. 

“Well,” you said.  “I am strange.  If you’re going to get into a fight, then next time make it about something worthwhile.” 

He smiled.  You smiled back.

You are quite certain you fell in love that day.  Curling up in his arms felt different after that.  You felt flustered and feverish, though you hid it very well.   You could not bear the thought of losing his friendship and, besides, it was such a cliché. You at your nicest still looked like the before shot of every romance movie makeover and he got stopped by model scouts while lounging in his sweatpants.  Cliché indeed.  That story never ended well.  You could not abide by it.  It was better to repress and deny those feelings. 

You are laying on his chest now, listening to his heartbeat, yours skipping erratically in your chest.  You think your affection has only grown more over the years, despite your effort to quell the brunt of it.  Those efforts seem ridiculous in the calming midnight blue, this comfortable little haven with no reality beyond the perimeter of the bed.  Your thigh drifts over his naturally, your bodies angled to each other.  He continues stroking your back. 

“Please don’t say those things again,” he says, his voice gentler in the calming quiet. 

“Sorry,” you grumble. 

“So many people admire you,” he continues.  “I… I do.  I know I’m a dumbass and my opinion isn’t worth much… but I think you’re the best.  You know that, right?” 

“Yes,” you say in a weak voice, feeling watery again.  You sniff.  “And you’re not a dumbass.  Your opinion means a lot.” 

His hand slides up and dives under all that hair, then he cups the nape of your neck.  You hide your face in his shoulder when he pulls you even closer.  Your palm is over his heart.  You feel the racing thrum. 

“Were you having nightmares?” he asks, because he knows you too well. 

“Yes,” you admit.  “The usual stress dreams.”   

“Poor baby,” he says, massaging your neck.  “I wish there was something I could do.” 

Keep touching me like that, you almost say, your frankness compelling you to blurt that vulnerable truth.  That his touch feels so good it makes you forget all your insecurities and grievances.  You will think clearly when he lets go, but right now his deft massage loosens the tension in your neck and shoulders.  You feel yourself go lax against him, limbs like jelly, and warmth spreading from somewhere low and deep within you. 

Your hand leaves his chest.  Dreamy and absent-mindedly, you reach to touch him like he is touching you. 

All you do is tuck some hair behind his ear, then trail your fingers ever so lightly down the side of his neck.  It is barely a caress. 

Despite the lightness of the touch, you feel his reaction.  Quick and unquestionable, his breath catches like he is surprised and his whole body jerks toward you.  Your leg is still thrown over his middle.  You can feel how fast he gets hard.

Men just do that, you think, even while remembering your ex-boyfriend did not react that way, not that fast, and not to that kind of touch.  You try to reason with yourself regardless, coming up with a million biological reasons why your best friend is getting turned on.  It has absolutely nothing to do with you wrapping around him in bed wearing nothing but a t-shirt and panties and tickling sensitive places on his neck. 

No.  It must be something else. 

Feeling awkward, you lift your head to deflect.  You force a smile and a weak laugh. 

“You cannot judge me in the morning,” you say.  “I am going to look awful.  My hair is going to be standing up in ten different directions.  You must promise me right now you will be gentlemanly and not deride me for the untameable monstrosity that latches onto my head overnight.  Do you promise?” 

He replies in a most ungentlemanly manner. 

He kisses you. 

His hand still cups your nape.  He pulls you close.  His lips are so full and his mouth so warm.  You must seem limp in comparison, so shocked that you just lay there, mouth and eyes wide open.  It is considerably more difficult to convince yourself this is not what it seems, that it has nothing to do with you.  Unless he is in immediate need of CPR.  Perhaps he is seeking resuscitation because he is feeling lightheaded. 

That is ridiculous.  It is you who is light-headed, eyes closing as you succumb to the dizzying dark.  He takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, opening his mouth against yours. 

For all that his kiss is very thorough, it is not overly demanding.  He coaxes rather than takes, all slow seduction as his lips take yours, as he sucks your bottom lip then licks at your open mouth.  He swallows down your gasp. 

It feels like his hands are everywhere.  In your hair one moment then around your waist the next.  You think you are floating but then you are being pressed into the pillows.  When you open your eyes, he is half on top of you, propping himself up on one arm while his other hand tilts your face up. 

A stuttering thought dances on your lips, your eyes wide and breath short.   Is this real?  This cannot be real.  Can it? 

That bemused thought, tangled in your breath, dissolves into a surprised whine – a pretty, mewling sound that you did not know was inside you.  You have never made that noise, not once, not even alone. 

Hyunjin draws it out of you, gracefully manoeuvring himself, his thigh pressed between yours.  He nudges your legs apart, somehow spreads your thighs with a gentle push of his hips.  Your shirt rides up over your belly and you feel so hot and flushed, realizing you are barely clothed.  Somehow, before now, it did not truly occur to you.  It was a mere observation as you fumbled through your various anxieties. 

Now it is all you can think about it, how vulnerable you are, how little there is between you.  You gather fistfuls of his t-shirt when he presses against you, when he keeps your thighs open with his own and brings your bodies together.  You make a surprised sound, embarrassed because you are so wet and so hot where he is so hard and touching you.  A million nerves come to life under his weight, sending sparks shooting to every extremity.  It is a lot.  It is so much.  Too much?    

“Hyunjin,” you rasp, clutching his shirt so tightly that your hands are shaking.  “Wait.” 

He stops immediately, holding himself above you. 

He is out of breath, his chest moving as quickly as yours.  His hair is as dishevelled for once, though it makes him look ruggedly sexy.  There is already a sheen of perspiration on his hairline.  His heart is thundering where you touch his chest. 

“Okay?” he asks, breathlessly.

You nod, taking a few deep breaths before your voice is under control.  “I just… overwhelmed… I think…”   

It all happened so fast.  One moment you were thinking about how he would never want you that way, and then suddenly he was kissing you like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

Hyunjin is something of a rakish libertine, but his partners are always so enthusiastic and friendly, all his pursuits fully consensual even in their brevity.  He would never use and discard someone.  He would certainly never use you.  But your heart is brimming with emotions and this is causing them to bubble and boil over.  You cannot, under any circumstances, be physical with him and just move on.  You do not work like that. 

You have written papers, won awards for your ability to string sentences together.  You cannot find two words to put together right now.  Nothing to explain why you have to stop, how you do not want to stop, how desperately you love him, why you want him.  Why is it so hard to say?  Is it hard for everyone or is this another peculiarity of yours?  It is always so hard to tell. 

You close your eyes and catch your breath.  He gives you space, laying down beside you while catching his own breath.  He runs a hand through his hair, smoothing it back. 

You look at each other at the same time. 

“I still want to sleep here,” you say.  You hope the words are enough.  You are not upset.  You still want his company. 

He nods.  “Of course,” he says, his voice rough in a way you have never heard before.  It sends an electric shock through your body, igniting between your legs.  You push your shirt down when his gaze wanders there and he swallows, hard.   He lays flat on his back and closes his eyes, his lips moving like he is murmuring to himself.  You think he might be counting. 

You lay back as well, looking at his handsome profile then up at the ceiling.  You are not sure that counting will slow the race of your heart or the muddled mess of your mind.   You try anyway, backwards from one-hundred. 

You are asleep before fifty.

-

You wake to a predictable mess of hair.  You yawn and stretch and scratch your head. 

Then you remember why your hair is a mess.  Why your bonnet is on the floor in a different room.  That you are in Hyunjin’s bed and last night—

You look at his side of the bed.  The shape of his body indents the sheets and the space is still warm.  He must have just left.  Your heart is already pounding like it wants to leap out of your chest.  It does not feel like the healthiest way to the start the day. 

You are not sure if you are giddy or terrified.  How do other people cope with the sheer inundation of sensation that is wrought by desire for another person?  How are you expected to carry it inside of you, all day every day, with absolutely no reprieve?  How on earth are you expected to walk into the next room and start a conversation with a man who had his tongue in your mouth last night, especially when that man holds a lifetime of friendship in his hands? 

At least the video you sent was an honest accident.  Verisimilitude will do you no good here.  There will be no pretending it did not transpire. 

You should have just exploded when you had the chance. 

You slide out of bed and cross the room.  You poke your head out the door.  The bathroom door is closed and you can hear the shower running.  You take the opportunity to scurry across the apartment, back to your temporary room where you close the door then slide down it. 

You turn yourself into a boneless lump on the floor.  Then you huff and stand.   

Something will need to be done.  Conversations will need to be had.  That is simply the rub of it.  If he clarifies it was all a physical reaction, you will politely inform him that such a dynamic will be impossible to pursue.   If he claims it was because he likes you the way you like him –

It doesn’t matter.  That will not happen.  You convince yourself of this, running several scripts through your head as you get yourself dressed for the day.  You have a conversation with your reflection in the mirror, making some very good points to the abstract Hyunjin of your imagination.  He is very compliant.  If only real people could stick to your pre-determined scripts the way their imaginary counterparts do. 

You stand in front of the mirror, assessing your appearance one last time.  Your hair is neat as possible, the more unruly ringlets pinned back.  You are wearing a modest sweater and a long skirt.  You slip into your shoes and finally leave your room.  You hope Hyunjin is still home.  You want to talk to him while the script is fresh in your mind and your appearance is composed. 

But then you see Hyunjin, making his morning coffee, also dressed for the day.  He is wearing all black, shirt and suit jacket and trousers and boots, with a sparkling slash of a silver necklace.  His make-up is breath-taking, severe but beautiful.  It leaves you slack-jawed.  He looks sleek and sexy, but still this side of rebellious with his vibrant red hair and dark make-up. 

You cannot help but stare, thoroughly looking him over before you blurt, “Wow. Why do you look so good today?”

A surprised little laugh bursts out of him, almost like a yelp

“I’m taking some photos today.”  His gaze is very intense.  Or maybe it is the make-up.  It makes your heart palpitate regardless, dark eyes fixed so resolutely on you as he smiles and says, “Thank you.  You look lovely, pretty girl.”

“Nonsense,” you say quickly.  “I look no different than usual.”

“You always look lovely,” he says without any hesitation. 

“Be quiet,” you reply.  He is already preposterously off-script. 

It makes him laugh again.  He covers his mouth politely, shaking his head as he pours his coffee.   He offers you some but you decline.  You want to speak your piece and be done with this awkward situation once and for all. 

Hyunjin takes a sip of his coffee, looking at you over the rim of the cup. 

This should be easy.  You have the words prepared; all you have to do is say them.

“I have to go,” you say instead, because your good sense flitters into oblivion and takes your words with it. 

Hyunjin chokes on his coffee, sputtering while you dash to the door.  Your purse is sitting on the shoe rack so you snatch it.  Your heart is racing like a prey animal, your predator a red-headed pretty boy wiping coffee off his chin as he stumbles after you.   He says your name but you ignore him, fumbling around for your keys. 

“I’ll be back after dinner,” you say.  “Lots of research.  Reading.  You know how it is.  I might lose track of time.  We’ll talk later, yes?  Yes.  Okay.  Goodbye.” 

He reaches you when you open the door.  You can see he wants to talk.  You know you should talk.  No good ever comes from prolonging the inevitable.  But you suddenly cannot face him. 

You know you are being cowardly.  You know it is unkind because he might want answers too.  But you are not good and open like him.   You are shut off and shut down and shutting doors. 

You stand in the hallway, the closed door between you.  Your heart is still pounding.  You take a deep breath then turn to leave.  You are halfway down the corridor when you realize you need your work bag.  Your purse has basic necessities but no study tools. 

You stomp your foot, frustrated with yourself and this stupid emotional tempest.  If only you were as cold-hearted as people said.  But you feel everything with so much burning intensity that you fear it will burn you down to cinders. 

You pace in the hallway for a few minutes.  It accomplishes nothing but stalling for time, because you cannot go anywhere without your bag.  You don’t even have your parking pass or library card.  With a resigned sigh, you glumly unlock the door and step back into the apartment. 

Fate has opted to spare you a chagrined return. Hyunjin is in his bedroom and does not hear you come in. 

You hurry to your room.  If you grab your bag and bolt, he might not even notice you returned at all. 

Unfortunately, you are a disaster. 

You were so frustrated yesterday, overstimulated and erupting at the slightest provocation.  Then your bag strap had the audacity to catch on the doorknob, sending papers flying.  In mature retaliation, you dumped all the contents of your bag on the floor.  It was a mildly satisfying expulsion of frustration at the time.  Now you want to shriek because it will take a few good minutes to organize and pack everything again. 

You lean your door closed, leaving it cracked just a sliver.  You plan another mental script, despite what little good it did last time, explaining to imaginary Hyunjin that you have deadlines and, yes, it is inconvenient, and, oh, maybe we should order take-out for dinner, yes, because everything is normal between us and no one needs to grapple with the onward progression of time and the subsequent shifting relationship dynamics therein—

You hear a creak.  You pause, kneeling by the door, holding a stack of papers.  You peer through the sliver to see Hyunjin, sighing to himself as he ambles across the room and plops down on the couch.  He leans forward, elbows on his knees, scrolling on his phone. 

You find yourself once more arrested by the sight of him.  He looks so beautiful but also starkly masculine, sophisticated but dangerous.  A gentleman and a bad boy and every other dreamy amalgamation of boy crushes. 

He tucks some hair behind his ear and you feel hot, remembering how you touched him just the same, remembering the reaction it garnered. 

You fantasize about a braver version of yourself, someone brash and confident enough to approach him.  He would look up at you with those smoky eyes, curious but wanting. You would touch him, that same simple touch, and he would rear up and kiss you with abandon once more.  You would not even need a conversation because action would speak for itself. 

Instead you are peering through cracks in doors, separated thanks to your own cowardice.

He touches his fingers to his chin.  Whatever is on his phone is causing a great deal of deliberation.  He turns off his screen and lays his phone facedown.  His contemplation looks almost painful. 

You want to comfort him because he is evidently perturbed by something.  But the longer you wait, the more awkward it will be to reveal yourself.

He heaves a great sigh, doubling over, his face in his hands.  He shakes his head.  He looks truly forlorn, so you finally lay the papers down and try to think of something to say.  You watch as he leans back, as he picks up his phone again.  He stares down at the screen. 

You are still psyching yourself up, preparing yet another useless script. 

Then he turns up the volume.  

You have rewatched the video you sent him more than once, assessing the details to torture yourself.  Maybe, also, secretly, sometimes… imagining him watching it.  Then shaking your head and turning it off, because he said himself it made him feel bad and nothing else.  So that was impossible. 

So why is he watching it now?

Because he is.  Unmistakably.  You know the sound of your own voice.  You know the sounds in that video.  You sit there, wide-eyed, staring at him as he stares at you – the you in the video, the you in white satin, the you moaning and touching yourself, fucking yourself while you thought of him. 

He puts the phone on his knee, not moving his eyes from the screen as he peels off his jacket and chucks it aside.  You can only blink, stupefied.  This does not feel real, just like that kiss.  Except that kiss was real, this is real, and you are watching Hyunjin as he slouches back and parts his knees and cups his hand between his legs.  He touches himself with those long fingers, fingers you imagined while touching yourself in the very video that has him captivated. 

He picks up the phone to rewind, all while undoing his pants then reaching inside. 

You realize he is about to get his dick out, right here, right in front of you, completely unwittingly, and that snaps you back to reality.  Far too quickly, because you make a surprised noise.

He freezes and looks up, first to the front door, then to your bedroom door.   You make eye contact very briefly. 

Then you slam the door shut. 

-

You do the only logical thing.

You do not go to the library.  Hyunjin leaves for his photography session and you pace your bedroom about a dozen times, then you sit down and write.  You make a chronological notation of every emotional turning point in your friendship.  You chart the data and sketch a few rough diagrams.  You arrange all the appropriate paperwork and laminate a few important spreadsheets.  Then you clip them all in a binder and pick up your phone and think of how to succinctly summarize three hours worth of deliberation.   

The facts fall thusly:

You accidentally sent your best friend a sexually explicit video of yourself. 

You granted him permission to watch it.

He watched it. 

You caught him in a compromising position with it.

You made a spreadsheet. 

Based on your calculations, the probability of Hyunjin returning your feelings seems fairly substantial.  But you are not sure how to articulate any verdict based on the facts presented.  Your spreadsheets contain data, not a resolution. 

Hyunjin is a romantic and soulful creature.  You wooed your last boyfriend with a portfolio but he was nothing like Hyunjin.   That courtship was an amicable affair and little more.  The break-up was cordial and tearless.  You shook hands then walked in opposite directions. 

A memory comes to mind. 

You and Hyunjin.  Starting university together.  Back when the world first offered itself to your young adult selves.

One day he skipped class and you went to check on him, only to find him curled up in bed in his baggiest sweatshirt, sniffling away.  He was blonde then, a burst of starlight in every room he occupied.  It was so strange and so wrong seeing him so grey and dejected.   

He laid his head in your lap and let you pet his hair.  It took some cajoling to get the story out of him.  His secondary major was dance studies and he spent months preparing a showcase.  Apparently his instructor did not offer him the same thorough critiques he gave other students.  You tried to say that was a good thing, but he insisted it was not. 

“He doesn’t think I’m worth improving,” he said.   “He told me I’ll get by because of my looks.  That’s the only thing I have.  No one really likes me or thinks I’m worth anything.” 

“I know it’s hard because you are a natural drama queen, but don’t be dramatic, Hyunjin,” you said.  “Plenty of people like you just fine.  They adore you, in fact.  And you are very talented.  It is not your fault if this one person cannot see past appearances.”

“It’s not just one person,” he said.  He sat up to wipe his tears.    

You sat awkwardly beside him, hands twitching with the desire to do something helpful but at a complete loss.  You never intentionally sought comfort, keeping your feelings to yourself, so you were bad at giving it. 

You put a hand on his shaking shoulder.  “Hyunjin,” you said, imploringly. 

“No,” he said, miserable, his face all scrunched up.  “Everyone leaves me when I’m not what they want, and I’m never what they want, because I’m just a worthless face and nothing else.” 

It was very strange to hear him express such a sentiment.  Hyunjin was always surrounded by doting crowds.  But you supposed he had his share of heartbreak as a consequence of knowing so many people.   He gave away his heart so easily and it was sometimes returned in pieces.  It did not stop him from trying again, which you always commended.  You wished you knew how to express that. 

“We’re friends, are we not?” you finally asked.  “I care for you very dearly.”   

“You do?” he asked.  Even his voice sounded wet.  You grabbed a tissue and shoved it at him. 

“Of course I do,” you said.  “Though statistically no one can be truly unique in every capacity, and friendships and relationships are often founded by chance and choice, I nonetheless consider your amalgamation of parts to be quite magnificent, and I find your character irreplaceable.  You are, indeed, very handsome, but also witty and playful, dramatic to your detriment but nonetheless entertaining, creative and soulful, and you have a defensive streak and natural bite, but a fragile heart beneath that, and I rather admire that.  I am afraid I will like you forever, regardless of our proximity or friendship status.  Such is the nature of affection.  Why are you still crying?”

You were immensely confused when your consolation generated more tears, but you accepted your best friend was an emotional riddle.  

Hyunjin has many layers.  You have always known this.  You told him as much.  You have done him a terrible disservice by assuming the worst, that he would be shallow in regards to you.  He has always exhibited a fondness for your own depths. 

It is more difficult to accept him finding your surface just as attractive.   It seems conclusive, though.  There is no shortage of sexual content in the world.  He could have watched anything.   So it is safe to say, touching his dick while watching you fuck yourself might have been a demonstration of a certain level of attraction.  Possibly. 

You sit on your bed, staring at your phone.  You jump when it buzzes with a text alert.  You open it, your heart skipping beats when you see it is from Hyunjin. 

I’m sorry for this morning, he writes.  

I can stay at Felix’s place until you’re comfortable okay..  Please just tell me

i deleted the video now.  and the message where you sent it.  I should have done that right away

I know you said you didn’t mind but still.  I should have just

just done it all differently

The messages come flying in one right after the other.  You imagine him a mirror to you, sitting somewhere, slouched over his phone.  Hair dishevelled from jamming his fingers through it.  A shaky breath on his lips.

You look up, picturing him across from you.  You want to reach across the space between you, stretch out every finger, and clasp his hand.  You never want to let go. 

Your phone buzzes again.  You read his words and your heart floods with more than desire.  Rich with sentiment, it leaves you more breathless than a kiss.    

you mean everything to me.

He is still typing.  The ellipses in the corner flashes.  You suspect he will send you an endless stream of consciousness if you do not reply soon. 

You look at your binder of data, then you look at your phone, then you look at your binder, then you look at your phone.  You take a breath.  The decent and logical approach would be patience.  To study everything you have compiled.  To see if he concurs.  To communicate the best way to move forward, what that looks like, and how it should happen. 

You are not someone who intentionally takes risks.  You are not wild and spontaneous.  You are not brash or confident.  You are not sexy.

Verisimilitude, you remember.  Act like it is true, maybe it will be. 

You type.  

Hello, Hyunjin.

His ellipses disappears.

It is true.  I sent that video by accident.  But I did grant you permission to watch it.

You open your photo album.  There is the video, so inconspicuous, one of a dozen.  It is not your most extravagant nor the longest.  You were too eager in the moment to prolong anything.  You could film it better if you did it again.  But it is nonetheless the video that started this whole thing. 

Even though you were not trying, the video turned him on.  You are hot all over, remembering how he warred with himself before submitting.  You remember the amorous look on his face, how desperately he watched you while touching himself.  He could not rip his gaze away for even a moment. 

You click on the video.  You send it with your next message.

This is for you.

You can keep it.

Then you take a chance and write, I want you to keep it.

There is a long moment with no reply.  Or maybe it feels longer because you are holding your breath.  You exhale with a whoosh and a breathless laugh when he finally replies.   

fuck.

are you trying to kill me

You smile, though even that gets you hot, remembering your portrait doodled in the margins of his art.  A lightness fills your heart, recalling that, picturing him now.  You can imagine his wide, startled eyes, expressive dark brows lifting as he stares at his phone.

No, you write.  You are not sure how to respond to a flirtatious overture so you opt for simplicity.  You are not one to colour your statements with unnecessary artifice so you state your intentions without colourful obfuscations.  To clarify, you write, I fully consent to you masturbating to it.  It is only fair.  I was thinking of you while I made it. 

You wonder if he is still at the photography studio.  You can picture him sitting behind the camera, waiting for the next set, his make-up touched up, his black ensemble pristine, and his face humorously contorted. 

so you are trying to kill me, he writes.

and i thought you weren’t the unprovoked licentious content type....

You are fairly certain he is playing with you, but texts are even harder to construe than verbal tones.  You tilt your head, staring at the message, imagining his voice.  The little ellipses flashes in the corner, then you smile when his next message comes through. 

I’m just teasing you baby. 

He knows you so well.  Years of friendship have fortified the affection between you.  You were so foolish to ever think otherwise.   Of course he can picture you like you can picture him.  You feel as if he is holding you in those steady hands, comforting you with that loving touch as the tension leaves your body.  You feel safest curled against him and you always have.  The only difference now is he calls you baby and your heart does a flip.     

I see, you write.  Well.

Technically that was not wholly unprovoked.  It was very much within the context of our discussion. 

This one, however, is entirely unprovoked.

You send another video.  This one you filmed a while ago, back in your own bedroom at your townhouse.  You are wearing a sweater he bought you.  The gift was touching because there was no occasion.  He saw it and thought of you so he got it.  And he knows your tastes so well, your fit and size and style.  He knows you prefer a more modest ensemble in the world.    

This video is not modest.  You filmed the sweater from every angle then laid down, wearing nothing else.  You held a vibrator between your legs and arched your back and filmed yourself, every whimper and sigh and breath.  You stopped just before coming, dropping your phone to focus on your orgasm. 

You send the video and wait.  His ellipses appears and disappears then he finally writes:

fuck.

You flop back on the bed, biting your lip as his rather frantic messages fly in one after the other. 

god. pretty girl. you know i'm obsessed with you right?

jesus we did all this backwards.  i wanted to be cool when i told you but I’m a stupid mess.

fuck I’m about to have my photo taken

hiding in the bathroom because christ

what are you doing to me

where are you right now??

After all that, you simply answer, In bed.  You realize it sounds suggestive only after the fact, but you do not retract it.  Nerves gather inside you, blending into adrenaline and anticipation.  You know him well but you are not sure what he will say now.  This is new territory.  It is exhilarating.  You do not remember feeling this way with your ex.  He was too much like you, so there was nothing to discover between you. 

Hyunjin is so different but he fits with you like a puzzle piece, complimentary rather than contradictory.  You feel sweltering hot, thinking he must reciprocate those feelings.  Maybe he likes your hidden depths.  Maybe he likes knowing it is all for him.  He is romantic that way.  So maybe he likes to see your articulate and intelligent self let go of inhibitions.  Maybe you like it too, becoming a body and sharing it with him. 

Show me, he writes, echoing that very sentiment. 

Be polite, you reply, mostly to buy time while you temper your racing heart.  It melts at his next words. 

Please.   

Show me you want me.  want this.  want us.

Pretty girl.

My girl. 

Please.

Okay, you type.  You are quivering but the sensation is not unpleasant.  Last night was overwhelming, so much at once, but this you can do.  This you want to do.  There is a breath of distance, so it is a step rather than a leap.  You are no stranger to aiming a camera at yourself. 

Before you prepare, you take a breath and write, You show me too.

You get an idea.  While he formulates his reply, you jump out of bed and hurry to the front room.  He has an array of leather jackets hanging by the door, because of course he does.  You rifle through them, looking for the one he wears the most.  It smells like him, that rich cologne, a hint of his hair product.  If your knees were not already knocking, it would send you swooning.  You clutch it to your chest as you make your way back to your room. 

You close the door, as if it matters, but this is between you and Hyunjin, the rest of the world insignificant. 

You strip down to your underwear then don the jacket.  You keep your hair pinned so you do not look like a mess, then you arrange yourself on the bed as neatly as you can.  You try not to overthink, even though overthinking is your speciality.  You pretend this is a video like any other. 

Except the scent of his masculine cologne surrounds you.  He is inside your mind, completely and irrevocably. 

You open your phone to a new message, a video from him.  The lighting is dark in the small studio bathroom, backlit in red.  It makes it all the more erotic. 

You have never unwittingly clenched.  You did not even know you could be so aroused that your body would form a mind of its own.  But you are, and it does, pussy very literally throbbing as you watch the video.  His artist hand, long fingers curling around the hard curve of his fly.  He lowers the zipper and you clench again, making that meek little whimper. 

Apparently you like watching videos just as much as making them.  You are a mess by the time he gets his dick out. 

You turn up the volume to hear his breathing.  You know he has to keep his voice down, but it makes his breathy little fuck all the hotter. 

Oh Hyunjin, you write.  Your vocabulary otherwise fails.  There is no other word. 

Yes please, he writes.

My pretty girl.   

Say my name. 

Your next sound is embarrassing and guttural.  You are a little glad you were not filming yet. 

You clear your throat and position yourself, holding the camera above you.   You start recording.  With your free hand, you touch the collar of the jacket.  You rake your teeth over your bottom lip then lower the camera.  The jacket falls open just enough to hint at every curve in contains.  You skim down your body.  You touch yourself and you are so wet and so ready that you cannot help but make another noise.  Unlike him, you are free to be noisy, so you do not restrain yourself. 

It feels so different, knowing someone will watch this.  You have never been so wet in your life.  You cannot even tease yourself, so desperate that you quickly push two fingers inside you.  Oh, dear, god, you really sound filthy, ridiculously wet as you fuck yourself with jerky little thrusts.

“Hyunjin,” you murmur, the name that has often perched on your tongue while you do this.  It feels so good to say it out loud.

You send him that much, continuing to stroke and fuck yourself while the video sends.  You close your eyes and stimulate your clit, rubbing and circling, finding a rhythm.  You need it.  You need him. 

Your phone buzzes and you turn your head.  You open the message.  You clamp your thighs around your hand, your pussy clenching around your fingers as you read his words. 

God I wanted to film it but I just came all over myself

baby you are everything

I wish I was beside you I need to say so many things

god..

pretty girl if I ask so politely will you come for me?  will you let me see your pretty face when you come? Please.

You do not type a reply because it is too difficult with one hand, and you will not stop touching yourself, not when you are so close. 

It is just a few flicks of your thumb to open the camera again.  You frame your face and hit record.  You come only seconds later, releasing such a desperate cry as you unravel.  It is so much yet not enough.  You thoughtlessly shove your own fingers in your mouth, closing your eyes, imaging it is his hand, his wet fingers dragging over your tongue.  You want to taste him.  You want to choke on him.  You just want to feel him so much that the rest of the whole world will fall away.  You don’t need to be anyone else.  You don’t want anyone else. 

You say his name again.  Your pussy clenches as if already trained to react to it.  You stop filming and send it, breathing hard in the aftermath. 

As your adrenaline dwindles, you feel a modicum of embarrassment, but no regrets.  Your logical brain does make a grudging return, however.  As much as you want him, you know if you rush into things that you will end up balking again.  You need a proper conversation.  You need spreadsheets.  You need to do it his way and your way too. 

But for now, you smile, giggling to yourself as you read his replies.  Half of his texts are unintelligible gibberish, the other half completely and utterly worshipful. 

Nonsense, you finally write. 

I’ll come home right now and prove it to you, he says without hesitation. 

Except by right now I mean in two hours, because I caught the train out here and it doesn’t leave until then.

Then you’re all mine. 

You laugh in spite of yourself, curling up in his jacket.  You take in a breath, the scent of him.  You type. 

I’ve been yours for a long time.  I can wait two more hours. 

Then… can we talk?

Yes, he answers quickly.  Absolutely.  I have so much I want to say to you.

Me too, Hyunjin.  

He caught the bus to the train station but you offer to pick him up.  He enthusiastically agrees, evidently eager to see you again.  You find yourself laughing, such a light in your chest that it cannot help but spill out.  You are somehow both anxious and excited, but so happy that you do not mind. 

When the details are settled, you lower your phone and look at your binder. 

You have two hours.  That is enough time to laminate a few more spreadsheets.

-

You tell yourself you will be resilient.  You are notoriously stringent and a self-identified no-nonsense curmudgeon at the best of times.  Given you have expelled the brunt of your sexual frustration, you figure there will be no problem.  You will meet Hyunjin at the train station, you will come home, you will share a meal and have a conversation, and everything will go smoothly from there. 

Except Hyunjin changed clothes.  It is not anything extravagant by any means.  He is in black jeans and a red shirt, his black dress shirt shrugged overtop. The wind tousles his hair just so, and his make-up has been redone, a little less severe but still so sharp.  It is more casual than you expected, and somehow that undoes your perseverance.

You are gawking at him, staring through the car window as he strides over.  He gets into the passenger seat like nothing is remiss, tossing his bag into the back.  He is wearing heavy boots that thunk when he sits.  He closes the door and looks over at you with a smile.

“Hi, pretty girl,” he says. 

He is so atrocious at keeping to your script.  Imaginary Hyunjin is much more accommodating. 

“Hello, Hyunjin,” you say. 

You sit there for a long time.  It is getting dark outside, which makes it easy to forget you are in a parking lot outside a train station. 

Then he has the audacity to be sweet, at such odds to his daring appearance.  He looks so rebellious and you look so meek.  He is all vibrant colours and dark slashes, while you are in a blazer and a long brown skirt.  Your shirt is buttoned all the way up to your chin and, despite your best efforts, your hair has come unpinned.  The wind has never been your friend. 

You are certain you make a funny sight, but he is not laughing at all.  His gaze is so affectionate but so warm, burning you up.  You gaze back at him, your heart already skipping beats.  Then he reaches out and tucks a loose curl behind your ear.  You remember him doing that at the art gallery.  He was looking at you then like he is looking at you now.  You realize you have been such a fool. 

You lean in at the same time.  This kiss does not even pretend at patience.  It is a hungry collision, his hand in your hair and yours on his chest.  You make a wanting noise when his fingers hook through the curls at your nape and he tugs just a little, just enough to move your head where he wants it so he can deepen the kiss.  He makes a noise too, something low and needy.  He licks into your mouth, far too hot and far too dirty for a parking lot kiss. 

You remember yourself, vaguely.  You break the kiss with a gasp.  Your fingers curl on his chest and his grip tightens in your hair.  Your foreheads touch.  The only sound in the car is your mutual rough breathing. 

“Right,” you say, your voice raspier than you expected.  “Um.  We should.  Go.” 

He nods.  But then he proves he is as evil as he looks, because he tilts your head and exposes your throat.  He leans in, presses his full lips on that soft vulnerable skin and kisses it so delicately that your whole body is wracked with a shiver.  He exhales, warm breath fluttering over your pulse.  Then he finally lets go and leans back. 

“Okay,” he says.  “Let’s go home.”

Home.  You have a discussion on that very subject upon arrival. 

Prior to departure, you arranged your papers on the kitchen table.  You deposit your take-out boxes alongside it, then sit down to eat and discuss. 

He furrows his brow as he holds up a spreadsheet. 

“Is this laminated?” he asks.  “You brought a laminator with you?”

“Of course I brought a laminator with me,” you say unflinchingly.  “What kind of question is that?”

He cracks a smile and nods, then waves you on.  He listens diligently to your proposed contingency.  You prepared index cards so you would not be distracted and led astray.  You are glad you did, because when he finishes eating he just stares at you, and he still looks hungry, but not for sustenance. 

You clear your throat and try to disregard this, but it is difficult.  You unbutton the top button of your shirt to breathe a little easier and he looks at you with more voracious intensity than a single button warrants.  You might as well have stripped down naked. 

You suppose you already have, halfway.  You swallow hard. 

“Look,” you say, lowering your index cards to speak frankly.  “The bottom line is this.  I desire you greatly.  I believe there is some reciprocation in this regard.  But we are living under a shared roof temporarily and I fear this may cause us to progress faster than I am ultimately comfortable.  I would like some longevity in our blossoming dynamic.  You are very important to me, Hyunjin.  I want us to succeed.  I would feel more comfortable if we waited to sleep together, at least until I am back in my townhouse.  That means no sharing a bed too.  When I am back home, we can properly date, and see how this grows between us.  What are your thoughts?” 

“When will your place be ready again?” he asks.  He is sitting back in his seat, arms crossed, looking thoughtful.  You appreciate he is not grabbing at you or immediately trying to convince you otherwise. 

You knew he would not pressure you. Regardless, you cannot help the skip in your bloodstream, the natural nerves that surface when he looks at you.  You have known him for years.  You wonder if these sensations will ever diminish.  Present research dictates no. 

“The last estimation was six more weeks,” you say.   

He smiles.  It soothes your heart.  You stare at his hand as it crosses the table, as he gently laces your fingers together and squeezes.   You blink up at him. 

“If you asked me to wait a year, I would,” he says.  “If you told me there were things you never wanted, we would make it work.  I’ve waited years for you, baby.  Six weeks is nothing.”

Goodness gracious. Exactly how is a person meant to be strict and curmudgeonly with this man?  He really is the universal exception to every rule.  You have just outlined your rubric and you are already considering breaking it. 

“Kisses are okay,” you say, hot under your skin.  Writing your flirtations was easier than speaking them.  Your tone is brusque because you are bad at this, but it just makes him smile.  “Maybe other things when the circumstances arise.  But we will wait for the rest.”

He lifts your hand to his mouth and places a soft kiss on your palm, holding your gaze all the while.  You are quite certain your insides turn to complete mush. 

-

It occurs to you in bed. 

You have long since said good night and retired for the evening.  You pick up your phone and sigh.  You are already skirting the edge of your rules, fully aware you are about to poke a sleeping beast but unable to resist.  The realization plagues you, the subsequent questions burning in your chest. 

And you are wet.  So, so wet, and so, so needy.  Because Hyunjin walked you to your bedroom door like a gentleman.  Then he kissed you like a scoundrel.  He leaned you against the door, his hand planted beside your head and the other holding your face.  He kissed you long and slow, like he wanted to draw it out, like he did not want to say good night.  Your hands were clasped together because you did not trust yourself to touch him.  If you did, you would have dragged him into the bedroom and regretted it later. 

But in the moment, it felt so right.  You are certain that no kiss, ever, since the dawn of time, had ever felt as good as that one.  He took his time with each gentle press, each touch of his tongue, each shared breath.  Your chests rose and fell in tandem, your legs turning to jelly where you stood.  He fiddled with that one undone top button.  You would not have resisted him tearing them all open. 

He did not.  He kissed you slowly.  He kissed you sweetly.  With one last peck, he whispered, “Good night, pretty girl.  Sleep well.” 

You could not find your voice.  You made a weak gurgling noise and nodded frantically.  He smiled.  You rather suspect he knew his effect on you, the rapscallion. 

Now you are in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about something he said at dinner.  You debate texting him.  It will open a floodgate.  You lower your phone a few times, but ultimately determine you will not sleep until you have settled your mind.

Hyunjin, you write, if you liked me for years, that means you were already inclined towards affection when I accidentally sent that video. Correct?

Correct, he answers with a little emoji face, one with a quirked eyebrow.  Why do you ask…?

I was just wondering…

If when I saw you was your first time watching it. 

The ellipses is there for a while.  Your heart is pounding in your chest.  You are certain this man is going to send you into cardiac arrest one of these days.  Then you will finally explode at the most inopportune moment.

You sink into the bedsheets, pressing your legs together when his reply comes through. 

Honestly… I watched it more than once.  I did stop when you first sent it. even though it got me hard in seconds.  then you said i could watch it.. and i honestly thought i was still dreaming.

You cannot help but laugh a little.  You turn on your side, smiling as he types some more.  Then his message comes through and you swallow, flush with heat. 

I tried to answer.  I tried to flirt with you.  I tried to be funny.  It all sounded stupid.  Then I got back in bed and tried to think of something to say… but god. 

god..

Baby what was I supposed to do?  if I resisted that they would have made me a saint. 

You laugh again.  You marvel at his ability to make you smile and get you hot at the same time. 

Did you masturbate to it?  you ask.  It sounds too frank to be seductive but you are not sure how else to pose the query. 

You really don’t pull your punches, he says.  You think you can somehow hear a smile in his words.

yeah baby, he writes. I did.  More than once. 

I see, you reply.  Okay, thank you, I was just wondering.  Good night.

The ellipses flickers again.  You release a torrent of giggles into the blankets when he sends you a very tortured looking emoji.

This is going to be a long six weeks. 

-

He is not wrong.  It is simultaneously the longest, most arduous six weeks of your life, but also the fastest, the most lively, and the most fulfilling. 

You spend the first week stealing kisses.  He is good to you, respecting your boundaries.  He never asks to share a bed and he does not initiate anything beyond your established desires.  He leaves space for you, his arms always open, but he does not force you. 

This is sufficiently more seductive than if he started yanking on your clothes in the corridor. 

You are watching a movie one night.  He puts an arm across the back of the couch but makes no further demand.  You settle under that arm, nestling closer at your own pace.  You are not watching the film, all your focus on him.  He has a foot propped on the coffee table, his arms spread across the couch, and he bops his head along to the music.  Of course, he does that even when the music stops, so you think he not paying attention either. 

Eventually, you succumb to the butterflies in your belly.  They flutter free with an exhale.  You touch his cheek and turn his face.  He requires little convincing, kissing you without a word. 

His foot thumps onto the ground.  You find yourself in his lap.  You do not know how you lose your head around him.  One second, you swear you are on solid ground, the next you are floating.  Someone should study this phenomenon.  You, yourself, have no idea how to parse its logic. 

You straddle his lap, your arms wrapped around his neck.  He is dressed in all black again, black jeans and a black t-shirt, his eyes still smudged with black eyeshadow.  It makes him look so utterly devastating, his eyes so dark and searching. 

It makes you bold, coming to life under the intensity of that gaze.  It is like some subliminal message passes to something rooted deep inside you, something primal and animal that he plucks with ease. 

You dive in for another kiss, burning too hotly under his gaze.  He cups your head with both hands.  He tosses little hairpins everywhere, grunting with displeasure when he finds them.  When you are completely free, he groans, a deep and ravaging moan as he buries his fingers in your hair and pulls you close. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, once more at a loss for any other word. 

He cannot even manage that much, nothing but a guttural sound leaving his throat.  It makes you melt against him.  Your body really has a mind of its own these days.  You find yourself rocking against him, making his breath catch. 

He tugs your hair a little more viciously, thoughtlessly, so entangled that it cannot be helped.  You make another ridiculous mewling sound that will embarrass you later, but in the moment it slips free. 

He holds you in place, palm cupping your head, keeping you steady while he rolls his hips under you. 

It makes you dizzy.  Your mouth opens and your eyes close.  You slowly rock back.  You dig your nails into his shoulders and you are amazed it does not hurt him.  But, then again, he is tugging your hair inadvertently and if that hurts you do not notice.  The seam of your own pants presses deliciously against you, the hard line in his jeans grinding against the softest part of you, again and again and again. 

“Oh,” you say, or rather sigh.  Your shoulders shake and surprise thunders into your racing heart.  You realize are going to come like this.  “Oh.  Ohh.”

“Yes,” he says, and holds you steady, and keeps rolling his hips until you come apart in his arms. 

You slump against his chest after, resting your head on his shoulder.  You can feel him flicking your hair out of his mouth, but he doesn’t complain.  You are breathing hard, clinging to him, still surprised you did what you did. 

Eventually you find a modicum of strength in your arms.  You somehow push yourself upright.  You deposit a single apologetic kiss to his shoulder, which is doubtlessly riddled with crescents from nail bites. 

He looks at you with a smile, a little breathless himself but evidently pleased.  

“You’re beautiful,” he says, so reverently you actually believe it.  Instinct still compels you to argue, but you cannot find your voice to do so.  You just make a little noise and look down at your hand on his chest. 

His heart races under your palm. 

You think you need to see him come too. 

You were previously too nervous to strike the endeavour.  You sexted again in bed the night before, but leaving him to his devices is different than taking matters into your own hands.  Literally.  You are not inexperienced, but he is certainly more experienced.  It is another reason you cannot rush into things. 

He does not rush you.  You arrive at the moment in your own time.  And in this moment, it stops mattering.  His heart beats under your palm and he looks at you with such an outpouring of affection, it makes your own heart stutter.  You are tingling with aftershocks, feeling so alive and vibrant with his eyes on you. 

You trail your hand down his chest to his belt.  His eyelashes flutter, surprise crossing his own face.  His hand covers yours and he lifts a questioning brow.  You nod and he lets you go. 

You get his belt open with a little struggle.  You are a prestigious academic decorated with multiple literary awards, but a belt stupefies you.   

He lets you work, twisting a curl around his finger, smiling a lazy smile.  You pry the belt open and get his fly down, satisfied when some of his cockiness dissipates as your touch overwhelms him.  It is a good overwhelming, given the noise he makes as he rests his face on yours.  He murmurs your name and presses kisses all over your face as you work him in your hand. 

The jeans are thrown into the laundry hamper immediately after. 

-

The second week is mostly comprised of your usual routines.  You have both shirked some responsibilities, too busy flirting like horny prepubescents to get any work done.  You eventually return to your books and make remarkable progress on your research project.  Hyunjin edits the photos from his latest shoot, uploading them to his profiles and collecting his sponsorships. 

You go to your favourite café.  You accompany him to his favourite bar because it’s a trivia night and you enjoy it more than you anticipated. You return to the art exhibition then rehash your previous opinions over dinner. 

Some moments feel like dates, like when he holds you hand or gets the door or you dare to kiss his cheek in public.  Some moments feel like the comfortable friendship you have long enjoyed, and for that you are glad.  Gaining Hyunjin as a boyfriend would mean little if you lost him as a friend. 

But he is still your Hyunjin. 

He just puts his tongue in your mouth now. 

The couch becomes a site of utter debauchery.  It is the apartment’s no man’s land, given the beds have been relegated to solitary confinement.  It really is for the best.  For now.  You will enjoy yourself more when you are truly ready. 

Until then, the couch is subject to repeated episodes of defiling. 

You and Hyunjin sit down with the intention of reading your own books, but they are both on the floor and you are on your back and Hyunjin is on top of you.  It is not unlike a few weeks ago, when he stole your book and pinned you down.  It feels like a lifetime since then.  You never would have imagined yourself in this situation for real. 

But it is real.  You know that, because every nerve in your body is alive and shooting sparks.  You make little moans, weaving your fingers in his bright red hair as he kisses you deeply.  His jeans are blue today.  You are in a long skirt.  It makes it a little easier for the material to fall on its own, gathering around your thighs as he presses against you. 

You take his hand and guide it up your skirt, resting it on your inner thigh.  When he squeezes the soft flesh, you arch your back.  A shaky please leaves your lips, breathing the word against his own.

He nods quickly, thumb stroking a circle high on your inner thigh.  “What do you want, baby?” he asks. 

“Hand,” you say, thinking about that video of him unzipping his fly, how many times you have gotten yourself off to his perfect hand sliding into the frame.  His deft and nimble fingers, so precise for his artistic crafts.   You blink up at him, hoping you do not look so dishevelled that it is ridiculous.

He clearly likes what he sees.  He reaches under your skirt to slip your panties down and off, shoving them in his back pocket so they are not lost.  His jeans have a long chain on the hip that he pushes out of his way when he kneels upright on the couch.  He guides your thighs apart and angles your hips up, your thighs resting on his. 

“Sorry,” you say when he touches you, because you are already so wet from just kissing. 

“Sorry?” he asks in a rough voice, very lightly touching you, gathering all that desire on his fingertips and making you shudder.  “For what?” 

“Just… so… ready…” 

It sounds ridiculous to say out loud.  He must agree because he laughs incredulously.  But you do not have time to feel ashamed because he slides two fingers inside you, your body offering no resistance to him.  Then he starts curling up and putting pressure on your inner walls in a way that makes your head spin. 

“Poor baby,” he says, his other hand sliding up your waist, holding you steady.  “What should we do about that?” 

You are coming minutes later, your shirt half-off, your breasts mauled with hickeys and your pussy spasming around his fingers.  It feels so good, you do it again, and he ends up coming before you even touch him once. 

Next time, you are not on the couch, but standing by the front door, preparing to go out.  He is fully dressed with his leather jacket and boots, but you are missing a sweater and one shoe.  He is standing behind you, your cheek pressed to the door as he works his hand under your skirt.  You cant your hips up and back, grinding against him while he finger-fucks you. 

You come so hard your knees buckle.  Fortunately, he realizes what it is about to happen and catches you.  He does not slow down, though, the bastard, and you keep coming, balanced in his arms. 

You are halfway to the ground when you are satisfied.  He puts you down gently.  And maybe it is being half-dressed at his feet, maybe it his boots or his belt or that leather jacket, or maybe it is the way he looks down at you, but your mouth waters and you swallow hard. 

“We don’t need to—” he starts, but you interrupt by opening his belt.  You are much better at unbuckling it now, hardly wrestling with the leather at all. 

You are acutely aware that you are not very good at giving oral.  You are sensitive to sensation and it can be a bit much, but you like the noises he makes and the way he grabs your hair.  You are certain he has had better, but you would not know from his reactions.  He curses and sighs and groans, alternating between looking at you lovingly and ravenously. 

He gets down on one knee after and cups your face and kisses you. 

And that is just week two.

-

By week six, an amendment has been made to the bedroom rule.  You will not share a bed overnight, but the morning is a different matter entirely.  When the sun is up, the day is starting, so there is nothing wrong with climbing into bed together to talk about the day. 

To be fair, sometimes you do just talk. 

Other times, like now, your shirt is pushed up to your breasts and his face is buried in your pussy.  He is wearing boxers and nothing else, his face bare.  You like to look at it, his soft eyes glancing up at you as you push his hair back. 

Unlike you who still administers oral with something of a polite and fastidious air, he gets messy with it.  You are both drenched when you come, your pussy and thighs a mess while he wipes his face on a discarded shirt. 

“So,” he says.  “About the townhouse?” 

-

When you finally step foot in your townhouse again, it is an abominable mess.  You stand in the foyer with your luggage, slack-jawed and already so overstimulated that you nearly start vibrating. 

Hyunjin joins you a second later, carrying the rest of your bags.  He knows better than to yank you around when you get like this, but he does guide you to the couch to sit you on a clean cushion.   He gets you some water and makes you drink.   It helps, marginally. 

“Oh dear,” you finally say, an understatement. 

You made dinner plans, mostly to dissuade you from desecrating the foyer before you had an opportunity to unpack your bags, but those plans are cancelled in light of all the work that needs doing to make the place habitable again.  You are immensely glad there is no longer a river of water leaking out of your shower and into the living room, but the contractors were not overly kind regarding dust and debris, to say nothing of plain dust and dirt. 

Your poor bookshelves have been so neglected.  They are the first thing to get a good dusting. 

It is not an impossible task, when all is said and done, but pizza delivery replaces a dinner out.  Whatever plans for seduction you might or might not have had, all evaporate, because you are so exhausted from cleaning that you fall asleep on the couch before it even gets dark outside. 

You wake with a start in the middle of the night.  You dreamed about giant dust bunnies devouring your poor innocent bookshelves.   It takes a minute to ground yourself in reality, your surroundings unfamiliar.  You have grown so used to the spare bedroom at Hyunjin’s apartment that you forget your own bedroom for a sleepy moment.  When you fully come to consciousness, you remember where you are. 

Then you remember you fell asleep the couch, a half-finished plate of pizza in your lap.  Hyunjin must have gathered you in his arms and put you to bed.  The thought is a little touching but also embarrassing, because that was not the plan for tonight.  You suppose your provisos merely outlined not sleeping together until you were in your townhouse, not that it was a requisite for moving back in, but you still miss his company. 

You search around for your phone.  He left it on your bedside table for you.  It is not as late as you thought it was, probably because you fell asleep so early.  You text him an apology.  You assume he went back to his apartment but you are not sure if he is awake or asleep. 

You always liked living alone, but you suddenly lament the empty space.  You miss the comfort of another person just one room over.   No, not just another person, but Hyunjin. 

hey it’s okay, he texts back.  you were tired.  you should go back to sleep it’s late

I am unfortunately wide awake now.

Yeah me too. 

Why are you so awake?

Thinking about you. 

If you were not already wide awake, that would have done the job of waking you all the way.  You sit up in bed, all your attention on your phone now.  You type a reply. 

Oh?  What about me? 

You are not sure if his tone is flirtatious or not.  You are getting better at verbal cues but it is still impossible to read someone, even Hyunjin, over text.   You cannot even read your own tone, uncertain if it comes across as flirtatious or just curious. 

That I’m kinda glad you fell asleep. 

Don't laugh at me.. but I think I am nervous

About sleeping with you

You expect any number of answers, but not that one.  You struggle with a reply for a moment, not sure if he is seeking reassurance or he just wants to speak his mind.  When he starts typing again, you decide to wait. 

I know it sounds stupid. 

We spent all this time waiting

And god I want to.  my girl

I’m so scared of messing this up and letting you down. 

Hyunjin, you finally type, before he can descend in a spiral.  You told me you would wait a year, or that we would work something out for ourselves if it was necessary.  Do you not think I would do the same for you? 

The ellipses appears and disappears as he contemplates this.  His answer comes a moment later, You’re right.

Of course I am, you reply.  I always am. 

You hear a laugh.  It startles you so bad, you drop your phone on the floor.  You snatch it up quickly as possibly and frantically type, Please tell me that is you laughing in my living room. 

Oh yeah sorry I just slept on your couch.

This man will be the death of you one way or another, that much is for certain.

You frightened me half to death.  I thought you left. 

Ah sorry baby..

Do you… want me to come upstairs?

That restless heart of yours skips beats for another reason, a different type of fear, one not unlike his own.  You are not sure how the night will progress, but you know one thing for certain, one thing that is true and will always be true: you want Hyunjin.  You want him with you, and beside you, now and always. 

Yes please, you write, then wait. 

His footsteps creak on the stairs.  The human body really is a peculiar creation, because your fear seems to bleed right into newfound arousal. 

You look up as he opens the door, using his phone flashlight as a guiding light.  It is facing upward, illuminating him.  Your phone screen is on, offering some light over your own features. 

You are still wearing the sweater and sweatpants you cleaned in, absolutely not a sexy outfit for a first time sleeping together.  You considered ordering special lingerie for the occasion but you are still quite bad about feeling embarrassed about those things.  You made yourself nervous and balked every time you pictured walking in the room with them on.  You think you will do that one day.  You will probably have to make yourself comfortable with it first.  Maybe you will send him a video. 

You look up at him, your heart pounding just thinking about it.  He gazes back at you.  He is wearing jeans and a t-shirt, also not an especially fancy outfit to celebrate any firsts. 

His face is bare.  Your hair is loose.  There is something about the shadows and a new room that makes you feel like strangers for a moment.   You tell him as much, mostly to fill the silence, because he is staring at you and his gaze is far too amorous to be directed at a silly woman who fell asleep in her cleaning clothes at suppertime. 

He tips his head as he looks you.  You shiver, as if it is the first time he has ever looked at you, as if he has not made you come a dozen times on his face and hands, as if he has not known you for most of your life. 

He turns off his light.  The room is plunged into darkness.  That ridiculous heart of yours starts leaping around like it has an electric current. 

“Hyunjin,” you say, reaching blindly.  You gasp when he captures your hand, leading it onto his shoulder.  Then you feel his whole body, his hair brushing your face, his hands on you.  Your eyes begin to adjust to the darkness and see you him a little better, the muscle definition in his arms, the necklace dangling when he leans down towards you. 

“I’d fall in love with you again,” he says.  “If we were.  Strangers.  If I was seeing you now for the first time.”  He touches your cheek, brushes his knuckles up your temple then slips his fingers into your unruly hair.   “I think I’ve fallen in love with you a hundred different ways.  I think I will again.” 

“You know I am not good at speaking with poetic embellishment,” you say, swallowing around the lump in your throat, one caused by both sentiment and nerves.  “So I will have to speak plainly with you.   I love you too, Hyunjin.  I always have.  If we were meeting for the first time right now, though, I would probably be screaming and throwing things at you.”

He laughs and the sound make you feel like you are glowing.  You need no other light.  You reach up and touch his face and you see him perfectly, can picture his smile even before you trace your thumb across his bottom lip.  You cannot draw like him, but if you could, you would scribble his likeness in the margin of your work as well.   

“Good thing we’re not strangers, then,” he says.  “Because I’d really rather make love to you.”  He swoops down and kisses your forehead.  “My friend.”  He kisses a sensitive spot below your ear, the place he teases when he wants to rile you up quickly.  “Baby.”  Then he is tipping your head at the perfect angle to lean down, his lips brushing yours when he says, “My pretty girl.” 

“Nonsense,” you say breathlessly, because of course you do. 

And of course he kisses you.

He kisses you deeply, holding the back of your head as he gently lays you down.  You push the covers away, opening yourself to him completely.  You wrap around each other, sinking into the sheets, arching your back to feel more of him. 

You gasp when he tugs your hair.  He has already found so many ways to make you plaint and needy, to forget your skills of articulation and lose every word but his name. 

“That’s it,” he says, hooking your legs around his waist.  “Show me what you want, baby.” 

You reach between your bodies, cupping where he is already hard in his jeans.  Everything about him is so hard against you, you in your soft sweats with your pool of curly hair, losing yourself as his strong hands work their way down your body.  He lifts your shirt off and tosses it to the side, then gathers your hands because you always have an instinctive moment of covering yourself.  You are modest by nature, but you trust him with everything.  It is exhilarating, when he takes your wrists and pins them by your head. 

For a moment, you do imagine every version of yourselves.  You and him, old friends turning into lovers.  You and him, established lovers, finally coming together.  Two strangers, finding each other for the first time. There is always something new to discover. You love him again and again. 

“Say my name,” he says, working his way down your body.  He is still fully clothed when he has you fully naked, writhing under him as he pushes his tongue in you.  It is a slow seduction with his mouth on your pussy as he kisses you there as thoroughly as he kissed your mouth.   “Say it.”

“Hyunjin,” you say, repeating it as you come, your legs wrapped around his head. 

He spares you only seconds before his fingers are inside you.  You cling to his arm, making noises that still surprise you, begging him with your eyes and hands and little cries.  When he cups your face after, you open your mouth wide, wanting.  He fucks your mouth like he fucked your pussy, two fingers gliding across your tongue until you are bucking and pleading, sucking on his fingers and staring at him with wide eyes. 

“Fuck,” he says, then whips off his shirt. 

He kneels and you help tug his jeans and boxers down to his knees.  You curl towards him, situated so he can finger you while you wrap your lips around his cock.  You are usually very neat about it, but you cannot think clearly with his fingers inside you.  You mostly wet him, barely blowing him, but he still kisses you when you pull back. 

When he gets the last of his clothes off, he surprises you by sitting back against the headboard and pulling you into his lap.  He surprises you even more by folding your arms behind your back and pinning your wrists at the base of your spine.  He holds them there in one hand, the other between you as he helps you settle on top of him. 

He does know you well.  The second his cock so much as brushes you, there is an instinct to cover up.  You hands twitch but he holds you, speaking to you gently, soothingly.  He eases you through it, breathing just as hard as you sink down until he is fully inside you.  Then you are clenching sporadically around him, almost a mini-orgasm just from the initial thrust.  He is still holding your arms behind you, guiding you through it with him completely in control.  It seems to be the way he likes it, but you don’t mind at all.  You can be a stern stickler everywhere else; here you can be his. 

“That’s it, that’s my girl,” he says, free hand on your hip, holding you as he rolls his hips under you.  “That good, baby?”

You answer with a mewl, dropping your face to his shoulder and staying there.  He laughs, eventually lifting your head.  Then he puts you on your back and lifts your leg onto his shoulder, and he fucks you in a way you once could only imagine. 

He pushes your knees back, presses his body so close to yours.  A sheen of perspiration covers his skin and you are certain you are not faring better.  It feels good, it feels free.  You wrap your arms around him and hold tight. 

“My girl,” he says, with a strong thrust, then another.  Sounding as deliriously inarticulate as you when he says, “Mine.”  And thrusts again.  “Mine.”  And again.  “Always.”  Again. 

You seek his hand blindly.  He offers it, lacing your fingers like the romantic he instinctively is, but you lead it right to your throat where you want him to hold you.  When he does, your body goes completely soft for him, like every worry flees at once.  You are always so in your head, to be a body feels good, to share it with him even better.  You hum with pleasure, mouth open like a good girl for your dreamy bad boy as he leans down and kisses you, his tongue fucking into your mouth with the same vigour he takes your pussy. 

When he rubs his thumb over your clit, you last only seconds, your whole body shaking as you lose complete control.  He holds you through it, rocking into you, kissing your face and neck.  He pulls out and strokes himself to completion, coming on your thighs and pussy. 

You wrap around each other after, rolling into the middle of the bed.  You somehow migrated horizontally during your lovemaking.   You will need to move eventually, but sleep is finally hitting you.  You feel Hyunjin clean you up with his t-shirt, but you only stir when he kisses you.  You wrap around him and return a few sleepy kisses down his neck.  He slides a hand in your hair, cups the back of your neck, and stays like that. 

“What next,” you ask sleepily, not fully conscious of your words. 

“Mmm.” He sounds just as sleepy.  “Still need our dinner date,” he murmurs.  “Can decide in the morning.”

“Okay,” you say.  And even though you are half asleep and barely conscious, you add, “I can make a spreadsheet.”

He smiles.   You think maybe you should learn to draw just so you can draw that smile after all.  Maybe there is an artist and a romantic inside you, or maybe it is just the parts of him so entwined with you, forever embedded in your heart.  You are actually excited to learn. 

You give him one more sleepy kiss.  It is early morning now.

You fall asleep together at the start of a new day. 

[soukokumychildren]

Dazai how is your birthday going??? Do anything special?

Dazai: Hehe

(The rest is now successfully under the cut lol. Also I’m mildly embarrassed about it since this’ll be my first post about smut, and I didn’t exactly finish but it could also count sooo…basically, read at your own peril and have fun y’all)

It was the rustling, not the sunshine, that woke Dazai up from his glorious beauty sleep. It made him crinkle his eyes, hope that came with vain that he could sleep in longer.

It was his birthday, god damnit.

But the rustling was coming from under the sheets laid haphazardly over his body.

He cracked his eyes open after a few attempts, rubbing the opposite of the blinded one in order to see exactly what caused the ruckus.

Naturally, the brunette could tell immediately what—rather *who* it was without having to look beside him.

The weight on his legs and the gentle spikes pricking the fabric upward told him all he needs to know.

“Good morning,” he croaks, leg twitching under the added weight.

Ruffles of fabric against skin, a few flecks of static, and his adorable little chibi husband emerged from the vast canvas that was their white sheet.

His expression was gentle, his gaze softer so.

“Good mornin’,” he said, even *that* was soft too.

“Get some good sleep?”

(Not so) Regrettably, Dazai had. He only slept like a fucking baby when Chuuya was near. Heaven forbid the brunette would get a wink of sleep without his little husband.

“Of course I did, Slug,” Dazai mimicked Chuuya’s tone, keeping his gaze lazy, relaxed. They had no where to be today; well, not in any hurry. No urgent business needing to be taken care of. The president issued them a full pardon off work on todays events, but did say he hoped they’d visit so he could drop Dazai his birthday regards.

“I’m glad.” Chuuya began purring, a soft caress in his throat that thrummed throughout his body and made whatever tense bones Dazai had (which, at this point, was none) unravel into nothing but marrow.

Dazai let himself drink the sight of what Chuuya was in this morning. Ruffled, not yet smooth feathers, hair tossed this way and that like he was just dragged out of bed (yet, somehow, Dazai thought with amusement, not at all ugly), and an expression that bordered on tired.

He enjoyed every moment he existed in Chuuya’s presence.

It brought over his own set of purrs, except his was deep, rumbling. More of a growl, if he was being honest. But it sweetened the scent that emanated from Chuuya’s scent gland, and that was truly all he was after.

“Mind telling me why you woke me—Mph-” Dazai trailed off, his speech morphing into a small groan as lips pushed gently against his, persisting, begging for either him to open his mouth to grant entry, or offer his tongue.

The brunette, not usually a man that gives, coaxed open Chuuya’s mouth with little to no resistance, offering his tongue in turn.

His fingers skimmed Chuuya’s body, all of which was naked except for a pair of boxers, running along his hips, the flex of his muscle underneath his chest, trailing up his neck and then to his head. There, he cradled the base of Chuuya’s skull, engulfing his bandaged hand in fiery-red hair.

“Mmnh—” Chuuya pulled away, panting, with a cute little string of saliva connecting him to Dazai.

“Happy…Happy birthday,” he spoke breathily, the left side of his hair flipped over to the right side of his head, giving a way hotter look than Dazai was sure the little Slug intended.

Not to mention, morning wood was also having a fun time developing, and adding ontop of that with Chuuya’s kisses did nothing to ease the situation.

The redhead flicked his ear feathers upward, jerking his hips. He smiled. “Seems my best friend’s come out to play.” The redhead cooed, working his ass back against the giant erection pressing up against the crack of his ass.

He couldn’t help but bite his lip in anticipation—though this was *Dazai’s* birthday. Not his. So he treats *Dazai*.

Who was right below him…writhing, and accidentally letting out—

A *moan.*

Dazai stilled, slight streaks of embarrassment settling within his body.

“D…did you just…?” The avian asked quietly, blinking owlishly to Dazai. He wasn’t ever one to moan so fast until they got deeper into their antics…this—this was *new.*

||The brunette fumbled over his speech. “I—well, I just…I just woke up, and I haven’t had time to bring up my guard—” Chuuya shushed him with a claw.

“Hey now…I ain’t upset. This is a nice development.” The redhead purred. When Dazai tensed, Chuuya laid against his chest to nuzzle his face in Dazai’s swollen neck glands.

“Don’t worry, Dazai. I know how to take care of you…you know I wouldn’t do somethin’ like that. Remember? You’re *made* to top me.” Chuuya just knew the exact buttons to push to deactivate the wall Dazai brung up from unease. The brunette sighed, letting his body relax again.

“Just relax, baby. Let out those pretty moans…” The avian cooed, grinding gently against Dazai’s fledgling erection. He kissed at Dazai’s neck, Adam’s apple, his jaw line. He especially pressed his lips as his attention to Dazai’s scent glands, which the man particularly enjoyed.

Dazai, despite himself, let out breathy gasps, screwing his eyes shut. His fingers tightened around Chuuya’s scalp, the other hand drawing a scorching trail down to snag his fingers around Chuuya’s delectable, plump ass.

That insistent ass, and the redhead it paired with was just something made to put an end to Dazai, the brunettes low gasps morphing into small moans, the more persistent the grinding was.

“It’s okay, baby. Let go…I’m right here, and I’ll take care of you..” Chuuya promised, flexing his scent glands to flare out more of his scent. He wanted Dazai’s body completely relaxed, teaming with the obvious horny, of course.

The redhead arched his spine enticingly, his limp wings draped on either side of the bed lifting just slightly with. The bed was creaking softly.

“Chuuya,” Dazai said with jostled speech, his pupils dilating as he focused on the one thing he loved most in the world, inhaling that said man’s scent sharply.

“Dazai,” the redhead filled his voice with pure love instead of sin, his quick, almost desperate grinding coming to a slower pace.

“You okay, birthday boy?” Chuuya asked, his body lightly pulsing forward with each stroke of his hips. His wings lightly shuffled, half obscured by the covers.

“Heh. You’re as old as me again.” The redhead murmured to himself as Dazai regained the capability to speak.

“Y-yeah. I’m okay. Mmm, *fuck*, I just want to be inside you already.” Dazai hissed, bucking up a bit to Chuuya’s ministrations. The other hand that occupied Chuuya’s hair skimmed down, approaching Chuuya’s ass to meet up with the hand before it.

“Hey now, hey now…I’m taking care of *you* today..” Chuuya reminded, easing his hands on Dazai’s chest and brushing their noses together in tandem.

“Relax, baby. I ain’t holdin’ nothin’ from ya…you’ll get all you want n’ more today. Alright?”

Dazai’s eyes shined.

“Besides…it’s a holiday.” Chuuya pointed out, wriggling his ass down a little rougher against Dazai’s dick. “Y’know what that means..?”

Dazai’s eyes widened. He smiled wider as well.

“Seriously?”

“Duh~” The redhead grinned.

“Well? Get to opening your present. You have all day to enjoy this, after all.~”

[bomberqueen17]

car organizer

So I wanted to make myself the kind of organizer that hangs over the back of your car seat to hold your stuff, to keep the things that ought to stay in my car in, because with my old car, I hauled so much cargo and loaded and unloaded the thing so often and wound up with so much random junk in there that I lost my tire inflator, foldable shovel, and most of the rest of it. I thought, if I just attach those to the back of one of the front seats then it doesn't matter what I do with the car, if I'm hauling baby chicks or small humans, passengers or cargo or what, I don't have to worry.

I shopped around but I didn't see anything like what I wanted, so I went down in the basement and poked around.

Thus follows not exactly a tutorial, but a description of my thought process. This took forever but if I had to do it again I could do it faster, I think.

I had a weird but perfectly-sized rectangle of heavy-duty polyester canvas (twice as long as I needed, but exactly as wide, so I could use it double thickness), some suit interfacing, and then several yards of an all-plastic but beautiful brocade I bought from Jo-Ann's back when I didn't know how to shop for fabric.

So I bought myself a new tire inflator and folding shovel, and then measured the jump-start powerbank I already own, and made pockets exactly sized for those three things. I also guesstimated a pocket for my motley collection of ratchet straps. And then I laid those out on the bit of canvas, and figured I had room for a wide short pocket across the top-- gathered the bottom, and put a channel at the top and pulled elastic through, then sewed two seams down it to hold it into three separate pockets.

I did french seams on the first square pocket then realized that made it too small so I had to piece a little extension around the back of it. Then I realized that all-plastic brocade ravels horribly... unless you run a lighter along all the cut edges. Bickety-bam instant selvege. So I melted the edges of all the rest of my fabric, and no more French seams means no more excessive seam allowances.

(I didn't exactly follow this method but I did find a good tutorial here for how to make a cargo pocket. It might have worked better than what i did, LOL. I only made one pocket pleated, and one gathered, the others I tried mostly to make to size.)

[image description: a black panel of canvas lies on a table, with three pockets made of brown/black/gold polyester brocade lying atop it, chalked around like crime scene bodies.]

Laid them out, traced with chalk, futzed with the placement. Realized I didn't have to center that top one, and if I off-set it, I could fit the ratchet strap pocket next to it.

Attached the pockets to the canvas, then spray-adhesived the interfacing to the back, then folded the canvas in half, sewed it right sides together leaving one short side open, turned it right-side out, gingerly ironed it (everything is plastic). I had some of those huge thick plastic strips they seal around big boxes sometimes in the garbage in the basement so I pulled those out, carefully ironed them flat under a press cloth, and then cut lengths of them-- it was heavy-duty stuff, I think a dehumidifier had come in the package, solid plastic an inch wide-- and used those as horizontal boning at the bottom, middle, and top, securing in place with a line of stitching above and below wherever there weren't pockets. The top, I closed up by just folding the front over the back; it was the selvedge edge, so I left that raw, and zig-zagged it shut with the piece of "boning" inside, then pushed the boning up against the seam with my fingers and sewed the other side of the channel with a straight stitch.

I could not for the life of me figure out how to measure the straps. so i went out and sat in my car with a lighter, scissors, needle, thread, a pair of old shoelaces, a length of 2" wide elastic torn out of an unsuccessful earlier make (i have a roll of the stuff... at the farm, not here), and a length of heavy-duty twill tape I don't know where I got.

I held the organizer up to the seat, safety-pinned the twill tape to the top, threaded it around the headrest, safety-pinned it to the other side. Decided it needed more support, as the upper corners wanted to flop. Used a drawstring threader to pull the shoelace through the flap at the bottom of the seat, where all the cabling for the heated seat is stored-- there's upholstery covering it, open at both sides, so I threaded the shoelace through that, just to pull the whole shebang in taut against the seat instead of letting it swing freely into the knees of whoever might sit back there. Sewed it down on one side, safety-pinned it to the other. Cut the shoelace off, then sewed the remnant to one upper extreme corner, wrapped it past the headset, safety-pinned it to the other side. Finally took the 2" wide elastic, sewed it firmly down on one side, passed it around the seat, measured it, then passed it behind the seat to sew it down un-stretched to the other side, then put it on properly. So the non-stretch fasteners are only sewed on one side, and can be unpinned on the other if I need to take the thing off.

Then I loaded it up with stuff.

[Image description: the rear of a car driver's seat, taken from the rear seat behind it, with an organizer hanging from the headrest, brocade pockets stuffed full of objects. There's a green object hanging from a keychain at the top left-- it is a folding knife patterned to look like a leaf.]

Now the things that ought to just always be in my car can (mostly) just always be there. I should check that the tire inflator works, and I should periodically charge up the jump pack, but I already checked if the foldable shovel works (it does), and I carefully bundled up the ratchet straps into bags I made out of the cuffs of old crew socks, which sewn shut where I cut the threadbare foot off make perfectly-sized padded stretchy storage bags for light duty ratchet straps.

Top left to bottom right, it's got:

Ratty old work gloves, a clipped-on keychain with a decorative rosary and a functional folding knife, a sock-cuff bag containing a multitool screw driver, a little baggie of tampons, and some Kleenex The tire inflator kit, the jump pack kit three ratchet straps, a folding shovel multitool thingy, and a bag of toiletries with spare socks, chapstick, hand cream, a travel toothbrush and dry toothpaste kit, and a couple other things-- most of it is shit that was handed out the one time I flew business class on Icelandair.

Then, to the right, around my center console, I took a vintage like circa 2004 Old Navy nylon drawstring backpack, threaded those heavy-duty twist tie things they use to close disposable coffee bags through the drawstring bit of the mouth to keep it open, sewed some of the twill tape to the top, and added a magnetic catch to hold a plastic bag in place. The magnetic catch didn't do enough so I have some half-broken old hair clips holding the plastic bag in better position: that's now my car's trash bag, and the backpack's two tiny zippered pockets hold spare plastic bags.

Now the last thing I want to do is to get some hooks to hang from the passenger headrest, and get loops attached to my snow brush and squeegee, and hang those from the hooks, because otherwise they are always scattered around the floor of my car in the way of whatever I want to do.

Anyway. Ready for the inaugural road trip Sunday, when I drive back to the farm.

[thelegendofstella]

you have to wake up.

how?

you turn on the light.

(click/tap for better quality. closeups, notes, etc. under cut)

EDIT 4/9/2023: Image alts updated with IDs as per asking/request! I was way too tired to even think about doing them when I first posted this, lol, my bad

Closeups:

I CAN'T BELIEVE I MANAGED TO FINISH THIS IN TIME FOR THE FINALE. OH MY GOD

I've been working on this for ages (read: procrastinated until the last few days) and I can't believe how good this turned out in the end. For my standards, anyway. I just had to get this out somehow before the finale aired and I actually made it,,, Yay ;u; (1:30 AM on the day of is close enough, man fgyusdgshfsddsf)

This is basically kind of a redraw of one of the scenes in the WaD trailer we got a couple of weeks back that implied Amity and co. were attacking Luz because they thought she was Belos, because wow that was sure something. But I really have to give credit to this post for being my main inspiration and reference—that combined with the analysis posts of the trailer that have come out since then just really got my drive going.

I surprisingly don't have much to say about the process of this other than oh my god it was so hard to get all of their base colors??? Especially Willow's eye color, can you believe they've never shown her open eyes without glasses in natural light. I can, I looked. Besides that I am woefully unpracticed in shading so I just kinda winged it as best as I could here fdhjsdf.

(Please appreciate Belos' hands here, it took me fucking ages to get them right in the sketch. Perspective hands SUCK)

This came out to 3000px width by 1200px height, the largest canvas I've ever done so far. The .kra file of this has 981 layers, including folders (of which there were a lot because I am stupidly organized like that), and more filter layers than I know what to do with lol.

[blood-mocha-latte]

godly, illegal, versed — gene and renée drabble

for an ask from @xxluckystrike || request an edit/drabble || i contemplated briefly writing this entirely in french and offering a translation, but figured that i wanted to go a different route, lmao. plus, renée is too wonderful to have to withstand my rusty french lol. there still is french in here and it’s all mine, so if there are fuck-ups that’s why asdfghjkl

When she closed her eyes, she always saw the windows.

Her mother had had a painting like that, years ago, when she was a child. People clustered around a shop window glowing orange with comfort, holding sweets or clothes or toys inside.

“Tout Paris brille ainsi.” She’d murmur, holding her close, pressing a kiss to her hair. “Nous irons là-bas et nous danserons dans cette lumière.”

“Quand?” Renée had asked, her breath shaky, running a finger across the texture of the canvas, wondering how man could make something so godly.

That didn’t much matter, now.

The windows of the Bastogne church did not glow, nor shine, and she did not dance under their light. 

((Once, during an artillery barrage, a fire had lit against the bodies of those lined up beside the church. It had cast its deadly light every which way, not so much guidance as a flickering omnipresence. 

She had stared at that light's reflections, watched it dance in pools of blood. The man she held, keeping one hand on the side of his face and the other across his collarbones, a poor facsimile of a hug, gasped under her. Une plaie par aspiration thoracique. A sucking chest wound. There was nothing she could do.))

“Mes frères me manquent,” Anna told her once, as they hid in the looming shelter of the church, breaking chocolate in between them. “Mais je ne pense pas que je pourrais partir d'ici.” 

Renée had closed her eyes, just briefly, a facsimile of rest. She thought of her mother, her sister. “Oui.” She’d murmured.

Both of them would probably leave, in a moment. With blood on their hands, light gone from their eyes, in their hearts knowing that to leave these screaming boys was to be worse than the devil, worse than god. More illegal than murdering a man in cold blood and leaving him to rot in his lover's bed. But it was better to pretend they had a choice in what they’d chosen than not.

Everything was the same and different; a limbo of the church. Soldiers that were tired and sick and hurting. She wondered if she’d be better at helping them if she wasn’t also.

The boy was new.

She sat with him, on the crumbling bench, unwrapping chocolate. It tasted like ash. Everything did.

He was silent, after commenting on her hands. She wondered if she gave the wrong answer. I never want to see a wounded man again. 

She had to think carefully about her words, next, and broke off another square of chocolate to distract herself.

“My mother was a nurse in the Great War.” She told the chocolate wrapper. The boy shifted next to her. Eugène, he said. His name. She’d had an uncle named Eugène. “I wanted to… to help, like her.” Eugène was quiet next to her.

“You are helping.” He said, voice low. He didn’t look at her, either. “More than most.”

No one who would notice will live. She thought, and did not say. The silence stretched between them like silk. 

“My grand-père fought in the same war.” Eugène said. “But he killed people. Hurt them.”

“So you are not like him?”

Eugène huffed. “I think I might be.” He murmured to the snow trodden ground. Renée hummed. She thought of her mother. Of her sister.

“Stay safe, yes?” She told Eugène. “Run between the fire.”

Eugène nodded, eyes on the ground. “You too.” He said. Renée nodded back.

“Il y a un garçon qui n'a pas plus de dix-sept ans à l'intérieur.” Anna told her, later that night. The front of her clothes were stained with blood. Renée wrapped her fingers around her wrist and squeezed gently, just to know she was still there. “J'ai besoin d'aide pour le garder immobile.”

Renée let go of her to look briefly over her shoulder. The boy had gone back to his soldiers on the last van. She hoped he wouldn’t have to come back with another, screaming and bloody and calling him Gene, asking him to please help.

“Chirurgie?” She asked. Anna sighed, nodded to the back. A well versed dance.

“Bras.” Was all she said. Renée scrubbed a hand down her face. It left the coppery-taste of blood and chocolate in her mouth.

“Ma mère aimait danser.” She told Eugène. The surgeon called her down but didn’t need her help for long. She searched through torn up bedsheets and everything else for what the boy could bring back to his soldiers. “Elle a toujours voulu aller à Paris et danser sous ses lumières.” 

Eugène hummed. His face was lined with exhaustion. She could see blood under his fingernails when he picked up a roll of fabric she’d torn from a dead boy’s bedsheets. “Si jamais vous voulez visiter Paris aussi,” He said, “Je pourrais venir avec vous.” 

Renée nodded to him. She was mostly just tired. She doubted she could ever dance again without feeling it in her bones.

She didn’t hurt. The plywood was like a blanket.

She imagined she could feel her mothers lips press to her hair, her arms holding her. Her warmth.

“Ma petite fille forte.” Her mother whispered. “Viens danser à Paris avec moi.”

When she closed her eyes, she saw the windows.

[klein3ngl]

PARADISE; a headcanon (more like rambling)

the other day I was thinking and I don't know if somebody else has mentioned this before, which would be pretty normal considering the game came out like 11 YEARS AGO or so.

but still, I wanna ramble a bit.

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

Let's suppose every dude is the same dude, let's suppose. Well actually this is not that necessary for this, but it's something I'll save for later.

In the first "Postal" game in the diary he complains about how he hears gunshots, screams and in general everybody is crazy in Paradise. And if you play pacifist during "Postal 2" everybody's nuts except you, apparently? like they're not scared to pull a gun against each other for a simple misunderstanding, the police doesn't do shit and doesn't cares enough (look just like irl haha), everybody seems to be okay with the fact that there is terrorist group that one day assaulted the church and the next day everyone goes there like nothing happened, etc.

During "Postal 2" he's pretty casual about it, just mildly annoyed if it gets in his way, as if he's just desensitized from all that madness. Or he's just as deranged as everyone else, which is pretty logic too. Maybe both.

I think it also depends a bit if they're all the same guy or if every postal dude is a different character too; in case they're different people P2 (and P3 in "Paradise Lost") is just as nuts as everyone else, maybe not THAT much, but still cuckoo. But in case they're all the same guy he's just tired of everyone's bullshit and definitely desensitized because, let's suppose the asylum he got locked it at the end of the first game it's the paradise one, the one we can visit in "Postal 2"; the workers are as mad as the patients, he must have seen a lot of stuff, even more fucked up things that casual townies could and would do (and let's not start with his hallucinations).

[ for me I like the second one, I find more appealing the idea that he's just a normal (mentally ill) guy who's been pushed to his limits haha ]

Not trying to defend dude by any means, what he has done in 1997 is horrible (although if it's the same place we see in the second game it would just be another casual day in paradise).

Maybe P1 was right with all that sickness thing, or maybe that's what his mind came to with as a way to try justifying why paradise is like that.

✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪✪

I dunno, running with scissors leaving the postal dude as a blank canvas which everyone can have different interpretations, is both a blessing and a curse if you like to pick every piece of media surrounding postal and trying to make some logical headcanons according to the character(s) and/or lore UGH.

ngl it's also my fault for trying to find the coherence in a game like postal lol

[charlieslowartsies]

RAHH it’s so cool to see that other people are rereading kgau too, cuz it’s done nothing but lurk in my mind ever since I first found it a few years back, AND that’s what IVE been doing too and I’m having a blast!!

Any commentary on Danny or his character? Or how you came up with him as Jeremy’s kid? Idc I just love that little dude he’s so cool

I often wonder how many times people have reread. If we go by hit count on ao3, I THINK GS or DS has been hit the most? What's funny is they're older and they've been completed for a hit minute, and they're around 10k hits. LW is ongoing, incomplete, and arguably one of my faster completed fics and it's at 10k too lol. I have Danny Fitzgerald comments I suppose! I am VERY tired so I hope these make some semblance of sense xc

Danny was created because I kind of felt Mike had grown used to his surroundings very well. I liked that about Mike! One of the blanket themes of KGA is of course, Found Family. But...I also wanted to explore a more 'holy shit! living robots' reaction. I also needed someone Mike wouldn't LET the gang bully/be cold to.

While Mike worked on ridding them of that learned fear, in the meantime he focused on hiring people that were chill and wouldn't give him more headaches.

So I needed a teenager I decided. I was very hesitant to make him at all. I'm not a huge fan of OCs when it comes to my own writing. It complicates things, and if I wanted a story of OCs I would make that. (Reading them is more fun ^^)

However, the kga series proved I could make something I liked well enough from scratch. Like I've said before, the content we had for Mike Schmidt's character was, yanno, zilch. He might as well have been an oc for a while, until more games and lore appeared over the years. (Obviously KGA does not follow the 'correct' lore. I'm 100% okay with that.)

I hemed and hawed a lot with just keeping Jeremy alive and making Ghost Strings star him, but a fic I loved reading at the time also had an amazing Jeremy and I didn't feel I could write my 'own' version and do it justice. Jeremy as well, if anything, would have a much darker history with the restaurant. Danny was essentially a blank canvas, while still having a reason for being there. He was a fraidy cat--rightly so--but he was determined and he forced himself constantly out of his comfort zone. (I'm sure GS would have been a much different story if Mangle had been active/in the restaurant.)

So, Jeremy had to go. And then I realized I wanted to work on death and loss and that kind of pain.

Danny obviously joins the restaurant for deeply painful and close to selfish reasons, but he's still someone we root for. He's just a dumb teenager looking for something of his father's, not realizing he's the reason he has so little to remember the man by.

All we are made up of is memories. Ours and others, things we take from important people in our lives.

Danny's theme/lesson in GS was 'Even bad memories have a place in a Good life' after all.

Danny's presence in the story helped me explore that mystery, and grief, and what happens when we try to heal ourselves, or when we rely on others to help us, like Bonnie helped Danny. It became a great parallel for Michael/Max Afton, since we learn in Last Shift, YEARS later in the story, this wasn't the first time Bonnie kept something safe for someone out of sheer love and devotion, like Max's beloved cassettes and music-tastes. This was despite Bonnie and the gang being so deeply hurt by Max's attack on them, but he still held on to the Good alongside the Bad.

And of course, giving Bonnet to Danny seemed...so fucken cute and fun and easy. She needed someone, he needed someone, and they just clicked.

My favorite thing about Danny is that everyone liked him so much more than I expected, even just in his first fic. I pursued Finding Freddy with the best intentions, and as hard as that fic was for me, I do not regret making it a Danny!centric fic. It also helps that when he shows up in Lies Within he's clearly done lots of growing, but he's still very mortal and he's very able to die. He still tries to help the restaurant, choosing to embrace the mantle of Day Guard that his father held in the Toys' era. That continued loyalty to Mike ends up being a pretty powerful weapon against the Virus.

Also something I need to explore more is Max is such a puffy little trash cat over Mike when Danny comes onto the scene, although he does lower his hackles within a few months, (and by the time of Lies Within) he's guarded and cautious around Danny. However once Max decides Danny belongs with them, that's it and Max considers him family as much as he's attached to Mike.

One thing I hadn't expected was liking the broship between Ness and Danny that's cropping up in LW. I absolutely want to mull that over more! Vanessa obviously has different...ties and hangups... to Bonnie models, but they really are interesting foils for each other. Esp considering Danny's choices in his older stories and her choices now, including the ones she might still have to make ;)

[cherryredstars]

so I seen your 1k prompt and I wanted to give you this Great idea for your artist Au ? I think but if I’m worng sorry 😞 and I wanted this to be COMPLETELY FLUFF 😭🙏 soooo I couldn’t decide between Miguel to ghost and so I had to chose Miguel (I’m sorry 😞 Miguel is just the black cat while ghost is a black panther) can this be fm or afab reader ? Idk this is just fluff so GN then ?

so like Miguel x artist!GNreader 🫶

and I feel in this one Miguel would come home to see it slightly a mess but to see you sleeping whit your art materials as the canvas is blank and which Miguel is confused usually you be half done with a pic while he out doing his spider man job.

Which can range to 3 week or a month. (But of course you guys called) But Miguel doesn’t worried about it as much as he carry you to your and his bed (after you guys took a shower obviously you didn’t because your were too tired ) and as you guys cuddle together as you ask Miguel if he can help you with something and miguel said yes.. and god how he wished he didn’t ( as a joke. 🥹) and since he’s here it help you ask him if he can pose for the canvas. For a next pic of your collection. And it been like passed 30 min of the first sketch and it going well despite Miguel obviously being tried and annoyed and confused of why he need to stay in this pose in such a long time (reader is just tease him because reader could take a pic of Miguel but doesn’t 😞💓) in which reader she softly laugh at his compliment and thought it was cute and told him that “art take time and it take a lot of time…and I’m almost done with the frist sketch ! Which IS THE ROUGH sketch!” which made Miguel grunted as he repositioned himself again as reader just giggle at how Miguel handled pose. It was sweet of him.

SO IT BEEN A WHILE and after a while 🤭 of tease and Miguel begging for you to show him the finished product of the art pic that took you like 3week of rendering and rendering tiny detail and some More. You show Miguel the art pic and it him staring at snow (since it almost Christmas 😌) while the lighting is hitting his head and his eyes pop and the way that Miguel did a stupid pose and it wasn’t even used (lol reader decided to use Pinterest ☠️) In the art pic kinda pissed him off but not so long obviously when he stare at a beautiful art i that reader made of himself! While snow is falling!

hope you love this AND IF YOU WANT TO MAKE THIS AS GHOST PLS DO 😌😊! but of course his way! (I had to use my artistic brain for this and because Ik art and if I wanted to I could hav e wrote how a true artist room loook like. IT MESSIng but the messing it is the creative the person get 🥹🫶🧐 I think) have a great day cherry!

[steakout-05]

ok as an artist i personally find traditional painting to be. really really annoying. like. i do not have the patience for it and i just find it to be really frustrating to set up and actually do and i end up not liking the results. i find that there's little room for mistakes and trying to fix them usually ends up with me making 50 other ones, paints can be so inconsistent and having to rely on availability and certain brands to continue making the paint is really inconvenient, not to mention expensive. spending a bunch of time trying to mix the right shade of paint, only for it to go down a completely different shade of colour and not being able to do anything about it is so frustrating as someone who likes consistency and having things just, y'know, not change colour as soon as it dries. plus, they all use different chemicals and can go off really easily or change textures and i am just not ok with having all my materials having an expiration date like food. lead and graphite pencils just don't do that and they can last for years, they're more reliable. every paint is drastically different and trying to find the right one is not only time consuming but, again, expensive, and i don't even see the point in experimenting when most of my materials end up not even getting used if i don't like using them. plus, i'm just.... really impatient. waiting for paint to dry sucks and is why i much prefer digital or just drawing something because i don't need to wait for anything, it just works. and then when i do want to take my time and work slowly for a better result, it dries too fast. it's kinda hellish trying to balance that time, especially considering how inconsistent paints are.

i like to use guidelines when doing art and i find painting straight onto a canvas to be really tricky because there's a lack of direction for me to actually paint. i'm at a complete loss at what to do when i pick up a brush because i can't map it out first without risking screwing up the paint. there's just so many things to keep track of and so much wet paint to avoid and i just do not have the mind for it. putting colours on a canvas and praying that it works just isn't it for me and requires a discipline that i just don't wanna involve myself with. painting is also just like... really exhausting and kinda painful. i got some pretty bad back issues and my arms tire and get sore easily and quickly when i'm standing in front of a canvas. it's a really physical activity for me and i just don't find something to be very fun to do at all when it's physically hurting me. i know drawing on a canvas has this issue too, which is why i prefer sketchbooks. sitting down and drawing something that doesn't break my entire spine every time i do it is much more preferrable than questioning if i should go to the doctor every time i make a brushstroke, lol

that's not to say that there's nothing i like about painting though! i can paint simple little things, and i like doing that. i like mixing colours with a palette knife and i find it fun and even a little relaxing. i painted some cute little chibi cardboard cutouts of the mario brothers one time and i found that to be really fun and i think i'd like to do that again! but apart from that, i just do not have the patience for it. i love the look of traditional paintings and i find many to be really beautiful, but i could never get into actually doing it myself because i hate the process. i'm content with just sketching and doing digital stuff because that's more fun to me and less stressful of a process to do. it's fun, it allows for more mistakes, it's easier to build up layers of shading and lines, not to mention using building up a figure with guidelines is super helpful with visualising what i want it to look like, and i can just erase something if i don't want it there or want to change something. it just makes sense to me.

tl;dr i dont like painting because it's inconsistent, expensive, time-consuming, directionless, frustrating and it makes my back hurt really bad. i'll just stick to drawing stuff :)

[liannaflower]

Ask game

Thank you @butterfliesandstormclouds

Are you named after anyone?

No, but I was almost named after my great-grandma who died like two weeks before I was born, but I'm sooo glad I wasn't. (it's an uglier name than my own lol)

When was the last time you cried?

I think I shed some tears today lmao...😢

Do you have kids?

No(t yet🥰)!

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

Now just a bit; it's been getting less and less. 😅

What’s the first thing people notice about you?

Uh, good question. Maybe my shyness? Clumsiness? Or my general dumb expression😂 I think it used to be my smile but I don't really do that anymore lol

What’s your eye color?

Green, blue and grey. It's the prettiest when I cry, a very nice blueish green.

Scary movies or happy endings?

Kinda both but I became waaaaaay too paranoid over the last few weeks because of watching too many true crime vids so I avoid anything scary like it's the plague.

Any special talents

None, thanks for asking😊 lol anyways I'm really good at procrastinating.🙃

Where were you born?

Oh, this is getting specific... but yeah Veszprém...🥴

What are your hobbies?

Hmmm, I like drawing/painting, both on paper/canvas and digitally. I also like writing, going on walks with my pet, cooking, baking, oh yeah READING, how could I forget. Doing self-care, pampering nights with a good series. And then there are my bit more expensive hobbies... collecting stuff like books, crystals, tarot and oracle decks. I seriously need to stop with them I don't even need that many...😂 and then maladaptive daydreaming, although it might not qualify as a hobby but as a lifestyle fml.

Do you have any pets?

Yes, a doggo, I love her the most.🧡🧡🧡

What sports do/have you played?

I'm not really a sportsy person, I used to go to the gym or do workouts at home/swimming, but nowadays my only physical activity is taking the dog for a walk.

How tall are you?

158cm😊 (I refuse to care about the US measurement system, I just don't care and I'm too tired to look it up lol)

Favorite subject in school?

History all day, every day! I also liked English, although it was kinda boring, and I loved Hungarian literature AND grammar, but sadly in hs that teacher was not a good one. :( RIP

But in uni? My fave ever course was Chapters from Social Psychology

Dream job?

Author or book cover illustrator (or doing my own cover for my book)

I won't tag anyone but @justonemorechapternicercy, sorry love, I had to 🥺

[mayullla]

Mayu helphelp I wanna revamp my writing blog’s theme @/bamboowrites and I wanna learn 🥺🤲🏻🪤

look at other people's blogs that you admire and mix and match the ideas from there you would find something that you might be satisfied with.

consider if the BFY and DNI are absolutely important for your blog... some people just don't bother to read those things if they are in another link. having it on the pinned post above the masterlist link can help as they end up glancing at it just dont make it too long if you do.

now the theme itself depends on what you are going for but you can go for a. pick a theme like maybe cottagecore, gothic and such and build a mood board from it on Pinterest and from those pictures choose the colours for like the accent? b. would be picking the colors first (maybe a certain shade of color, or maybe a palette you like) and then the pictures. (another idea/way could be like a "3 words" too, like my main account theme @mayulli has a star, royalty, navy theme, but not necessarily galaxy tho. My reblog account @mayullii focused more on a princess fairytale pink.)

Build a pinterest board, everything usually starts from there to be honest lolll

Now for my own... uhhhhhhhhh okay this is mainly for the people who cant pick a theme and wants them all (or at least most)

A lot of people say that sticking to one theme and staying with it is a good idea and to be honest, they are not wrong, and absolutely right it is just that I don't like staying in one theme I guess lol? Example:

Something like this! Or-

Look at all those differences hehehe. Nowhere here do you see green forest themes except for like Diasomnia (twst)? And then I also have the borders of all my writing posts:

I have like probably over 100 fic/original oneshots by now all that uses the borders above which is like alot and gonna be supppperrrr tiring to edit everything if I think about swapping everything. (will cry if I must.) but one thing is very obvious in all the pictures is that all have this pastel, soft dark, neutral tones, and has a mix of flowers, nature/outdoor and vintage themes/vibes.

I tried to make the blog as colorful as possible with the mindset that I will be changing my blog theme often. I just made the blog take all the themes that I personally like and mix and match. The forest green I currently have matched well with all the leaves in the pictures above cause of the leaves of the flowers. With an odd one here and there, but it is not necessarily painful to the eyes.

For me, with all this, I have multiple options of things I like so from like a white background which I can make it look like a canvas where the pop of colors would be from the multiple masterlists, blue where you could call it the outside/sky and the posts are the flowers essentially a garden, dusty tones, most pastel colors but more so the neutral tones like both dark and light academia would be a-okay most of the time. princesses and fairytales also~

Now what would not match with everything here would be neon colors, most bold/bright colors (my heartslabyul dorm masterlist is suffering rn cause of that red), pure black, city street and downtown, sci-fi stuff would stick out like a sore thumb for me but they are themes that I don't care for much so it is fine.

It doesn't have to flower only, to be honest if you want you can go for something jewels which has an array of colors, or maybe fabrics/clothes as like the main theme. really just make a pin board and add everything that you like and pick all the common stuff they have with each other.

Ah! one more thing that probs might help but who knows but like as you saw my twst wonderland masterlists are all different colors. So I use gray as like a divider from the main theme and the dorms. I also did the same for General/multiple characters masterlist and school staff and other characters. The gray is like a refresh for the eyes in a way (like how you sniff coffee when you smell multiple perfumes so that the scent won't mix?) so that the color of my main theme and the masterlist theme won't mix/crash in the eye much.

Genshin is genshin lol but the colours matches well with the colours of the flowers i have so it is fine. my original works masterlist is white as it was part of the white theme that i had once before, but since it is not related to any fandom it is essentially my own empty canvas (lol) so i kept it like that, naruto masterlist is obviously yellow cause... naruto lolll

[matfinishfuckstheworld]

haven't done enough 'self care' today been just zoomin zoomin zoomin doing chores most of the day (and socialising which is Good but tiring). so. entire meme time.

s/i meme :D

give us a quick run down of your s/i!!

mat finish is basically just my Ideal Self. they are a sadomasochistic hedonist, they are shameless, they are an assassin. all of these are somehow intrinsic to my identity because i've always loved hitmen and to me violence and sex have always been the same thing.

post a meme that describes your s/i.

where does your s/i live? do they aspire to move or are they content with where they are?

mat tends to travel the world and occupy wherever they need to. sometimes they will settle and be a cool city assassin who is tied to a specific mob or similar.

but often they struggle with commitment, just like me, and the natural ebb and flow of attention on their activities leads them to drift around more. it's a necessity more than a choice.

often it's the f/o that makes them want to settle down anywhere.

what's a song that describes your s/i? even better if you have a playlist!

okay here is a random one from their playlist.

leather by tori amos is so good because it is so sexy and so tragic.

i think that sense of seeking sensation in a dizzying way but ultimately falling victim to wanting to be loved tender. it's the thing that is 'missing' for them (not for everyone! just for them).

thats their inherent contradiction.

what is your s/i's profession?

mat is an assassin, but as stated, it tends to be fairly random as to how and what subset. i put them everywhere because most of my fandoms are crime-themed or crime-adjacent, so it is easy to stick them just about anywhere.

what does your s/i have most in common with you? what's different about them?

we both want to fuck the same people lol. we are both desperate for affection.

as for differences... i do not murder people!!! but i am i would say a work in progress who is trying to learn to be less hurtful to the people in my life, and i feel a great amount of guilt for the way i have been in the past. perhaps thats why ive always had an affinity for villainous characters and why i take such a sick pleasure in punishing mat for their extreme and unambiguous crimes.

mat has a higher pain tolerance (and pain/arousal threshold) than i ever could. i'm the kind of person who it takes a few tries to get what i need done at the doctors and thats if i manage at all. i want tattoos someday but i am nervous about wasting my deposit if it's too much for me. so mat is wish fulfilment in that aspect. they are resilient in such a twisted way and i would much prefer that to what i am now. i am soooo drawn to violence and to the idea of having my mind and body made into a canvas for someone elses designs and abuse. but i can't actually do that. :(

as psychological masochists we are about equal, but there's only so much that mp3s can do to my addled brain whereas mat gets real horrible people who want to get inside their mind and do horrible and irreversible things to break them down.

if your s/i was an animal, what would they be?

tricky to say. i think they are dog-coded. this is counter to me as i think i'm pretty cat-coded lol. but call them a good boy and you can see the wagging tail in their eyes!!!

maybe they could be a wolf. (i think so too.) stereotyped as an independent and brutal predator, but actually dependent on the protection of those around them.

how did you get the idea for your s/i's backstory?

mat was originally a vbros oc because i wanted a venturesona who could fuck rusty and brock lol. and there are such sexually charged assassins in the vbros universe. so it was a natural fit for my interests. i decided that because herr trigger was just such a fun design and concept (he literally fucks his guns and i am SUCH a gunfucker.), he was an ideal mentor for them, but generally outside of vbros canon they have a similar figure - a dangerous mentor they are raised by and who is responsible for the death of their parents, someone who is unerringly confident, sexually perverted but without involving them ('daddy needs his alone time with his ak-47 ok why don't you go outside and play with the ice machine'), someone they are all mixed up about - they look up to them, they want to be with them, they want to be them.

mat was intended to be that kind of deconstructive, 'where are they now' look at a specific child hero subtype the way that rusty is that for johnny qu3st. specifically, they are the trained killer girl who is all grown up and had so much transmasc swag that they weren't a girl actually and has a MULTITUDE of intimacy problems that they try to pave over with sensation and sick thrills.

give us an example s/i outfit (or describe it).

mat's signature look is all black. turtleneck + bondage harness that serves no actual purpose except to signal their perversion. big coat that they look a little too small for only further emphasised by the skintight rest of their ensemble. boots! boots.

what are some of your s/i's major skills?

well you see. they are very good at killing people. also masochism-as-superpower allowing them to withstand torture. very silly. but sexy.

what is your s/i afraid of?

their few extreme sources of pleasure becoming dulled over time until the only thing left is to fucking die.

they envy their marks, a lot.

if you had to compare your s/i to an already existing fictional character, who would it be?

well, given their first name and backstory, obviously mat is strongly inspired by math1lda lando. i have... difficult feelings about the film she originates from. i watched it constantly as a child while daydreaming about escaping my own abusive situation some similar way. being swept off my feet by a killer with a heart of gold and granted the power to execute my own revenge against everyone who ever wronged me. and falling in love with my killer mentor too even though they will never love me back.

then i found out about the backstory of why besson wrote that film, and what happened to portman during/after filming, and also i mean i only ever watched the european cut, and it all left such a disgusting taste in my mouth. i felt lied to even though all of the subtext was right there, but i was a kid! i didn't know better! so i guess i was eager to reclaim the feelings i had for the movie as a kid and rewrite them in a way that didn't have a genuinely harmful context.

the roles portman has done as an adult contributed to mat too, at least unconsciously. bl4ck swan is queer psychosexual fodder and it doomed me. and i mean, lé0n is not her only intimate fucked up mentor-mentee movie. v 4 vendetta is too. regardless of how you feel about the changes from the comic, that movie was sooooo much for me as a kid. the mindgames, the transformation through torture, the violent subversion, trans energy of becoming v (even though it was actually the comic that followed through on that properly) it was so formative to everything i value today.

this is the first time i have actually addressed their original inspiration publicly. it's a can of worms i was hesitant to open. in the same sense that vbros played with the kid hero archetypes and made them all fucked up adults with weird proclivities, mat is an expression of just another kid archetype in media, grown up and fucked up. so, in the same sense that rusty is so much more than just grown-up johnny quest, i would ask that mat is not seen as literally mathilda, because... they're not, and i think if they were, that would only be perpetuating the harm of the movie.

mat takes some cues from mathilda, but she wasn't their only inspiration. mat is ultimately just... me. they are the me that looked upon dizzying adolescence (spending most of it as a 'teenage girl') and suddenly being seen as a sex object with decreasingly safe clothing and behaviour options and the victim blaming terror of sexual assault and pregnancy being drummed into me and having nothing but abusive relationships as a model for romance. as an adult, i tried to carve out my own sexuality and vulnerability in a way that wasn't so fucking uncomfortable. i wanted to accept objectification and assault but in a degendered form, in a form that could also be tough-guy masculinity as much as it could also be the penetrability we inexplicably (well, explicably but we would be here all night) read as feminine. mat is the culmination of all of that work and psychodrama and i am rather pleased with how they have turned out and transcended their initial inspiration.

has your s/i's story changed since you created them or has it stayed relatively the same?

the basic premise has stayed the same, but they have different versions for different universes. so, of course vbros has canon characters to take the roles of people in their backstory, and i've been building up their dc version, manikin, solely to selfship with hugo, and then there's their psychon4uts version in the grulovian mob, at odds with the titular organisation.

[cherrymoonxx]

Hi cherry❣ I would love to participate in ur muse part 2 game. That idea for the game sounds rlly creative and caught my eyes ngl. A hobby of mine is that I like to play games in my free time. U could say I am a gamer since I've been playing games ever since my childhood. Also, I love to listen to music. It's def a part of me tbh. I grew up with music and sing occasionally when I feel like it. I don't think I can live without listening to music esp kpop😂 I've been into kpop ever since I was a kid and till now😆 I used to write stories and read a lot and also draw a lot. But sadly due to my depression, it has affected my passion for those so my passion for them have died out. Its like my flames have been extinguished lol. Now my hobbies are just listening to music, singing and playing games. How abt u? What are ur hobbies?😊

My initial: A, fav emoji: 😂

Hey there! I actually have some similar hobbies as you! I like cozy games, so like animal crossing and stardew valley. What kinda of games do you play? I also like kpop as well! What groups are you into? Im sorry to hear you’ve lost your passion for writing and drawing. Maybe one day you’ll pick them back up.

Alrighty, let’s get to your reading:

So, first off, when I was connecting to your energy, I got the image of a small boat/rowboat in the middle of the ocean. Only I was on this boat and I felt that it was really unstable. The waves were moving fast and rocking the boat. I tried to hold on to the sides, but that didn’t help much. One particular strong current knocked the boat, sending me straight into the water. It all happened so quickly. One minute I was holding on for dear life and the next, I was completely submerged in the water. I wasn’t scared tho. It was like I just accepted it, accepted that I was drowning. I didn’t try to move or swim up. It was a state of acceptance and exhaustion.

So that was what popped into my mind while connecting to your energy. For the reading tho, I’m thinking your artist will be a painter.

Ok so let me paint a picture for you (pun intended 😉). In this scenario, I see you going for a swim in the ocean to clear your mind. It’s not an ideal day, it’s kinda windy and the clouds were slowly covering the sun. The waves are a little rough too but it’s ok you don’t mind, you just needed an escape. So you’re doing your little thing, swimming and just letting your body move along with the ocean. You spend some time like this, completely lost in thought that you don’t even notice how far the water has carried you. You look and see that you’re a little too far away from the shore, so you start to swim back. But by this time, the waves are coming in strong and you’re kinda struggling. You’re getting tired from being thrown around in the waves, so at this point you start panicking. At this point you’re getting desperate because you’ve lost control and your arms are getting tired, so you start yelling for help. Not too far off on the shore, there’s this person with a canvas and some paint silently painting the ocean. They look up for a moment and notice a figure they hadn’t noticed before. So they just stare for a bit trynna figure out what that is until they hear your cry for help. They look around to see if there was anyone else but since there was not many people around, they start running to help. Looong story short, they end up rescuing you and bringing you back to shore. Not you having a little mermaid moment👀

Your artist will find you very charming and intriguing. They find you to be very fun and they just love hearing you talk. Your voice is quite literally enchanting. They think you’re absolutely hilarious. You don’t even have to say much, but you’ll always have them smiling from ear to ear. Your energy is inviting and magnetic. People can’t help but be drawn to you because you radiate such a positive energy. Your artist will be enamored with you. Completely smitten. They’d typically paint only landscape and elements of nature, but after meeting you, they’d find themselves incorporating you into their paintings. They’d still paint nature, but you’d make an appearance in these pictures. Maybe they’d paint you lying down on the beach or they’d paint you in a field of beautiful flowers. Either way, they’d find a way to incorporate you into these paintings. And it’s just a testament to how you have the ability to brighten someone’s life with your presence.

Okay that’s all I’m seeing for you! I promise I tried to keep it short but I always get carried away 😓 but thank you for participation and thank you for your patience!

Take care 💖

[frogsandfries]

Oh gooooooooodd...... I found more imposed documents I haven't printed lol.

More things I have to organize. Also, more paper and more ink wheeeee

ETA: for anyone who cares, I got some of the raw AO3 documents cleared off my computer, turned into docs. Put the imposed documents on my flash drive. I was too tired to even finish stitching the one book I was stitching, so I haven't done anything with my catalogue. But I really, really need to. I'm going to try to wait till I'm done organizing my current files. There are, of course, always more. And more. So many more.

Even if I just print the........ never mind, of the imposed documents I saved for myself last night and then rediscovered off my laptop........I already have thousands of pages...... I do wonder, how many tens of thousands of pages? How many am I presently sitting on now? How many will there be when I can no longer gather them for whatever reason?

I somewhat worry that I'm going to get to a point where I'll have too many books and want to keep going, and then what? Overwhelm my family? Get a storage bin?? Could you imagine turning a storage bin into a library? The thought is kinda funny.

Really, the hardest part of bookbinding, in my opinion, is affording the finishing bits, the custom book cloths, the ribbons, the end papers, any vinyls or transfers or charms or other decorations, dust jackets.

The printing, easy. Paper is rather affordable.

Manipulating the paper is hard on the skin, but otherwise easy.

Finding things to print as super easy. There's a lot of media that I have developed an affinity toward, and there are so many people who have thoughts on that media.

But even if I just used cheap cotton fabric, it comes out to about twelve bucks per cover. I use cotton on my mini sketchbooks. I do not think it would be hard-wearing on a bigger book that is meant to be handled more. I think, for my purposes, cotton is not sufficient. So actually, each cover comes out to closer to twenty. Even if I did but one cloth every check, it would still be incredibly slow going. I would just buy an assload of white canvas or something like that, maybe just regular off-the-shelf book cloth, but I hate painting. I don't know how hard-wearing and lasting HTV would be, but I imagine it's a distinctive material when applied to any kind of cloth.

Embroidery is unquestionably in my skill-set.

Is it in my patience-set? Ummmmm........ definitely depends. Anyone wanna ask the cover for the second volume of Manacled? It'll look awesome when it's finished. When will I finish it.

[thatonespriteobsessedbitch]

Speak Now Taylor's Version Thoughts!!!

dude this post is longgggg

Mine TV:

Mine stolen version has been my favorite song recently so I'm really excited!

AHHHHHHH 20 SECONDS!!!

this is like better than Christmas to me

it's just the "ah-ah-ah-ah"s and I'm already crying

she sounds so much more grown up 🥹

I want you to know that I'm actually crying rn

I only just realized that SNTV is almost 2hrs long... it's ten now and I have to be up at six....

Sparks Fly TV:

awwww Sparks Fly's canvas is her singing it in Nashville 💜

the country twang 🥹😭

fun fact: this song makes me think of dean winchester

I would meet her in the pouring rain literally any day of the week

omg I just saw the SNTV post and she looks so pretty

Back To December TV:

I love this song so much

I can definitely hear the differences a lot more in this one

BRB crying

somehow this one sounds even more regretful than the original

there's a lot less of the orchestral strings which I'm kinda sad about

I'm sorry, her little voice shake on understand???? I'm sobbing

yeah there's def more guitar

Speak Now TV:

omg title track time bby

her vocals have matured so much 🥹

it almost sounds like 19yo taylor is doing backing vocals in the chorus

she didn't do the giggle??

Ok she's forgiven, somehow the bridge got better

nvm I thought the giggle was in a different spot, it's still there

Dear John TV:

side-eyes john mayer

tears just tears 😭😭

the way she says "I should've know" I'm bawling

I literally blacked out for that entire song

Mean TV:

dancing to the little banjo moment while still crying from dear John lol

she sounds so petty at the bridge lmfaoooo

The Story Of Us TV:

I wonder if she's gonna keep "next chapter" and "the end"

omfg she did!!! she sounds so good!!!!

pop-rock is where she shines

I love the guitar solo so fucking much

I love her "the end" so much

Never Grow Up TV:

this one is gonna make me ugly cry

the bridge is gonna kill me

I literally curled up in a ball and cried for the entire song

Enchanted TV:

I really hope we get more speak now on the setlist now that Taylor's version is out

the amount of joy the TV of this song gives me is indescribable

nearly bridge time

*the woman was too stunned to speak*

it's so good guys

Better Than Revenge TV:

omfg the intro is so so good

I don't mind the lyric change, I understand that it didnt reflect current taylor anymore

also it fits really well

altho I saw someone say that it was a fountain pen line in a gel pen song and I do agree

Innocent TV:

I made it to the first chorus before I started crying lol

I want you to know that I am fighting to get through this album for you guys, I am so so so tired

Haunted TV:

this one I'm really excited for

omg the echoing????

it's giving dark cave in the forest while it's raining vibes

the "I know" repetion?!?!?!

she sounds so angry in the last chorus and I love it

Last Kiss TV:

not one of my faves from the original SN so this is gonna be hard for me to get through this tired

yeah I zoned out for that entire song lol

Long Live TV:

I'm gonna cry (I actually didn't, idk how)

I want a long Live tattoo

I think this will really cement that

I can't get one yet because of reasons but by god do I want one

this song holds such a special place in my heart cause I associate it so much with my friends

Ours TV:

I think I've listened to the stolen version of this song like twice??

tbh I love the chorus but the rest of this song is kinda meh to me

Superman TV:

same category as ours

not my fave

Electric Touch feat. FOB TV FTV:

I need this song injected into my veins, oh my lord

taylor and Patrick sound so fucking good together

again like I blacked out for this song lol

When Emma Falls In Love TV FTV:

a piano moment??

it's giving folklore

"jokes about the ways this one could go wrong" me

"little miss sunshine always thinks it's gonna rain" ow

now I wanna know who Emma is

"takes on the pain and bears it on her own" again ow

🥹😭😭

I Can See You TV FTV:

I have heard a little about this one but all I know is that it's so it goes and dress's raunchier older sister

synths??!?!

omg this was written in 2010?????????? miss girl????

"up against the wall with me" 👀😳, taylor-- what?

I did not know she had this in her, holy shit

ok I def know why this wasn't on the original

"jacket on the floor" girl 😳

"start behaving myself" what the actual fuck?!?!!

I'm gonna need some time to process this lol

Castles Crumbling feat Hayley Williams TV FTV:

oh this is gonna hurt isn't it

I'm 20 seconds in and I know this is gonna hurt

this fuckin hurts

again, I blacked out lol

dude this is how I feel about my family, I went from being the golden child to being hated by my dad's side because I look and act too much like my mom

I only know like two songs by Hayley but her voice fits the song and she sounds great

Foolish One TV FTV:

damn I'm only on the first verse and she did not need to at me like that

god ow

"I will do my best to seem bulletproof" FOR FUCK SAKE TAYLOR JUST CALL THIS SONG SPRITE WHY DONT YOU

😦 -> me the entire time

dude this fucking hurt

the end made me cry 😭

Timeless TV FTV:

it came on while I was in the shower so I don't have any notes besides that it's an adorable song