#i know to some degree its up to interpretation but this was such a perfect ending.

[everlasting-evocation]

"Alas, the sea hath cast me on the rock,

Wash'd me from shore to shore, and left me breath

Nothing to think on but ensuing death.

What I have been I forgot to know;

But what I am, want teaches me to think on:

A man throng'd up with cold: my veins are chill,

And have no more of life than may suffice

To give my tongue that heat to ask your help;

Which if you shall refuse, when I am dead,

For that I am a man, pray see me buried."

If We Were Villains, M.L. Rio

Passage from Pericles

[chocosvt]

HER | part six (m).

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.6k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

here it is... the FINAL part 😭 it seemed that a number of you were quite worried as to how i'd wrap this up, and i can finally give you the answer! :3 this has been an epic journey. thank yew for ur time 💕

more rambling continues at the very end. as per usual. again, a little bit more of an early upload! as a treat <3

⇢ part one | part two | part three | part four | part five ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—SEPTEMBER 30TH.

The morning after was strange.

Early sunlight permeated through the living room’s white cloth curtains, dappling in water-like speckles against the glasses still held on his nose. For a moment, Wonwoo was frozen, as his mind made the shift from deep sleep to consciousness, though when he finally did awaken to find his blanket half-pushed off the recliner and the remnants of Chinese takeout left scattered across the coffee table, his lethargy started fading.

Vernon was gone.

Judging from the text on Wonwoo’s phone, the boy had quietly made his way out at around seven in the morning. It surprised Wonwoo to no end that Vernon could manage to sleep so little yet remain fully functional all the time. He seemed magic—or maybe it was something else that Wonwoo would be concerned to know about.

He spent some time cleaning off the coffee table.

Down the hall, his bedroom door remained closed.

When you finally did emerge, it was with the olive-green dress draped over your arm and the ivory heels in hand, which you proceeded to arrange on the small dining table by the kitchen.

Notably, however, there was something off about you, something that Wonwoo interpreted as nerves with an underlying awkwardness you didn’t typically, if at all, demonstrate. When he asked if you wanted breakfast and tea, your response was a tiny head shake and a poorly fit smile. Though, Wonwoo wasn’t going to paw at you.

He found that mornings always tended to be quite sobering, even if he hadn’t exactly drunk enough to make the room spin or swallowed some colourfully disguised pill on his tongue. Just the air was enough to rewire his head—that cooler, crisp air that he either loved or hated.

Undoubtedly, you had much to think about.

Wonwoo helped you get a hold of Princess using his phone, and the two of you watched television in silence while waiting for her to pick you up. He escorted you down through the pottery shop when it was time, and you sported very little shame, walking out onto the bright city sidewalk in just his t-shirt, clothes and shoes wrapped in your arms. Princess had this awfully perplexed look slapped onto her face while leaning over to nudge the car door open for you, and in that  moment, Wonwoo was scared of how it all appeared and what might transpire now that the giddiness and frivolity from the night before had ebbed away. He didn’t regret anything, though. Not at all.

But, in truth, what the fuck even were you two?

And what was supposed to happen now?

—OCTOBER 3RD.  

Since you had left his apartment in a daze that Saturday morning, Wonwoo hadn’t seen or heard from you. It was concerning him as time passed, he couldn’t deny it, but he also trusted you and wanted not to make you feel pressured into explaining yourself.

He was caught in a brisk walk along campus after leaving his early lecture, a warm coffee cup pressed against his lip that he had grabbed from the ground floor of SRX—they had been giving hot drinks away for free, and, consequently, it tasted like it. Nonetheless, the air was chillier by the day as autumn pushed its way in and decorated the walkway with dry leaves that rustled and crunched under his shoes. It was nice to have something hot in his hand.

He took a second to glance down at his phone.

Still, no messages from you, Wonwoo realized with a suckling sip of the very watery coffee, nearly tempted to text you himself—not anything pushy—just a simple reassurance that he was there for you if things weren’t going well.

Suddenly, however, Wonwoo had smacked into someone.

“Fuck—sorry,” he muttered, readjusting the computer bag slung over his shoulder and pushing up his circled glasses.

To Wonwoo’s complete and utter misery, he was unfortunately acquainted with the person he’d bumped shoulders, and now he was wishing that he had just kept walking like an impatient asshole.

Seokmin was standing before him, dressed in a similar-style woolen trench coat that his hands were stuffed into, the sun turning certain threads of his chocolate brown hair all shimmery. He hadn’t gotten back to Seokmin’s numerous texts ever since Wonwoo sent a brief, very purposefully vague message to the boy that night he ran out with you at the dinner party.

Now he was wondering if the shoulder bump was intentional.

“Wonwoo… uh, hey,” Seokmin stumbled.

Sniffling, Wonwoo let a second or two pass before answering.

He was still debating whether or not to walk away.

“What’s up?”

“You just get out of class, or?”

Wonwoo nodded. “Yeah—advanced stats.”

Seokmin flitted a barely-there smile, staring at his coffee cup.

“Is that the free stuff from SRX?”

“Indeed.”

“How does it taste?”

“Uh, watery… like shit, basically.”

Wonwoo knew—he fucking knew—that there was something buzzing on the tip of Seokmin’s tongue that he just couldn’t spit out. His absentminded expression and clear not-giving-a-damness about whether Wonwoo’s free coffee was actually good completely betrayed him. Not wanting to dawdle and get stuck in the mud of conversation, Wonwoo swallowed the lump in his throat, flashed his friend a tight-lipped smile, and pitched a goodbye, blandly wording it as, “I won’t keep you. Later.”

But Seokmin didn’t seem prepared to let that happen.

And Wonwoo’s eyes nearly rolled backward into his skull when the boy turned around and attempted to catch his attention again.

For some stupid, incomprehensible reason, Wonwoo stopped.

Maybe he knew the conversation needed to happen.

It only made him loathe the situation more.

“Yeah?”

Seokmin dragged a hand through his hair, brushing it up and down against the back of his head while he squinted at Wonwoo.

“I think… uh… if you’re not busy… I think there’s maybe some stuff we need to talk about. I don’t mean to like, catch you at a bad time or anything… do you wanna go sit at the picnic table over there?”

At Seokmin’s carefully suggested inquiry, Wonwoo followed the boy’s pointing finger toward the empty table placed on the large grass circle that the walkway wove around. With his grip hardening into the coffee cup, Wonwoo stopped to think despite knowing his answer.

“Okay… yeah.”

Wonwoo realized it had never felt this weird and stilted to sit down with Seokmin despite him being quite a reliable friend over the months, though Wonwoo was developing the sneaking feeling that his study buddy was about to deal an irreparable blow to their relationship. Seokmin’s folded hands were sitting atop the flecked, aged wood of the table, thumbs nervously twiddling, meanwhile Wonwoo remained silent to sip from his coffee that only became more and more tasteless.

Eventually, his friend seemed to find the words he needed.

“So, I don’t know if you’ve heard… but… Her and Mingyu are taking a break. They’re officially pressing the big pause button. I wasn’t there to witness the conversation, although I get the gist it was a pretty… uh, unpleasant talk,” Seokmin winced, bracing his teeth, “and… well, naturally, I learned that you were a big part of that talk, seeing how it looked and all���you and Her running out at the dinner party…”

He left what seemed like a purposeful pause, and Wonwoo assumed that he was supposed to feel pressured and jump to make a correction or provide an explanation, but he kept silent and rather expressionless. Ironically, Seokmin was the one to continue his spiel.

“Well, basically, there were some accusations thrown around as you can imagine. And I’m not sitting here to point a finger and question you to death about everything, but I just thought I’d give you the table—uh, literally—to explain what’s been happening.”

Wonwoo finally set aside his drink, then shifting off the strap to his computer bag, letting it fall down his shoulder. He didn’t make a huge, overwhelmed sigh even though his body was screaming for it, nor did he ponder abandoning the conversation despite the magnitude of everything Seokmin laid out for him.

Fuck—he hated being matured.

“I can’t speak on her feelings. But I like her.”

“Oh—you do?” Seokmin was astonishingly surprised.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Yeah.”

“So, then, does that mean—”

“Actually, sorry, I’m downplaying it like a coward,” Wonwoo interrupted, shaking his head, “I don’t just like her. I’m in love with her.”

It was then that Seokmin simply didn’t speak at all. His mouth had formed a hollowed shape, resembling something like a gulping fish, and Wonwoo capitalized on the silence to keep his thoughts fluent.

“I understand, okay? I understand why Mingyu is pissed. It takes two to tango, I get all that. And I know you probably want me to state my regret and all that so I don’t seem like such an asshole, but, honestly, I don’t really regret anything. Mingyu doesn’t care about her.”

Seokmin chuffed, rubbing at his chin. “Okay… I don’t know if I would go as far as to say that in particular. But you are admitting to it? I don’t know what it is you’ve done but you’ve done things with Her.”

“We’ve never had sex if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And—”

“We’ve never kissed, either… the only thing I was supposed to do was help her write that little love story. Which you set up, by the way. I didn’t know it would turn into this. I tried to get out of it.”

“I never thought she would stick it out.”

“I know.” Wonwoo sucked in his bottom lip, staring across the weathered wood at Seokmin. “You probably wanted her to drop it the second she mentioned it. I bet Mingyu thought the same.”

Seokmin scrunched up his face in disagreement. “That’s not necessarily true. She just fixates on stuff and then burns out after. She's always been like that, ever since I've known her. I figured the book would be no different. I thought it was something she needed to get out of her system, I didn’t think it would start rolling and—” he leaned forward into his palms for a moment, swallowing audibly. “Sorry, I just—I don’t get it, that’s all. I don’t get her fixations.”

“I think you’re just uncomfortable with her self-expression.”

“She—it’s not self-expression, though. Look, I know a pinch of what her story is about. It’s not about herself. It’s about Mingyu.”

“You think that just because she’s writing about someone else, there’s no pieces of herself in it? Her own feelings? Her own perspective? C’mon, Seokmin. You’re fucking smarter than that. You know what it's actually about.”

His friend’s eyes drifted away from him.  

Wonwoo then cleared his throat. “Look, you don’t really need all the details, Seokmin. Like I said, I don’t know exactly how she feels about me. I can surmise. I can say we’ve had moments that we shouldn’t. But—genuinely—you probably know more than I do and you’re lying to yourself if you can’t realize that Mingyu is just some advantageous prick who makes her miserable.”

“Well, I think that—I don’t know if it’s really—”

“He walked into an opportunity with her and he knew it. His whole fucking life and career was basically set up for him the second he met her family. He’s beyond lucky Her ever looked his way.”

“Jeez, Wonwoo. Honestly, it’s not like that.”

“How is it not?”

Seokmin ran a hand through his hair, appearing flustered and without a tongue to make sense. “Just—okay—I’ve been around them a lot. I know how it seems from an outsider’s view. They can argue and push buttons. Their relationship isn’t perfect, but whose is? Mingyu didn’t just walk into the family asking for this and that—he’s never asked for anything, no handouts. Everything that’s been ‘set up’ for him was because Her’s family wanted it. They know he’s a good guy.”

The scoff shot from Wonwoo’s mouth like an arrow. “I’m sorry but, what do they want for Her? Were we at the same dinner party? Did you see her nearly burst into tears? She has to live life in this rigid box, trying to conform to everyone else around her. Don’t you think she wants to live her own life? Be her own person?”

“Of course, but—”

“No—why is there even a ‘but’?”

“I don’t think you understand. Her has everything she needs.”

“You mean, what everyone thinks she needs.” Wonwoo tossed his hand up in the air, laughing, while also getting the strong impulse to ring out his friend’s neck. “It doesn’t make any sense to me. How can you be so close to her, but you don’t realize how unhappy she is? You know what I think? You’re part of it, Seokmin. You're always in her business, hovering, watching, sewing seeds of doubt, shooting down her interests—and you disguise it as help. No one in that house listens to her. They’ve told her who she should be instead of letting her figure it out for herself. How can you be so complicit in that? She gets no support from any of you, about the decisions in her life that actually matter. And Mingyu—honestly, he can go fuck himself. He’s just as complicit as you. He’s soul-sucking.”

“God—sh-she’s an adult.” Seokmin was exasperated, his cheeks reddening like two ripe apples. “She doesn’t have to visit her parents. She doesn’t have to date Mingyu. Nothing is forced on her. No one is dragging her there. I help because I know what she's capable of. I know the perfect life she can have. Her parents know, too. But she just gets sidetracked! She gets wrapped up in stuff that doesn't matter! If she hates everything, she can easily walk away.”

“But you guys have made that so impossible for her.”

“How?”

Wonwoo proceeded to clench his fist up so tight he thought his skin might bleed, the edge of his knuckles pressing down on the table.

“She doesn’t know who the fuck she is.”

Seokmin instantly paled. He looked whiter than a snowflake.

“That’s like clipping a bird’s wings and then asking why it can’t fly away. Knowing who you are is such a big part of life. It’s arguably the foundation. What the fuck do you want her to do? I don’t even—I honestly don’t even want to look at you, Seokmin. Let Mingyu beat me up if he wants to—let it happen a thousand times—” slinging the computer bag back over his shoulder, Wonwoo was rising from the picnic table while glaring down at the stiff, empty-faced Seokmin, who had suddenly morphed from a friend to a bitter stranger, “—I don’t care what he thinks. It’s not going to change how I feel about her, or make me stay away. I’ve seen who she can be and what she actually wants from life, and it's not some snotty, vapid, copy-and-paste hell that her parents are forcing on her. But neither of you seem to give a shit. You’re both completely undeserving.”

Stepping away from the bench, Wonwoo tensed his jaw as the sunlight splashed over him, breaking in between the skeletal trees and their resilient orange leaves. “Got everything you wanted to know? Go run it back to Mingyu. I’m sure that’s what you were gonna do anyway.”

The anger in his chest felt like it was going to crawl out from his mouth and squeeze Seokmin into a ball, therefore Wonwoo exercised his breathing while on a strict path back down the walkway.

Abandoning Seokmin did hurt him more than he had thought, knowing he just lost a friend from his already very limited circle, someone whom he clicked with so readily. At the same time, however, there was a lightness about it. As Wonwoo’s frustration seeped out during the walk back to his apartment, some of the weight pressed into his shoulders released itself like water evaporating from a blacktop.

He just wished he could be at your side more than anything.

There was obviously a reason for your silence.

[ Wonwoo | 11:28 am ]: I heard about the break.

[ Wonwoo | 11:28 am ]: I’m here if you need anything at all.

…

[ Her | 4:05 pm ]: you talked to seokmin?

[ Wonwoo | 4:07 pm ]: Yeah. Never again.

[ Her | 4:07 pm ]: mingyu is so mad

[ Wonwoo | 4:07 pm ]: I figure.

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: please avoid him if you can. i’m worried

[ Wonwoo | 4:08 pm ]: I’m not.

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: wonwoo he’s seriously pissed

[ Her | 4:08 pm ]: can’t you hang out with vernon some more

[ Wonwoo | 4:09 pm ]: Seriously?

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: yes

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: mingyu got into trouble with dots and had a real big scare. so he doesn’t like to mess much with him or his friends. he'll showboat but that's about it

[ Her | 4:09 pm ]: well ik dots died but u get the point

[ Wonwoo | 4:10 pm ]: Fair.

[ Wonwoo | 4:10 pm ]: But I can’t just pull Vernon around as my Mingyu repellent lol. Honestly, if he wants to rock me, idc.

[ Her | 4:10 pm ]: well I do care

[ Her | 4:10 pm ]: ugh

[ Her | 4:11 pm ]: life has been sucking so hard lately

[ Wonwoo | 4:11 pm ]: I want to come see you.

[ Her | 4:11 pm ]: I want that too. but I need more time, k?

[ Wonwoo | 4:12 pm ]: I know.

[ Wonwoo | 4:12 pm ]: Here if you need me.

—OCTOBER 18TH.

For the past two weeks, Wonwoo had been walking around with the looming possibility of getting jumped by your six-foot tall, rather muscley boyfriend, and he was thus very relieved to have made it this far without eating a fist to the face. Well, now Mingyu was an ex.

Maybe.

The pause in your relationship read like a gray area that Wonwoo had been treading the thinnest eggshells on, prompting him to wait and hear the truth from you directly whenever you felt steady enough to tell him. He wondered if today might be that day.

Placing another strawberry onto the cutting board, Wonwoo chopped his knife through the leafy green bit, removing the stem. The cleaned-up strawberry was then dropped into a bowl of fresh ones that you had been picking away at for the past few minutes or so.

Wonwoo smiled while grabbing another berry to cut.

“I feel like this bowl hasn’t gotten any fuller, for some reason.”

Your legs were swinging as you sat atop the small kitchen island while looking down at his every movement with the knife. Once he  dropped another cut strawberry into the bowl, you scooped it out.

“Just making sure they don’t go bad,” you responded, shrugging.

He raised an eyebrow at you. “The fruit you buy usually goes bad within the minute? Are you getting into a fist fight with it?”

You poked at his hip with your socked foot. “Well, you said you were cutting it for me. So can I eat it or not? I’m getting mixed signals.”

“No, of course you can eat it. I’m just teasing.”

“I don’t do too well with delayed gratification.”

Wonwoo smiled at you, proceeding to remove the last few strawberries from the basket to cleanly dissect their stems. He then turned around, tossing the cutting board and knife into the stainless-steel sink with a clatter. After washing his hands, he was back at the island, noticing that the bowl was now seated in your lap like a bag of movie theatre popcorn with just the perfect amount of butter and salt. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t say anything—that focused look to your face as you ate the fruit he prepared was much too captivating. He wanted to catch one of your swinging legs, pull you right to the counter’s very edge and have you wrap yourself around him. He wanted everything with you.

In your earlier days together, Wonwoo used to be a lot more evasive about his staring (at least, that’s what he wanted to believe), but now he didn’t feel as required to be so painfully subtle and imperceptible about things. He let you snack until you were satisfied, the empty bowl then being exchanged with a damp rag to clean your fingers.

“So,” clearing his throat, Wonwoo braced his hands against the granite island and glanced at you from behind his glasses, scanning down the unbothered, relatively straight face you had, “everything going okay?”

Pressing your lips together, you nodded, making only an “mhm” sound that didn’t leave much to be interpreted.

Wonwoo saw the hands that plunged swiftly between your thighs, how you were quick to squeeze around them, like there existed something weighted and hidden.

He wanted to leave it up to your discretion—he really did.

“Okay, that’s good… just—uh, he’s not giving you a hard time, right? He’s not bothering you at all?” Wonwoo asked, adjusting the rim of the black beanie he’d thrown on to keep his messy hair tucked back. “I don’t mean to disinter anything. I’m only asking because I—”

“Because you care,” you finished his sentence quietly with a trusting and faint smile, “I know. Thank you. It is hard for me, though… I don’t know why this particular thing is so hard but it is.”

Wonwoo slid his hands together, moving them slow along the cold granite. “No… that’s understandable. I get it plenty.” Hell—he didn’t just get it—Wonwoo had miserably and insufferably lived it for damn near a year at that point. In fact, tomorrow would mark the day that he came home to this same apartment only to discover the interior stripped of all the traces, sentiments, and artifacts that breathed miraculous life into the girl he once thought to be his other half.

A whole fucking year without Jeanie.

How flipped things were. How oddly coincidental that he was now in the same space but with a new person to create everlasting memories. You had the most opposite personality and spark.

Wonwoo sighed. He got close to you, settling his hand atop your knee before gliding it underneath your thigh, gripping at you firmly and pulling you forward until he was bracketed in between your legs. Your response was smitten, and he couldn’t deny that he loved to practically see your heart beating under your chest in addition to sensing the warmth that flourished off your skin like you were sizzling in a pan.

Wonwoo set one hand down on the counter, right next to your hip, while the other tended to the side of your face, his fingers running behind your ear and down the slender path to your silk-smooth neck.

“Look…” he breathed out, finding your eyes that were now a bit watery and tinged with stinging emotion, “I know it’s hard. And I would never rush you into figuring things out… but I like you…” Wonwoo swallowed, letting his thumb play with your earring meanwhile his deep voice triggered the sharp, raised hairs spreading down your arms like an electric current, “I love spending time with you—even just being in the same room as you, getting to stare at you—but I just—when I don’t know what you are to Mingyu, I don’t know what to do with us.”

You drew in an immediate breath, then releasing a quiet laugh mixed with a runny sniffle. “I-It seems like you know…”

He pushed both his hands into the countertop, smiling at you.

“Well, I know what I want to do…” Wonwoo murmured, gazing so intimately into your eyes as the oceans he urged to drown in, “but you have to understand my reservations about it. That’s all.”

Bringing a pinky finger to your mouth to nibble on, you nodded.

Softly, he pinched the bare expanse of your waist. You gasped.

“Because I do, in fact, want you.”

You didn’t say anything, although Wonwoo noted that you were staring back into his gaze with so many hues of simple human emotion pulsating behind your eyes—there was frustration, possibly at yourself and everything you couldn’t yet communicate, and twinkles of impulse that matched rhythm with your heart. Then, employing unforeseen abruptness, your fingers were running down the back of his neck all ticklish and he felt the warmth from your breath feather his lips as you moved in closer, smirking at him, hazy like a sunrise pouring its light through a thick cover of morning fog.

“If you can be patient for just a little longer, you'll have all of me.”

Thankfully (or maybe not so thankfully judging from the pure adrenaline coursing through his veins in a hedonistic, addictive sort of way) there were a few knocks at his door.

Your eyes rolled. “Is that your landlord or something?”

Wonwoo took a step back, letting you slide off the countertop while he adjusted his glasses and brushed down his t-shirt. How were you suddenly so casual? One second you were chewing nervously on your finger with the timidness of a newborn doe and the next—back to your typical self. He watched you approach the door, tilting his head.

“Uh, maybe? She usually texts me, though.”

“Or Seokmin with a batch of chocolate apology brownies.”

He chuckled, folding his arms. “Doubt it.”

Really, Wonwoo had no idea who it could be. It possibly was his landlord who had perhaps forgotten her usual warning text, or maybe his younger, sometimes irresponsible neighbour across the hall who would specifically ask to borrow his scent-free laundry detergent every now and then. As long as it wasn’t Lady Liberty on the other side (in Vernon’s tried and true nicknaming spirit) then Wonwoo had no reason to care.

“Welp,” you made a balmy, popping sound with your lips, “only one way to find out. I think I can smell the chocolate.” But once the door was pulled open, that little joking smile fell from your face concerningly fast, as though someone had plucked it right off.

Fuck—Wonwoo thought right off the cuff—it was Lady Liberty.

Your head quirked ever so slightly. “Uh, hello…”

Whoever the person was, they were just outside the threshold of what Wonwoo could see from his spot in the kitchen—except, now he didn’t think it was Mingyu at all, since your tone seemed more confused than anything else.

For a moment, Wonwoo just stood where he was, not particularly understanding why he couldn’t even twitch a measly finger.

“Hi—I’m sorry, is this the—is this—does Wonwoo still live here?”

From across the room, you shifted him a glance.

There was a heavy pause before you answered.

“… Yeah.”

“O-Oh, well… um… I’m so sorry, but are you living here as well? Is he home? I don’t mean to bother or anything. I guess I came by on a whim. It’s a little hard to explain… I can always come back later.”

At that point, Wonwoo was making his way beside you.

That voice—that delicate wispy voice, lighter than a tuft of cotton adrift through the breeze under a salt blue sky—there was such a familiarity about it that he was getting dizzier by the second. Your jaw was distinctly clenched as Wonwoo stopped at your side.

He took one look into the hallway and damn near fainted.

“What the fuck…” Wonwoo whispered, his mouth suddenly stark of moisture as he lifted a hand to grab the door’s edge, “Jeanie?”

“Uh, hey, Wonwoo.”

Wait—never mind, never mind—he panicked. Maybe he did want it to be Mingyu. In fact, Wonwoo would have anticipated Bohyuk showing up outside his door, or his parents, or his girlfriend of two weeks back in sixth grade who broke up with him over a juice box before he could guess that his ex who disappeared without a trace would be there.

It sounded borderline insane, but Wonwoo almost wanted to poke her just to test if she was even real. She looked real. She sounded real. You didn’t seem to be staring into empty space while side-eyeing him worriedly, rather you had very much acknowledged her. Wonwoo’s grip fastened to the door, then realizing he was using it as a personal crutch to keep him upright as his legs slowly regained their rigidity and strength. He also realized that you likely had no idea who she was until her name had been distantly tugged from his lips by his instincts.

Jeanie splayed out her hands in a demonstration of submission.

“If it’s a bad time, I can come back later…”

Wonwoo noted that you had taken a step away from the door, although you continued to stare at Jeanie with a countenance that refused to spoil much—it seemed inquisitive and curious but still hardened—the moment was probably overwhelming you, too.

He gulped dryly, flicking his eyes back to her. “Uh, well, I wasn’t even—you’re like, the last person I would expect to see and—”

“It’s okay. I’ll leave.”

Jerking back to you, Wonwoo nearly gave himself whiplash.

“Her—you don’t need to—”

But you shook your head.

Grabbing the cream purse off the couch and slipping back into your comfortable, clean white tennis shoes, you seemed eager to go while simultaneously jaded at the circumstances.

“No, don’t worry about it,” you stopped in front of Wonwoo, adjusting the strap wove around your shoulder, “this seems important, so… I don’t want to stand in the way of anything… I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

Then, you turned to Jeanie, sticking out your hand. “Nice to meet you.”

She looked to Wonwoo for a split second.

“Um, yeah, you as well…” Jeanie eventually accepted the handshake, sounding breathy with nerves, “sorry about all this.”

While making your way to the staircase, Wonwoo quickly stepped into the corridor and waved at you, feeling his chest tighten.

“I’ll call you, okay?”

You flashed a transient smile. He hated watching you leave.

Jeanie was watching you, too, hands politely folded at her abdomen, bunny rabbit teeth digging at the skin of her ruby-stained and calloused lips. She had always been a chronic lip-biter—anxiety, thrill, or stress, Wonwoo vividly remembered the blisters she absentmindedly inflicted unto herself from the bad habit, similar to the scars marking the cuticle of his thumb. After a year Jeanie looked different no doubt, but she also reflected an unchanged image through her conserved, fidgety behaviours. She was shy like a budding flower kept just short of the sun.

“Are you okay if I come in?” Jeanie mumbled, hardly able to maintain eye contact with Wonwoo for no more than a second or two.

He stepped back, beckoning indoors.

“Yeah… that’s fine, I guess.”

“Looks pretty nice in here…” she remarked soft-spokenly, taking a moment to marvel the space she once came home to every day, although she couldn’t seem more like a stranger to the apartment even if she tried—like a magazine cutout slapped onto a novel.

Wonwoo rubbed under his nose. “Well… I make due.”

Her hair used to be a symmetric, blunt length with her chin, but she had clearly grown it out over the months. The black tresses thrived in long and loose ribbons down her back, shinier than sea glass polished by rough waves. She was never one to wear much makeup either—trimming her eyebrows, glossing her lips, and flicking on some mascara was all she really ever cared to do, and Wonwoo remembered being in love with her simplicity.

Jeanie proceeded to walk behind the couch, squeezing the back in her hands. She was so tiny. That hadn’t changed much. He could only stand in one place, keeping still, examining her every movement and fighting against the trillions of voices clawing to his mind’s surface.

“Feels strange to be in here,” she laughed, running her fingers along the couch’s fabric, staring around the space, “I think it definitely has more of your touch now… it was nice to see Saskia again, too.”

“Yeah.”

She stopped on him. “You look well. Healthy.”

Wonwoo squinted at her. “Why are you here?”

He didn’t say it in a rude, impatient way. Genuinely, Wonwoo wasn’t angry with her, not like he might have been a few months ago.

But he was confused and feeling increasingly anxious. You were gone, probably on your way back home, though Wonwoo wished you hadn’t left at all, even if it were to make things sticky and awkward. Your presence in a room was the comfort he badly, painfully missed.

“Sure,” Jeanie cleared her throat, “I’ll explain. Care to sit?”

Together, they nestled onto the couch.

Wonwoo was kept to one end while Jeanie sat more in the middle, pulling at the long, flowy hem of her fern-patterned blue dress.

He tugged at the rim to his beanie, waiting for her to speak.

The girl gripped onto her knees, poised a soft, gentle look in his direction while taking in a breath. Their nerves seemed to be coalescing like different colours bleeding from freshly soaked paintbrushes. If anxiety were personified into butterflies, the room would start fluttering.

“I guess I thought it was time. Taking a shot in the dark, I know. I didn’t know if you would still be here, but I got lucky…” she clutched at her dress, fingers pulling into the airy material. “Wonwoo, it’s not like I don’t think about you, or wonder about you. I know what I did, how much it hurt… then I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to come back to here, with you. But I processed it all and it became an itch I had to scratch.”

Puffing out through his nose, Wonwoo almost laughed.

“Yeah—you wanted to see if I, what? Threw myself off the building or persevered, becoming some big money writer?”

Jeanie blinked at him a few times, furrowing her neat, straight brow, with every hair gelled down perfectly in place.

Wonwoo shook his head, lifting out his hand.

“Okay, my bad. That sounded like such an asshole thing to say.”

“No, it’s okay. I get it.” Her cheeks flooded with a tide of rosy pink as she chuckled. “I-I just… well, you seem different now.”

He pushed up his glasses. “You think?”

“Yeah.”

“In a good or bad way?”

Jeanie clasped her hands together, thumbs tapping.

“Well, I guess you seem more... upfront, not as prevaricating. Maybe that’s how you’ve always been and I just never really saw it or you picked it up from someone else.”

Wonwoo shrugged. “Probably a bit of both.”

“I am sorry. I know it was all so… sudden. I know this is sudden. I thought about calling... my hands would just shake so much whenever I picked up the phone, getting all sweaty and stuff. It felt like something that I had to just do. And, well, once I was back in the area, I didn’t even want to lend myself time to dwell. I only came in yesterday.”

“You went back home, then?”

“I did.”

“I figured… well, I got the hint pretty clear when your mom sent me that email. It was only a sentence or two long, but it hurt like hell.”

“It’s what I asked her to send. It’s all I felt you needed to know.”

“Yeah, I get that.”

Jeanie sighed, “I feel warranted in what I did… even so, I-I think I owe you an apology. Because, well, you were and still are someone I regard highly. You were going through something pretty serious… I mean, it’s obvious you’re taking such better care of yourself.”

 “It definitely hasn’t been linear.”

Tucking some hair behind her ear, the girl smiled. “Well, what in life really is? It only feels that way when you’re going straight down.”

He hmphed, thinking. “… Yeah. Really though, don’t worry about it. An apology isn’t necessary. You’ve always been too gracious.”

“I-I guess… but, I think it is, since—”

“Jeanie, c’mon. It’s really not. I was dragging you down.”

“Wonwoo, I feel like—”

“I’m telling you—”

“Well, I’m telling you and it would mean a lot if you just let me speak and get this off my chest. Please. Then you can have the floor. Tell me to package it all back up. Whatever it is you have to say. But I spent our entire relationship just listening and trying to understand you and interpret all your vague signals when I should have been trying to understand myself, and what I wanted. I’m not the verbose type, I know that. Going off on longwinded tangents about my feelings has never been something that suits me but I’m here now and I owe it to the girl who just sucked it all up, all the time, trying to be this perfect girlfriend for you.”

He managed a long, introspective breath.

Fuck—he really did owe her that. He owed her so much more.

“… Okay,” Wonwoo nodded complicity, “you’re right.”

“Leaving was the very last thing I wanted. I swear it. I agonized over the choice every day. But you didn’t even notice. That’s when I knew it was more than bad, and whatever it was you were going through was just pulling you down so deep, like a whirlpool. It’s like… I would talk to you, and there was no one inside. When I felt like you needed space, I gave you space. When I felt like you had something hard to say, I would sit with you all day, trying to ease it out, waiting for you to say it.

When you seemed so angry at yourself and everything around you—I-I don’t know—I tried to be the best thing for you. But I was hitting wall after wall. Sometimes I wonder how much of it was my fault. If I had just been upfront about my feelings then maybe things would have been… well, you know, different. I guess I never did say much because it seemed like the last thing you needed to hear, like I would be adding to your already massive collection of burdens. You have to understand, I felt trapped, Wonwoo. Like I was in a glass box or something.

I was decaying from the inside out. If I didn’t leave, if I didn’t make that split second decision to phone up my mom and tell her everything that morning you left for work—then maybe we would have gotten even worse. Maybe we would have just drowned. I don’t know. I’m… glad, relieved, happier than ever, that I don’t know what might have happened. And now that it seems we’re both… whole… I feel like an apology is just a way for me to say that if I had the steel to speak for the both of us, maybe we could have spared so much pain in between.”

Jeanie’s doe eyes twinkled with tears. “I thought that being apart might heal us both… I-I did it ‘cause—in essence—I did it because I cared, Wonwoo. About you. So deeply. But I also needed to start caring about myself, too.”

The corners of his mouth flitted in an unbridled smile toward the girl, his gaze admiring how the evening sunlight warmed up her cool-toned skin and shimmered through her strong, healthy hair.

“I know,” Wonwoo finally answered. “I’ve known for a while.”

Jeanie stayed for about an hour longer, until the sky started darkening. Together, they filled each other in on the breakages in each other’s distant lives, like a spider reweaving a gash through its cobweb. He was pleased to learn that she was doing quite well for herself—now moved out from her family house and living with her younger sister, Jeanie held true to pursuing her ambition of managing the library she had always adored coming to during her childhood (he remembered it specifically as “the one with the bean bag corner and the giant toy crate with the giraffe.”)

Wonwoo felt he didn’t have much to say regarding himself, however, he had plenty to say about you.

Rubbing at a strand of her hair, Jeanie nodded. “Yeah, I remember Her. She—like—she did scare me a bit… I don’t know—she really seemed to know what she was doing. I was a little envious of that. And she had really great style. She could pull anything off. She came in looking for a textbook one time, but I made my co-worker help her instead. I think I was too nervous to talk to her.”

Wonwoo had his legs stretched out onto the coffee table, hands settled on his stomach. Itching at his eyebrow, he smiled. “I probably would have done the same, back then. Honestly though, she’s nothing like what she seems. I can promise you that.”

Jeanie was quiet for a moment, adjusting the legs tucked up underneath herself. “So… you two are… you’re dating?”

“No… it’s weird. I wish.”

“I recognized her when she opened the door. I was pretty confused since… of all the people that you could have over… she seemed like the most unlikely candidate. I-I mean, I’m not saying that you could never—I’m not saying that it could never happen—”

He tilted his head at Jeanie, grinning slyly. “No, just say it. You didn’t imagine I’d ever even be able to talk to someone like her.”

The girl’s face flushed. “Well, you’re quite the opposites.”

“In some ways.”

“I don’t think she’d like me.”

Wonwoo pursed his lip in disagreement. “That’s not true. To be fair, you’ve ever only got to see one side of her. She’s trying to figure shit out just as much as we are. You never really stop, I suppose.”

He felt Jeanie’s gaze still on him for a few seconds, her mouth twitching into a delicate, sincere smile made brighter by her eyes. “So… you figure she’d like me? Even if she knew all the details about us? How rough it all was?”

Wonwoo crossed his arms, staring back toward her confidently. “I figure she’d probably like you more than me, actually.”

8:28 pm

“Hey, thanks for picking up.”

“Oh, no big deal. You called me at a good time. I was just about to start my skincare and I would have needed to sit for fifteen minutes doing absolutely nothing in a slimy face mask.” 

“Sounds fun.”

“I’m guessing your conversation is over and done with.”

“Yeah. She only left like, five minutes ago.”

“And you didn’t want to sit alone in your bedroom contemplating the universe for an additional hour with all the blinds drawn? Woah. Wonwoo, I am impressed. Finger snaps.”

“Finger snaps.”

“So… am I allowed to know how the whole thing went or did you just call me to hear the sound of my voice?”

“Both. But mostly to hear your voice.”

“Okay. Enlighten me then.”

9:45 pm

“Anyway… yeah. The conversation went well. I still can’t believe she actually came back to see me. Like, what a mindfuck, you know?”

“That took a lot of courage from her part.”

“Yeah, it did. Makes me proud, though. To hear her actually speak her mind. She really was just trying to be the best possible person for me and the only thing that got her is heartbreak. She’s putting herself first, now. She’s spending a couple days in the city with her sister.”

“… Do you think that you’ll want to see her again?”

“I don’t know. Do I need to?”

“Do you?”

“No. I mean, don’t get me wrong, as much as it was a shock to see her again, there was great closure in it. If she had come to see me way sooner, no way would I have been open to it—I probably would have freaked the fuck out and had an anxiety attack or some shit—but I feel way better about everything now. I felt like I understood her choices, kinda like I was the one making them... but, you know, we’re evolved people at this point. We’ve veered onto two separate paths, neither one being greater than or less than the other… just different.”

“Right.”

“We just wished each other well.”

“No, that’s great. You put a bow on it. I just didn’t really know what the whole thing was gonna entail… so, yeah, I had gotten kinda worried… like—once I knew it was her—I thought she looked so perfect for you. You two just made immediate sense in my mind. She’s got such a sweet voice, and the kind, shy personality that everyone always adores. I think if you stuck her in a room with me, she’d hate my guts.”

“Ha—Jeanie hates no one’s guts. She’s got no room in her heart for that kind of stuff. You two are different for sure, but I think that’s what would make you interesting and attractive to each other.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. If it makes you feel any better, she didn’t think you’d like her either. But I told her you’d probably like her more than me.”

“What! She actually thought that? I mean, maybe I seemed a little damp when I left, but that was just my mind on overdrive.”

“Need me to arrange a date between you two?”

“Ha—she did have a great perfume on. Maybe ask about that.”

“Well, I will if I see her.”

“She doesn’t know about the book you were writing for her, does she? I can’t believe that’s been sitting on your laptop all this time.”

“No, she doesn’t. I used to sit there and stare at it every day, but I don’t think I’ve even opened the damn document in months… since I met you, my mind has gradually moved away from it, I guess. I think now it’s more of an effort thing. All the time I put into it. It’s like, if I delete it, I’m deleting that time from my life… does that even make sense?”

“Yeah, I know what you’re saying.”

“… Did you ever finish your book for Mingyu? I know you wanted it done before your anniversary in December. It seemed like you were on track to have it done quite early, with all that time you gave yourself.”

“I did finish it, actually.”

“No fucking way—that’s a big accomplishment.”

“Yeah. Now I’ve just gotta decide what to do with it.”

—NOVEMBER 3RD.

Wonwoo was fairly surprised that Princess had invited him to her birthday dinner at Terra Cotta. At one point, he wasn’t certain where he stood with your closest friend, even if his relationship with her presented itself as amicable on the surface—he always thought that maybe deep down, Princess really did despise him. Then Wonwoo wondered if you had nipped at the birthday girl into inviting him, although that didn’t seem like something in your character.

Through all his fretting, thumb-scraping, and late-night pondering in the shower, Wonwoo eventually came to the conclusion that was probably the simplest and most accurate: Princess just liked him.

A call from Vernon came through right as Wonwoo was getting into bed last week, to which the rambling boy had impetuously thrown out, “yeah, I got an invite to Her’s best friend’s birthday dinner or somethin’ like that—what was her name again? Penelope? The sexy dark skin girl with the braids? Anyway, I told her I’d love to go, but I’m gonna be out of town for a few days in November. Said I could hook her up with a couple MDMA bombs, though. Y’know, as a gift.”

Thus, that concluded the story of Wonwoo having to sit at a rather large and reserved candlelit table in an expensive, esteemed restaurant, surrounded by some friends and strangers alike, with a plastic baggie of hard drugs shoved into his pants pocket that he couldn’t stop worrying about. Vernon had wanted him to leave it with Princess when appropriate. Most people invited were going to the club later in the night—Room 319—which he figured could only be survived by going buckwild off ecstasy. As his knee continued to ricochet underneath the tablecloth, Wonwoo was soothed by your hand sliding over his thigh.

You gave him a solicitous glance, smiling with care. “Why don’t I just put it in my purse?” The offer was whispered amongst the conversation.

Wonwoo couldn’t help but flit his eyes around the table, ensuring no one was giving his general direction a lick of attention. The waiters and waitresses would pop from the blue every now and then with bottles that seemed glued to their hands, scouring for anyone who needed a top up on alcohol. His glass had been seldom touched for the past half-hour.

He sighed, shaking his head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Wonwoo,” you deadpanned at him.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh my God—just give me it. It’ll take me two seconds to dig it out from your pocket and shove it in my damn purse. Besides, I can’t enjoy myself when the anxiety is emanating off you in waves.”

His knee immediately stopped jerking. Wonwoo looked you straight in the eyes, the stiffness turning him into straw. “Is it really?”

“Yes!” You laughed quietly, your head hunkering down on his shoulder for a brief moment. “Now, give me it please. Pretty please.”

Sliding a hand into the smooth pocket on his pants, Wonwoo began fishing out the small plastic baggie while puffing, “fuck—alright.”

“Gosh,” he heard you mumble while discreetly taking the capsules from him, rustling them into your purse, “you could never be a drug dealer, could you? How are you even friends with Vernon? That dude probably walks around with sample sizes taped to his jacket.”

“It’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah,” Wonwoo was finally able to roll out his shoulders and relax—even give you a humorous little smirk, “I have a way better chance of escaping the drug dogs than he does. I’ll get a nice head start.”

His thigh was met with a slap before your hand pulled away. “I’m acting like I don’t know either of you.”

To be fair, Wonwoo couldn’t picture his bad-mouthed, fairly uncouth friend in a snotty establishment like Terra Cotta, especially considering his ideal places to eat were twenty-four-hour diners and cereal pantries belonging to girls whom he’d just slept with. The restaurant was no doubt beautiful, though it was definitely for the upper echelons who could not only afford it, but also act the pleasant, opulent guise.

At least the table that Princess reserved was a bit more separated from the other tables in the restaurant—it was close to a waterfall built into the wall, encompassed by all sorts of burnish-looking smooth stones.

Neither Seokmin or Mingyu were at the dinner—two absences that no one seemed to be questioning. To Wonwoo, that was a gigantic relief—he assumed you felt the same. Clara was there, seated further down the table, but Bells wasn’t. Seungcheol was an obvious guest, and besides you, he was the person that Wonwoo had spoken to the most since arriving at the restaurant—he’d even given Wonwoo the slip on his secret gift for his girlfriend, which was a two-week vacation to the Bahamas after the winter exam season.

Wonwoo was a little jealous.

He would love for you and him to vacation somewhere.

Maybe even take you back to South Korea.

“So, you guys,” Princess had started a conversation with you and Wonwoo from across the table, hands folded underneath her chin while she smiled kindly between you, “think you’ll come to the club after?”

You pouted at her, “we’re passing, babe. A million sorries.”

“Awe, that’s okay.” She reached across the pristine tablecloth to lay her hand over top yours. “You already took me out for my birthday, anyway. And let me vomit in your washroom for two hours.”

“Mmhm. You’d do the same for me.”

Princess giggled, her grin luminous and wholly genuine. “Oh, of course. I have already done it!”

“Well, you’ll have to tell me all about Room 319. The stories I’ve heard about that place—sounds like some shit from a movie.”

“Trust me, you’ll get the entire script in a bound book. I know the club thing isn’t for everyone—that’s why I did the dinner. And I’m doing cupcakes instead of cake! Remember those red velvet cupcakes we had that one night? And then that other night? Fuck—I couldn’t stop thinking about those damn things.”

“Oh, those were fucking delicious.”

“De-licious. Have you ever got to try one, Wonwoo?”

He swallowed, a bit jarred to be welcomed into their conversation that he had been happily listening to from the sidelines.

“I tried one. I liked it.”

Princess gasped at him. “Only liked? Be serious!”

“Well, ask me again later tonight. I wasn’t having it fresh.”

“I will be asking. How’s Vernon? I’m sad he couldn’t make it.”

“Oh, he’s fine. Sometimes he just mysteriously disappears from town for a couple days—I don’t ask because I don’t want to know. But, uh, he did leave me with a gift for you… if you didn’t already know.”

“Oh… oh! Right!” Princess straightened up, nodding. “Yeah, I remember. You can give it to me when we leave. Outside.”

“I have it actually,” you clarified, flickering a transient look at the tiny purse you had moved onto the table,  “when we take a girl’s trip to the washroom, you can have it. The dose is pretty high. I know I don’t have to worry about you and this stuff, but be careful, y’know?”

“Of course. Just make sure you hide the purse in your lap when the waiter comes back. They love offering to take bags and satchels and all that stuff to hang in the coat room.” After clearing her throat with a sip from her pink, frothy champagne, Princess curiously poked at you two. “So, how do you guys plan to spend the rest of your night?”

Wonwoo opted not to speak.

You grabbed your wine glass, swirling the aromatic alcohol around inside while shrugging. “Not sure. It’s chilly out. Hope you don’t freeze your tits off standing outside in the mile long line for the club.”

“That’s what this push-up is for. The padding’s so toasty warm.”

Laughing with Princess, you ended up snorting.

Seungcheol, who was sat beside his girlfriend and had been occupied in speaking to a friend Wonwoo forgot the name of, finally parted from his conversation, turning his head at the last second to hear the giggling.

“Push-up? What are you guys talking about?”

You shook your head. “Nothing—just her bra.”

“Oh,” Seungcheol mumbled, “what about her bra?”

Princess smiled. “Just that with all this padding it’s got, it’ll keep me nice and warm when I’m waiting outside. Perfectly insulated.”

Rubbing a thumb and index finger along his jaw, Seungcheol grinned all relaxed-like while Princess rolled her dark brown eyes at his comment, the gold accents in her inner corners glimmering.

“I bet my hands would be a lot more efficient. Nothing warmer than skin on skin as they say.”

She shoved his shoulder half-heartedly. “Who says that? Now, bedroom eyes away before I make you wear a bag over your head.”

“I don’t see a bag here.”

“As the birthday girl, I’m pretty sure I can request one.”

The dinner officially wrapped up around ten at night. Wonwoo was able to reaffirm with Princess that the red velvet cupcakes were indeed moist and delicious. As everyone stood right outside the restaurant in the nippy, cold November weather, giving hugs and farewells to those who weren’t clubbing, he made sure to wish Princess probably the twentieth happy birthday she’d heard that night. He waited for you to give her another speech about staying safe but still having fun, sprinkled with lots of “I love you’s” and inside jokes that Wonwoo wondered if he would ever understand, before you two left on your own.

Each time he spoke, his breath would come to life in a warm wisp from his mouth, meanwhile the streets lights reflected in the melted snow all over the sidewalk he aimlessly wandered down, with you sticking close to his side. It hadn’t been a heavy snow, at least.

“Be honest,” you said, glancing toward Wonwoo, “how relieved are you that we’re not going to the club? On a scale of one to ten.”

“Is ten the most relieved?”

“Yeah.”

He looked at you, completely unabashed. “Ten.”

Kissing your teeth, you nodded. “That’s what I expected.”

“So,” Wonwoo hummed, stopping beside you at the intersection while waiting for the crosswalk light to change, “what now?”

Your eyebrows raised. “Still want to do something?”

As the cars whipped past, throwing up brisk winds and exhaust into the twinkling city atmosphere, Wonwoo shrugged. “The night is young.”

“What's on your mind?”

“We’re not far from Centertown. It’s maybe a fifteen-minute walk or so at this point. There’s a bar there I want to try. The Honeymoon.”

He was glad you didn’t seem opposed.

“Sure. I’m down.”

Once the crosswalk was open and the floods of people started pressing forward, there was somebody who passed them—somebody who almost went completely unnoticed by Wonwoo until his memory reloaded and he suddenly found himself pausing to observe over his shoulder.

You pulled at his sleeve. “What?”

“Uh, nothing,” Wonwoo replied, wetting his dry lips while heeding your polite tug, “the woman that passed us—she’s dressed exactly like this prostitute that Vernon told me he saw last winter, hanging outside Room 319. She has the heels and everything.”

“What the fuck. Really?”

“Mmhm,” he laughed, “he called her Pink Heels Lady. To be honest, I thought he was lying… but I’m pretty sure that was her.”

“Spooky. Coincidence or fate, do you think?”

Wonwoo glanced at you, seeing the intrigued smile on your face.

“I don’t know, actually,” he responded after the question hovered around in his mind for an oddly long second, deciding to pick up your hand in is, “I assume it’s just the universe working its magic.”

Wonwoo was never particularly into bars, although he could tolerate them much more than a club despite their parallels. The seedy lighting, deafening music, and signature throw-up gutter in the street or alleyway right outside the building was crucial to both, he had realized.

The Honeymoon was a newer bar that had garnered some notable buzz. It was less like a pub, being slightly more formal with a touch of modernity that had landed it just below presumptuous, in Wonwoo’s opinion. At least the music wasn’t overbearing, nor was there intoxicated, flush-faced men hollering at sports teams on televisions that would never hear them. You decided to sit at the counter, sliding onto the heightened chairs and leaving your jackets draped over the low backs.

You bristled, shaking out your shoulders. “I’m cold.”

Wonwoo cupped his hands overtop your icy cheeks for a moment, allowing some of his warmth to seep into your skin.

“A drink will fix that right up.”

“How are your hands hotter than mine? You’re always freezing.”

He smiled at you, letting you have your face back. “I can warm them up at will to your benefit.” Wonwoo joked, bumping his knee against yours. “What do you think of the place?”

Your lip pursed as you glanced around, examining the bartenders filling up glasses with their silvery, shiny spouts, and then over your shoulder at the numerous other tables occupied by the city’s strangers. For a frigid November night, it was quite full.

“It’s nice. The lighting is pretty. Reminds me of Alley Cat.”

“Oh, yeah. Vernon took me there once to celebrate my exams being done, then he got into a fist fight with this university student over something I can’t remember—smashed a glass on the dude’s head.”

Predictably, your eyes rolled. “Only Vernon is getting into fist fights at Alley Cat.”

Wonwoo chuckled. “Well, now he can’t get into fist fights there at all—management banned him and the other guy. Apparently, they’ve got this back wall of people who’ve been kicked out and he’s on there.”

“Figures,” you sighed.

“Oh my gosh! Wonwoo? It’s you!”

At the sound of his name being excitedly called, Wonwoo was soon met with the surprised but cheerful expression coloured to Sierra’s freckled face. He hadn’t forgotten that she worked there, but he was clueless about her schedule. She looked very pretty, glowing in a halo almost, with her coarse, reddish-brown hair pulled back slick into a ponytail and a crisp, clean black uniform tailored to fit her perfectly.

Wonwoo grinned. “Hey there. I didn’t know you worked tonight.”

Sierra set one hand onto the lacquered wood counter while the other stuck to her hip. “I don’t usually. Fridays are game nights with my little sister. But there was a call-in. A little extra cash never hurt.” The girl’s big, round eyes then flitted to you. “Her, right? I don’t think we’ve ever met formally. I know you’re one smart cookie, though.”

“I’d like to think so,” you answered, smiling back at Sierra, “you were at the party, weren’t you? The one Seungcheol threw this summer?”

She nodded, “I was. I made a few drinks here and there.”

“I never got to taste one,” you frowned, pouting.

Throwing up her hands, Sierra was quick to exclaim with her typical charisma and sugar sweetness, “what! Preposterous! I think I’m pretty wicked at it. What are you thinking of having?”

“To be honest, I’m not looking for anything too fancy at the moment. In fifteen minutes from now, I won’t be able to promise the same. I’d like to start off with a rum and coke, if that’s alright. For now.”

Sierra grinned. “No, that’s perfect. What about you, Wonwoo?”

He shrugged. “I’ll have the same. For now.”

“Well, for now, I’ll start you guys off with two rum and cokes.”

Leaning his elbows onto the countertop, he threw her a question.

“How’s it going with Carmen?”

While she prepared the drinks, Sierra blossomed into a smile. “Oh, it’s going great. She’s genuinely a blast. We’re going to the movies next week—that horror one is coming out, about the swimming pool—we think it’s gonna suck but that’s what makes it fun.”

Once Sierra slid you the cold glass, you tilted your head at her while fixing your lips around the black straw. “Who’s Carmen?”

“My girlfriend.” Sierra answered. “We met here, actually.”

“Ugh, no way,” you swooned, pressing a cheek into your hand as the next drink was given to Wonwoo, “that’s so fucking adorable. Does she ever tell you how beautiful you look in that all-black uniform?”

Giggling, Sierra wiped down the countertop and flushed. “I’ve heard it many times. It’s honestly just a t-shirt and slacks!”

“Well, you’re making it work.”

“Please—my face is heating up! You’ve got quite the gorgeous dress on yourself, you know. I always wonder where you get all your clothes. Wonwoo, have you complimented her yet, tonight?”

Mixing the ice cubes together to hear the satisfying clinks using his straw, he answered easily. “It was the first thing out of my mouth.”

Sierra nodded in satisfaction. “Good! Well, I won’t hover. But if you need any refills or have any questions, you can try to flag me down—or ask Jamie! She’s just down there. She’s great at martinis. Later!”

Once Sierra had left to busy herself with tending to others waiting service at the counter, you looked to Wonwoo, lips downturned.

“Jeez, she’s so freaking nice. How come I don’t have that kind of natural charm? Not that I’m not charming. But hers is so… magnetic.”

“Everyone’s got their natural quirks.”

“Yeah, well, my natural quirk is that I’m probably going to down this in the next two minutes. And then have three more after that.”

Wonwoo rubbed a hand to your shoulder, smirking into the glass that he raised to his mouth. “Just focus on the one you have now.”

3 more rum and cokes (+ 1 martini) later.

“No, no—but then, it gets even worse! Because not only had she been lying straight to his face the entire time, so was his best friend! They were seeing each other for weeks and weeks—he had no idea. What gave it away though, was the perfume. He was always telling her not to wear heavy perfumes and stuff because it will leave a scent on the sheets, but she messed up—so they freaked it, she spends the night, and then the next day when he’s over, he goes into his friend’s room looking for a charger and smells the perfume on the sheets! He puts it together! And then, and then—”

You paused, picking up the wide-mouthed martini glass to take a sip in the midst of your long-winded and passionate adultery story that Wonwoo had been struggling to follow for the past blurred time interval, the names now completely lost on his ears. There was hardly anything left in your glass, which led to your frustrated grumble, followed by an attempt to flag down the bartender, Jamie.

However, Wonwoo swiftly caught your hand despite his own impaired state, lowering it back to the countertop.

“Okay, I think that’s enough.” He pushed forward the cup of water he requested for you. “The least you can be right now is hydrated.”

Although you weren’t happy about his thwarting, you did yield to the advice and drink some of the water. Wonwoo knew he should probably have some himself after his own splurge on the bar’s pricy concoctions, but he still felt that he was holding up quite well. Before Jamie could whisk by again, he made sure to ask for another cup.

“So, what happened next?” Wonwoo nudged your elbow while you stared off cluelessly, urging you to continue the story.

“What?”

“He smells her perfume on the bedsheets. Now what?”

However, you were suddenly slumping forward, forehead nestled into your hands. For a moment, you stayed like that without word, until Wonwoo couldn’t help his concern and touched at your bare shoulder.

“Not feeling well?”

You shook your head, whining out, “no, no. It’s not that.”

He frowned, scooting to the edge of his chair and securing his arm across your shoulders. His voice was softer and closer against your warm cheek as he attempted to gauge that sour, twisted expression past your concealing hands, wanting to understand your hiding.

“Well, am I allowed to know what’s bothering you?”

Again, you remained silent, biting your lip. There was such tenseness in your body that he could simply feel with just his arm.

Wonwoo leaned back, instead tugging at your wrist. “Can I at least see your face? Please?” You didn’t budge. “Her, you’re worrying me a bit, here. Do you need me take you home—”

“Okay, I have something to tell you.” Breaking abruptly from your husk, you were now staring straight and square at Wonwoo with distinct inebriation cloudy in your eyes, although there was something else too that compelled Wonwoo to bite his tongue and listen. “Honestly, I think I’ve held onto this long enough. And, I’ve wanted to confess this to you for a while now, but there was just so much debris in my life that I needed to sort through first. But you’re beyond important to me, and I just think that it’s time you finally know… so, can I tell you?”

“Um…”

Wonwoo’s throat was suddenly bone-dry and his pulse had spiked to the point where he could feel a vein along his neck start throbbing—he even pondered waving down the bartender for another drink to pacify his growing nerves.  

Ultimately, Wonwoo wouldn’t last that long. Pushing up his glasses, he nodded, noting that you hadn’t blinked once while you waited.

“Sure. Tell me.”

Your upper lip twitched.

“Mingyu’s been cheating on me, for two years.”

Wonwoo was quick to feel all his awareness become dull and drowned. He hardly registered his elbow shifting across the countertop, almost knocking over the glass of water onto the floor, nor did he realize the manner in which his mouth had subtly dropped open. You continued to stare at him with intensity, likely studying every tweak and fidget in his body language before swallowing deeply and choosing to continue the revelation.

He tightened up his jaw, trying to seem firm.

You looked ashamed of yourself as you admitted, “it’s been going on for two years, and I’ve known for about a year.”

“Really?” He answered, sounding mystified. “An entire year?”

“Give or take.”

Then, Wonwoo was shaking his head. His fist had clenched up tight, though it wasn’t the usual automated response that accompanied his anxiety—he found there was immediate distaste and anger swirling together like storm clouds in the pit of his stomach.

Your gaze was cast to the water glass on the countertop, which you moved away for no apparent reason, your expression emptied.

After a frail sigh, you continued, “do you remember that day I came into creative writing and got super upset at that guy for sitting in my seat? Remember how we talked about it at the nature museum, and I told you that I had a fight with Mingyu before going to class?”

“Yeah…”

“Well, that day, I tried bringing it up to him. And it totally didn’t go over how I thought it would. Mingyu denied it all… of course, I only had some vague but suspicious texts to go off of, which he explained his way out of pretty poorly. But I just accepted it for the sake of our relationship. And I never brought it up again until… you know.”

Wonwoo let a natural, stagnant silence fall in between you, meanwhile the encompassing atmosphere was kept flowing by the various conversations of those around you—seemingly happy—with plenty to drink as they kept warm from the bitter cold just outside.

He was biting his tongue, though he couldn’t hold the question any longer, piquing his, “do you know who he was cheating with?”

A huff shot straight through your nose.

“I know…” you mumbled, “and you know her, too.”

Suddenly, a name popped to his mouth without thought.

“Bells.”

When you didn’t confirm nor deny, opting to stare off to the side to conceal the emotion springing forth, Wonwoo knew it was solid truth.

“Fuck…” he cursed, grazing his hand across the smooth leg that was folded over your knee, “I’m so sorry… I’m at a loss for words.”

You could only sigh while a glossy film developed in your eyes.

“I mean, I’ve been through all the stages already—grief, denial, acceptance—whatever the other ones are—so I don’t know why I’m still getting so choked up about it. I obviously didn’t want to believe it… I mean, who the fuck does? Especially when you truly do have feelings for that person.” Shaking your head and sniffling, you exasperatedly flicked out a hand. “Her and her stupid sparkles. That was when I really started putting it together. Oh, I’m going out to play poker, babe! And the next day, I’m wearing his sweater, and I realize there’s these fucking little bits of glitter on it, inside it—it was like a fucking beacon that was just screaming at me—hey! Your asshole boyfriend is cheating!”

That was something Wonwoo had noticed himself, after Bells had bumped into him at the party—the girl’s adoration for sparkly clothing and makeup essentially left behind a glaring trail of glimmery breadcrumbs. Wonwoo had found them on his clothes once he took them off and could really see the fabric underneath the light. The confession suddenly painted your actions that night in a new colour.

Rubbing against your temple, you explained further despite the struggle to speak over that clogged sound coming from your throat.

“It’s not like I’m stupid, either, even if right now, in this situation, I seem like it. I know what Bells is like… she’s spoiled rotten—always has been—and is used to getting whatever the fuck she wants. But, you see, that’s the thing! That’s the fucking thing! Seokmin, Clara, Bells, even Princess—I only met them because of the webs my parents have in their business world. I was never really allowed to find my own friends. It really just shows how much they had a say in my life… don’t misconstrue, I truly do love Princess and she’s by far the most normal, grounded person amongst them. She actually listens, and cares. But I was only allowed to befriend her ‘cause my parents know her parents.

Mingyu seemed like the one person I was actually able to connect with on my own… but he’s honestly changed so much. It’s like, my parents were able to get their little fangs in him and warp him. And now… I really don’t think he loves me at all… I think he loves my image, and what I represent, and the opportunities that come with me… but, I don’t think he actually, genuinely loves me like he used to... like, back then, he was so, so sweet. He was always fumbling over himself, nervous, trying his best. I mean, you've read about it! He used to want to be an architect, Wonwoo. A freaking architect! He sketched all the time. He has a closet drawer full of sketch books from when he was younger. But everything's different now. He doesn't care. He hates when I bring it up! He hates me!

And I don’t just think—I know it, Wonwoo. He resents me, but he won’t let go. Instead, he just sucks the life out of me, like he’s trying to get me to hate myself, too. And I do. I guess, as long as I hate myself, it makes me perfect in their eyes. I’ll just keep letting them mould me until I feel complete.”

Wonwoo didn’t know what to do.

Hell, he didn’t even know what to say except for the fact that you were right—as long as you always felt subpar, or lacking, or frustrated with your drought of true identity, it would lead you back to the reliance you had on the deceptive characters in your life—it was nothing but a miserable cycle designed to bog you down and snuff you out. At least your tearful eyes had dried up.

You looked at him fondly, with a gentle smile. “That’s what I like so much about you… even if you didn’t intend to—which I know you didn’t, judging from what I’ve heard about you trying to avoid writing with me—” (he bit his inner cheek coyly, casting a somewhat anxious hand through his hair), “—you helped me realize parts of myself that were always there, but only needed some nurturing. You actually encouraged me. Supported me. And—okay—I know I said that I hate myself—but since I’ve met you, I’ve been replacing it with an understanding of my situation. I’ve been kinder. I’ve been more of myself. I like to think what we have is a sort of symbiosis.”

Wonwoo nodded. “I think you’re right.”

“Do you think that I’m… stupid… for staying?”

Immediately, Wonwoo’s face furled in disagreement. “No, no. Absolutely not. Mingyu’s been with you for so long. He has an integral quality in your life. It would be difficult to uproot yourself just like that. No one’s a better judge of that situation than you.”

“You think?”

“I know.”

As you relaxed back into the bar chair, Wonwoo could practically see this heavy, dark mist levitate from you and dissipate into the air. He knew that feeling of relief and inner freedom very well, and there was almost nothing that could compare to it.

Wonwoo then sipped from his glass of water, continuing to watch the stiffness melt off you like ebbing spring snow. "So, what was his response like? To your accusations? Was he at least honest?"

"Yeah, I got it all out of him eventually," you revealed with a very cumbersome sigh. "But he was deflecting like crazy... I'd never seen him like that before... he was fumbling his words all over, like he used to when we were first dating. But it was different. It wasn't nerves, it was just blind anger. He said I was no better. I mean, he's convinced we've had sex, and he wouldn't accept my denial, no matter what."

"It's not black and white," Wonwoo said, squeezing your arm, "it seems to me like a natural consequence. You felt trapped and alone."

For a split second, Jeanie flashed in his mind. A sear of guilt snapped through him. Mingyu would have much reflecting to do.

Nodding your head, you looked to Wonwoo and graced him with the words he may or may not have been waiting months to hear: "it's all over now—Mingyu and I—I made that extremely clear. And I honestly don't care what anyone else has to say. My mom didn't want to believe it... she's been acting strange since. I don't blame her."

In response, he merely nodded, warming you up with his gentle eyes.

But then he was shifting forward in his seat, elbows settled to the counter. Although it was quite late and he felt exhausted from drinking, his curiosity about a particular matter was still sharp.

“So… I’m wondering… what's your reason for writing the book?”

You gulped. “I wanted a way of looking back on everything. Seeing if maybe I could find myself somewhere amongst all those memories. Maybe when I started losing Mingyu was when I started losing myself. Maybe that's when I realized I was losing myself. Maybe that's when I realized I never really knew myself to begin with.”

He shrugged, his face colouring with admiration for you.

“Well... have you found something?”

Your only means of response was a twinkle-eyed grin.

The walk back to your apartment wasn’t as dreadful as Wonwoo anticipated, mostly attributed to the alcohol soaking up in your stomachs, keeping your blood warm even in the face of a tough, harsh wind. Back when it wasn’t so late in the night and his lips had yet to touch his first rum and coke, Wonwoo thought he would take himself home after seeing you off first. But now it was almost midnight, and he had this impending feeling of vertigo while he walked, and he was therefore very limp to fight the offer that involved a comfortable stay at your place until morning.

Wonwoo wasn’t exactly sure where he deposited his coat or his shoes, or even his phone—instead he found himself sitting at the end of your bed, listening to the muffled sound of a running sink behind a closed door as you were busy in the washroom.

He leaned over, removing the glasses already slid down his nose and rubbing a palm into his eye until stars traversed the length of his vision. So, Lady Liberty was a cheater. For the past two years. It did bring Wonwoo to wonder what else Mingyu had said during your argument. Did he ever give a reason for cheating? Did he feel boxed into a life that wasn't the enriching utopia he surmised it might be, but he was toughing it out for the sake of success? Was he cheating because he was mad at you or mad at himself?

Or was he honestly just an asshole?

The Mingyu he was familiar with was shifty, and hardened, and image-obsessed, and now Wonwoo knew for a fact he wasn’t delusional for feeling the tension between you and him whenever you were together. God—he could practically cut all the thickness in the air using Seokmin’s nose and serve it like pieces of cake. But Mingyu hadn't always been like that according to your allegories. Deep down there could still be traces of the man you fell in love with, flickering like shiny little minnows beneath murky, clouded water.

But it was too late now.

Fitting his glasses back on, Wonwoo rolled back the sleeves to his crisp white dress shirt, proceeding to take a gander around your bedroom that he hadn’t revisited in quite some time.

The running sink in the washroom across the hall was finally turned off, although Wonwoo had stopped paying attention to the background noise in place of reading your every detail off the walls. In minuscule ways, the room had changed. There were missing photographs from the dresser, your makeup vanity drawers no longer left ajar in your likely last-minuting rushing to ensure everything was perfect. The closet seemed cleaned-out. Emptier than it once was.

“I thought you might fall asleep.”

He jumped slightly, realizing that you were in the bedroom now, setting down your heels in the corner before making a stride toward the closet where the dress over your arm was hung back up.

Wonwoo bit his lip. “I questioned it.”

You smiled, and within that moment he noticed the long t-shirt you were draped in was the dark blue, logoed math shirt, the one you’d picked after sprinting back to his apartment amidst a rain storm. He felt something in his chest swell and ache in response to how pretty you looked wearing it. Wonwoo knew he was staring, blushing, but he didn’t care. You had two of his t-shirts now. He hoped that collection might continue growing. He hoped that you wore them until his scent was naturally replaced by the strawberry sweetness of your own.

“Thinking about anything in particular?” You asked, arms folded.

Slapping a guilty little grin on his face, Wonwoo shrugged. “No.”

But then you started striding toward Wonwoo, uttering out something half-whispered that sounded a lot like “liar”, and now he truly wasn’t thinking about a damn thing, not even his own breath, as you proceeded to slide your arms around his neck and seat yourself in his lap. He was frozen. You hadn’t been this fucking close to him since you two had cuddled during Seungcheol’s party.

But this was worse—this was full-throttle intimacy with your penetrative, fluttering eyes eating up his soul while your bare thighs squeezed the sense out of him, trapping him, testing him.

“Scared?” You whispered, moving your face in closer.

Yes—he was horrified—he couldn’t even speak with you smiling at him so innocently despite the flames you were igniting.

Though, when he felt a wriggle from your hips that seemed to push against him in all the right places, Wonwoo’s hands were immediate on your waist, tight and stilling, and he swore there was a vulnerable, pliant spark in your eyes that he had never seen before. Maybe Wonwoo could have been more polite about the approach, but after waiting so, so long, he felt like a rocket ship rife with fuel.

He kissed you.

In one decision his lips were pressed to yours, and in a kiss that was full of friction and earnest want, he could only dig deeper. Your arms curled further around his neck, to which you slipped in a quick, sharp breath before pouring yourself back into him so suddenly, mouths moulding again and again, spit slickening, noses bumping. He would have paused to take off his glasses, though Wonwoo was in no place to leave your lips for even a second—especially when your playful tongue glided with his and the world around him melted like wax.

Maybe he was biased (or maybe it was love), but Wonwoo swore it had never felt this right to kiss someone. He knew it, somewhere outside himself, far out in the ever-expanding universe and every other version that belonged, that this moment felt destined to happened. Wonwoo had never particularly believed in fate.

But then he wouldn’t know how else to describe you.

His hands itching to touch more of your skin had gravitated to the thighs clenching at his hips. Your warmth and smoothness only made him greedier. As the kissing became messy in the desperation, he couldn’t help but slide his hands to your ass, immediately kneading his cold fingers into the flesh, pulling, squeezing, pushing you closer into him because he quite literally wanted you to engulf his body.

Then, you were gripping at the back of his hair. You had opened up his throat for your wet lips to continue exploring, and Wonwoo felt every suckle and teething bite draw him further from clarity.

Each kiss slithered lower, until you were gradually lifting from his lap and placing yourself onto the carpet floor. Wonwoo had leaned back to tightly fist the bedsheets behind him, although he would never waver his lusted eyes from the sight of you between his spread legs, on your knees, palming him overtop his dress pants while biting your swollen, glistening lip. He almost wanted the camcorder to capture it.

“How does it feel?” You hummed, staying focused on each pressured movement your hand applied to his prominent erection.

Wonwoo chuckled, clearing the huskiness in his throat, “like I’m gonna die.” His head tilted back. “Holy shit.”

Flashing nothing but a conniving, pleased smile, you tended to undoing his belt buckle. Wonwoo was burning up. As you pulled down the zipper to his pants and helped him shift down the waistband to his underwear an adequate distance, he couldn’t process anything but the fact that he might burst like an explosion of confetti the second your hand would touch him.

Except, you opted to sit back on your haunches.

Tilting your head, you smirked at him.

“I would like a demonstration, please.”

He almost choked. “A what?”

“A demonstration,” you repeated, shuffling closer in between his thighs and gazing up much too seraphically through your lashes, “won’t you show me how you touch yourself, Wonwoo? Please?”

For the life of him, he couldn’t produce one stupid fragment of a sentence, or even a word. God—it didn’t fucking help that you took reign and offered to get him started—your hand carefully reaching past his underwear, gripping onto him gently to spring his erection free. A shiver surged throughout his body at the sensation. Hotness spread like molten lava across his face as the result of your lascivious, teasing actions stood leaking and stiffer than wood right before your eyes, which were agleam with thrill and haze.

You seemed as though you were going to pounce on him.

But he could visibly see you swallow the temptation.

“Aww, you have the prettiest dick I’ve ever seen,” you giggled, wrapping a hand around him that was soft and warm, “would it make you feel better if I started you off, then? Gave you some help?”

Wonwoo’s fists were tangled so intensely into the bedsheets he was surprised the fabric hadn’t disintegrated. Holding his breath, he watched you lean forward until your mouth was hovering an agonizing distance over him, only to produce a line of spit that dripped onto his head. His jaw unhinged in a groan. Then you began working the saliva along his shaft, pumping a hand up and down, occasionally flickering your thumb over the sensitive tip only to remove the contact so casually, likely knowing it would rip him apart.

“Your turn.”

He took a second to push up his glasses and shake his head.

“M’not gonna last long, you know,” Wonwoo grunted, at last heeding your request and beginning to stroke himself for your viewing pleasure, “especially after that big display. You fucking tease.”

With an arm slid over his thigh and the drool collecting in your mouth, you couldn’t have looked anymore dazzled by the thirst you were experiencing, your eyes refusing to part from every tug delivered by his own hand. It was a spell, and you were unapologetically under it.

“Mmm, a tease?” You purred, smiling. “I was just trying to help.”

“Were you?” Wonwoo scoffed, pumping faster while continuing to twist up the bedsheets using his other hand. “Rubbing your fucking spit into my cock is tt-trying to help me? Is that what you think?”

“Mmhm,” you answered, straightening up as Wonwoo felt himself become tenser, felt the pressure in his abdomen climb.

He shuddered, a groan reverberating from somewhere deep in his chest. The sound of his fist wetly slapping up and down consumed the room and Wonwoo knew it was only a matter of seconds before he lost it. You were basking in every sound and movement.

“Fuck, fuck, I-I can't—”

Suddenly, you’d pushed Wonwoo’s hand away. His stomach flipped upside down. Before he could recognize the brief loss and regain of pleasure, your suckling, wet, hot mouth was already sliding down around his erection, your grip fastening to whatever you couldn’t quite reach. Wonwoo bit his lip so hard at the sensation that something coppery-warm was tasted on his tongue, although that was the least of his concerns when you were throating him with messy desperation. His hand rested on your scalp, nervous to push your head down too firmly, but once he did, you moaned out so erotically around him that Wonwoo fragmented.

His hips bucked straight into your face while his fingers had tightened at the back of your scalp, feeling every intense throb expand against your throat, spurt after spurt filthy in your mouth. But you were diligent and zealous and Wonwoo knew you were swallowing it all despite the few tears trickling onto his pelvis. His length didn’t leave the velvet, pillowy confines of your mouth until every bit was expertly milked out from him, though had Wonwoo let his hand drift off your hair in case you wanted a breath.

With a hiccup and a wipe against your chin, you were tasting the bedroom’s heavy air and exhaling ragged as Wonwoo marvelled you.

“Trying to take my soul with you or something?” He huffed, using his thumb to remove some leftovers from the side of your lips.

You caught his hand in an instant. “No—” you piped up, quick to close your mouth around the digit and suck off whatever he politely removed, laving your tongue like you were licking a popsicle, “—I want all of it.”

He thought he might crumble, hearing you mumble such obscene words while tracks of tears dried overtop your cheeks, your voice sounding somewhat hoarse from the labour of taking him whole.

You were climbing back onto Wonwoo’s lap almost blindly, his next breath taken away by a passionate kiss you pushed so fervently onto his lips. There was another tangling of tongues, saliva mixing together, but neither attempting to take control— though at this point Wonwoo would gladly oblige to throwing you on the bed and twisting off those frustrating panties he imagined were sticking to you. He could feel your arousal dampening through the baby pink cotton as his length twitched back to hardness underneath you.

“Wonwoo,” you whined breathily into his ear while grinding your hips against him in search of friction, “I’ve got to tell you something I did.” You bruised up his neck with more kisses. “Something bad.”

His eyes were shut, hands continuing to grope your ass. “Yeah?” He mumbled, feeling your tongue drag across a vein in his neck. “You did something bad? What could that be?”

Your hands drifted down his chest, yanking open the buttons on his dress shirt in satisfying pops. Warm, feathery breath hit his ear. “That day I stayed the night in your bedroom… alone…” you kissed him on his mouth, letting it linger and last, “I couldn’t help it.”

Wonwoo had gripped the side of your face, meanwhile he rubbed underneath the waistband to your tiny, thin underwear.

“Couldn’t help what?”

He flinched as your hand sunk down to grab his cock.

“I touched myself,” you confessed just an inch from his face, “I laid back against your pillows, spread my legs all wide… I had my fingers stuffed so deep inside myself, but it still didn’t feel like enough.” Again, you were softly stroking him. Wonwoo continued to uphold that unwavering, painfully honest gaze you were pinning him in. “Nd’ I came all over your t-shirt, Wonwoo. I played with myself until my fingers were cramping and my legs couldn’t stay open anymore.”

He gulped—heavy—like swallowing a chunk of lead. His tender thumb grazed along your cheek and rubbed over your puffy lips. “I wanted to fuck you so bad that night,” Wonwoo soothed your confession with another, which was already quite obvious, “I dreamt about it. I wanted to bury myself so fucking deep inside your gut.”

You shook your head, eyes teary. “Why didn’t you?” He felt the delicate stroking motion along his erection come to a pause.

Wonwoo cradled your cheek. “It would have fucked everything up.”

“But I wanted it,” you whimpered. “I’ve been wanting it for so long and you just left me there. I would have been quiet. You could have put me face down in the pillows and just used me all you wanted.”

“No,” Wonwoo argued, “I would never want to use you. I want us to be together in everything. I know you wanted it. But lust makes you think different. Just like it’s making you think different right now.”

He softly slotted his mouth with yours, exchanging a much slower, sweeter kiss that lit a glow in his belly. You puddled right into the contact, curling your arms back around his neck to hold him tighter.

Much lighter kisses dappled the edges of your lips.

Wonwoo could feel you start to smile.

“I figured something was off the next morning,” he said.

You chuckled, “I didn’t know how to face with you without thinking about it. I felt so dirty. But in the moment, I needed something.”

He nipped down your slender neck, letting his hot breath and reverberating, husky tone tickle your skin until your hairs stood up.

“How wet were you?” Wonwoo purred, smirking.

Immediately, your hips were pushing down on him. “Soaked,” you then whispered, “I was making such a mess. I tried so hard to be quiet. But part of me wanted you to hear.”

Wonwoo’s hands drifted up your t-shirt, gliding slow against your stomach, coming to reach the plump, sensitive breasts that he could only surmise were waiting for his attention. He cupped them in each palm, giving a tender squeeze and pull that pitched your breath into a squeak. Caressing your neck with more wet, open-mouthed kisses, he felt the absentminded grinding reignite the friction between you.

“Did you touch up here, too?”

His thumbs brushed your pert nipples. He felt you shiver.

“Y-Yes.”

Tsking his teeth, he pleasured them with slow, rubbing circles that you mewled in response to. “You’ve got the softest skin. I could touch you until I die, and it still wouldn't be enough.”

“Mmhm,” he heard you exhale shakily, “I touch myself at home, too. Put my pillow between my legs. Pretend I’m grinding against you. Then let my fingers take me again and again until it hurts.”

How dare you fucking say that to him—how dare you put such an intimate visual in his mind to haunt him like a ghost to hallowed grounds. How many times had you done it? How many times had you stood right in front of him, smiling so innocently, despite knowing damn well what you had done to yourself the night before.

Wonwoo pinched your nipples, watching you flinch.

“Does it hurt right now?”

You nodded.

“Where?” He lowered his voice, sinking his hand back down the creases in your tummy until it paused right on your mound, his eyes trained to your suddenly very desperate, misty look. “Down here?”

“Yes.”

Holding eye contact with you, Wonwoo trailed his hand further along your panties until his touch was situated right between your thighs, directly feeling the wet fabric, the radiating heat, the aroused pulsations. Your fingernails were pricks in his shoulders.

“Fuck, you are drenched, aren’t you?” Wonwoo commented, rubbing his hand against you through the cotton material, your hips soon chasing the overwhelming pleasure. “Can feel you throbbing against my hand, you know that? Bet it aches so fucking good, hm?”

He grinned hard at your eyebrows knitting together. While he massaged you with one hand, the other gripped your chin where he pushed a hot, uncoordinated kiss onto your whiny mouth.

“Lay across my lap,” Wonwoo whispered in between the hasty break for air, “let me play with you instead, make you cum. Please.”

To his delight, your compliance came easily.

It didn’t take long for you to splay yourself in the desired position, with Wonwoo pushing up the shirt to bunch at your waist while your bottom was perfectly presented in his lap. He massaged you, leaning down to mark a trail of kisses along your lower back, along your ass—spreading you wide to see the large, soaked patch glistening on those easily rippable underwear.

“Just open your thighs a bit more,” Wonwoo instructed, to which you quickly listened, “fuck—perfect—all this, only for me.” He pushed his thumb against you through the panties and you instantly squeaked.

“Right?” He urged. “Is this all just for me?”

“Mmhm—yes, yes. I fucking promise. Just for you.”

Wonwoo bit his lip to stop the size of the immediate smile from breaking across his face. Your hips wriggled up as his touch drifted away.

“I need more,” you groaned in frustration, “please.”

“More here?” Wonwoo pulled back on one side of your glute to help reveal the sensitive area, then rubbing his thumb against your clit.

Your entire body jerked, and he noticed your fingers dig into the bedsheets, clawing them up. He figured the wet friction between his thumb and your panties was frustratingly amplifying every little sensation in a dull but very cruel way. He continued his ministrations, adding some more pressure for you to squirm and moan at.

“Does it still hurt?” Wonwoo asked, letting his other hand slide up your bare waist, the skin beginning to sweat and turn even warmer.

“Please,” you groaned, attempting to adjust your hips against the stroking from his thumb, “I feel like m’gonna fucking die, Wonwoo.”

“Still need more, then?”

“Yes!”

Deciding to throw you a bone, Wonwoo grabbed those thin, pink panties in his hand and helped you slide the constricting fabric down and off your legs. Once he spread you nice and wide, let the cold air ghost the slicken, swollen skin, you had gasped. For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t speak—he only stared at you with all the stars in the universe collecting behind his eyes, glittering like a snow globe—at how beautiful and exposed and needy you looked.

He let his fingers slide ever so slowly along your clit, drawing up to your hole, then pushing back down to hear you whimper brokenly.

Wonwoo swallowed the dryness in his throat.

“Do you have any fucking idea how beautiful you are?” He complimented, his fingers soaking in your arousal. “I knew your cunt would look pretty, but this is more than that. God…” experimentally, Wonwoo shifted a finger gentle into your opening, giving the digit a wriggle and few shallow pumps. Immediately your intense warmth clenched down tight before loosening, engendering him to effortlessly press in two more long fingers. “There you go… good girl…” he mumbled his encouragement as you gripped the bedsheets and moaned a guttural sound, “taking in my fingers so fucking well—they slide in so easy… make such perfect, dirty noises whenever they fill up this gorgeous cunt.”

His thumb touched at your clit, lending it some attention that had you twisting and bucking back to receive even more pleasure.

“God, Wonwoo…” you gasped, sounding lost to the ecstasy while letting him take his time with mapping out your inner walls with curious strokes, “that feels so fucking good. You have no idea. Feels like m’gonna pour all over you.”

He grinned, further stimulating your swollen clit, maintaining the pattern as you propped up on your elbows, tugged at the bedspread, and released a mellifluous, shuddering moan from your throat.

“F-fuck ye-yess…” you whined as his fingers squelched deeper and his thumb continued its circles, “yes, yes, yes, keep doing that—oh-oh, fuck! M’gonna cum all over your fingers—m’gonna make a mess!”

“That’s all I want,” he breathed, his chest tightening at how much arousal was pooling sticky around his digits, “that’s all I’ve ever fucking wanted—make a mess all over me, like the pretty, desperate girl you are. Let me see it. Let me feel everything. Cum just for me.”

Your entire body proceeded to seize, Wonwoo’s fingers now struggling to pump, as this striking wave seemingly coursed through you and resulted in heavy fluids wetting his dress pants. It took a moment for you to power through the pleasure, though Wonwoo was at least able to maintain his stroking gestures against your clit until he noted the sharp, almost spastic twitches in your muscles.

“That’s a good girl,” Wonwoo hummed in satisfaction while he gingerly eased his fingers out and left your poor, throbbing bud alone.

He smoothed his hand down your back, offering you a moment to relax, breathe, and ride out the electricity.

“Fuck,” you wiped at the sweat on the back of your neck, chuckling at the discomfort, “I can feel it all between my legs.”

Wonwoo smirked. Hard. He bent forward to peck your temple, then brushed his lips against your stinging hot ear. "How about I clean that all up for you?" The velvety whisper caused your body to jitter.

"Clean me up how?" You turned your head, catching his eye.

There was a swap of positions. Wonwoo lowered himself to the bedroom floor, the carpet spongey against his knees, while you lay down on your back and draped your legs off the edge of the bed. But he was hungry for you, and greedier than a treasure hunter, and you went limp as he hitched your knees over his broad shoulders.

Being face to face with your intimate heat was like the kiss of life—new energy was taking over him—giving him desire unlike any other.

He didn't know if he wanted to keep staring at you, your soft skin messy with slick and twitching anticipatorly at his closeness, or if he should stop prolonging the moment and just bury everything into you. Adjusting his glasses, Wonwoo licked his bitten lips. You were in the midst of shuffling up to your elbows, likely wondering what the hell he doing, staring between your thighs for so long.

But as quickly as you squeaked his name, it was interrupted by an intense gasp a second later. You leaned all your weight onto a single elbow, tossing your head back, panting for dear life as Wonwoo striped his tongue long and flat against your heat. His hands gripped your hips, sculpting them over your bone while he tasted your arousal, all sticky and musky and delicious to the point of addiction.

"O-Oh my god, Wonwoo," you cried, letting your body collapse onto the bedsheets, limbs becoming jelly, "that feels fucking amazing."

He licked into you like he were trying to reach the centre of a sweet, colourful jawbreaker. Every pass from his tongue was firm, encompassing, smothering you in pleasure and painting you with spit. But you reacted best when he toyed his ministrations around your sensitive clit—your back would jolt off the bed, arched, as your thighs hugged him tight—Wonwoo heard your begging akin to a distant echo. He would even smile into you, glasses all foggy, chin running in wetness, as you preached his name dumbly, losing your mind. Wonwoo pressed his mouth hot against you, flicking his tongue to your overstimulated clit, focusing hard on his pattern.

"Fuck, fuck!" You shouted, writhing into the sheets. "Please, Wonwoo. Please, please, please—I'm—I'm gonna cum! Please, just—k-keep—"

There was a surge of something warm and liquid that Wonwoo wanted to drink like a peach's nectar. You were throbbing right under his tongue and he loved it to a point that felt utterly insane. He didn't want to stop even if the world was ending. His face plunged in deeper, his hands grafting into your hips harsher, completely ignorant to your fingers pulling at his hectic locks of hair. Wonwoo only wanted you and nothing else and he was going to drown in it.

But you were attempting to sit up, your sweaty body becoming better at escaping his eager, hungry licks that dug into your slit, and once he heard you wince particularly sharp, he knew he had to stop.

He sat back, removing his glasses and wiping off his chin. You slid a leg from his shoulder, using a foot to gently prod against his chest—a light scolding for perhaps enjoying you a little too much.

"Are you starved?" You laughed heavily, gulping down a breath.

Wonwoo fit the glasses back to his face. "For you? Yes." He then licked at his teeth and lips, still yearning to find traces of your arousal, only to realize you were shaking. "Shit—I'm sorry if I hurt you." Standing up, he cupped your face, bending down to kiss you gentle on the lips over and over. "I'm so fucking sorry. You taste amazing, that's all. And you're so beautiful. I couldn't fucking help it."

With a giggle, you tousled his hair. "No, I'm fine. I like a little pain." Your eyes were back to shining. Then, you caught his mouth, stealing another kiss. "But I’m even greedier than you—," pushing yourself up, you nipped at his lips, “—and I want that pretty, long cock inside me to hit all the right spots.” The exchange had you seated back in Wonwoo’s lap, where your bare, soaked pussy was free to brush against his straining and achingly hard length.

“Yeah?” Wonwoo smirked, welcoming your spit-smeared mouth.

Feeling your hips grind against him, you purred, “yeah.”

“I’ve got no protection,” Wonwoo admitted in between the make-out session, hardly able to pry your lips from one another as you slid backward on the bed with Wonwoo climbing over top.

Helping to shove off his dress shirt and slacks, discarding them to the floor, you shook your head. “Don’t need it.”

Returning the gesture, Wonwoo had you fully undressed. The entirety of your bare body on full display felt like something sacred—an artwork that had been crafted with unimaginable attentiveness to every single detail, no matter how miniscule. He couldn't liken it to anything else in his life but a distant memory from childhood—a grand mausoleum that he found himself inside with his older brother, the ceiling intricately chiselled with angelic, satin-like bodies.

Your words seemed distant. It took a second for him to remember.

“Don't need protection? Why?"

As your hands locked behind his neck, pulling him down close, you dug into his eyes with an emotional gaze. “Finish inside me.”

He stuttered, furrowing his brow, “seriously? You won’t—”

“No. I’m taking precautions, you know.” Brushing at his dampened, thick hair, you asked, “have you ever had unprotected sex?”

Wonwoo scoffed, surprised at the inquiry, “yeah. But—is that—you really want that? With me?” He stared down at you intensely.

“I only want it if you want it, too.”

He nodded, biting his lip, taking a moment to examine your perspiring face alongside the the rising and dipping of your chest.

“I want it,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, “I definitely want it.”

Truth be told, a splinter of nerves had lodged into his chest at the thought of having to perform to your anticipation—Wonwoo was never really sure if he would ever get intimate with you—and as his gaze again streamed your body, he felt overwhelmed. But then your fingertips were stroking down his bicep, seemingly drawing out the forthcoming anxiety from him like you were pulling out a thread of energy, and the easygoing smile he was met with tamed his heart.

Wonwoo eased closer toward you, allowing your expert touches to be the guide. Your hand had returned to his length for a few more thorough and especially lentamente tugs, prompting him to hiss into your neck while very flushed shades of pink crawled up his face.

He felt himself throb, wanting to simply collapse against you and climax at your hand for the second time. To make matters even more complicated, Wonwoo felt you shift slightly, and then the tip of his impatient cock was suddenly gliding all slippery like butter along your folds. Wonwoo’s arms started to shake.

You laid your palm gentle against his neck.

“How’s that feel?” You whispered in a trembling breath, meanwhile continuing the heavenly ministrations of tracing your clit with his length. “I-I think it feels quite nice—getting you all wet.”

“Amazing,” he answered, pressing his forehead to yours and pecking at your lips, “you want me to take it from here?”

Keeping silent, your grip drifted from his erection and you seemed satisfied to let the control sway now that Wonwoo was adjusted. Just before he aligned himself, however, he looked at you and laughed.

“Can you push up my glasses real quick?”

You chuckled, “seriously?”

“What’s wrong with wanting to be see you properly?”

“Nothing,” you flashed a tender smile, then using your finger to help position the glasses back up his nose, “there you go.”

Wonwoo proceeded to slide himself inside you at a slower pace that allowed him to bask in the intimate sensation—he made damn sure every little squeeze, flutter, and convulsion your heat cushioned him with was felt—though that made it considerably hard for him not to release in pathetic fashion, before he had even made a good, swift thrust. You were soaking up the moment just as much.

He didn’t want to advert his eyes from the pleasure cascading like ripples across your face for even a second. Once he was buried in still and deep, completely stuffing you to the hilt, your breath had fogged up his glasses.

“Fuck—s-sorry—” you squirmed through the apology, your hips occasionally canting against his in unbridled twitches, “—I can hardly fucking think right now. Do you know how much you’re throbbing?”

He choked out a hoarse laugh, “do you know how insanely good you feel to me? Feels like m’gonna fucking break into a million pieces. ”

“I want you to break me into a million pieces,” you whined so needily, looping your arms around his neck, “fuck me, Wonwoo. Please.”

He was positive you had told him that in a dream once.

As euphoric as you felt clenching around him, Wonwoo truly did want the sex to last. His thrusts into your heat weren’t frantically impatient, rather they grooved incredibly, purposefully deep—each stroke was thoughtful but hard, slow but timely, and judging from your high-pitched keens and the nails scraping against his shoulder blades, he knew you were appreciating the moment just the same.

Wonwoo grasped your sweaty hands in his, your fingers interlocking tight, in order to hold them against the sea of silky pillows above your head. With another especially daggering thrust that made his teeth clench and his abdomen flutter, you had jerked and cried out his name, followed by a breathless, “rr-right there!”

A leg wrapped around his hips, your ankle digging uncomfortably into his side while he continued to push his length into the spot that was making you howl. But it was getting increasingly difficult to continue the tempo—your leg was tightening around him like a boa constrictor and your warmth was clamping down with plain strength, almost as though your body was attempting to lock him inside.

He merely squeezed your hands harder, losing his breath. “You’re almost there, aren’t you?” Taking advantage of another thorough stroke, Wonwoo had the bedframe thudding the wall, his words hotly pressing into your ear. “You’re trying to keep me suctioned in.”

Your whimpers were falling apart like crumbling clay. Wonwoo tried to understand what it was you were mewling at him, something involving his name, how good it felt, that he should keep going, meanwhile tears were springing to your eyes and wetting your glimmery cheeks. Wonwoo bit his lip. He was throbbing wildly inside your heat, knowing you were only getting dumber and turning incoherent as he speared you so intimately on his cock.

Wonwoo wasn’t going to last much longer and neither were you. He was already feeling himself burst and break—the convulsion ripped through him like a landslide and now your leg was fully hooked around his hips, pinning him against you while he emptied himself disgustingly deep inside your warmth.

The sensation must have triggered your own orgasm, because his cock felt like it was practically being suffocated as you squeezed down on him. Wonwoo thought he might blackout when you whined his name into the dim bedroom humidity, strung in a loud, trembling lilt that cracked beautifully in the middle.

Your arms were winding back around his neck, pulling his face to yours, a kiss crushed onto his awaiting mouth.

“I need more,” you panted in between the kisses, “don’t feel full enough yet. Cum inside me again, Wonwoo. Please, take me again.”

“Again?” He smiled, his glasses bumping your nose. You were completely uncaring, only nipping at him harder. “Are you sure?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” you chanted, “I’ve never been surer of anything in my fucking life.” Suddenly, you were wriggling underneath him, rolling onto your stomach, and repositioning yourself such that you were face-down-ass-up. With eyes twinkling bright in pure, carnal lust, you threw him a a yearning glance from over your shoulder. “Fuck me again, nice and deep like before." His heart shot into his throat. When you begged, it was like his world was shrinking into a bubble where only you and him existed. "Please—I need it before your cum starts leaking out. I need to be filled by you, Wonwoo. Please.” You looked like you might cry if he didn't oblige the plead.

And so he did, his fingers planting a firm grip on your strong hips.

As much as you were willing to take, he was willing to give, finding himself submerge further and further into the intoxicating nature of it all until he started to lose his mind—all he knew is that it was concerningly late at night, your bedsheets were sticky and ruined, and you had gone from being thrust into the pillows to slapping yourself down on his cock while Wonwoo hazily watched. He loved the sight of your sweat, your glowing light, your bouncing breasts and pleasure-drunk face far too much. At some point, you had slumped forward into him, spent to fucking hell.

With your chests were pressed together, his cock still throbbing and stuffed inside you, there was a moment of nothing but thick, laboured breathing and heartbeats synchronizing. He kissed your temple and wrapped his arms around you, proceeding to mumble something sweet and half-asleep that contained your name.

You had squeezed his length unforgivingly in response.

“Fuck—don’t get me hard again. I’m fucking exhausted.”

“I like when you use my name.”

He smiled into your cheek. “I can tell.”

Wonwoo had woken before you.

Mostly because the bedsheets had been gradually wrapped up and tugged away and progressively stolen from him during the night, letting the cool, morning air dust over him like spray from an ocean. You were a fidgety sleeper, he had realized, sometimes even a mumbler, although Wonwoo had never been able to discern what it was you were sluggishly declaring in your dreams.

He turned his head to you, saw the bare groove of your back, shapely like a flower petal, and your arm dug underneath the silk pillow, observing every breath your unconscious body took.

Then, Wonwoo was leaning over you, feeling his fingers sink into your fleshy waist while his lips touched a kiss against your warm cheek. He hoped you wouldn’t mind him using your washroom for a shower.

Afterward, Wonwoo retraced the apartment, finding his shoes a questionable distance apart—one stood square at the front door while the other was left in the hallway leading to your room. His winter jacket was tossed over the arm to the couch, meanwhile his phone involved a more in-depth search. For some reason, he’d left it atop a shelf beside the television, hidden by a clumsy stack of textbooks.

When he tapped the screen, it illuminated some text messages from Vernon that had been sent at around two in the morning—mostly inquiries about the birthday dinner and whether or not Wonwoo had bothered going to the famed and mysterious Room 319.

Though, he opted not to respond, realizing the details he wanted to share with his friend would likely require a sit-down discussion over burgers, fries, and sodas at Solar Pop. Making his way back to the bedroom, Wonwoo carefully creaked open the door to find you half-shoved onto an arm, making tired circles against your eye.

He smiled, coming to sit beside you, handing off the glass of water he poured for himself.

“Are you leaving?” Was the first question you blearily pieced together after accepting the water but not drinking anything from it.

Wonwoo shook his head. “No.”

You managed to sit up properly, the sheets settling around your hips while you continued holding onto the glass. For a moment, you seemed to just observe Wonwoo, your eyes still swollen from sleep.

“Where are you going, then?”

He furrowed his brow. “Nowhere,” Wonwoo laughed, pulling one leg up onto the bed. “I got up to shower. Went and found my things. Got a glass of water, which you’re now holding, by the way.”

You swallowed, looking down at your lap.

“Oh…” after a recollecting pause, you took a sip from it.

Wonwoo smiled, his eyes softening like fresh brown sugar, as he proceeded to unstick some matted hairs from the edge of your face.

“You’re a pretty big sheet stealer,” he said, continuing to spread his fingers about your features, removing fluffs and rubbing off bits of dried spit, “and you seem to like talking, even in your sleep.”

“Oh, yeah… I should have told you that.”

He shrugged. “It’s fine. I liked not knowing.”

“Did you?” With a laugh and smile, you drank some more water.

“Yeah. Because it’s you, it makes me adore it even more.”

“I don’t always mumble. I swear. Only sometimes.”

Wonwoo didn’t care. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I guess I should shower, too. Then I’ll change the sheets and get new ones on.” You abruptly raised the blankets at your lap, lifting up a leg to examine something Wonwoo couldn’t see. “Yeah, I definitely need to change the sheets… oh! And take my pill. Fuck. I can’t forget.”

“I can help with the sheets.”

“Okay,” you said while leaning forward to pull open a drawer on your nightstand, revealing a thin, silver cartridge of pills, “thanks.”

After you had showered and gotten dressed in a clean spare t-shirt, you changed the dirtied sheets to your bed together.

Then you and Wonwoo spent some time together in the open, bright living room, lounging on the couch. Maybe you had kissed a few more times, and maybe his naturally cold hands had found their way underneath your loose t-shirt to curiously massage and press along your pretty chest, and maybe you had kissed a little more after that while the sun rays slid up your sensitive skin.

You twisted away from Wonwoo’s lips with a giggle.

“M’kay, that’s enough, or else I’ll need another shower.” You grabbed at Wonwoo’s hands that had been squeezing your breasts.

Although he didn’t want to stop, he listened, relaxing against the pillow he had stuffed between his spine and the arm of the couch, now throwing an elbow behind his head. You were leaning back against him, getting comfy between his legs, and for a few minutes or so, the two of you gazed out those large, floor-length glass windows into the awakening, snow-capped city.

He felt you stir against him.

“You know… sometimes you don’t always speak English.”

Wonwoo itched his eyebrow, chuckling, “what?”

“Last night, like, when I was riding you—” your head tilted back onto his shoulder, beaming him a smile, “—you would start switching languages. In between English and Korean. It was so cute.”

“Oh, yeah.” He adjusted his glasses, staring down at you while his cheeks became rosy. “I don’t know, it’s just something my brain does automatically. I don’t always realize I’m doing it.”

You grinned; eyes sparkling. “When it feels too good?”

Ruffling a hand through his hair, he simply smirked at you.

“Having a front seat view to the most beautiful girl in the world riding me just happens to be something that makes me feel really good.”

You pushed your head up to kiss him, followed by a sweet and brief whisper that he smiled at, “compliment appreciated.”

A few more quiet minutes passed. Wonwoo thought he could spend the entire day just sitting on the couch with you warm in his arms, watching the snow tumble down like wisps of tender willows.

“Wonwoo?”

“Mm?”

You got quiet.

Then, your weight against his chest was gone, and you had half-turned yourself around to look at him, seeming nervous.

He tilted his head. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answered, glancing down briefly before soaking him back into your agleam eyes. “I just want to apologize, actually.”

At that, Wonwoo stiffened. “Yeah? What for?”

With a sigh and another anxious moment to fiddle with the rolled-up cuff belonging to his wrinkled dress shirt, you were reserved.

“Ever since we fought, I can't help thinking about it. I mean, I’ve thought about what you said, and the fact you apologized, and explained yourself, and how you gave me time to process it all. You gave me so much grace, even when I felt like I hated you… but… I also said some hurtful things about you… I mean, back then I felt like you deserved it. And, I don’t know… maybe you did? Like, maybe we both needed to just be there, screaming at each other, digging our guts out, throwing up all this stuff to the surface because no one else has ever given us that freedom or made us feel like we could before. Anyway, I just feel like it’s only right that I say sorry, too.”

Scratching at his neck, Wonwoo swallowed. He never thought of it like that. “Uh, sure. If that’s what you feel you need to do. ”

“I’m sorry, Wonwoo. I really, truly am.”

He smiled, grasping at your hand and threading his fingers with yours. Pangs of regret were flooding your eyes, filling them up until they were undoubtedly teary and Wonwoo had to wipe it all away.

“It’s fine, I swear,” he whispered, moving in closer to you, brushing at your cheek as you sniffled. “Nothing has ever truly changed how I feel about you. You’re incredibly firm but sensitive, and have such fiery passion, and you’re curious about everything, and I know that it hurts so much to live without really knowing yourself. But I see you, and I feel like I know you. I never want to stop knowing you, alright?”

“Wonwoo?”

“Yeah?”

Your mouth pressed against his, and he tasted the salt from the tears that beaded down the slopes of your cheeks, warm with life.

“I love you.” He felt the whisper touch at his lips. “I really do.”

Wonwoo held onto your face like he was cradling a big pearl. “I love you, too.” Another kiss sealed the expression into felt, tangible emotion. “But honestly, you already knew that.”

Later in the day, you came up to Wonwoo as he ate lunch at the table, only after having disappeared into a distant office space further down the hallway. You dropped before him a clear, plastic duotang, which held a notably thick stack of papers that had quite a weight to it upon picking up. It only took a few flips into the papers for Wonwoo to realize that it was the completed book he used to proofread for you—a series of chronological memories between yourself and the boyfriend you had gradually drifted apart from.

True to your word, you had forged ahead and finished the book alone.

He was proud to hold the evidence.

Wonwoo asked what you planned to do with the book now that it was done. He even wondered if you might let him read some parts he never got to work on, though he understood if you preferred to keep the contents private. As he was in the middle of lifting a hot spoon to his mouth, Wonwoo suddenly paused at hearing your response.

“I think I’ll just shred it.”

You didn’t seem to care.

The decision came easier than pressing a button. There was only one copy of the book, apparently, and you had plans to turn all its pages into literary confetti. But that was a very you thing to do, Wonwoo had come to accept. Writing served many purposes, and it seemed that the purpose you had sought out was met. Somewhere, in all those paragraphs, sentences, letters, and ink, you found the fulfillment you had always ached for. At last, you struck a glimmer of promising gold after digging through all the haze and confusion.

“Sure,” he answered, “shred away.”

—8 MONTHS LATER. END OF JUNE.

“It looks so pathetic!”

“What?! No it doesn’t!”

Peeking up from the mason jar of earthy blue water he’d been swirling together using some dirtied paintbrushes, Wonwoo saw you seated across from him, talking to a very dismayed, upset twelve-year-old girl. Sierra’s little sister, Cora, had enrolled in his landlord’s ceramics class over the summer, and thus every Saturday evening she spent her time moulding unwilling chunks of grey clay alongside other similarly aged students. It was only Cora in the shop since she had been the last to get her teapot in the kiln, taking extra time with every minute detail.

Though, despite her care and attentive pace, Cora was still not pleased with the teapot, leading her to grumble and shake her head.

You were sitting beside her, a hand rubbing along the little girl’s back while she continued scrutinizing her creation. Ever since you moved into Wonwoo’s apartment back in May, Saskia had quite liked you more than her average tenant, and that somehow transformed into an offer to help her teach the summer ceramics class (with pay).

Wonwoo was always there to assist in the clean-up afterward—his favourite part was submerging all the greasy, bristly paintbrushes into a clean jar of water so that he could watch how their colours bled out in thin, swirling hues.

“No, no, no—it’s just bad.”

“I’m telling you. It’s not.”

Cora picked up the lid to the pot, then placed it back down. “There—look—it doesn’t even close properly. And the spout is not spouty enough… it’s too thick, I think. Hardly any tea will go through!”

“Well, I really like it.”

Tucking a tuft of poofy, rust-brown hair behind her ear, Cora gave you a suspecting and funny sort of look that made Wonwoo smile to himself. She was a very shy student, but she talked to you the most.

“You say that about everything I make,” Cora sighed.

“So what?”

“So…” she nibbled on her small lip, looking off to the side, “you have to say that, because you're nice. You’re like my mom. She says she loves everything I make. But then why don’t I ever love it?”

“She loves it because you made it, obviously. And she loves you. I think love changes how we look at things. Even the impractical.” Then, you picked up her teapot and moved it closer. “You know why I like this teapot? Because it shows you’re determined. I mean, look at all those bowls on the newspaper over there—you’re the only one who did the teapot! And you did it mostly by yourself. You wouldn’t even let me help you roll out the clay. So, that’s why I like it. Because I see you in it. And when you tackle it again, you’ll know what to do differently. Plus, you know you can ask me for help, right? You know I’ll always help you.”

The little girl’s freckled face suddenly became less twisted with judgement and frustration. She set her elbows onto the table, scratching at a Hello Kitty bandaid along the back of her hand, while you gave her hair a quick ruffle. Wonwoo started drying off the paintbrushes using paper towel before moving them into the cup labelled “clean” with a piece of tape.

“What should I do with this, then? If it won’t work,” Cora asked.

You shrugged. “I don’t know. But for now, just leave it with the other stuff. We’ll give it a nice glaze next time around. Make it even prettier. Then you can decide what to do with it—whether or not you want to keep it or smash it on the ground. It’s up to you, Cora.”

Wonwoo tilted his head. “Why don’t you turn it into a miniature flower pot or something? Fill it with soil and plant something in it?”

Cora raised her eyebrows. “I like that idea, actually.”

“Me too,” you said, shooting Wonwoo a sly wink that he smiled very stupidly at, “look at this guy over here. Lurking with his good ideas.”

By the time Sierra was available to pick up her sister, Wonwoo had officially finished cleaning all the paintbrushes and whittling tools, as well as replacing the tablecloth with a fresh one. The three of you stood at the base to the shop’s very small stoop, exchanging some general conversation while a sleepy Cora held onto her sister’s hand and leaned her seemingly heavy head against her side.

The sky was a tame yellow shade, not as bright as a buttercup, but something delicate of the like.

“Hey—I heard you guys are planning a vacation!” Sierra chirped, adjusting the car keys in her hand, “is that all true?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, flashing Wonwoo a soft smile, “uh, we decided that we’re gonna spend some time in South Korea. I haven’t visited his family at all. But, yeah. Gonna leave start of August and come back right before October. So, a pretty good chunk of time.”

“No way!” She exclaimed.

“We’ll see how it pans out,” Wonwoo commented, sliding his arm around your waist and digging his fingers into your hip. “But my brother won’t shut his mouth about meeting her. And my parents are obviously curious. Besides, there are some great places I want to show off.”

Sierra shook her head. “I’m jealous. And totally sure you guys will have a great experience together. We’ll miss you here, though.”

“Please do,” you laughed, and Sierra pinched your cheek.

She then looked down at her sister, who had her eyes shut.

“Okay, I’m gonna get this little dove home. Thank you so much for helping her at ceramics by the way. She talks about you all the time.”

“Really?” You touched at your face, seeming flustered. “Well, I love helping her out. She’s a sweet girl with a lot of will on her shoulders.” Lowering your voice, you moved in closer to Sierra. “I’ll keep my eyes peeled for a cute gift she can have while we’re gone.”

After parting ways with Sierra and Cora, you and Wonwoo returned upstairs, back into the apartment to prepare for supper.

Both of you were feeling particularly lazy, and the shiny red tomato he was supposed to chop ended up being ignored in place of eating ice cream straight from its tub.

You were the one who grabbed it—Wonwoo was only following suit as he picked up a spoon and curved some out.

Something else interesting about you that Wonwoo had learned since moving in together was that you didn’t really care to ever sit on a chair, even when you were eating. It was either the sofa, the floor, or the kitchen table, in which you would be holding onto your food even though he always thought how easier it could be if you did sit down properly. The quirk was fun, nonetheless, and Wonwoo had admittedly started looking at the kitchen table in a different light after he proceeded to give you oral on it one night. Consequently, it bloomed a very dangerous habit between the two of you.

A habit that might become drastically less accessible once you two jetted off to his native country for over a month, confined between his parent’s cozy home where he grew up and the two-story apartment his wealthy brother and sister-in-law owned in the glittering heart of South Korea’s Seoul. He was nervous. You were nervous. But at least you were together.

Over the months, your parents had gradually come to accept him as your boyfriend, even if they weren't exactly warmed up to the idea at the start. Wonwoo revisited your home a few times alongside you to help in the explanations of your story and future prospects, although he partially understood that Mingyu was like a precious sapphire to your family and having him out so suddenly was hard to stomach.

He spent years nestling himself a comfortable burrow and smoothing out the bumps to make a crafty façade that, particularly your mother, couldn't help but outwardly adore. Like a son. Like Seokmin, too.

Wonwoo thought Mingyu might give him trouble.

In truth, he'd scarcely seen him, unless transient glimpses of his towering, quickly bustling figure from across a university campus or city street were noteworthy. Obviously, he wasn't inside Mingyu's head and he really had no inclination as to what the boy might be thinking on the occasion he spotted you and Wonwoo hand-in-hand at the park, or sharing breakfast at the café along Sunnyside.

But if Mingyu maintained even half the feelings that Wonwoo did for you, then he was positive it hurt like fucking hell.

Of all people, Wonwoo supposed he himself knew best.

—AUGUST 1ST.

“Wonwoo!”

He closed his dresser drawer, almost slamming his fingers inside. Your voice echoed from the living room, sounding hectic.

“Yes? What’s up!”

“The taxi’s here!”

Fuck. He immediately thought. The time was flying by.

Wonwoo had made a gigantic list of what to pack, but over time he kept adding and taking things away from it. Now, it was early morning, soft rain and cracks of bursting light coming down outside, and he was doing a final clean-sweep of the bedroom as well as his poorly scribbled list to ensure everything he needed was with him.

Quickly approaching the window, Wonwoo glanced outside to see the cab parked at the curb. Fuck. Again. Vernon always said he would happily provide you two a ride to the airport, but then the boy was unsurprisingly wrapped back into some trouble, and Wonwoo hadn’t seen his best friend in over a week.

Graciously, however, Vernon had given him a heads up and a proper goodbye beforehand. He’d even left him a voicemail to listen to, which immediately jumped into Wonwoo’s brain at random as he scrambled around the bedroom in search of his phone.

“Just give me one more minute!” Wonwoo shouted.

There was a pause on your end, and then a sigh.

“Do you need help?”

“No—all good. I promise. Can you let the cab driver know?”

“I will.”

“Thank you!” Wonwoo sang, finding the phone blended into his bedsheets, then proceeding to open his inbox. “I love you!”

“I love you, too!” You shouted back. “Just hurry the fuck up!”

He let Vernon’s message play while also tossing his suitcase onto the bed, stuffing in a few more last-minute grabs with utter clumsiness.

“Heyyy, Glasses! How are things? I’m shooting you this cute little message at arounddd—oh! Looks like it’s two in the mornin’! It’s two in the fuckin’ mornin’ and I’m pulled up outside this dude’s house all ‘cause he can’t pay me back for my good, hard services. It’s nothin’ serious, though. Don’t get all uptight like usual. You know I’m good at handlin’ stuff and keepin’ my cool. Probably my better qualities. Anyway, I’m bored as fuck. I’ve spun this Lloyd CD about four times and I just can’t listen to that dude anymore. He can sing, though.

I am pissed you’re leavin’ me. And I’m pissed she’s leavin’ me, too. You guys are what I look forward to whenever I drive down into that shithole city. Well, I think just about every city’s a shithole city. In fact, the city I’m in now is probably more of a shithole… Seokmin texted me the other day—said he wants to talk—which is vague as fuck and to be honest, I’ve been ignorin’ it ‘cause I can’t get myself to give a god damn. But maybe I’ll hear him out. That guy was a cutie, wasn’t he? I still think you’re a bit cuter. And better at mini-put.

I’ll miss you a lot when you’re down there… it got me thinkin’ about the night when we first met. The New Year’s Eve party. You remember that pretty well, don’t’chya? I saw you come in with those guys—they didn’t look like your crowd at all—but then after a while you were alone. Wanderin’ around. It didn’t even seem like you knew anyone else was there. You had the blankest look on your face. Like you were stuck in a loop and you didn’t even know it. I don’t know that I felt pity or anything… hell, maybe I felt a little. I just talked to ‘ya ‘cause I wanted to know if you knew where you even were.

You knew you were at some stupid, loud, awful fuckin’ house party jammed with unfamiliar faces. You knew how much you hated bein’ there. But I don’t think you actually knew how you got there, or why, or what was supposed to happen next. It kinda drew me to you. I wanted to understand it. And you gave me the weirdest look, too, when I stopped you. But once I got you outside, away from all the bullshit, you loosened up just a bit and I realized I was talkin’ to this smart, well-rounded, thoughtful guy who was just a little lost in the weeds.

I know you didn’t really care about me like that. I was just some jumped-up weirdo who could give you mint weed at a sweet price. But I still liked you… I dunno… other people see you differently when they care a whole lot, don’t they? I guess they see things about you that others can’t, or they know exactly what you could be when others don’t. They see stuff even you can’t see. It’s like a superpower, I think… my best superpower is probably makin’ girls giggle. I’ve got a lot of charm, wouldn’t you agree? Ha—anyway—stay safe on your trip, tell Her that I’ll miss her a lot, too—oh! Oh!

Fuck! That’s it. That little fucker is comin’ outside—he can’t resist his two am darts on the porch. God bless you, nicotine! Okay, uh, guess this is me hangin’ up on you. Later, Wonwoo!”

At that point, everything Wonwoo needed was packed. But he’d taken the additional time to complete Vernon’s voicemail, now sitting on the edge of his bed while staring out into the early, glimmering rain shower and the water droplets collecting against his window.

Then, Wonwoo glanced down at the laptop he had open.

He hadn’t written in… months. Not even months—it had been over a year since Wonwoo wrote. And, somehow, it felt good not to write.

It felt necessary to step away from the craft.

Besides, writing would always be there. Just because he hadn’t filled up a document on his computer with harmoniously arranged words, or penned anything down in the journal he used to scribble poetry in, that didn’t make him not a writer. In fact, it could be crucial to know when to step away from something—when to let go of an invisible weight keeping one from progressing. While he hadn’t thought about it in months, it floated to the surface of his mind that there may be something he should let go.

The unfinished book. 01.

Wonwoo deleted it. Simple as that.

Shoving the laptop into his shoulder-sling bag, Wonwoo made sure to knab his journal from the nightstand before he left, just in case anything did excite him with a crack of inspiration as he embarked on his newest chapter with you at his side. Rolling his suitcase hurriedly behind him, Wonwoo rushed out onto the street, feeling the rain graze his hair and skin, while you were leaned against the cab, arms folded and teeth anxiously raking over your bottom lip.

He peppered the cab driver in apologies while he helped shove the suitcase into the trunk.

“Liar—” you grumbled after sliding into the cab, undoing the buttons on your coat, “—you said one minute, not one lifetime.”

“I know, I know,” Wonwoo laughed, removing his glasses to rub off the mist and dew, “but that voice mail from Vernon distracted me.”

“Let me do it,” you said, taking his glasses with a sigh, “we should be fine. I know we’ll make it on time… I guess I’m just on edge.”

He watched you massage at the lenses gently with a sleeve. The driver climbed back into the cab, now pulling away from the pottery shop and driving toward the beam of light that sliced through the dense clouds, like the sun was handling a giant blade.

“Everything’s gonna work out, I promise… and I already told you that we’ll be staying with Bohyuk first, right? Him and Nari?”

Handing the glasses back to Wonwoo, you nodded.

“Yeah… god—I hope he likes me.”

“Oh, he will. You guys are pretty similar, actually.”

The look you gave him warbled slightly.

“What if that’s a bad thing? Every time you tell me a story about your brother, it usually involves you loathing him for something.”

“Those stories took place years ago.”

“But the feelings are still there, aren’t they?”

Wonwoo settled his hand over top yours, giving your fingers a soothing squeeze. He knew you wanted to make the perfect first impression. After all, first impressions were not something that could be easily taken back or erased, unless the people you were meeting were quite forgiving. And Bohyuk was fortunately the forgiving type.

It was only time that Wonwoo exercise the quality as well.

Leaning in close to your face, Wonwoo gazed into your eyes, watching their frantic nature become still like the surface of a calm pond.

“You’ve got nothing to worry about, alright?” He murmured.

Huffing out an intense, long breath, you nodded.

“Alright… can I have a kiss, please?”

Lifting his hand to graze against the side of your cheek, he paused to admire your beauty for a moment, only to properly cup your face and push his lips to yours—which tasted sweet and balmy—before feeling you push back firm. He proceeded to give you another soft kiss for good measure, one that cured you to smile all fluttery and coy against his mouth until he was inevitably smiling, too.

In fact, Wonwoo only ever found himself smiling that hard when he was with you.

—END.

heyyyy :] ramble incoming...

first and foremost, ABOVE ALL ELSE, i just want to say thank you! i know this was a very, very long fic for me to be uploading on tumblr. this site is not the most fanfic friendly (or creation friendly for that matter) so stomaching the fact that this needed to be split up into so many parts was like a dagger to the heart! for those who decided to buckle up and lock into this journey, i honestly thank you so much <3 life was not always kind in the process of writing this (hence the fact it took me 2 years, plus some extra) but i was so dedicated to seeing this story through! a lot of the frustration i was feeling toward myself was funnelled into wonwoo's character, so this is quite personal :3

nonetheless, i hope there's something, even a single thing, someone else can take away from the story as well! both wonwoo and her as characters introduce their own unique themes--wonwoo (at the core) is more so about learning to let go in order to progress, whereas her is about using creative tools to help guide the search for identity. i think that writing has helped me learn a lot about myself (even uncomfy, icky things) so i wanted that to be represented through her.

of course, these are not the only things they stand for! but these are the elements i based their characters on, to which other concepts sprouted from. i also loved the idea of pairing someone as lost and misguided and emotionally stunted as wonwoo with this girl who seems so bossy and firm. at first he doesn't like it, but that was really what he needed to accept some of the flaws holding him back. idk if you're familiar with the EXCUSE ME! HE ASKED FOR NO PICKLES! meme but that's what comes to mind when i think of them xD

additionally: special shout out to vernon. he became a much bigger part of this story than i originally intended. he is in some ways wonwoo's foil. vernon knows he's flawed but that's sorta his strength and what makes him genuine. he witnesses wonwoo's entire journey, so at times he also feels like our role, the "reader" and gives wonwoo some wisdomy parting words without rly knowing it (but that's part of his charm <3 i don't want vernon's emotional intelligence to be underrated, which is also an ode to the conversation wonu & her have back in the museum. wonwoo knows there are different types of intelligence and emotionally he is lackinggg).

also small s/o to seokmin. SORRY! HAD TO DO IT!

this has been my slowest slowburn! i wasn't sure how late they were going to kiss. but i didn't want to force anything. i wanted to add the moment when i felt it was surely right! also, if you haven't yet listened to the playlist and you're curious, i recommend listening to the very last song, writer, by ellie goulding. i've been listening to that song for many years, and one day it hit me how coincidentally her lyrics overlap with some of the fic's storyline!

i think it adds a nice final touch <3

LASTLY!

upon contemplation, i will be uploading this fic to ao3 in the same chaptered format it's been posted here! i realize the convenience to bookmarking on that site (and it also doesn't give people's phones a heart attack when trying to read something lengthy) so i hope that appeases some of you who wish to reread with more leisure! i'll be under the username @/uglypluto!

i'll upload the final chapter (this chapter) to ao3 probably between late sunday & early monday.

THANK YOU x100! 💕

[alohaasaloevera]

guys I’m honestly happy that klance didn’t become canon because I love how as a collective group of people we utilize our right to explore what could have been and create the most smoking hot scenarios ever and yes I obviously wanted more of their friendship growing into this bond stronger than anything else in the universe especially since Voltron has teamwork and family as one of their main lessons but that’s more of a development issue all around…ok besides that there’s something about klance where it provides this PERFECT environment for shippers to inhabit and FEAST upon. With klance, there’s a solid, engaging dynamic between the two set up, which is this weird one-sided rivalry that stems from Lance’s insecurity and his need to prove himself of his worth and Keith literally being one of the best pilots for his age but since they’re flung into space and chosen to become child soldiers in this 10,000 year old intergalactic war so they have to work as a team which surprise surprise forces them to put aside their differences and work as a team which is shown a bunch when Keith needs to become a leader and Lance steps up as his right hand and and they have some kinda tender moments that won’t definitely drive shippers into a shipping craze (or worse) SO YEAH you could see why people loved it with all the classic tropes and mutual growth all that schmooze (ALSO THEY KNEW EACHOTHER BEFORE THE MAIN PLOT??? Well maybe not like friends or even acquaintances probably BUT HELLO?????? EVEN MORE SHIT TO EXPAND ON????), and they share multiple scenes that could be interpreted as romantic but there’s no explicit romance. This environment is fucking dripping drenched flash flooded cornered by 1000ft tsunamis in all directions with potential for shipping, so when people saw this relationship between two bros with this sort of homoerotic (IM JOKING. Kinda.) unresolved tension towards each other and the POTENTIAL for a good slow burn rivals to friends to lovers, it was to no one’s surprise that they went APESHIT. Klancers made countless different ways where they get together whether it be pre-Kerberos, post-gettingthefuckoutofearth, the start of the show, the end of the show, after the end of the show, right smack in the middle, anywhere, anytime, for who the fuck knows why just ANY REASON DAMN IT it doesn’t really matter because people were pumping out fanfiction or fan art or any fan media of klance faster than I spit out a raw baby carrot after chewing it for one second and now we’re all wallowing about how it should have been KICK but the thing is that if VLD did KICK all the way to Altea, the production of these beautiful stories that so many people have and still are coming up with about klance kissing in midst of a battle, helping each other with their crippling nightmares, smiling for the stars or some other sad premise, and whatever is nestled in his pulse…just like uhhh the amount of fics like these that go into great detail about Keith and Lance in these random situations that end up with them getting together being produced would go down to some degree because of the fact that if the people’s beloved sharpshooter and samurai had ended up together like we had wanted, and the majority was satisfied with the ending the creators had given, people would have shifted from writing about “How could Lance and Keith get together?” to writing about “What could Lance and Keith do now that they’re together?” And like. There’s nothing wrong with that honestly I would be HYPED if klance was ever canon but there is profound beauty in the way the community is able to create more from less and turn a show that went to shit in the last few seasons shine even brighter than it did at its prime. Like I wouldn’t trade my favorite fics 4 anything.

—

Ok another little thing I’m going to put here: With Klance, all I wanted was for them to be great friends 😭😭😭. I tend to prefer klance becoming canon in later seasons or at the end or even an open ending with no confirmed romantic relationships because I am a sucker for character development and the idea of Keith and Lance both harboring these feelings that at first are just admiration and respect but then escalate to yearning for one another or becoming close friends at the end of the show and getting to imagine anything I want post canon is EVERYTHING if you give me S7 Garrison klance I’ll keel over and thank you like I was a second away from dying of thirst and your gift was a truck load of water

[m1ssunderstanding]

I think your tags on the post about Paul's song Suicide got cut off. I was invested, and want to hear the rest of your thoughts :) Maybe you could put it all in a separate post if you don't want to add it as a reblog?

hey, thanks for this ask! It's always nice to have someone that wants to know my thoughts. I'd love to know yours on the subject too!

Okay super long text post under the cut

On “Suicide” 1956 and 1970

My interpretation of the meaning of Paul’s early song “Suicide” and its purpose on his debut solo album

The verse Paul had written in 1956 goes,

“If when she tries to run away

And he calls her back, she comes.

If there’s a next time, he’s okay

Cause she’s under both his thumbs.

She'll limp along to his side

Singing a song of ruin. I’d

Bet he says nothin’ doin’

I, I’d call it suicide.”

The song’s protagonist can’t leave an abusive relationship. The abuser knows it doesn’t matter what they do, the protagonist will always come back. Even when they’re limping, even when they vocalize their knowledge that this relationship is damaging, they’ll always come back, and the abuser is nonchalant. In the end,the singer likens the protagonist’s return to the relationship to suicide.

Just as the woman in the song is under her husband’s thumb, around the time this was written, Paul was very much under his father’s thumb. This was not due to any lack of self-direction or courage on his part. Jim was physically abusive (like the husband in the song) an addict, extremely controlling, and emotionally both unavailable and volatile. Still, in the same way that the woman in the song always goes back to her husband, Paul loved his father. It’s likely that Paul’s unusual degree of deference to his father was a combination of self-preservation and a genuine desire to help and please his father. Jim was also honest and well-liked, a lot of fun, intelligent, talented, a buyer of wonderful presents, and a supporter of Paul as a musician, and Paul felt great admiration and gratitude to Jim. And yet, Paul is not only the protagonist of “Suicide.” He’s also the singer. And the singer knows this relationship is destructive – bad enough to be likened to deadly.

So, “Suicide” is about Paul’s relationship with his father.

Enter John Lennon. Based on John’s perfect knowledge of “I lost my little girl” a full dozen years after being first shown it, I’m inclined to believe John was fully acquainted with the song “Suicide” and though I think pigs would fly before Paul would discuss its meaning with John, it’s not unlikely that he had his guesses.

It is also my tentative belief (based on the wording of the quote in which John talks about Paul and Jim and the issues with control and violence, the fact that John hit a lot of people, but never Paul, and the documented fact that John Lennon is intensely perceptive when it comes to Paul McCartney) that John knew Jim hit Paul. John hated Jim for all the same reasons Paul obeyed him. He hated that Jim was abusive, and he hated that Paul loved him. But. And here’s where I might be stepping on some toes. John and Jim share some important similarities.

Positives first. Both men are praised for being honest to a fault (Jim owning up to gambling debts and John being open and brash in interviews). Both are well-liked by almost everyone who knew them (People go on and on about what a gentleman Jim was, what a stand-up guy. People always think they’re John’s best friend after spending three hours with him) Both recognize Paul’s talent and give him the support he needs to pursue it (John obviously to a much higher degree) Both are described as being the life of the party and the center of attention.

Now negatives. Both men are highly susceptible to addiction. Both men pressured Paul about his lifestyle. Both are known to have been violent toward people they loved (although John was never violent toward Paul. This is important, and will be revisited). Both men had difficulty controlling their emotions or expressing them in a healthy way.

John eventually won his battle with Jim, as he states very proudly that Paul chose him in the end. He stood up to his father, as John claims he constantly begged him to do, and cast his lot with John, their partnership and their music. And, obviously, it was the right decision. Not only because it resulted in the greatest musical collaboration of all time, but because with John, Paul exchanged violence for softness. John was capable of a shocking level of care and tenderness, and for many years that was absolutely lavished on Paul. And I think they were both privately proud of that fact.

Jump to late 1969 / early 1970. John’s actions during the divorce (forcing Allen Klein – another violent and controlling man – on Paul, manipulating – self-admitedly – George and Ringo into turning against Paul, threatening – accidentally or on purpose – to treat Paul the way he’d treated Cynthia in their divorce, etc.) were hurtful enough to Paul that he was, in fact, suicidal (barely finding the strength not to suffocate himself in his pillow, taking way too much of everything, half-hoping he’ll overdose) and when he is finally pulling himself up again, he’s ignoring all John’s attempts to get him to come back (songs, interviews, letters, post-cards).

He puts out his debut solo album, the content of which makes John angry, though to an outsider, there doesn’t seem to be much there in the way of messaging.

Here’s what we get of “Suicide” a the end of “Glasses”, right before “Junk”

“ . . . song of ruin, I’d

Bet he says nothin’ doin’

I’d”

The part Paul chose to include was the abuser’s shrugging lack of surprise that the protagonist has returned, yet again, despite their knowledge that they’re walking back into abuse. I believe Paul’s message to John here is this: You were the one who taught me that there is a certain level of treatment I should expect from people who say they love me. Now that you’re the one who’s hurt me, you have to deal with what you’ve created. I’m not just going to come back to you with my tail between my legs and act like nothing happened. You taught me better than that. I’m really leaving. We’re really over.

[david-talks-sw]

It's a shame that the multi-media franchise of star wars have twisted the original narrative of the Jedi. I really love the sequel trilogy, I love season 7 of TCW, and Dave Filoni is amazing storyteller. But over the years, it's gotten to the point where the Jedi are being criticized to such a degree that now some people believe the Jedi should've changed their entire belief system. It's great to criticize the Jedi. They are flawed and not perfect. But now because they are now being framed negatively over the past 2-3 years and so now, some justify their genocide, disrespect their belief system, and believe Anakin was a poor victim who got caught up in everything. Lucasfilm or any writer is to blame for this, but I think people need to look a little more deeper into the media literacy behind star wars, and consider the fact that a child is going to love the Jedi despite their flaws and will be sad when they see them get killed. Because star wars is made for children who can look up to the Jedi as role models.

All of this.

I frankly don't know what else to add, @thecenturyofmusic said it all.

I also think there's an argument to be made for shifting global values.

I don't know about how it was in the U.S. specifically, but I don't remember there being as much of an emphasis on mental health back in the early 2000s as there is today.

Back then, I remember many fans sorta getting the core story but hating it, which resulted in a lot of them just bashing the Prequels.

Nowadays, a spin has been put on the Prequels wherein Anakin is the poster boy for the mental illness, he's just a victim:

he grew up a slave which gave him severe PTSD,

then was ripped away from the arms of his mother by

an elite order of emotionless monks whose emotionally-repressing teachings are the perfect representation of toxic masculinity and force you to never get emotionally attached,

who berated and rejected him at every turn,

he also doesn't have a father figure except for the Chancellor, who grooms him and isolates him,

and instead of supporting him in his hour of need, the Jedi hurt Anakin psychologically to a degree where at some point he just loses it and kills them all, because as far as he's concerned they were evil to him.

And... yeah. It can be interpreted that way. It resonates more to people when seen that way.

But it wasn't meant to be seen that way.

If it was, then we'd have seen very different Prequels.

Watto would have physically abused Anakin left and right like he's DiCaprio in Django: Unchained, instead of joking around about humans with him.

Shmi would've been on the ground crying, holding Anakin's leg and screaming "please no give me back my babyyyy!!!"

Literally every shot of the Jedi emoting, screaming, chuckling, being worried would be absent and they'd all speak with a monotonous voice, including Yoda, Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan.

If we were supposed to feel like Anakin is in the right and the Jedi are in the wrong then we'd be shown an Anakin who isn't petulant, arrogant and overly emotional. We'd see a normal person who gets berated by a group of unfeeling old men.

Anakin wouldn't call Obi-Wan his father twice (which is admittedly a nuanced situation because while Anakin may see Obi-Wan as a father, Obi-Wan sees Anakin as a little brother so hey).

We'd see Anakin explicitly state that he's afraid of his wife dying, maybe carrying her unconscious body to the temple steps begging for help only for someone to reject him at the door because "it goes against protocol" and that's when Palpatine swoops in.

Y'know, more explicit, emotion-eliciting stuff?

But we didn't see any of that. Because it wasn't about any of that. If it was, then it goes about delivering its message in the weakest way possible.

While nowadays, the popular take is that Anakin's downfall is the fault of everyone around him, the intended take was that Anakin's fall was his own fault. Anakin is a victim of his own flaws.

The Prequels weren't meant to show you what happens when you keep pushing a mentally unstable person, they were about cautioning children about not giving in to their own fear and greed.

"How does a good kid become a bad man?" He let his inner demons - fear, anger, greed - get the better of him.

And that's not necessarily a take most people agree with these days, but that takes us back to how much importance you actually give to GL's original vision.

[aeternallis]

High-Context Culture at Play and Kim's Mode of Communicating // a rant

So, something I notice once in awhile when I go through the tags on Ao3 for KPTS fics are commentary on the lack of communication in the show—specifically, how Kim doesn't communicate. Tags such as, "Kim communicates, it's a miracle", "OOC because they actually communicate", "Kim uses his words", "Healthy Communication, so it's OOC", etc etc.

This isn't meant to call anyone out and mind you, this isn't something I've only seen in the KPTS fandom; tags like these are also used in a lot of danmei fics I see, as well as the sheer variety of anime/manga fics I've read in my time.

And ngl, when I see those tags...my gut reaction is often to feel that they sound very much tongue-in-cheek and somewhat mocking. Not just to the character himself, but to the narrative itself. It's a bit uncomfortable at times, reading those kinds of tags, even if I know to myself that there's likely no malicious intent behind it.

For what it's worth, I won't apply bad faith arguments on works of art and creativity, and I'm certainly not looking to police fic on Ao3, yknow?

Having said that though and just because I have yet to see a post talking about this topic explicitly, I also feel that it's important to some degree to understand how people communicate in Thailand, and Asia in general.

Mind you, I’m no expert in Thai culture, lemme repeat that yet again. They have unspoken social rules that I myself wouldn't understand because I'm not Thai, nor do I speak Thai. Asia at large, though sharing a unique set of many similar values, is not a homologous region; each country has a rich tapestry of history and culture and very much different from one another.

Yet, as someone who grew up in an Asian household who shares many of said values, I often feel like—when it comes to East Asian/Southeast Asian fictional characters at large—there has always been an unconscious, almost knee-jerk habit I often see in fanfiction to reshape their style of communication to a more western context, if that makes sense. As someone who used to translate doujinshi and Pixiv 小説 for fun, it was always noticeable and a bit jarring, once I moved over to read my fanfic of choice, yknow.

This isn't inherently or purposefully malicious in any way, but it can feel very dismissive, even if it's unconsciously done.

Thailand and most if not all of SE Asia operate in a high-context culture. High-context culture means that when we communicate, it’s not always so much the words themselves that matter, but the context surrounding those words: body language, tone, eye contact, a person’s social status, etc etc. The words sometimes only convey part of the intent, but it doesn’t convey everything. In some situations, the words themselves can even mean the exact opposite of what they’re trying to convey.

It's why so many misunderstandings happen between international fans on platforms like X, because the nuance is often lost in Google Translate.

On the other end of that, we can use Tumblr as the example: since this is mostly an English-speaking website, for the most part, this hellsite operates on a low-context culture, but is easily ignited with outrage based on seemingly high-context traits. LOLOL

This type of communication is not always easily translated into the subtitles, nor is it remotely perfect in any way. It can be quite complex, and hell, even in the context of its own culture, misunderstandings can and do happen all the time. And, as we've seen from the recent popularity boom of East Asian media from the past two or three decades to the American and western audience at large, some of the most compelling drama can come from these sorts of human error.

Besides that, if I’m being perfectly honest, almost always (one of) the source(s) of fandom drama when it comes to character interpretation is due to the nuances of the high-context culture the story takes place in that can have the loudest enthusiasts arguing back and forth.

This is particularly true for characters like Kim Theerapanyakul, who are meant to be portrayed as mysterious and unreadable.

(Lan Wangji and Hyakuya Mika are also a few that comes to mind in my personal experience, uh huh)

To be quite frank, it's why I personally avoid getting into any nitty gritty discussion when it comes to characters like Kim and LWJ, because they mean so much to many different people, as well as simply for the fact that I do not know everyone's emotional tolerance when it comes to disagreements. Lol What I'm saying right now can be taken to be hard-hitting fandom policing, when I'm really trying hard not for it to sound like that, nor is it even my intent. I'm not telling anyone that they're wrong or that they've misinterpreted the characters, but what I am saying, is that people in fandoms, especially for the English-Only Speakers at large, need to be more consciously aware of their cultural biases.

And before I go on, mind you, it’s perfectly okay to have cultural biases—we all have them, myself included, that's just a fact of life. No one is exempt from this, if anyone is itching to point fingers.

I don't think it's an unreasonable thing to say that if one is engaging in media that's not from their cultural context, it's good to be more aware of the surrounding cultural norms and values of that said piece of media when you apply your own interpretation to it, and especially when you may not be the intended audience.

It’s why “your headcanons are not my headcanons” is, I will always believe, a very good rule to adhere to, especially when peeps disagree with popular headcanons, so fandoms can be more respectful and tolerant of each otherrrrrrr when disagreements inevitably crop upppppp, but anywayyyyyy~

I’ve met enough expats who’ve lived abroad in my current line of work to say that trying to understand the unspoken social rules, norms, values, etc. of the foreign country they choose to live in is most often one of their biggest sources of frustration. Alas.

And, as a side-note: high-context cultures are in no way superior to low-context cultures. Both modes of communication have their pros and cons, and molds society in various different ways.

But I digress! An example of the high-context culture at play is the break-up scene in front of Kim's apartment, which I've seen a number of fic authors portray as a genuine apology from Kim:

Which—in terms of what was spoken, Kim did say he was sorry.

But let’s think about the context of the apology: he said the words as he was walking away, before pulling his arm from Chay’s grasp. He looks back at Chay coldly, and overall, his behavior is dismissive; from his body language alone, he portrays a picture of aloofness and treats Chay as an annoyance.

What he says is an apology, yes—but it's an apology with no sincerity whatsoever. It's why Chay broke down as hard as he did, because it's not just Kim's lies that had him reeling, it was the fact that in the context of how Kim dismissed Chay during that scene, it also heavily implies that nothing between them had ever been sincere. Kim completely reverses the understanding that Chay had of their friend/relation-ship and cuts it off completely.

And although what I'm saying may come across as "Duh, that's freakin' obvious," I also want to add another point: Kim would know the implications of what this non-apology is. He would understand the context in which he'd said those words. Whether he chose to regret them or not later on is up for debate, but it's interesting to see whenever fic authors use this scene as an excuse that Kim genuinely thought he apologized, just because he said the words out loud.

Do you see what I mean? In that scene, the canon's context is what matters, but I've seen enough fic where that scene is turned on its head and fic!Kim thinks and excuses himself, portraying the scene to somehow mean that it's the words that matter. The nuance is thus lost, so in turn, the emotional weight of that scene is also disregarded.

This is what I mean when I say that there is an unconscious habit some fic authors have in changing the communication style that the show is set in.

Because the reality is, Kim didn't apologize. He knew he didn't, and Chay most certainly knew he didn't. What he was communicating in that scene was entirely different from what an actual apology entails.

Be that as it may, the audience knows that the non-apology doesn't negate what he and Chay went through together in the show. He may have been lying to Chay for the majority of the story in regards to his involvement in the mafia, but it doesn't mean that the love and adoration he feels for Chay through his actions didn't come through. Kim may not have said much to Chay besides singing for him a (stolen) refurbished version of his own song, but it doesn’t mean that his intent wasn’t conveyed. It's why Chay cried the way he did, in that in some way or another, the song Kim sang is a reminder of everything that happened between them did have truth to it.

Just because they communicate in the way one may not be used to or unfamiliar with (especially in the low-context culture that countries like the US, Canada, Australia, etc. operate in), doesn't mean that they're not communicating to one another.

Healthy communication doesn’t always have to just mean “straightforward meaning in the words.”

When tags like the ones I mentioned earlier in this rant inevitably crop up, especially when it comes to characters who are non-American/British, one can't help but feel that their canon mode of communication is being mocked and made to be seen as inferior.

In which case, TL;DR, when one writes tags like these about certain characters, I sincerely hope that their cultural biases are in the forefront of their mind, and they're aware and humble enough to admit that there are some things that they may not understand in terms of the cultural context. And due to the fact that they do not understand it, hopefully not mock it in response.

[quamaii]

I am very normal, so I decided to assign all of the Our Wonderland main cast a Jack Off Jill song, as well as some duo songs. These are my personal interpretations of the songs and characters, however if I did get something blatantly wrong, please let me know. Admittedly I am not the most confident in some of these, but I think they work for the most part.

Spoilers as well as TW for self harm, suicide, abuse, and other dark topics under the cut!

Iggy — Strawberry Gashes:

Blaming yourself for the death of a friend due to suicide. Though that exact thing never happens with him (though getting quite close with Orlam), Iggy does often blame himself for the way his friends have turned out which is only exacerbated in Wonderland. The "her" in this song is meant to represent one person, but it honestly works with all of Iggy's friendships.

Turn her over

A candle is lit, I see through her

Blow it out and

Save all her ashes for me

Curse me, sold her

The poison that runs its course through her

Pale white skin with

Strawberry gashes all over, all over

Watch me lose her

It's almost like losing myself

Give her my soul

And let them take somebody else, get away from me

Watch me fault her

"You're living like a disaster"

She said, "kill me faster"

With strawberry gashes all over, all over me!

Genzou — Underjoyed:

Depression and all the self-deprecating thoughts and behaviors that come with it. Very representative of Genzou's mindset throughout a majority of the game. Also mentions alcohol as a coping mechanism.

An old friend convinced me that he was underjoyed

He never caused friction, his ego, he destroyed

He made a decision, he jumped into the void

Or maybe

Drown your fears in alcohol, everybody spills and falls

Choke on every dream you ever had

Drown yourself in alcohol, everybody slips and falls

Choke on every dream you ever had

Keep yourself in six degrees, no one ever comforts me

Why should they bother when I'm alone?

Orlam — When I Am Queen:

Someone with self-harming/suicidal tendencies fantasizing about when they will be crowned royalty and worshipped. They dream about being in control, getting revenge on everyone who wronged them, and seemingly try to romanticize their self harm.

When I am queen, I will insist

With perfect scars upon my wrists

That everything you once held dear

Is taken away from you

But until then, I'll have to

Drown, drown, drown myself!

Drown, drown, drown myself!

Drown, drown, drown myself!

Drown!

Gidget — Cinnamon Spider:

Feelings of guilt and inadequacy. I'm not entirely sure what the song is about, but there is a theme about breaking free from expectations and reclaiming what is yours. Also, spider motif.

Consumed by hate and guilt, she'll never retire

Too old to fix, too dead to ever acquire

Slit wrists, talk shit but she will never inspire

A plan to save herself, the cinnamon spider

I, I, I, I, I won't try, I, I!

And I every time I tell that lie, I live without guilt

And I, I, I, I, I won't cry, I, I!

And I hope you love your life and live with your guilt

Bucks — Horrible:

Hatred. Both for yourself and the world. Bucks seems to be a very nice and genuine person at heart, but people's expectations of her cause her to turn into a hateful and angry person, both consciously (her joking about how she's a monster and playing up how tough she is) and unintentionally (developing restrained anger at being forced into a lifestyle she didn't want).

Fade into yesterday, searching for my youth

Trying to digest it all, searching for the truth

Self centered devil spawn, this makes me durable

Or am I criminal? I'm fucking horrible

Horrible!

And everything's horrible

Horrible

Cecil — Vivica:

Looking into a friend's toxic relationship. Lyrics are very reassuring, talking about how you'll always be there for Vivica (who's Gidget in this case), and that she is very much beautiful and worthy of love and he (never given a name) is simply unaware. This song is mostly representative of Cecil's relationship with Gidget to me, however since they are so connected I feel like it's okay to put it as a solo song. The "he" represents a lot of different people to be homest, I feel like Iggy is the most obvious but it could also be Gidget's mom or generally anyone who's unaccepting of them.

He'll never change, he's just too vague

He'll never say you're beautiful

Oh, Vivica, I wish you well

I really do, I really do

The apple falls far from the tree

She's rotting and so beautiful

I'd like to keep her here with me

And tell her that she's beautiful

She takes the pills to fall asleep

And dream that she's invisible

Tormented dreams, she stays awake

Recalls when she was capable

Genzou/Iggy — Love Song:

Exactly what the title says. Has to be the most wholesome of JOJ's songs, hence I have assigned it to the healthiest relationship in the game.

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am home again

Whenever I'm alone with you

You make me feel like I am whole again

However far away

I will always love you

However long I stay

I will always love you

Whatever words I say

I will always love you

I will always love you!

Genzou/Orlam — Cockroach Waltz:

A toxic and codependent relationship. I already mentioned this song in relation to them, but it really does just fit them so well.

We hide in the cupboards

And under the stairs

We poison each other, but we know

That nobody cares

We look at each other

With a compound eye

See something that's nothing

And then start to cry

I am a part of you (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

You made me want (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

I am a part of you (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

I liked you once (oh, oh, oh, oh, oh)

Gidget/Iggy — Surgery:

Wanting to change yourself to try and mend a broken relationship. Themes of surgery and cutting, believing you are diseased and must be cured by the other person. Interesting in that the lyrics fit both Gidget and Iggy's POV: with Gidget trying to change their entire personality and identity to be more appealing to Iggy, and Iggy forcing himself to go along with Gidget's advances, believing it's something he has to do.

I can change, I can cut it open

Look at me the way you did before

I can change, diagnose the symptom

Buy the antidote but not the cure

Hold me under

Cut away this empty

Hold me under

Change the way I feel about you

[zinphandel]

Frank Ocean- Blonde

helloooooo and welcome to the first episode of the 2016 edition of kate @zinphandel rating and reviewing dans howell’s favourite albums of the year! today we are reviewing frank oceans blond!

Initial Thoughts?

guys!!!!!!! i’m SO excited to get into this episode. i LOVE blond. like i don’t think u understand how much i LOVE this album. like this is probably my favourite album of all time. i have listened to it at least once a week for the past 8ish years like….. this album means so much to me you don’t even understand. I have a tattoo for my favourite song from this album! i have a shitty bootleg vinyl of this album! i wrote essays in my undergrad uni degree about this album! i know the story of the album so well! i can’t WAIT to share this album with you all especially if somehow you have never listened to it before!!

Is this a first time full album listen through?

nope! i’ve heard it maybe more than i’ve heard any album in my life, i know it like the back of my hand, however, i love an excuse to listen through again.

Listen through:

(gonna do this a little differently than usual and just talk through the tracks otherwise this would be 10,000 word essay about how much i adore this album and no one needs to read that lol) (oops this is accidentally still far too long)

•even on song 1 this album is off to an incredible start, and sets up the more uptempo first half of the album perfectly. ‘nikes’ is the perfect opening track. the pitched up vocals transcend and make this track ethereal and otherworldly. it sets up the themes of the albums so perfectly (consumerism, duality, black masculinity etc)

• track 2 is ‘ivy’ which i know is a fan favourite BUT FOR ME because the rest of the album is so strong this towards the bottom of my track ranking (it’s still a 10 though). a beautiful emotional song about the highs and lows of your first love

•track 3 ‘pink + white’ is ethereal, its sounds like a being in warm bubble bath whilst transcending to heaven. the BEYONCÉ BACKING VOCALS. im literally rising to another plane of existence listening to this track.

4. okay interludes can be annoying but ‘be yourself’ is iconic. it’s an actual voice message from frank oceans auntie- i can recite this word for word. sluggish! lazy! stupid! and unconcerned! runs through my head whenever i accidentally get a little bit too high.

5. ‘solo’ is probably the most classic pop r&b track on the album which i’m not usually the biggest fan of but this song is both so fun and so gorgeous. the name solo and how it’s used throughout the song is fun example of the duality of the album, as it can be interpreted as being ‘solo’ or ‘so low’ v fun detail!

• ‘Skyline to’ is gorgeous. not my favourite on the album buts frank’s voice is just ethereal on this. ‘that’s a pretty fuckin fast year flew by’ hits every time. beautiful

• we are into the BIG HITTERS of the album. ‘self control’ is a perfect r&b ballad. the lyrics on this are some of the best on the album ‘wish we’d grown up on the same advice’ is one of my favourites. also a cheeky yung lean feature! shivers down my spine every single time i hear this. just beyond good.

•’good guy’ is a lonely raw track, with just frank oceans voice and the piano. the rawness translates in the lyrics as well. such a great edition to the album. it’s just a step above an interlude, but sets up the next song so well

• AHHH (apologies guys this next point might be very long)

• track 9 is ‘nights’, which is probably my favourite song of all time. nights is SO incredible; in my opinion the best song on the album like it gives me goosebumps everytime.

•it exemplifies the theme of duality which is present within the album more than any other song within the album, as at 3 minutes and 30 seconds into the song (also exactly 30 minutes into the hour long album) the beat switches. (i love this moment so much i have it tattooed lol) this beat switch, from the uptempo guitar based first half, into the darker, slower second half. (the most unreal moment. it’s so ethereal) this half is also reflected in the album as whole, as the second half of this album follows the pattern of being the darker, more somber counterpart of the first 30 minutes. the theme of duality is also seen in the album title (blond/blonde), the themes of masculinity and femininity, bisexuality, how each song on each half of the album has an equal counterpart. (plus a version of solo on each side)Also, the dual album drops (blonde and endless) (that is an essay for another time how frank FINESSED the fuck out of def jam) Nights demonstrates this duality better than any song, and is an absolute GOAT song. if you listen to anything off this album please let it be this

• and after the GOAT song we get a feature from one of my GOATs (andre 3000) on ‘solo reprise’ this is the only song that frank doesn’t sing on but it’s so worth it for an andre feature. the solo/so low duality comes into play again with the themes of this song. i fucking love this one!

• ‘pretty sweet’ may be one of the strangest but best moments on the album, the change of pace is so abrupt and unexpected and chaotic. but when the beat drops???? just next level stuff

• ‘A Facebook Story’ is my least favourite interlude, and usually a skip for me tbh, but it works perfectly when listening to the album all the way through

•’close to you’ interpolates a stevie wonder cover of ‘close to you’. it’s one of my favourites and definitely an underrated track on the album. it’s fun and weird and so pretty

•’white ferrari’ is another big hitter. absolutely crushing and heartbreaking and hits so hard. it’s a glorious perfect ballad about death and love and foreverness. a high point of the album FOR SURE, the last verse literally kills me every time i listen. 10/10

• next track! “siegfried’ is haunting, raw and heartbreaking, the strings halfway through are OTHERWORLDLY. so gorgeous.

•’Godspeed’ feels like a gospel hymn, with the organ in the background, a gospel singer in the outro, religious imagery and references throughout and yung lean (hello again). it feels like a beautiful send off for the album, as it is the penultimate track

•final track guys! ‘Futura free’ is the perfect closing track. like nights, it also features 2 halves, with a silent interlude in the middle where futura free ends and the interview begins’ the song is looooooong (9:24) because of this, however it’s clearly intentional as it makes the album the perfect 1hr length.

• the first half closes out the album perfectly, and wraps up the themes presented throughout. the interview in the second half is so sad to listen to now, as ryan, franks little brother who is being interviewed passed away a couple of years ago.

•it is also also a ‘light year’ long (9:24 is 9.4 minutes and a light year is 9.4 trillion kilometres) (the final line of the album is ‘how far is a light year’)

Favourite song(s)?

nights, self control, white ferrari, siegfried, pretty sweet

Least favourite song?

facebook story (cheating cos it’s an interlude but i don’t have a least favourite song!)

Would i listen again?

obviously. i’ve listened to it again since i started writing this review yesterday. it’s always in my rotation and always in my spotify wrapped

Do i recommend?

pleaseeeee PLEASEEEEEEE for the love of god listen to this album if you haven’t before. it’s life changing of course i recommend.

What would I rank it out of 10?

10/10. perfect album

WELL. that was a long one sorry guys. so glad this topped dans albums of year list, like i SO get it. 2016 closeted dan clearly related to the themes of this album so much. i’m so glad he’s happy now :). anyway! see you tomorrow for the next one 🫡🫡 love u <3

read my 2015 reviews here

read the rest of the my 2016 reviews here

listen to the playlist of highlights from dans favourite albums here

[vveakfish]

do you have any thoughts about the core four whose gender(s) are basically just a trans fruit cocktail that you would like to talk about? because I would love to listen

oh boy DO I !!!

I have So Many thoughts about them Anon, so thank you for giving me an excuse to try and put it into words beyond “Damn, these bitches trans! Good for them.”

Honestly, there are so many different ways to explore these characters genders based on how you choose to interpret their life experiences, and their aesthetic changes, and their relationships with each other. I am of the belief that any of them could be trans in any direction

But, that said, I Do have particular gender headcanons for YJ that i am very fond of, so thats what I’ll be talking about today.

(Small disclaimer. I have not finished all of the comics referenced in this. I am using the information i have to inform these, but you know, i might come back to this post at some point in the future and look at it like “wow, i don’t agree with any of this anymore.” And i think thats okay.

I’m just here to have fun, and i thoroughly enjoy these little guys, and think abt them alot, so enjoy

(also if you dont want to read 4.1k words of blorbo gender analysis, or would like to avoid spoilers for Superboy (1993), Young Justice (1998) & (2019), and Red Robin (2009) in varying degrees of detail, or you just want to see what lables i assigned them, scroll down to the bottom <3))

lets get started.

Bart:

Bart's gender is the most complex, but his thought process about it is also the most simple. I think his view of gender would be very much influenced by the fact that he grew up in VR in the future like…

A body is just an avatar, do what ever the fuck you want with it.

That said, the lil guy has always given me transmasc vibes. These vibes, however, are by no means binary.

He understands that in the 21st century a lot of people do not have his sort of “throw things at the wall and see what sticks” approach to gender, so he’s okay with being put in the box of Boy™. But his gender is a lot more * hand waves vaguely *

Clothes don’t have gender in his eyes, they’re fabric you put on your body. Wear what ever you want forever!

Bart in skirts is something i have seen many people draw/talk about before, and its something i agree with wholeheartedly. He likes hair clips, and like, those loud (actually loud and visually loud) beaded bracelet type things that ravers wear. He like nail polish. He doesn’t grow facial hair, but he wouldn’t care if he did. He’s not on hormones, but he definitely considered it for the bit. “Gotta drink my boy juice” Kind of vibes.

For him gender has Nothing to do with performance, its all about comfort. About wearing what feels right, regardless of whether or not he’s adhering to expectations of masculinity.

Yes, he Will wear that god awful outfit out of the house, haters can die mad

Cassie:

Anon, I need you to understand how much i love early yj98 cass. She is everything to me — her process of coming to terms with herself, and being able to watch her start to feel at home in her own skin. It makes me absolutely feral.

lets see if i can explain why… succinctly

When we first meet her in yj98, her identity as “Wonder Girl” is this sort of amalgamation of What it Means To Be A Hero in her eyes. She has her party city blunt bob wig (Because Diana is who she looks up to), the gloves, leather jacket, goggles combo (that so clearly take inspiration from Kon).

At this point in her life Wonder Girl is not really her. Its very clearly a mask she’s putting on. which is what makes it the perfect avenue for her to explore gender expression without it having to actually be about her gender.

I think the part that specifically makes me feral though is her… we’ll call it admiration of Kon.

The girl is a self proclaimed Superboy stan + theres all the weird not-drama between Cassie and Cissie over wanting attention from Kon. (And i say Not Drama bc its like… Kon flirting with cissie (which like… have you met 90’s Kon?? he flirts with everything that moves) and Cassie being upset that he’s Not flirting with her. and cissie is just along for the ride. She’s not quite as much of a flirt as kon is, but she has her moments)

All of this to say i feel like its impossible to have a conversation about Cassie’s gender without also talking about her experiences with comphet and lesbianism.

At the beginning, Cassie sees Kon — this cocksure, conventionally attractive boy with powers that (at first glance) seem very similar to hers, and felt something about it. And, in the way of teen girls who have been told since grade school that they’re supposed to like boys, Cassie comes to the conclusion that what she feels for Kon must be romantic in nature, right?.

All of this, the jealousy over Kon and Cissie flirting, basing her costume off Superboy’s (intentionally or otherwise), the fact that she wont let her team see her without the wig and goggles at all for so much of yj98. To me it all reads as the tangled mix of undiscovered lesbianism and gender dysphoria that the poor girl simply doesn’t have the words to define yet.

So, then what IS cassie’s deal with gender???

i am so very glad you asked.

She, too, is a transmasc of the nonbinary variety.

I think her relationship to femininity is complex, and ever changing. She doesn’t feel comfortable performing femininity the way the world expects her to, but she is also part Amazon. And i think having a relationship with both Diana and Donna would greatly influence how she felt about femininity as a whole.

The Amazons are strong, their femininity isn’t about beauty, or being soft spoken — it isn’t about Men at all. On Themyscira, to be a Woman is about bravery, honor, skill, and in some ways, divinity. Getting closer with her Amazonian sisters would change her relationship to womanhood immensely.

But it still wouldn’t feel Right. She would be able to see that womanhood can be defined differently, but that wouldn’t change the connotations that womanhood had as she was growing up. She’d never be able to lean into it the way Diana or Donna do — they both grew up only having woman defined as strong and brave and confident. Their experiences are not analogous.

The baggage of growing up a girl under the patriarchy wouldn’t just… vanish because she sees that it Doesn’t have to be that way. In some ways, the knowledge that it didn’t have to be that way could make her dysphoria all that stronger (especially if she hasn’t quite deciphered that dysphoria is what she’s feeling).

but i think there would be a point where two things sharpen into focus for her.

fiirstly she has a big fat crush on cissie king-jones.

and second (which would only come AFTER realizing her feelings for cissie) is that what she feels for Kon is Not the same as what she feels for Ciss.

She didn’t want to be with Kon romantically, she just wanted his gender.

I could see her experimenting with wearing a binder, liking that she can get rid of her boobs if she isn’t feeling them that day.

She already has her short hair, and her leather jacket and jeans, and shes big and buff and strong (because she deserves to be butch!!! okay???).

I still think she would use she/her pronouns, but she wouldn’t be picky ab it (if she gets called sir while at the pizza place, she’s not going to correct them.)

But here’s the kicker — I think leaning hard into her masculinity would be EXACTLY what she needs in order to actually ENJOY expressing femininity again.

When putting on the mask that is ‘womanhood’ becomes something that she can Choose to do, rather than something that is being forced on her, it can be pleasant. Like playing dress up.

She has a new appreciation for it, especially since her friends respect her gender, and she knows at the end of the day, when she takes the makeup, the clothes, and the wig off, underneath it all she’s just her.

(Small addendum re: TT’03 Cassie’s fem phase. I have Many thoughts about this as well, and while they end up in roughly the same place, i exploring her experience with comphet and her decision to dress in a more traditionally feminine in that run is something id like to explore in another post (once i’ve actually read the run too.)

Cissie (bonus):

This one should be shorter than Cassies, mainly because my reasoning for it is much simpler.

YJ'98 (#11)

She lists all these names, all of them feminine except for Fucking Ralph. “One weird phase” she calls it.

To me, Cissie is a transgirl through and through. She has this huge list of femme names she tried on while she tried to find the one that fit best. She mentions ralph in this off handed way, as if its not important, and i think thats just her way of dismissing her deadname as something of little consequence.

(that said, i think there’s lots of fun to be had with transmasc cissie, or tried transing-her-gender and realized it wasn’t for her Cissie. But as a transfemme, tgirl cissie is So important to me <3)

Kon:

other people on here have made posts about Kon’s gender that are much more coherent than this will be, but i’m putting the words down anyway. bear with me.

Kon’s experience with identity (especially in his earlier years) is almost entirely about the external rather than the internal.

Kon has his whole life planned out for him from the moment he opens his eyes. It’s simple really — become Superman.

So you have this freshly hatched teenage boy, saving the world as Superman (not the Only one, but definitely the coolest one (Kon would argue)). All eyes on him, all the time. In some ways, performance is inseparable from who he is. From the very beginning, everything he does is on display.

He starts his life with a Name (Superman), a life path (…again, Superman), and all the confidence of a sixteen year old jock with nothing but wins under his belt. then it all gets taken away.

Turns out Clark ISNT dead, and the world doesn’t need its pint sized superman anymore now that its got the real thing.

enter Superboy

Kon’s entire identity, his whole purpose for being alive, was to step into the shoes of a dead man who is no longer dead. So where does that leave our genetically engineered test tube baby?

lost, and extremely confused.

But he’s good at using his charisma as a shield, and even better at keeping himself busy. His problems aren’t there if he doesn’t have the time to think about them, right?

and i think that’s true about his gender as well.

Similar to Cassie, his discovery and exploration of his gender feels incredibly tied to his sexuality (to me). If you’ve read sb93, you know Kon’s deal with women. He is cute & conventionally attractive & he's like superman with a fashion sense, so of course there are people fawning over him.

And he loves the attention. He likes that people want him, or that they are looking at him. The issue is he doesn’t have the life experience to realize that their reasons for paying attention to him are often very shallow, manipulative, or selfish.

He isn’t treated as a person very often. He’s a brand, a product, a tool, a weapon. He’s arm candy, he’s a photo op, he’s a headline, he’s a paycheck. And it takes him a long time to be able to tell the difference between someone Liking Him & someone Using Him.

For the longest Time, Superboy is all he is. He doesn’t have a name outside of that identity (except for the various pet names the women in his life give him (kid & pup, mainly)).

And even when Clark does give him his real name, Kon-El, its still Attatched to his identity as Superboy.

I dont think that he would really even be able to start dissecting how HE feels about his identity until he’s much older.

Part of this would come from the space to be someone else that gaining a civilian identity would give him. As Superboy, the goal has always been to stand out, to be seen, to shine like the sun.

As Conner Kent, he has to blend in. He doesnt want to draw attention to himself, or the Kents, or Clark. He has to fit in, which was never something he had to do as Kon. And i think it would kind of chafe at him — but he wouldn’t really know why.

I think he’d chalk it up to how different of an experience it is. Not being loud, having to be normal™. And so i think he’d just… continue to play the part. For a while anyway.

And like, part of being Normalest Boy Conner Kent would also involve actively un-queer coding himself for the sake of fitting into the ecosystem of Smallville High. and its like…

Young Justice, as a friend group, is SOOO queerplatonic. The lines between romantic and platonic intimacy are so blurred, and Prior to Kon’s YJ days he he was also like… living with these woman who he had complicated relationships with that also blurred the lines between platonic, romantic, and sexual (…looking at you, Knockout).

So learning where the line is when it comes to how he can acceptably interact with his civilian friends (particularly the boys) would Really open his eyes to just how close he is with Bart and Tim, and how similar his feelings for them are to his feelings for… lets say, Simon Valentine.

But i dont think That is what would actually tip the scale. I think realizing that these feelings for his friends aren’t considered ‘normal’ would make him shove them down deeper. As ‘Conner’ anyway.

from here it could go two ways, right?

Either we get Teen Titans ‘03 t-shirt Kon, who sheds his GNC 90s swag in exchange for adhering closer to traditional (read; boring) masculine gender roles.

or we get a Kon who leans Harder into his punk roots, but its a conscious choice now.

(this isn’t even digging into how he would feel once Jon comes into the picture, because while Kon cares for that boy Deeply, his feelings abt the new kiddo in the family could also be very complicated. But that’s a post for another time.)

Personally i prefer the second one.

Kon has always been a curious kid, i love the way he makes pop culture references, and how he bases his behavior off of 90’s teen tropes that he Most Definitely learned from TV. In his early days this wasn’t done in a research way necessarily, but he Did want to learn what it was like to Be a Teen™, and TV was the easiest way to figure that out.

(and, playing in the space of Kon adaptations, his love of media/pop culture, and just over all thirst for knowledge, are present both in the Reign of the Supermen Movie, and in his iteration during the n52 (which is one of the few things i personally have internalized from reading n52 Superboy/Teen Titans)).

But post gay awakening, i feel liked he’d be interested not just in behaviors, but also the context of them. Digging into punk as a subculture rather than as an aesthetic. Learning about its connections to queerness, and community, and self expression. And i think this would be extremely freeing for him. (especially if this were around the time of Jon becoming Superboy v.3, but again, not the point of this post.)

this all culminates in Kon being like yk? gender just… isnt for me. Like, it takes im a long time to get to this point, but realizing that the path that was set out for him is just one of the potential paths he can take, and while he might not know where this new path will take him, its his, that that matters.

And also like, Because his friends are who they are, he’s seen different versions of queerness, and transness, but i think it would take him a bit to see himself as someone who Isn’t Cis bc like… he doesnt have dysphoria in the traditional sense.

He’s still the beefcake he’s always been, but i think he’d start playing with makeup when he realizes it makes him feel good (he shows up the the cave one day with smudgy eye liner and Cissie is immediately like a) you look so good and b) can i Please do your makeup? (and then she does it, and he looks so pretty, and he gets these weird giddy feelings that he doesn’t realize is gender euphoria until his friends start talking abt gender euphoria)

His uniform starts to get more personalized too, like the designs where he has knee patches, and all his little belts, and stuff. maybe he starts experimenting with showing skin. bc he deserves it

(’its for maximum sun exposure!!!’ is the what he tells clark… he’s not sure if clark bought it or not)

And hey, exploring gender presentation more as Superboy might help him do the same as Conner. Cassie will take him thrifting, he’ll try of a flowy skirt or a sun dress or something and then its Over. Gender euphoria part two, electric boogagloo.

In the end, its about realizing that adhering gender roles (and truthfully, any socially imposed ‘rule’ about self expression) is something he can simply Choose not to do. And i think this freedom would be something that benefits him in his civilian life as well.

His gender is: literally what ever, man.

Tim:

Ok, here’s the thing about Tim and gender, right? I think he’s kind of just comfortable as he is. He’s good at playing the roles he needs to in what ever situation hes thrown into. ‘Robin’ and ‘Tim Drake’ (and even ‘Tim Drake-Wayne’ if you want to split hairs) might be masks he wears, but that doesn’t mean they’re any less him. if that makes sense. like…

Lets look at the differences between Bruce (or Brucie) and Batman for a second. They really are different people. Batman is who bruce is at his core, ‘bruce’ is this sort of liminal space between the cowl and his public persona, and then theres Brucie™, and well, you know how he is. These are personas that Bruce puts on.

With Tim its like he just highlights different aspects of himself when a situation requires it. (oh no, the autistic!Tim head canons are being loud today.) But like, he’s Always been masking. And i think this is something he would look at as like… getting a good grade in adapting. or something. He’s comfortable, all the roles he plays are ones he’s familiar with, and he doesn’t really question who he is outside of who he needs to be.

That is, until Caroline Hill makes an appearance.

I feel that the decision to go undercover as a woman was a wholly practical decision in the moment. It’s what the mission required, and therefore tim stepped up. Its just another mask, right? Surely this wont awaken anything in him…right?

But this is an entirely new mask. And i think it might like… shift the way he looks at/thinks about the other masks he puts on. He was able to step into a role that was very foreign to him, and it Worked. (and he felt pretty, which like… woah, thats a new feeling. and he kinda liked it? file that under ‘thoughts he doesn’t have the bandwidth to process right now.’ Bruce needs him back at the cave! its time to debreif! and he has a biology test tmrw! no time for gender scaries!!!).

I think it would take a while for him to be able to admit it to himself though. Because like… hes Not uncomfortable with his body, but he also keeps thinking about how good he felt dressed up femininely, and how he felt powerful, in a way. That putting on that mask felt just as good as putting on his domino.

Personally, i think itd be funny if instead of coming out right away, Tim doing undercover missions essentially in drag becomes a recurring thing. And i imagine some people give him a hard time. (not in a transphobic way or anything, i just mean like, teasing him fondly or what ever.) (Also, i like to imagine that when cissie Did kons makeup, bart and Tim jumped in there too bc like hey why not, and hoooooo boy, if Tims egg hadn’t cracked before then, it sure would have cracked after.)

The thing about him is, i’m not sure if he’d come to the realization himself. You know, that he would like to present femme sometimes, in a situation that has Nothing to do with a mission.

I could see Tim convincing himself that its a pointless or frivolous desire, which is Why he relegates his time presenting femme to when he can prove that it’s useful.

but i have this image in my mind, right? Of him, taking his makeup and wig off, and hes chatting with whoever is in the room with him (literally anyone else mentioned above… or Dick). And Tim’s just talking about how he wishes he could present this way in situations other than missions.

and the other person in the room is just like… i mean, you literally can.

and hes just like…. shit you’re right. i Can :0

I could probably go further into depth abt this, but i think this just frees him to start playing with gender more as Tim. and start to recognize when he’s feeling more masculine, more feminine, or somewhere in between.

His gender isn’t consistent, its this thing he’s constantly listening to, and trying to understand. but in the mean time, he can paint his face, and wear pretty clothes, or dress like just Some Guy, or be a hedgehog dressed in traffic light colors, or what ever his heart desires.

As far as like… how He describes his gender, i think he’d say something corny like bi^2 (bi of both the sexual and the gendered varieties). Or shrug, handwave, generally give a non-helpful vague description. Or tell who evers asking to buzz off.

(small addendum wrt Kon and Cassie in TT’03. I haven’t read this run yet, so i didn’t really include it in this post. But i Do have thoughts about what might cause the two of them (my gnc besties from my comics books) to lean sooooo hard into traditional gender roles after being So Queercoded in their other appearences. Before i talk abt that though, i want to read the comic. So, that will have to be a post for another time)

ANYWAY, heres that TL;DR i promised.

Bart: NB Transmasc Cassie: NB Lesbian (of the transmasc variety) Kon: Agender Tim: Fluid (bi-gender) + Cissie: Transgirl

Thank you soooooo much for giving me the opporrtunity to ramble abt the silles and how Not Cis i think they are. Love you forever.

[pallastrology]

interpreting your angles

the angles are four points in a natal chart that correspond with four stages of life. in a way, the angles represent four parts of the self, that intertwine and reconnect throughout life, often working in tandem. they function as two pairs of axes, with one (the ac-dc axis) looking at the concept of me vs. you; the other (the mc-ic axis), where you aim for vs. where you came from. click the links to read my interpretation of these placements through the signs 🩵

the ascendant is generally situated in the first house. it is all about selfhood, and so represents aspects of our personality, our impulses and reactions, some of our physical mannerisms and expression, and our perception of the world. the ascendant tells us a lot about ourselves, from our wants and needs, desires, fears, even something about our health. it shows us what we identify with, how we perceive ourselves and, to a degree, how others perceive us. the ascendant is a point that tells us about our identity; the descendant, its sister, tells us a lot about others in relation to ourselves. it shows us the traits we perhaps lack, or those that we express in an unhealthy manner. it shows us what we want and need from our partner, and interestingly, it represents what we reject in ourselves and what we reflect onto others. it shows us what is underneath the identity we project outwards.

☁️ personal example: i have a virgo rising, so have pisces on the descendant. i pride myself on being a neat and tidy, organised and mature individual. i study hard and read a lot, i am logical and sensible. underneath that, i have ADHD and grew up homeschooled in a chaotic environment. i am sensitive and intuitive, i have large gaps in my education and i am something of an artist at heart. my partner is a musician, and interestingly, a pisces. learning to balance these two sides of myself has helped me enormously in life, and brought me a lot of internal peace.

the midheaven is generally found in the tenth house. it is a little more nebulous than the ascendant, but it represents legacy, mastery, what we build over the course of our lives, what we aspire towards and what we become known for. it is traditionally associated with career too, especially the “peak” of our working lives, when we’ve reached our potential. for a lot of us, the midheaven is more tangible, and more of an active part of life, after our first saturn return (around age thirty). traits of the midheaven are things we have to learn and put hours and work into to gain. conversely, the nadir, or imum coeli, shows us what our childhood taught us. it shows us the internal experience of the situation we grew up in; how we made sense of it, what beliefs and habits we now carry with us, what we wished we had, what we needed. the imum coeli represents our experience of being nurtured, and how that experience impacted our ability to nurture ourselves as adults. it represents the small, fragile parts of ourselves that perhaps weren’t able to grow the way they should have.

☁️ personal example: i have a taurus midheaven, so have scorpio on the nadir. growing up i was very isolated, had controlling and emotionally unstable caregivers, and a grew up in a household where feelings were seen as weak and so were to be hidden. there was no trust either, with a lot of fighting for control. as an adult, i have a low self-worth and little ability to trust either myself or others. i can be emotionally chaotic and am preoccupied with perfection, often taking things to an extreme. that being said, i have a strong work ethic, am focused on building emotional and material safety for myself and my loved ones, and bond very closely when i do build that trust. i am attracted to warmth and comfort, and aspire to be spiritually and mentally rich.

so, now you hopefully know a little more about the angles, but… how do you interpret them in your chart? they can sometimes be interpreted as an extension of the angular houses, but this won’t always work out, and i find it can be a bit of an oversimplification. because while, for example, the fourth house and IC both rule over our childhood home, nurturing figures and sense of comfort, the fourth house is much more oriented to the present day, and to that physical area of life; while the IC is more focused on our internal experience of our childhood, and how that effects and impacts us today, out in the world. when i am reading a chart, i find it helpful to look at the angles first as two pairs, so i can understand the energies and issues they are bearing; then, i look at the angles as a cycle of AC-IC-DC-MC, so i can read them in “chronological order”. once i feel i have some understanding, i look at things like the point rulers, the contents and rulers of the houses involved, any aspects to the angles, etc., and start to fill in the details from there. it’s perhaps not the most straightforward method, but for me, i find it to be the most helpful route to gaining the amount of detail i want from a chart reading. the best method for you to use is the method that you find the most helpful, so experiment when reading, use your intuition and let the technical stuff guide that intuition :-)

a quick note on house systems… i use placidus because it’s what i find works best for me, so when i read a chart, the angles are the cusp of their respective houses. if, however, you use something like whole signs or equal houses as your house system of choice, then the angles can move around a lot more within the chart, adding an interesting extra layer to your interpretations. the angles can get a bit restless depending on your distance from the equator, too. these complexities are something i’d like to explore further in a future post if you’d be interested 🩵

[mejomonster]

(The tldr is this is about gender and then versus now) I was listening to the podcast Enterprise Incidents on youtube. The Mudd's Women episode. The podcasters are 2 fans since the original airing, and I like them generally because they're really well informed in screenwriting and directing choices and so to some degree their analysis touches points I find a chunk of star trek type commentaries tend to miss: that optimisitc vision of the future, that star trek's goal was to be progressive but it also at times had flaws of its time (something Im painfully familiar with regarding Rick Berman and DS9 and TNG, so its nice hearing older watchers aware of those flaws from ToS). Now. Its not perfect. In my ideal podcast Id like to find some day (lol) a guy podcaster is capable of acknowledging the influence the spirk premise/fan perception had in some ways (from The Motion Picture thyla, that "i imagine love of men in that time" quote from Rodenberry, the Asimov suggestion to make them a team to help Kirk be accepted more by audience and Spocks individual popularity tying to Kirk was partly a bid to link their popularity). And I dont know that for all the great ideas they have, that they have any idea of the spirk fandom perception (like that quote in academia about slash fiction being the end of the Wrath of Khan if the glass were removed) or how the canon goal of making a duo unit at least created the dynamic that led to that fandom interpretation. But they do touch on many a good thing some less layer-looking people miss. They notice Kirk's actual personality (should be easy but often failed due to cultural perception versus The Show itself), Nimoys acting choices and spocks development into the character he became, the show itself deciding its identity over time and its ventures in various angles until then, what worked and what didnt regarding the progressive future versus the biases of the time it was made. They miss some nuance but theyre doing really in depth so its a treasure trove overall.

Now in Mudds Women, they miss some nuance of a story about beauty and worth that I think... i dont know. I think yeah the writers failed to hit the goal story meant to be told, but i also think outside a women perspective it can often be a miss in such storytelling (yoko taro doing the Singer in Nier Automata is the first time a guy telling a raw story about beauty and its impossible standards, invasive toxic expectations, and self destructive pressures, managed to feel totally on point and realistically managed). So i sort of yeah expect mudds women to need to be viewed Generously to grasp the message, and i sort of yeah expected guy podcasters to at best recognize where the story failed (which they did) but unfortunately not realize all the story was aiming to do (because it does Approach many topics i feel women and beauty standards and ppl who grew up in certain enviornments would recognize as Trying to be a reference to a real problem - the episode does say a fair bit if ur used to looking for those points, but not Super well done so i can see why an audience less used to relating to such points would notice them much less).

But the podcast said something this episode i found so refreshing. They mention how mudd explains how the venus drug works: it makes you "more of what you are" makes men more strong and aggressive, women more soft and feminine. Basically its a line about idealized traditional gender roles when ToS was made. And the podcaster mentions yes as a teen first watching (when we probably most feel a pressure to fit in, still most likely to believe society expects us to meet it and rewards that standard) it sounded like the drug made u better. But that in the life he lived, with the family he had, he had never been raised to think he had to be strong or women had to cook or any of that strict expectations. Then they talk about how the discussion of gender has grown so much in these years, and trans people of course can live more openly, and they say the question in society is like what does it mean to be a certain gender anyway.

And the guy says. Well i always thought and strongly think, when i say im a man, it means nothing. Because a man can be anything. Anyone can be any way, like any things, do any things, look any way. Being a certain gender means nothing beyond "im that gender."

And god how refreshing that was.

Growing up, in the 90s, yeah i felt to some degree those gender roles and expectations somewhat pushed as a teen: when girls start being pressured to wear makeup (by ads, movies, peers, trying to please crushes, avoid insults etc) and boys start being pressured to be strong (bullied for not being, attacked for being perceived as less strong by any number of reasons they get singled out by peers, movies and ads telling them their lack of strength is their reason for any failures etc). But like. There was ALSO a big push growing up, that i saw, of girls can do anything. Girls can cook or do construction, can wear dresses or play sports, can wear makeup or none at all, can have long hair or chop it off, can go into STEM or childcare, can marry or never marry, can be the career head of home or a stay at home parent, basically: anything, all of that or none of it or anyrhing in between. That was the direction of progress anyway. Guys were a bit behind (and oh of course bullying with their own peers limited their options of what wasnt ostracized) but we were seeing more acceptance of intelligence as equally desireable and acceptable to strength (at least for adult men), more media glorifying the nerds, more examples of a bigger variety of men with more niches that could still be considered ideals. And the result of that in some ways was good, i saw more guys my generation more accepting of their love of painting, cooking, wearing makeup, more guys who didnt body shame themselves as much, who didnt feel belittle themselves if they were stay at home dads or made less income, more who talked about their emotions than my parents generation ever did, more genuine friendships than we ever saw during toxic-teenage-pit when the strict standards weighed heaviest. The ideas were moving toward what is a man? Anything he wants. What is a woman? Anything she wants. What is a person? Anything they want to be. What is your gender? Whatever you feel it is. And it doesnt need to match up to Any preconcieved notions or box to be "justified" because no gender has specific strict traits it must include. Yes we still knew society had "ideals" for genders that it pushed, and that traditional and conservative thinking people held themselves to. But for people in general? What is your gender? What I feel I am. What must you do to Be that gender? Nothing. Anyone can be anything as any gender.

And god it was so refreshing hearing someone say that again. What does being a man mean? Nothing. Because a man can be anything. Anyone can be anything. Theres no box a person fits into, no box of traits any gender must conform to in order to be valid. A person can be anything and do anything and have any traits interests looks, and be whatever gender they are.

I dont know if its the way the worlds medias been shifting (so opinions we get stuck hearing more of), or cause i see trans people so often expected by society to conform to those stricter gender ideals with this weight of threat and isolation if someone in the majority finds reasons to attack (but in the end they always might, the whole thing is theyre fucked for attacking to begin with). But its like. God i miss when gender meant in my head only: what am i? What do i feel good calling myself? What feels like home. Cause im me, and me is not changing to appease some strangers. (Though i am to some degree, we all do even cis people do, because those stupid old ideals are widespread enough all ppl face some punishment or threat if they deviate from the strict boxes, despite no one fully fitting them). But like. If im me and i can do anything, what feels like home? Thats all it is to me. I miss seeing it that way. I miss when i didnt see quite so much of the looming strict standard pushing so hard on everyone to conform more. To try and force all people to cut themselves down and confine themselves to roles that serve what anyway besides littling all of us, oppressing all of us in limitation. (I mean. I know why it spreads. Maybe conservative voices are louder now about their ideal gender roles then when i grew up, or maybe its louder cause im an adult now. It doesnt mean they have any point.)

You are a person. You can be anything. Your gender is whatever you feel it is. Your gender does not inherently define your life and what you can do and be. Whatever forces we feel, remember whatever brings you joy is okay to be. Its okay to be you.

Like. Yes a person of a specific gender can define it very specifically in what that gender means TO them. How They define it for themselves. But that definition isnt universal and there is no limit to the definition of what a specific gender's people can be. A woman can look any way have any life any interest any traits any values. You can't define a woman as specific things and not others, a woman is as broadly defined as there are so many unique women in this world with so many varied unique experiences selves lives. Any gender is not universally always a confined list of traits, because theres all kinds of people with all kinds of traits of specific genders. What is a man, anything. What is a woman, anything. What is a nonbinary person, anything. A genderqueer person, anything. Any specific (or unspecific or undefined) gender person, anything. People are so varied they have too many unique traits to be always these X Y Z things and never these A B C things. Youre the gender you are cause its what feels right to you. But your definition of your own gender For u isnt universal to all people of your gender, cause people define their gender all kinds of different ways and people of your gender can have any traits in this whole spectrum of being alive.

This is the podcast btw:

And if you do know of a podcast that is aware of spirks influence on/from tos please send it my way.

[designernishiki]

not sure why i was thinking about this but. here’s a long ass ramble about kazama

it’s interesting how kazama, despite being extremely influential on kiryu’s development and being highly revered or despised by so many characters in-game, has so little screentime that it’s very up to interpretation what he was like in non-crucial situations, what all his motivations and ideals were, how close he really was to kiryu (and nishiki), etc. most of what we have to go off of is hearsay and circumstantial evidence– ie, mostly what people say he was like and stories about/the effects of the things he’s done. he’s incredibly morally grey and though you can definitely pretty securely say something like “well at least he’s not shimano,” it’s hard to say anything more definitive.

yeah, he showed remorse after a number of years in the yakuza and actively tried to save the lives of some of his family’s enemies against direct orders– but the number of people he’s saved is far outweighed by the number of people he’s killed or had some part in killing, which is pretty literally countless given we don’t know how many people he killed during his time as a hitman, or in any other situations once he was dojima’s lieutenant and so on.

hell, the guy killed so many people that a whole orphanage was built specifically to house their children. the concept gets romanticized in game to some degree (understandably, because we’re usually looking at everything through the eyes of kiryu, who vehemently wants to idolize and honor him) but the more you think about it the more morbid it sort of becomes– especially if you consider how he then becomes the father figure to a handful of those children. He didn’t have mercy on all these kids’ parents, then he takes their role and watches the kids grow up the way they never could because of him.

On the other hand you can look at it as him feeling responsible for making sure these kids grow up housed and fed, because he orphaned them in the first place. but if that were the case with no caveats, then none of those children should’ve ever been allowed to drop out of school and join the yakuza, even if they protested and reaaalllly wanted to. they’re kids, they’re naive, it was his responsibility as an adult, as the one with all the power in that situation, and as the man who killed their birth parents and subsequently felt obligated to make sure they grew up alright, to not allow it by any means. moreover, just beating the shit out of them (which is problematic in its own right) and warning them that it’s dangerous isn’t affective at all because it’s impersonal and provides no alternatives to “be a yakuza (cool)” or “be a dead eyed salaryman (not cool)”.

It really makes me think he never took the liberty to ask about/encourage/take pride in their interests and passions growing up, because if he had, I’d imagine they’d have found individual likes and dislikes and aspirations, or at least would be more aware that there are more options, things to try, ways to live, etc, than just the bland view of “civilian” I think they must’ve had as teenagers.

TLDR: kazama is a morally grey person on whatever level but did not have the skills nor position in life to take on a parental role. to me, kiryu proves this later on with the contrast in how he runs his own orphanage; he becomes a civilian first, distances himself as far as possible from yakuza ordeals and doesn’t split his time between them and caregiving unless forced by extreme circumstances, he encourages the kids’ unique interests so they don’t resort to blindly wanting to follow in his footsteps, etc. obviously he’s not perfect either, but considering he had no singular decent models from his own childhood to follow, he did well, and clearly was doing it because he wanted to, not just out of guilt, pity, or obligation.

I could go into the dicey dynamic differences between kazama and kiryu versus kazama and nishiki, or the details of how kazama influenced kiryu’s personality and behavior as an adult, or a lot of other things, but I’ll save all that for another post (or two. or three.)

[kafkaoftherubble]

Ok so the idea for dear emperor is that in schools (elementary school, not higher education) kids are treated like crap and are taught nationalist propaganda. They're at an era where people are vaguely aware it's propaganda so everyone dislikes the royal family a little. Basically, the school system is just absolute trash because the royal family keeps trying to change it to turn kids into hardcore monarchists.

Ira never attended elementary school because he lived out on a farm. He attended a military school and later a college, but those were both in adulthood so he didn't get the horrible treatment and abuse of elementary school.

Because of this, Ira cannot understand Edith's desire to change the school system either. All he attended was college and he's best friends with Volker, so he doesn't understand how Volker's family could've created such a horrible school system when they seem to be such nice people.

Because Ira missed out on this universal experience of going to school, he's alienated from part of Edith's views and refuses to see it her way because he's too stubborn in his belief that Volker is perfect

Sorry for my tardiness!

Ah, so an elementary school that keeps having to revise the syllabi to prop up the national narratives du jour? And yet everyone knows that it's just propagandist rewrites. It's historical revisionism based entirely on which narrative helps the royal family (instead of new evidence and interpretations uncovered by continuous historical studies and findings; these are two kinds of historical revisionism)!

Very interesting! I can totally imagine that. In fact, I don't have to imagine. Such a thing is happening in (some states in) the U.S., India [1] [2] [3], Japan, and even my own country. China has its own whole thing. And the Philippines has its own thing, and... really, I kinda wonder which country isn't guilty of this, haha. (I suppose the more pressing issue is the severity of it.)

But this makes me wonder about the degree of freedom in Volker's country. How free are the people to criticize the government?

Have they been free before, but are now less free? My anecdotal impression is that losing a right you used to have often generates way more resentment and urgency to act than never possessing that right, to begin with. The latter is usually a lot more slow-burning than the first as social movements.

Are there other countries around Volker's Country by which information, knowledge, and ideas trade? And I do mean free trading of ideas/the freedom of ideas. While social movements can be homebrew for sure, seeds of ideas have to come somewhere, and across history, these ideas are often cosmopolitan in nature. They are not "grown out of one person or a few in a local and never escaping it to other areas." Instead, ideas are traded across regions, cities, and countries, and they altogether build something grander that can then also be spread to other parts of the world—before assimilating and adapting for local needs. I ask, because Brandi specifically touts democracy. Whence did it come? The best and most viable ideas are built by many instead of one, so I kinda wanna know how an idea like democracy comes to thrive in Volker's Country. (Is it via some books? Some manifestos from far-away land? Some salons within the country?)

There are probably other questions that can flesh out this particular aspect. Why I thought about it is this: the target of these nationalist ideas is children first and foremost, right?

When nationalist revisions happen in education, the ones who shout the loudest are the adults who know what's up. Because these adults can read the curricula, compare it to their own realities/experience/history, and realize it's crap. Kids, however, are statistically less predisposed to do so. They are young and less experienced about the world than an adult. They may also be sheltered from reality—not a fault, because children are supposed to be sheltered in some ways for their development anyway (ex: who the fuck thinks it's good to expose children to war or backbreaking labor?). Their own history is also just starting to grow, being young and all.

However, since you mentioned "everyone knows the education system is trying to make kids hardcore nationalists," I assume that "everyone" does indeed include the kids themselves.

And how would these kids know that their education is shit? The most plausible way I can imagine is "because most of the adults around them tell 'em about it." But for most adults to be able to talk about these things would imply a certain degree of freedom of speech. After all, if only a few kids knew that their education is crap—because their parents told them behind closed doors or because they saw some events with their own eyes—then it wouldn't be "everyone," innit?

Hence my question above!

So yea, just some asides I couldn't help but pursue for a bit hahaha. I hope it's useful for your worldbuilding or plot planning somewhat!

-----

Back to Ira and Edith!

Yes! I think the backstory you give makes a ton of causal sense!!!

Of course Edith would think of education reform! She was once its recipient, and therefore easily projects her lived experience under the system to the the kids of today. She knows the stakes of education because she's been through it. That awards her the necessary sensitivity—or at least, it gives her the potential to be sensitive.

I also like how Ira's personal relationship with Volker while studying influences much of his reluctance to "demonize" Volker.

There is a bit more stuff in your lore that can also add to why Ira doesn't want to see Volker as bad! You might have already known that while conceiving Ira's backstory (he's your baby after all! Hahahhaha), but just in case you missed it:

First, the military school. If I had to imagine a place where the most cynical anti-establishment people and the most diehard patriots will be spawned, I'd think a military school too. Patriotism directed either to the ideal of "the motherland" or to the ideal of "the ruler/royal family" is kinda required to be drilled into all soldiers because it will be important for their job.

Second, Ira's transformation from an illiterate kid to a literate soon-to-be governor. I can imagine how someone will see this transformation as a second wind worthy of gratitude. Imagine never knowing you could be good at art until someone gives you the chance, tutors you, supports you... and then finally awards you a position to do this secret talent you never knew existed in you. I imagine that is how Ira could feel, and it's only logical that he would then feel grateful and a sense of "I owe you." And why wouldn't it be directed to Volker?

Coupled that with Ira's own relationship with Volker's nephew: I assume, for now, that the young prince is a lot more noble and open-minded than his uncle despite also being a recipient of the current education system. Ira could then justify that there is no need for extreme/large-scale/sweeping education reform if the same system could produce someone like This Young Prince. "If the system is so bad, then why is This Young Prince coming out of it pretty good? Clearly, the problem is just Volker losing his touch with reality. The fault is a few individuals and not the system."

This will oppose Edith and Brandi's foundational stance, right? "The fault is in the system, beyond just a few individuals."

----

Honestly, I really wanna know how are you gonna resolve this tension between Ira and Edith now! Will either one of them have to be sacrificed for the other person's cause? Will Edith have to remove Ira for her goal? Will Ira have to remove Edith for his goal? Will they cause a civil war? Will there be a compromise?

Such exciting scenarios!!!

What an exciting story you have there,  π!!! GAH

I gleefully await more Dear Emperor lore from you, brutha!!!

KEEP 'EM COMING!

[bunnys-beetlejuice-blog]

Hey! I love your Beetlejuice stories on A03, all of them are wonderful. Do you have any tips on writing the Maitlands? You write them so well, keeping them sweet while giving them depth.

you're so sweet! this got super long so its under a cut. please keep in mind that these are my interpretations of canon and you might disagree and that's totally fine!

Lemme break these into specifics for each one cause while theyre a matching set and should not be separated they're also pretty different! Barbara- the more out going one between the two of them, more willing to jump into new situations. i think of her as someone adam can lean on, and because of that their marriage is a little non traditional, despite what beej might say, since she's the one more likely to do things that scare her and sort of lead the two of them. barbara should be sweet, empathetic, and very patient, but also willing to put her foot down when it matters. she's a doormat no more. between the two of them, she's the one more interested in arts. while she might not like making pottery i think she's the more creative one - she apparently also started and gave up oil painting (the painting she smashes) i read her as someone who comes from religious trauma but that also might just be me putting my own baggage on her. she just feels like someone who would/could have been more outgoing if she hadnt been raised in a very traditional way, where women are a step below their husbands. i dont think that believe holds true in her marriage obviously but it's engrained to some degree that she needs to behave like the perfect wife/mother. this could also be part of where her anxiety about being a mother stems from (this part obviously is VERY personal to me and her character may not read that way to you, i acknowledge this i headcannon territory here) she's also willing to push adam into things that make him nervous, because she does want her husband to stand up for her. (that moment when beej is having his soliloquy, if you watch her she's arguing with adam and telling him to say something to beetlejuice, and that's the reason why adam interrupts him) in general i think she finds things that are odd and unusual to be more funny and interesting than scary - her laughing at beetlejuice's antics in the attic a lot come to mind. Adam - the more shy one. adam is someone who i read as having a fairly heavy degree of social anxiety (there are strangers downstairs! i didn't like strangers when i was alive-) and because of that he tends to overthink and be in his own head too much. adam's fatal flaw might be that he wants to sit down and puzzle through things instead of reacting. while it's good to keep a clear head sometimes you do need to react in the moment and stand up for yourself (which he learns by the end! go adam!!!) adam loves working with his hands. while barbara creates, adam maintains. he restores furniture and does woodworking. i do like to mix movie adam with musical adam a bit, because in the movie adam owns a hardware shop, and i think that vibe also fits musical adam as well. adam leans on barbara a lot - when beej is asking them to hire him, he looks helplessly to barbara, and he's always willing to follow her lead. in a sense she wears the pants, but it doesn't read as emasculating to me - barb's strength is leading and adam's is supporting. does not like to yell or wish people unwell. THAT GUY!! NEEDS!! therapy, i hope he gets the help he needs :( to me this, combined with him honestly thinking beej might be his dad for a moment, reads as someone who had a very turbulent early childhood. a negligent or possibly abusive father who disappeared early enough in his life that adam doesn't remember his face. maybe he doesnt like to yell because that's what his own father did, and he doesnt want to be like his dad. he wants to be better than that. his not knowing his father could also lead into his fear of becoming one - he didn't have a strong father figure growing up, and he's never had that behavior modeled for him

The Maitlands as one - they should be like two halves of a whole. barb might lead, but she never steps on adam. adam might support, but his own impute is never stifled. barbara will encourage adam to be more brave and outgoing. adam will help barbara keep her temper or talk through things that frustrate her. they're so in love it's kinda gross.

[lxmelle]

Do you think that Gojo will return some day? Since we have Geto's family members back in the latest chapters, we have a litttttle chance to get Geto back. So, based on SatoSugu connection, maybe Gojo will be back too...(I know it's kinda stupid and naive, but anyway i still hope).But... to be honest, i have mixed feelings about that. I mean, on the one side i feel like Gojo's story is over. He died on a dramatic note, in such a worthy way for the strongest jujutsu sorcerer. That's why he will be remembered forever. But on the other, i think that Gege made a unique and memorable character, but killed him really fast. I feel like Gojo's story left unsaid, unfinished. We lost him too early. I will miss him (i already do). But anyway, Gege doesn't like him, so 😔.

Hi!! My first ever question! 😃 Thank you for asking 🥰

I’ll do my best to offer an answer. Spoilers ahead!

To be honest, I feel like you’ve come to the echo similar sentiments to many of us in the fandom who love Gojo.

From an objective standpoint, the conclusion to his character arc made a lot of sense. He isn’t the main character, as popular as he is. Similar to your point, his dramatic end was through a good fight and it was fitting as the strongest in the modern era. He already exceeded all his ancestors in defeating Mahoraga and overcame his pride so some degree by discussing with others what they should do if he loses in the battle. He wasn’t perfect, but no character is in JJK. Gege did design him really well and he’s been sooo loved.

His immense strength that usually is associated with the main hero in fiction can be confusing, because why doesn’t the strong triumph over evil? Did he not deserve a better life / death?

Of course he did... 😔

But JJK isn’t that kind of story, I guess.

We get shown time and time again that death comes to the characters at different times. Loss can be unfair - loss of limbs, binding vows, etc. and I guess it’s just meant to mimic real life. The characters are fallible and make decisions or judgements that may not work out or are incorrect. They, like people in real life, have flaws and don’t have the power of foresight. They can be wrong.

It’s uncomfortable reading sometimes, isn’t it? Especially when we get attached to some of them. This is also what I remind myself when I feel overwhelmed by the loss of so many other characters who just had so much potential that never got realised. When powerscalers diss Geto it gets my back up too - because it just doesn’t feel fair that his potential was capped by the timing of when jjk 0 was written before domain expansions were created, and we never got to see how powerful he could’ve been - oftentimes people say it was Kenjaku who used Geto’s body better. Idk if it’s true, but I can imagine it does because of his life experience.

I don’t think you’re naive for having that hope at all. I have similar wishes and hopes - I’d love for Geto and Gojo to relive some kind of a life together - teacher AU or something. I hope with all of my satosugu soul that they’re reunited and it wasn’t some death fantasy in Gojo’s head 😭

As for being revived, I don’t know if Gege will throw some kind of curveball, but if the jujutsu world crushed Geto’s soul so much, and if Gojo was happy to just be with Geto and leave the rest to the next generation, then I’m happy for them to remain dead. Sorry if this isn’t what you wanted to hear 😢 I just don’t know how happy they’d be knowing so many have died to Sukuna and what their purpose would be in the new world.

This is perhaps why there are so many in the jjk fandom who are creating art and fiction, discussing metas and proposing theories. We just love the characters and sometimes there isn’t space for everyone’s story to develop to its full potential. Gege himself doesn’t like spoonfeeding information, apparently, preferring to leave things (frustratingly) vague at times to allow for reader interpretation or prompt research.

Love it or hate it, Gege writes really cleverly in my honest opinion - the amount of foreshadowing even from earlier on is something I marvel at. How he weaves in real-life themes (like the idolising of “popular idols” or “unfairness” and “politics”) alongside mythical / religious themes - is really incredible. As for Gojo, I think his strength was a challenge for Gege to write about as well, hence his sealing in prison realm.

That lends itself to why I personally feel Gege didn’t hate Gojo, but maybe found him difficult to handle to progress with the story due to how overpowered he was. We often dislike in others what we dislike in ourselves, so maybe that’s gege because apparently he’s similar to Gojo 🤣

But yes, I hope that I managed to offer something to your question, @vacuum2314 ! Thanks for submitting a question to me to answer! <3

[swordfright]

please write that essay

I assume based on your timing that this ask is in reference to this post, in which case I'm sorry it took me a couple days to get around to answering! This is not gonna be super well-organized but here are my thoughts:

The lore tidbit about c!Quackity actually having WON the bet with Glatt is literally the best possible way that whole situation could have gone. It’s such a solid storytelling move and I respect cc!Q to the moon and back for confirming it, both because I think c!Q's actions after having won the bet are very in-character for him and also because this option is, simply put, more narratively satisfying than the alternative. I'll explain why I think that.

c!Quackity's whole character arc is about belonging and agency and, importantly, how the pursuit of those things can go wrong. When he first joins the server he struggles to find somewhere to belong and gets used by others. His later attempts to exercise agency in order to foster his idea of a safe and stable community (yes, I'm including Butcher Army here) largely end in disaster. So eventually, Q establishes his own country, his own place where he can control every potential element and risk factor, but arguably he does so at the cost of love and friendship and community, the things he wanted to foster and maintain and protect in the first place. His defining fears about community safety eventually become reduced to fears about personal safety. To me, it’s a very clear negative character arc. When Q makes the bet with Schlatt’s ghost and ends up torturing c!Dream for the revival book, the audience are led to assume it’s because he lost the bet and is still beholden to Glatt in this one final way.

The exact nature of his and Schlatt's relationship prior to Schlatt's death carries some degree of ambiguity, but it's pretty widely interpreted as an abusive romantic relationship, and I'd argue that canon supports this interpretation. They were engaged following the Manberg coalition, and we know their relationship was increasingly rocky during this period. If you subscribe to this particular interpretation of their relationship (which I do because again, I believe canon supports it), then this adds a certain weight and gravity to Q's bet with Schlatt's ghost. The bet becomes a horrible postmortem extension of this toxic relationship that has deeply left its mark on c!Quackity, and Q losing the bet puts him in a vulnerable position both psychologically and literally. He is still beholden to his shitty ex, despite having put him in the fucking ground. That's a powerful motivation to get the book and be done with Glatt forever --- so it makes sense that when Q started torturing Dream for the book, many viewers automatically assumed it was because Q lost that bet.

Personally, I never really liked that assumption, because I feel it lets Q off too easy. It's too convenient an excuse. It dismisses the horror and cruelty of Q's deal with Sam by allowing Q the plausible deniability of desperation, characterizing the torture as his final desperate attempt to escape Schlatt's legacy, i.e. “My abuser made me do it, I’m still being threatened and coerced, I’m not culpable for my own actions!” (Which isn't even a justification that c!Quackity himself would ever use, so it's frustrating to see viewers fall back on it. The c!Quackity woobification in this fandom is much worse than the c!Dream woobification but let's leave that discussion for another day.)

But then (BUT THEN!!!) we find out that no, c!Quackity didn't lose the bet, he actually WON. He didn't want that book for Glatt, he wanted it for himself. He tortured Dream for this reason and because he enjoyed torturing Dream, and it’s an amazing anti-reveal because it pulls the rug out from under you but it also makes perfect sense given the sort of person we’ve watched Q becoming over the course of the past year’s worth of lore content. It’s about cycles of violence! In a story that has been about cyclical violence from the beginning, this is a natural conclusion for Q's character arc. DSMP is a story about building as an escape, and escaping what you've built. And ironically, this reveal makes c!Quackity a perfect foil to c!Tommy because Tommy is an abuse victim who, in a lot of ways, strives to be better than his abuser (hello I realize this is a controversial opinion but whatever this is my post) and Quackity is an abuse victim who intentionally strives to out-do his abuser.

Finally, Q winning the bet with Glatt is like, the only option that carries any kind of narrative catharsis. Because if he’d lost the bet, it means that despite Q's tireless efforts to gain agency, he never truly succeeded and is still being used as a pawn. Which is boring imo! It’s literally “area man ends up exactly where he started," which can be a compelling arc but it's not the most compelling possible arc for this particular character in my incredibly biased opinion. Whereas Quackity having won the bet gives his character arc direction. The arc then becomes “area man strives against all odds to achieve agency, succeeds, forfeits humanity in the process.” Area man escapes cycle of abuse only to perpetuate it. Which I personally like because I think it's interesting!

It may not be an uplifting arc, but it’s an arc! It starts in one place and ends up somewhere else. It has momentum! Even though this reveal technically reflects “poorly” on Quackity’s character (idc lol he will be my forever babygirl no matter how many times he violates the Geneva Convention), it’s a plot twist that respects his character so much more than the alternative. There's only so far you can take a story about a guy being powerless. It's much more fun to tell a story where the powerless guy finally attains the agency he always wanted, but at a great personal cost.

(Coincidentally, this is also the reason I wish c!Wilbur's finale stream had ended not with him leaving c!Tommy but with him asking Tommy to accompany him to Utah and Tommy rejecting his offer. But I digress lmfao I'll be bitter about that storytelling decision on my own time)

Anyway, I think @elmhat phrased it really well when they said "We care about Quackity because of his choices." Not just what happens to him, but how he decides to react.