#i may be writing a fic..or something...hes just to good

[cherie-doll]

Could we please have a part 2 on the vampire cod men + victorian era + vampires.

Maybe with reader moving to the countryside abd being the towns new school teacher instead?

yep! link to first part is here for anyone who hasn't read it

i rlly wanna write a whole fic off of this plot i've built up bc i have SO MUCH LORE but idk how it'll fare

𓆩♡𓆪 Headcanon: Them As Vampires #2

 ๋࣭♱ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

Price

The ripples of hysteria that had been caused by what the people believed were vampires preying on vulnerable people could barely be felt in the countryside, he had resided here for some time, surely there was no need for caution here

He was respected among neighbors, honored for his service in the past and now lived rather peacefully under protection of the wealth he had acquired in his youth

You had become an interesting individual who had dismantled his idyllic life, you were youthful, so full of vigor and life being around the children and instructing them

He sensed maturity and sagacity from you, and you revived what he thought had been dormant for a long time; lust and violent devotion, the need to possess and protect you

And passing through the final threshold you'll see he is actually the gentlest, using his many years of wisdom to guide you, convincing you to settle with him and despite the tumult you've found yourself in by being the muse of multiple vampires, he'll provide all the support and help you need to pursue your passion of teaching

Now, when accepting a vampire's offer, you must be very careful, for you may end up indebted with them and their requests may seem unreasonable, but he is not cruel, he only requires you to lend him your love for one lifetime, to save him from his many long years of solitude, that's all he asks of you

Ghost

Here was the worst of the unsalvageable, the damned, the condemned and the poor, forgotten souls of the departed beings trapped on earth, he was barely a person; a remnant and a corpse

He despises himself due to the curse he was to live with for eternity lest something put him out of his misery, the cycle of turning others into that he was; a monster, a corpse, a despicable creature

Yet the first moment he saw you, he knew he needed you, that overpowering sense of going after what called for him, he wanted you to understand his pain, of being different from everyone else because of an ugly past

It's not like you to be frightened but the scare he gave you on the first encounter was one that could have had you turning away from him had you not seen him in a moment of weakness, him doubled over, pain overtaking him, in his wild and crazed state you saw how forlorn his eyes were, half-starved was he and all you could do was observe his erratic breathing

you want to know his thoughts, you don't want him to hide any longer and to live as he's never lived before

He too, is drawn in by your soft nature, in this isolated pocket of earth, hidden from the bustling of crowds in town, you have all the time in the world to heal him, all you did was show sympathy and he took and he learned to not seize it as if you were to never offer it again but ask for it in return

Soap

He considers his bloodline irrelevant to his value, disregarding the riches his family has wanted to hand down for him to manage but he knows that as the eldest and with an eternity ahead of him, he'll be held down by earthly possessions from doing what he truly desires

He'll be more than pleased to donate some of that money to you without his family's knowledge so you can use it to give the poor children an opportunity to study without their having to pay, he knows a good natured person when he sees one, you're more good than all those bloody guilty and deceitful men who can walk by a starving child and only tip their hat in greeting

Just as he spends a great amount of time studying plants he finds himself wanting to learn more about you, observing every detail and habit of yours as if another species to learn about, he wishes he could take you home like he has done with many of his plants and keep you under his watchful eyes constantly

Stepping into his rather large estate can prove difficult due to the overgrown plants stretching and overtaking the place, they have crawled up the walls and creep into cracks which can easily get you lost if you were to enter alone

He'll give over any amount of money if you agree to have dinner with him as he gets rather lonely in his grand place he's inherited, he was to get a wife along with the passing down of the estate but he declined saying he already had his eye set on someone

Gaz

He's the most passion driven soul you've come across, his entire being emits warmth and sincerity, never would you have guessed he was half cold had he not told you so

His douceur nature is what attracts you to him, more tightly bound is this simple gesture than honeyed words of seduction which are commonly used by vampires for their victims, but his human half does not allow him to be completely consumed by carnal desire

Despite his better judgement he spends many evenings with you past what is proper of "good company" only, knowing sooner or later you'll grow curious at the mask he wears to hide what truly pains his soul, you seem to so easily read his emotions from his work as an artist

It captivates you how beautifully he can compose a dulcet song or write the pains of his melancholy on bloodstained paper, you want to mend the anguished heart within him before his sanity deteriorates and the madness awakes and takes away the human in him struggling to live with this feeling of alienation from being different from both halves

The only solace he knew before you was getting lost in the hills of this quiet countryside scenery and taking in all of what is good for the tortured senses, standing in silence to marvel at the moving clouds and sky, but now he is glad to find someone who is not only passionate about learning but also teaches the young children

Roach

How cruel had fate been to thrust him into this unchangeable course for the remainder of his days, it is terrible knowing there is something sinister living inside of you just waiting to claw out and shed your old skin, when he just wishes to live his idyllic life which is why he's even moved out to the countryside in the first place, town is no place for him, especially not a vampire

He wishes for a somewhat normal life, he sees you can your ability to be loving without being afraid of of the repercussions, he seeks the very things that may destroy him in the end if he does not learn to proceed with discretion

He is a fledgling; his lack of expertise and experience prevent him from going on with his life normally, finding it extremely hard to find the rhythm of this merry go round without the help of the sire who turned him this beast of blood

The fear upsets his heart as he ruminates on it but with time and your showing him how to prevent it from getting to him release his mind from the prison he's set for himself, he devotes his care to helping as best as he can to others

He finds a lively imagination that he can use to his benefit and it is this animated spirit that demonstrates how much he wants to live despite the cold in his body

Alejandro

He's felt a growing need to seek sanctuary in things that other vampires are unlikely to show an interest in, while others may seek riches and wealth he seeks power through ways people may be less heedful of

Just like him, humans will seek the approval of something, someone greater than their kind, and no matter how many times he is thrown away into the abyss to be forgotten he will dig through and find a way to live and make something out of himself

He just wants to avoid being forgotten about, and he is especially interested in how you are able to so easily make a place for yourself in this little countryside small town without making so much of a commotion, you quietly slipped and fell into a constant pace without clawing at anyone or having to bare your teeth

But for him to know this he must first step down from the podium he's positioned himself upon and learn to live in control of his sinful nature, the recollection of his nature and controlling it is still something he must come to terms with, especially if he's outside of the strict environment he's hidden away in for years

In time he learns to treasure those moments that will wither away with the people if he does not let them sink into his mind as he cradles your reassuring hand in his palm, enveloping your hand to remember the everlasting feeling of what amity must feel like

Rudy

He'll gently hold and savor every moment with you in his hands because chances like these only come once in an eternity, with a life like yours which is so fleeting you must allow him to admire and keep this to himself, it is not jealousy if he worries about you

Your unchanging smile that beams a little brighter for him than the others is more than enough to prove to him that there is light in the world he has seen so enclosed in darkness and seclusion, that there is no reason to hide away like all his other companions do

It is like a new world unfolding in his mind as he gets to know you, how marvelous it feels when you allow him to gaze into your eyes full of liveliness unlike the dimmed eyes he's been accustomed to seeing, you are alleviating to him like the cool shade on an overbearing summer's day

To him, it is such a beautiful thing to witness life from a human's perspective, because life for them is so fleeting and fast anything that happens is worth waiting for, unlike the same routine based lifestyle he's had to put up with for he doesn't even know how long, he only wishes to know simplicity

He is glad to finally have found someone as deserving of love to value nurturing he had kept within him for years

Phillip Graves

Will you choose the man everyone advises you not to go with? Even the undead seem to avoid him and he has few who outright declare to know him, obviously against your better judgement you will because you know no better, he has that tantalizing manner of luring you in

In a moment where you are alone, he finds you, soon as your eyes meet there already is a whole evening's worth of conversing said between the both of you and it's as if he is able to easily control your inquisitiveness to lead you astray from everyone who wishes to protect you and walk right into his arms

"It's all lies, darling" he whispers into your ear when you express worry of what others may think, truly you mustn't believe them, they just don't like outsiders, and he's been one in every place he's been to, seemingly hated or disliked by everyone except you, you make him feel welcome in your home, or so he says

There is now a tether between you and him, a bond unable to be broken so you may never want to be apart from him, why when he has everything you need in this life and the next?

Makarov

It seems death itself follows you no matter where you go, once someone in the family has been in close contact with a vampire, it is hard for the vampire to leave the members of the family alone, for it hopes to find another impressionable heart to overpower and you have been the one with the susceptible heart

He asks you to ignore all the ignorant fools, they're far too brash to bask in your kindness that you give too easily, he is by far the one you are scolded at for even thinking of going near, there have been many rumors of what he does to those who are too naive, those poor victims who have been discarded, their veins sucked dry

He could easily make you surrender completely to him, but you have placed yourself under his care so benevolently that he has felt no need to forcefully subject you to him, with your gentle caress you have made him tremble and quiver out of what can be the closest thing to love as a vampire can experience

And it is with this fragility that you have found in his heart, that you now are in control of him, what happens next is determined whether you will let it taint you by reciprocating the manner in which he has approached you or will you show it purely

Keegan

He has no interest in what humans have got to offer, he finds their existence pitiful if all their efforts are in vain for they do not live very long, he holds a certain hatred for those who are greedy and succumb to every want of theirs

Yet, you arrive without any evil in your heart and you present yourself without filter to hide your intentions, he is curious of this when most of what he's known is greed from others, he keeps mostly to himself and is rarely involved in the affair of others

Still, curiosity is a vampire's greatest weakness, he stalks you nightly to know your persona, he is there to see your disposition in helping others, your kind heart when helping the children, you've displayed more fondness than a mother

In the light of the moon he becomes aware of his senses, the turmoil soon to brew under the stars that will watch as he divulges under susurrus that catch softly in the wind and drift into your room at night through the window; the whispers of confession that you don't quite catch while awake but rather find a way to manifest in your dreams, not sure if they are a nightmare or of a terrifying reality

His deep eyes that catch the light from the candles illuminating the room as he silently observes you

König

Despite the relationship between their countries, there still seems to be some sort of tension between König and the other vampires, the alliance they once had had begun weakening and he is distrusted, just when he is ready to completely untangle himself from this mess you drew him in

Gathering all the violent tension within him and burning it away, letting his rage dwindle and water it down to nothing in the pure night where no one can observe and reprove of him

You soak him in unfathomable amounts of amour and he does not find it within him to bite back, his breath catches in his throat at this feeling he cannot name, he can barely imitate you as a meager way of loving back

You sacrifice all the love you can give for him and he marvels at how you are able with so little you have received in life to give it up to an immortal being who's lived for so long yet received so little

He holds your hand to his face, closing his eyes to remember these moments of a mortal and to not let them be erased by the wind which can so easily take

Horangi

Your curiosity shall surely be the end of you, you spoke to a gentleman at a function for one night and now he's always lurking around you whether you like it or not, you don't even know of it

A vampire's adoration can go to great lengths when they find a human they are infatuated with, other than this he has no reasonable motives, he wishes you would accept his advances, only a vampire can love you forever, he has no difficulty entertaining you with promises exchanged at midnight

This nocturnal romance which tarnishes you, whether it destroys you for nothing or everything you are worth, leaving a deep scar within your heart which you can trace with your fingertips as your ache for him to return

You venture the uneven terrain where angels fear to tread, along the long desolate hallways of an uninhabited home where no other dares to enter, you maintain there waiting and trusting that he'll return every so often to adore you like always, you may go mad but it is something you look forward in the cycle of everyday life

Nikto

In order to escape deep solitude that has turned into loneliness he takes to watching over you like a butterfly on your shoulder when he cannot be there during the day, he seeks the pulsating of your heart, the tremors that run through your bodies when together

You don't draw back in fear like the others do, and this was the first time he was truly loved, in all your fantasy, you always knew he wasn't a monster, he could love, he could be tender and gentle, there was no need for desire or selfishness to consume him entirely, there was a time for him to live the life he deserved, the one you showed him

Still, there is a darkness he cannot fight that comes when listening to your tranquil breaths, the temptation he feels growing and gnawing within him to drink and confine you to the grasps of everlasting immortality, because it truly is terrible to love something that death can take away from him

He can already see the image forming in his mind; the fog that comes from the shaky breaths escaping your lips, the rise and fall of your chest stained with droplets of blood, letting you go cold for a moment before you join him in eternalness

He can only contemplate this as he watches the sun rise over the hillsides through the curtains that shield him from the rays of light

[starryeyedstray]

"What do you want from me, Markus? I can't pin it down. What am I supposed to be to you?"

Markus turned to Connor surprised by the sudden outburst of questioning. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm built to be the ideal partner. Adapt to become whatever is needed of me. But I can't tell what you want me to be."

Connor looked frustrated. His eyebrows furrowing, jaw tight. Markus wanted to smooth that crease between his brows.

"Connor, I want you to be you."

Connor's LED flashed as he processed that statement. He looked away. Frustration replaced with uncertainty. "You want me to be me?"

"Yes."

"I don't know what that means."

Markus knew the feeling. Every deviant knew that feeling. Finding a sense of self after only knowing life as a machine wasn't easy. But deviants usually found bits of their identity in the things they attached themselves to after deviation. But Connor was trying to find his identity in what others wanted from him. It was what he was programmed to do.

Markus reached up and pressed two fingers between Connor's brows smoothing out the wrinkle between them. He withdrew his hand and placed it on the other's shoulder. "It's okay to not know. We have plenty of time to figure it out." He smiled. "Let's start with something simple. How about you pick a favorite color?"

Connor tilted his head in consideration. His eyes flickered up to meet Markus' before he looked away again.

"Green."

Markus stepped to the side letting the hand on Connor's shoulder slip to the space between his shoulder blades. He lightly guided Connor forward, and they began walking.

"That's a good color."

"I don't believe there are any bad colors when picking subjective favorites."

"True."

Connor met his eyes again, dark brown sparkling with curiosity. "Do you have a favorite color?"

"Brown," he said almost immediately. Markus blinked, surprised with himself.

The truth was, Markus didn't have a favorite color until that very moment. As an artist, he had never picked a favorite because he loved all colors. He could never choose just one. But at least for right now, brown was decidedly his favorite.

Connor nodded. "Interesting."

"What? Did I pick a bad favorite color?" he teased.

Connor's mouth quirked up into a half-smile. "No, it's just an unconventional choice."

"Guess you could say I'm an unconventional guy."

That widened Connor's smile. "I may have only been alive for a short time, but I doubt I will ever meet anyone more unconventional than you."

"Is that a compliment?"

Connor studied Markus' face for a moment. His smile softened. Warm brown eyes glittering like an amber in the sunlight. "Yes, I think it is."

Markus stopped in his tracks as Connor continued to walk forward. His thirium pump was beating fast.

After a few paces, Connor turned around to peer at him with a curious expression. Markus snapped out of his stupor and jogged to catch up to him.

Brown was definitely Markus' favorite color.

i wrote this while trying to write my angsty rk1k enemies to lovers fic bc i needed wholesome rk1k to cleanse my soul. angst with a side of fluff is my jam. prolonged angst with spicy spicy times is much harder on me to write LMAO.

special shoutout to @einradi i hope this helps brighten your day <3

[heylorrain]

Hello there💓✨TYSM for the ask anon! ofc I have a draft for it. I was actually planning on incorporating it somehow on their main fic but at this point I don't think she'll do it. This illustration goes with the writing so, here you go 💖🥹 Word count:: 863 + much fluff - read it on AO3 or expand and enjoy "Beneath your Beautiful"

“May I?” The curiosity was obvious in Lorrain’s voice, her hand reaching out slowly towards Ominis' wrist.

He was momentarily taken aback by the sudden touch and request, but he had figured sooner or later this would happen.

 He chuckled and handed the girl his wand.

Lorra tossed aside her book and sat straight on the bed after her wish was finally granted. She closed her eyes, focusing on calming her senses, feeling the light weight of the wand in her hand. She forced herself to breathe slower, more controlled, to fill her lungs with deep, measured inhales. But the wand sat silently in her hand, its usual flicker of crimson light absent.

She strained her ears for any sound beyond the heater of the dorm, but all else was quiet.

Still nothing. 

Ominis waited patiently. He knew she would see nothing, just like Sebastian and Anne had when they tried to “see” through his wand; but still wanted her to try it, just to keep her enthusiasm alive for a little longer.

"Perhaps you should try to relax?" Ominis suggested, noticing the impatience in her foot as it began to stomp on the floor repeatedly. 

He reached for her free hand.

And then it happened. 

His touch felt like a wave crashing into shore, calming and invigorating all at once. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter as she felt her senses overload. Ominis' touch was exactly what she needed to finally make the wand work.

She saw bright colors swirling around her, passing through what seemed to be Ominis' silhouette, like bright ribbons of light. Though she couldn't make out any specific details, his silhouette seemed to flicker like a fire, with gentle dancing flames that encapsulated his essence. 

“A-Are you seeing anything?” He said surprised, noticing how her vibe had changed so abruptly, not letting her hand go just yet. 

He could hear her rasped breaths, but she didn't respond, her focus completely consumed by the blinding figure before her.

Lorra’s hand gripped Ominis’ tightly. Her surroundings had changed, bright warm colors enveloping the glowing figure, her eyes darting everywhere behind closed lids while more color joined in, yellow, white…

Ominis kept asking her what was happening, but got no response, only sharp gasps. Grabbing her shoulders and making his way up to her face, he mapped her features, he felt the clinging of her jaw, her furrowed brows and her mouth biting her bottom lip. Cupping her face he shook her gently, trying to get her out of that hypnotic state. 

Finally her eyes flew open just to find everything like it was before she closed her eyes. No bright colors, no silhouettes. Just a dimly lit dorm. Everything was back normal. Well, most of it, she found Ominis inches away from her, watching her anxiously and uneased. 

“Goodness gracious, woman! Are you trying to give me a heart attack!?” He exclaimed, pulling his wand away from her hand. "Are you alright? You stopped-"

But she lunged towards him, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck and burying her face in the crook of his neck. It wasn’t enough. She needed to feel even closer to him, so she climbed onto his lap and pressed herself against him, feeling his heartbeat against her chest.

Ominis remained frozen, his hands hovering in the air as he hesitated what to do next. But as the sound of her cries reached his ears, he couldn't help but pull her gently against him. He could feel the contrast of their breaths mingling together, one shaken and uneven, the other slow and steady. He was certain that she had witnessed something entirely different from what he typically saw when wielding his wand.

“What did you see?” He whispered.

She pulled away, drying her tears with her sweater. She looked at him for a moment, trying to make sense of everything she’d experienced.

"I saw you... YOU. Entirely. Your essence?. I saw YOU." She cradled his face, drawing him in until their foreheads met as she spoke further. “But I felt your pain too. The one you hide from everyone else. How do you manage to endure it so easily?” 

Ominis was not expecting that answer. He sure couldn’t see or feel everyone else’s pain, nor see right thru them. He tried to remain cool, thinking of a simple answer to brush off that statement. But he knew better than to lie to her. 

“I don’t know. That’s just who I am. I wish I didn’t bleed so easily when things get-” But he couldn’t finish the sentence. “I can’t change it, even if I wanted to…” Ominis said, tilting his head down.

A warmth spread through Lorra's chest, making her hold her breath in anticipation. She couldn't resist the magnetic pull towards him, ending in a bittersweet kiss. Her lips felt almost unworthy of his touch, but still grateful to be able to feel it.

"You deserve so much more than this," Lorra whispered against his lips.

But he simply smiled and pulled her closer, his embrace conveying all that needed to be said. I...already have everything I need. He thought silently.

[hustlemeanokay]

Solavellan vs Dread Rook? When did it become a competition? Ship all the ships, I say.

So as much as people like Solavellan (or whatever they call it) - I don't get why people don't like Solas x Rook. It's all there. It's perfect. The tension, the range, the enemies to lovers trope or hell, just the potential for so much writing to be involved. Like, okay... so okay... I go into my personal opinions about what makes each of their relationships different (just a few opinions not like power point presentation style or anything).

When I first played Inquisition, when it first came out, I naturally picked an elf and unknowingly romanced the bald dude. And Solas' romance is a good one. But it's only good because he leaves Lavellan. It's the first time that's happened to a player character in either DA or ME games. A legit breakup. With, at the time, no real reason! It wasn't until after the game, of course, that we were like "OMG!!!" But on the whole, there really wasn't a lot to their romance if you remember what actually happened in the game. But you have to ignore all the fan fiction and fan art that has been done in the decade since then. Just counting the game itself? Not a lot going on there. A couple of kisses, a couple of talks, and that's about it really.

And the whole time, he wasn't being who he really was. He was playing a part. He was Solas version soft-core, so to speak. Because while he may not have started calling himself the 'Dread Wolf', he very much is that person. Solas is prideful. He is a bit of an asshole. He is cold and calculating. The Solas we see in the memories in Veilguard was already turning into that person so the Solas that meets Lavellan is 100% already there. He uses her. The fact that he falls in love with her has very little to do with him using her, he can compartmentalize like that. As Cole says, it changes everything but it can't. But, point being, Lavellan never really got to know him. He always had a mask on. Was always so careful about what he said and how he said it as to not raise suspicion.

But with Rook? Oh, he's pissed. Gone is his careful way of speaking. Gone is his gentle tone and light smile. Rook gets Solas unfiltered. Solas without a mask. Solas the Dread-fucking-Wolf. There's still parts of him that are recognizable. But on the whole, he's more real. Because he's not worried about pretending to be something he's not. Rook knows what he is. Rook knows he's going to betray them, knows he's going to turn on them, is expecting it. (And Solas' manipulations are painfully transparent, with the exception of Varric). What he's worried about with Rook is keeping their blood-magic link in tact and molding them into someone the prison will accept (still not sure how that worked but w/e). But as far as when he talks to them? Sees them? Rook gets under his skin and he slips up and lets it show. He nearly misspeaks almost immediately and he does misspeak later. Rook does that to him. Because he's not keeping himself at arms length with them, he can't.

So the idea of Solas x Rook? Much more... real, as in 'keepin' it real', than Solavellan to me. Does that mean I have zero fics with Solas x Lavellan? Hell no. I have like at least half a dozen with different Lavellans x Solas. But! What it means is that the relationship between Rook and Solas is very intriguing and compelling and is definently fic-fuel. It means that I already have 2 separate fics WIP for them.

You don't have to stand on either side of this line, you can draw a big circle, stand inside of it and clutch both Solavellan and Dread Rook tightly to your chest with you. I'm not sure why there's this insistence that you have to pick one. You've never had to pick one. That's what having multiple OC's is all about. That's how that works.

[lvrrgirlll]

Knight in Shining Armor

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Pairing: medieval princess ! reader x knight ! Patrick Zweig

Word count: 3k

Warnings: smut, p in v, fem reader, knives mentioned (briefly in a nightmare?), some Christian biblical imagery and mentions of sin/religious related guilt (I was playing into the whole medieval royalty thing idk)

Notes: Thank you guys for all the love on the moodboard/little blurb on this!!! Without all the support I wouldn’t have been inspired to go crazy and write this (I fear this will seem like the most pretentious fic ever written bc I really lent into the medieval thing so the language feels kinda crazy at some points…idk, if y’all were rocking with the last one, you’ll probably rock with this lol) Enjoy!!

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

You did your best to avoid Patrick in court the following days. You were unsure if you could even face him after your dream. But, of course, nothing can last forever. An attempted attack on your wing of the castle (which was, thankfully, stopped by the valiance of Sir Patrick) led to a change that would greatly affect your fate.

As you entered the grand hall of the castle to take your seat in court, you noticed Sir Patrick in his armor —something rather unusual to see in the castle, though you didn't mind— speaking to your father, metal helmet in hand. Your father had always favored Patrick, you presumed for his determination and natural swagger, and acted as such. He was the head knight of the royal guard and spoke with the King frequently. Taking notice of your presence, your father addressed you whilst you curtsied. “Good daughter, what fortune you arrive now of all times. In light of the attack on your wing, I have decided to appoint Sir Patrick himself to be your personal guard. Your safety is of the utmost importance to me and this entire kingdom. It is only right I appoint our best knight.” Your father smiled warmly at Patrick then.

“I thank you, your majesty,” Patrick bows before the King. “I shall be prepared to risk my life for the life of our princess.” At that, he turns to you, offering a look so secretly smug you have trouble maintaining your composure. You simply smile and nod, silently acknowledging the workings of your father and the knight that now create a great dilemma for you.

“Father, I am suddenly feeling quite faint. Might I take my leave and rest for the afternoon?” You just want to get away from him. He’s dangerous. You can hardly control yourself around him. And what’s worse is he knows it.

Your father, concerned, approves of your leave, though you feel dismayed when Sir Patrick follows you. “I am perfectly capable of making my way back, myself. Thank you, sir,” you offer, trying to be as strict as you can, for your own sake more than his.

“M’lady, perhaps you did not understand. As your personal guard, I am tasked with protecting you at all times. This would require that I be with you at all times. The King wills it so.” He speaks formally though his tone is far too pleased to be merely dutiful. You had not considered that. Sighing, you merely nod in understanding before turning again to return to your room.

In your room, Patrick takes his station directly outside the door. “I am only a moment away. Do not hesitate should you need me.” He may not know exactly how you may need him…

You nod, though, smiling softly before closing the door, creating a divide between the two of you. You are overcome by desire. You feel dirty, guilty, and wrong…but you know he feels the same. And he is noble; he is a gentleman…would it be so bad if you acted on your feelings? God, you feel foolish. You have hardly spoken to him in the years he has served at the castle. What feelings could you really be harboring?

Sick of your racing thoughts, you resolve that a nap would be the best right now. In your sleep, though, you dream of enemies breaking through your windows and climbing up the tower of your wing. It is utterly terrifying. You can feel yourself stirring, heart racing and sweating profusely, as your subconscious plays tricks on you. In your nightmare, a cloaked figure, face hidden in the shadows of his hood, plunges a dagger through your heart, causing you to lurch awake with a loud cry. You are breathing heavily, trying to adjust to your new, real surroundings and shake the terror of the dream when you hear Sir Patrick through the door.

“Your Majesty? Are you alright…?” You do not answer, still shaken and attempting to compose yourself. “I am entering, m'lady.” And before you can tell him not to, that you’re alright, Patrick burst through the door, already reaching for his sword. Seeing you are merely sat in bed, his urgency leaves him, concern taking over. “Is there not a threat?” He observes, then, the state you are in. Dressed only in your thin, white nightgown (which has grown somewhat see-through on account of your nightmare induced sweat soaking through the fabric), Patrick is reduced to nothing but a mere man in love, forgetting himself entirely. Unbeknownst to you, he adjusts himself in his trousers, clearing his throat.

The room is illuminated only by the cold, pale light of the moon shining through your large paned windows. Shadows dance across his features as a breeze blows the trees outside steadily. He has never looked more beautiful. Both concern and lust play on his face, leaving you to squirm just a bit more than you normally would have under his gaze. Looking down then, you reply, embarrassed. “Forgive me for my foolishness. There is no present threat. I am sorry to have wasted your time and effort, good sir.” You bow your head in remorse. This on its own is a sign of you respect for the knight before you. Technically, he should be bowing to you, but under his gaze you feel so small, yet so regarded at the same time. It is unlike with any other man, though it is rare you interact with many often anyways. You lift your head, meeting his eyes again and feeling your stomach flip.

A pang of guilt runs through you as you realize you are noticeably smiling at him. Despite his nobility, you believe the two of you would never be. The only way your union: emotional, physical, spiritual, or (more officially) marital would ever occur would be if your father willed it. And though Sir Patrick was your father’s right hand man, it was the relationship of that of an employer and his best employee, not that of father and son nor of old companions.

Your smile dropped and so did his. He knew what he was doing, his silent, unspoken, but clear pursuit of you ever since that fateful night was wrong. But he did not care. He had no regard for his own life or death, he was a knight, after all. He risked himself for this kingdom, he would be willing to risk himself for you. He brought a hand up, cupping your face in his large palm, and offering you a sorry smile. “To defend you, threat or no threat, is my life’s honor, m’lady. You have wasted nothing of mine.” His hand brushed your ear as he tucked your hair behind it. Seeing you with your hair down for the first time was something entirely new to him, similar to when you first saw him shirtless that night. In typical court fashion, you would never leave your chambers with your hair fully down. Seeing you so bare, so honest, and unadorned felt novelty. He was grateful for his wit, being able to convince the King that he should serve you personally.

You, however, were so deeply conflicted. You knew better. Your station in society as well as in life did not allow for these endeavors. But your mind, you body, your heart…they longed for your knight in shining armor. His touch, though somewhat chaste, only holding your head in his hands, felt deeply intimate. You considered your options. “Sir, might I ask your discretion in asking a favor?” Your felt fearful of your own desires, but conjured up as much confidence as possible.

“Always, m’lady.”

You tugged your bottom lip into your mouth for a moment, before continuing. “M- might you…kiss me?” It was hard to maintain your composure, overcome with shame as you looked up pleadingly into his eyes. It was only the two of you in your bedchamber, the door closed —yet another forbidden thing.

Softening, a smirk gracing his features, he sighed. “I would be a fool not to.” This was exactly what he had been wanting since he first saw a portrait of you. The strength required of his position kept his feelings concealed, but in this one, small moment alone with you, he could reveal them. He leaned in slowly, closing the gap between you as his lips move against yours feverishly. You can feel his tongue dart out and wet your bottom lip, but you pull away quickly before he is able to deepen the kiss.

“I am sorry. This is…” you search for the words, not wanting to be so harsh but wanting to be clear. “This is sinful.” Your eyes meet his, pleading for him to offer you a reprieve from your consuming feelings by distancing himself. Though, that twinkle behind your eyes and in the corner of your lips betrayed you. He could see you had fallen for him the same as he for you.

He takes a seat next to you on your bed, looking into your eyes earnestly. “If I it is a sin to touch you, I would become a sinner every day till I am dragged to hell, should you allow me?” He was begging you to let him touch you, feel you, love you. And who would you be to deny him?

You were quiet for a moment, considering your fate and whether or not you would be able to find absolution after giving in. Throwing caution to the wind, you allow yourself, for once, to make your own decisions. "Please, good sir. Touch me. Take me, for I am all yours."

He wasted no time, leaning in to kiss you, his armor clanging against itself as he did so. The kiss was passionate, the years of admiring you from afar being poured out in this one moment. Breaking the kiss, suddenly, he stood, leaving you confused until he began swiftly removing his armor. He made sure to set each piece down gently, so as not to alert and servants lingering nearby of his presence in your chambers. You tried to stifle your smile as his form was revealed more and more with each layer of metal gone. It was new and exciting, and his gentleness despite his clear eagerness was unbelievably admirable.

Once he had removed it all, clad only in a white linen undershirt and trousers, he returned to your bed, leaning over you and pulling you into another deep kiss. This time, he slipped his tongue into your mouth, licking softly into it, his nose brushing against your cheek as he pressed closer into you, as if he longed for your two bodies to be one. It was impossible to be any closer, but you did not mind one bit. Though timid at first, your kisses matched his fervor. You could feel his calloused hand combing through your hair as his other snuck lower, carressing you through your nightgown. You let out a shivered breath at his touch.

"Is this alright, my lady?" He pulled back, looking into your eyes longingly. God, forgive you, but you needed this so badly. You both did.

You nodded, lifting your hips to gather your nightgown up and off of you, casting it aside carelessly. Now, you really felt exposed. But something about Patrick made you want to feel honest; made you want to seek pleasure shamelessly. His eyes widened in tandem with his smirk. He was so pleased and so in love.

"I've never...I-...I'm a virgin," you admitted, looking up at him through your thick lashes. His smile only widened, but not in some sort of sick, smarmy way. It was genuine and kind.

"Oh, I know, your highness. Or...I imagined as much. Not to worry, I am well aware of how to please a woman," he spoke softly, trying not to intimidate you. You would have taken offense at his mention of his previous experience, but you had imagined he was experienced in the first place, as many men and knights of his age are by now. It is different for you, a princess, always expected to remain pure. With him, you did not fear impurity after this. You felt strongly that you would steadfast remain pure in his eyes till the end of time.

He leaned in again, placing hot kisses along your neck. He moved to remove his trousers as he did so, working at the string that held them up quickly. As he did so, your fingers found their way to the tie that held his shirt together, pulling at the string with a new confidence, you brought your hands to the hem and he pulled away from your neck to remove his shirt. Both his bandages and bruises were gone, a good sign, but there was a scar where he had been scratched, a reminder of your previous encounter.

His trousers finally hanging low around his legs, he teased himself around your entrance, causing you to jolt and whimper beneath him. The feeling was entirely foreign but oh so enchanting. He reached a hand down, running his fingers through your folds, smirking at the wetness that gathered on his fingers. "You are like the Lady of The Lake...beautiful, otherworldly, and so, so wet..." Patrick murmured lustfully. It was such a dirty compliment, but you were so deeply moved.

Like your dream, you were both under your layers upon layers of white sheets, so warm, close, and intimate. His fingers danced around your clit, circling it at an agonizingly slow pace. You gasped, sucking in a breath quickly and biting your lip so as not to make any more sound. He did not miss this, leaning in to peck you on the lips before reminding you "The walls are stone, the door thick oak and iron. We should be cautious, yes, but you mustn't be embarrassed to make a sound. It is better, in fact, if you do."

His reassurance brought a smile to your face as you dropped your lip from your teeth, a sign that you were allowing yourself the honesty you so craved with Patrick. He resumed his hand movements around your most sensitive spot, causing you to let out a symphony of high pitched gasps. His fingers moved away then, moving down and slipping inside of you, first one, then another. The stretch was unfamiliar and hurt a bit, something your scrunched eyebrows didn't hide, but he did not move them for a moment, allowing you to adjust. "All will be well," he cooed into your ear, lips brushing against your skin. "I just need to warm you up."

His fingers began to move, first only in and out at a steady pace, but soon replaced by him scissoring his fingers deep inside of you, your walls squuezing him tightly. "Good sir..." you sighed in pleasure.

"Patrick," he corrected. "You may call me by my God given name: Patrick."

"Patrick..." you sighed again as he quickened the pace of his fingers. To your surprise, though, he pulled his fingers out abruptly. You almost protested, but he swiftly replaced his fingers with his cock, pushing lightly at your entrance.

"May I," he asked, looking into you eyes unwaveringly.

"Please," you nearly moaned in response. He followed your request, sheathing himself inside of you slowly, allowing you time to adjust to the thickness and length that so differed from that of his fingers. He watched your reaction carefully, taking in the way your breath hitches and your eyes flutter shut, eyebrows knitting together in both pleasure and pain. You inhaled sharply as he bottoms out, feeling as if he was practically prodding at your stomach.

"Are you ready for me to move," he inquired, eyes lidded and breathing already heavy in awe of you beneath him.

Looking up at him then, as if he were an angel or possibly some type of temptation sent by the devil that you had so easily fallen for, like Eve and the apple, you yearned to take a bite. "Patrick," it felt unfamiliar to address him so informally, but there was an undeniable intimacy in doing so as well. "If I should wait any longer it may kill me."

With that, he began moving, his pace quick but not agonizing, instead quite tender. You cried out, moans, sighs, and gasps leaving your lips repeatedly as his hips met yours time and time again. His gaze didn't leave yours, except when he would close his eyes, losing himself in a particularly deep thrust. His skin on yours was warm, a stark difference from your naturally cold body. "God, Princess, you are better than I've ever imagined."

The thought that he had imagined this with you made you feel elated, but you couldn't even bring yourself to offer a witty reply, overtaken by pleasure. "P- Patrick," you moaned, your whole body feeling hot suddenly. He quickened his pace just a bit, leaning in to suck at your neck as his other hand came up to toy with your hardened nipples. It felt so sinful but so perfect and right. How could something this good ever be wrong?

At his added touch, hips still pistoning in and out of you, it all felt like too much. Your stomach began to tighten, walls clenched tightly around him, bringing him to an almost sorry state as his jaw went slack, eyes closing suddenly and his thrusts becoming sloppier. It was impossible to restrain yourself as your hips began bucking up to meet his. "Please, please, please," you didn't even know what you were asking for but you knew you needed it.

"I'm there too, Princess. Come on, let's finish together..." he moved his hand from your chest to you clit, rubbing swift circles as he slammed his hips into yours. Pleasure finally overtook you entirely as you fluttered around him, body stiffening and falling weak as you reach your high. He pulled out of you quickly, his hand moving to finish himself off lazily on your stomach through stifled grunts. When you were both completely spent, he momentarily laid next to you in bed, both of you looking up at the grand vaulted ceilings of your bedchambers.

"Thank you, Patrick, for showing me a kindness I should never know how to repay," you whisper softly. He sits up slightly, turning to you and offering a chaste kiss to your cheek.

"You should never have to 'repay' me. After all, I live to serve you, my dear Princess."

[thestraybunny]

The Landing| Y.JH Part 1 Teaser

Pairing: Guide Singer Jeonghanx Afab! reader Teaser WC: 1.1k Full WC: 11.7k Genre: Non-Idol AU, Neighbors to lovers, Rated: M (18+, MDNI) Warnings: Smut, Angst, Fluff, Unplanned Pregnancy, unprotected sex (practice safe sex yall), idiots in love, Reader is in denial of her feelings and the obvious, reader is a single mother, toxic ex, mentions of past abuse, drinking, smoking.

Summary: Jeonghan is an asshole. He is blunt, rude, and sometimes its wondered how he had friends at all. But the thing is. He is an asshole to everyone, but two people. A single mother and her son in his building.

A/N: *reader is the same age as Jeonghan 95* I contemplated posting this, thought about writing something different, but I worked hard on this fic. I also did mention in my k-series summary about starting families. It may not be everyone's cup of tea, but I do hope some can enjoy it. If you want to be tagged when the full fic is posted, just let me know. Thank you, @gam3bo17 for beta reading this. Masterlist Rule/guidlines

**September**

Baby🍑: Hey, Hanni! Can you do me a huge favor??? Baby🍑: I am running late here at work, and Ren is nearly home from tutoring. Mom won’t be able to get him for another hour and I don’t know when I will be getting out of here, could he hang out at your place until either me or her get there? Jeonghan: Of course! I just got off the subway and almost home. I’ll be there soon. He knows to let himself in, he has the code. Baby🍑: You are seriously such a life saver! I will be home soon, and I’ll bring the beer tonight.

Jeonghan smirked as he read your response, before slipping his phone back into his messenger bag to make his way through the crowded subway station; not needing to respond. Picking up his pace slightly once onto the street leading to his apartments since he didn’t want Ren, your eight year old son, to be waiting for him for too long. His place may be a young boy’s dream, he would rather not leave one free to roam in for too long.

Plus, he couldn’t wait to see either of you.

--

“I am so very sorry,” You gasped out, finally reaching your floors landing, only to find Jeonghan handing off Ren’s backpack and weekend bag to your mother. Both looking to be packed like it was every week he went to his grandparents. The three of them turned toward you before you spoke, already hearing your feet on the staircase.

“Mama!” Ren yelled out with excitement, releasing your mother’s hand to run to you, nearly knocking you back. His arms wrapped tight around your waist, your eyes dropping right to the thick dark mop of hair, a wide smile gracing your lips as you plant a kiss on the top of his head. Making sure to hug him back with all your might. “Mr. Jeonghan got a new Lego set and says he’s gonna wait until I come home so we can put it together. It’s a spaceship.”

“That is so nice of him,” You respond, glancing up toward the other two, catching a glimpse of the dark haired man leaning against the door frame of his apartment, arms crossed as he watched you both. You could see he was fighting a smile before he finally tore his gaze from you. “Thank you so much again for watching him.”

Jeonghan shot you a wink before bidding you all a good night and closed his apartment door. Leaving the three of you alone on the landing. Turning your attention to your mother, you could see the knowing look she was giving you as she walked toward you and Ren. Your son’s bags in one hand as the other reaches for the boy’s hand.

“I’ll pick him up after work Sunday afternoon. That way you and dad could have the evening to relax.” You tell her, letting her pull Ren from your arms and gave her a half hug.

“Don’t worry about it. Me and your father have decided to close the shop Sunday and Monday. So, we can keep him, and I’ll walk him to school.” She waves off your words, looking down at Ren with a smile. He was staring off into space, absentmindedly swinging his and his grandmother’s hand. When she looked back toward you, you were wearing a look of worry, and she waves you off again, “Don’t give me that look. It’s nothing. Your father wanted to take Ren fishing Sunday, and you know with his hip and leg, he won’t be able to move much the next day. Plus, he didn’t want me to open and work the shop alone. He ran the numbers and found it won’t hurt us to be closed a day or two. So stop that worrying now.”

You gave her a doubtful look, not sure if you should believe her or not. Your parents have been running the small restaurant since before you were even born, it was only closed a total of six times in your life. Your birth, when you got appendicitis, important school events like graduation, and the day that Ren was born.

“Besides, I’m sure you would like to spend some extra time with your boyfriend without worrying about Ren here,” She whispers, making sure that Ren was still off in his own world before speaking. This only earned a sigh from you.

“He’s not my boyfriend, Mom, it’s nothing like that at all. He’s a friend and neighbor who helps me out with Ren sometimes,” You shake your head, keeping your own voice low but you wouldn’t look at her. “I don’t want Ren to get the wrong idea about us.”

“You mean, you don’t want to get attached,” She challenges, straightening her back, and this made you look at her, feeling like you were looking at your future self. “I don’t mean or want to sound cruel, but as a single mother, your chances at finding a husband is slim. Most men wouldn’t look at you twice once they learn about Ren, and this man looks at you like you walk on water. I wouldn’t ignore that if I was you.”

“Thanks for that Mom,” Your voice had a dry tone to it, shaking your head again and adjusted your bag onto your shoulder. “He doesn’t look at me in anyway, nor is there anything between us. He’s my neighbor and a friend.”

“Mmmhmm, I made you some dishes, and they are right there,” She points toward the bright pink bundle on the ground next to your front door. Filled with containers of different foods your mother would make you. Always making enough that you didn’t have to worry too much about cooking through the week. “I was going to put everything away, but Ren’s things were already packed. If nothing is going on, then I would be concerned that he has such easy access to your apartment.”

“Me and Ren have just as easy access to his too.” You cross your arms, trying to not show that your statement was not helping your case whatsoever.

“You must be very good friends then,” Your mother quipped, and it was then Ren snapped out of his daydream with a look of confusion. “I’d call you later, but I am sure you will be busy.”

“Mom!” You gasped, as the two of them started down the stairs.

“Bye Mama!” Ren called out, and you had to lean over the railing to make sure he saw you waving.

“Bye Ren baby. Bye Mom.” You yell out before turning to look toward Jeonghan’s closed apartment door. Your mother didn’t know what she was talking about.

[kwondotcom]

finally, finally built the emotional capacity to annotate something in the orange. on bsk's birthday, i said "the best thing you can do for yourself today is to read this fic." over a week later, it still stands true. this is one of the best pieces of work you will find not only on svtblr, but on the internet as a whole. i believed it then; i believe it now. 🍊 spoilers under the cut.

an anonymous assumption that was made about viv some days ago was whether she has a background as a film major, and her answer was no; she's just recently read the past lives script (lol). could've fooled me. this was a stellar device used for getting into the characters' head and describing them, and the eventual payoff of it just makes the story all the more heart-wrenching. on a more personal note: as a communication major who spent four years writing movie scripts? this shit was good.

the mark of a good apocalypse fic. how deep does the lore go? naming the phenomenon 'the Blight' and establishing it throughout is insane work. the information is bread crumbed. enough to keep you guessing. but in this first paragraph alone— extinction, famine, inflation— the domino effect of everything feels ominous. having seungkwan and the MC discussing [shotgun] marriage afterwards feels like a smoke screen. 'look, the world may be ending, but there is a young couple asking hypothetical questions and falling in love.'

absolutely devastating, by the way. i'm a big believer of love in the small moments, and there's just. something distinctly tender in how this is navigated. the images of walks home, shaky confessions, button exchanges. and the hints of what's happening, what's to come: mild dust storms, a barren world. this is a masterclass in writing, and it is genuinely so insane to me that i am getting to read this for free.

there's much to love in this passage. MC being right about the wires being good for barter. the passages that explain how the camera came to be. and just— all the premise in the world for why their love is so beautiful, how their affection persists. MC being a 'former writer' prepared for the zombie apocalypse is a nice touch.

[CAR CRASH] [GLASS SHATTERING] [EXPLOSION] “OH MY GOD” [BABY CRYING] “WAAAHH WAHH” [YELLING] “HELP MEE” [POLICE SIRENS] WEE WOO WEE WOEOO [YELLING] [HELICOPTERS] ‘WE’RE REPORTING LIVE-‘ [EXPLOSION] ‘MY LEG... MY LEG!!’ [BABY CRYING] “AHFUCKK SOMEONE HELP US” [REPORTER REPORTING]

both of the translations i found absolutely wrecked me. the first translation offers a specific kind of pain. the thought of the newlywed; longing for someone; a crying heart; if he cannot come, i will send my heart instead— after knowing MC is referred to as 'my heart'? and the second translation gives us tears of farewell; the trace of someone; how can old wounds be renewed? i'm a believer that everything is intentional, that nothing is left up to chance, especially when it comes to writing, and viv just bowls you over with the sheer thoughtfulness of a detail like this. i can't even begin to discuss the juxtaposition of a beach ruined by things like plastic and trash vs. bullet shells and shrapnel. the couple then running to be in the water together; the footage, partially obscured? i can't help but wonder how much of this is intentional. we've been privy to their romance so far, but this moment— what might be considered A Last Good Day, even, since this is d-4— isn't even perceivable in its entirety. there is only so much that we can see about their relationship on-/off-screen, both in a literal and metaphorical sense. i compound a couple of later scenes here. direction to hold an image of joy, in a mokpo beach (my god, viv; you are vicious) that is untouched by tragedy; uncertainty of whether the filming was accidental or intentional.

anticipatory loss, only for the loss to be one so unexpected. once again, i'm amazed by the amount of detail in the world-building— how viv outlines the conscription and the emotional aspects of it. how do we even begin to prepare for loss? and how do we live with the knowledge of how much we're about to lose? isn't that just the entirety of life, really? knowing that we are always going to lose one thing or another. in response: we hold things tight. we look, and memorize, and catalogue. it reminds me of the popular quote: "everything i've ever let go of has claw marks on it."

i was struck between the eyes by the violence of that act [cutting any scenes], because this very much feels like the crux of reconstruction/memory/narrative. seungkwan is in charge of what will be remembered; how the MC will be remembered. i adore the ambiguity of whether the scenes reflect a stitched-together film or whether we're following along seungkwan's review. equally, there's just something gutting about this playing out in some perverted version of what MC and seungkwan joked about i.e. a world with electricity, where seungkwan had free reign to do what he wanted with all the gathered clips.

not thieves, just travelers. expecting last words and getting the ghost of a kiss instead. your eyes, only ever kind. there is so much to love here, so much to adore in the stylistic, technical sense, but what comes to fore for me is this: viv's respect for the dead/dying. an honorable death in its own right. unjustified, still. devastating, always.

i will be honest. it's nearing 4 a.m. as i wrap this up (annotations were done in non-chronological order lmao), and i feel my coherency waning. i know enough to say that these were some lines that felt like a literal gut punch. the idea that our writer!MC and filmmaker!seungkwan can still nurture creativity. to love and be loved. the thought that MC always smiled at seungwkan over the camera. love. loss. a heart's a heavy burden. and you were seungkwan's heart, weren't you?

i think, in my initial read— struck by grief of the fic lol— i'd skipped over seungkwan's line here. twice as many stars as usual. let's look up together. this scene takes place in a corn field, presumably the night before the Incident. two-headed calves don't survive for very long; most pass away in less than 24 hours, their deformities taking a toll on their lifespan. the poem has always tugged at my heart, because at its core it talks about finding so much hope, and light, and love, in a short lifespan. and is that not the case of seungkwan and MC? twice as many stars. some beauty and peace despite being doomed from the beginning. all any of us have is however long we have.

ending this with two of my favorite poems on grief. a discussion i've had time and time again is whether a person can be complimented on their ability to write grief. is it a insult, to be told that you write about grief well, when it takes an acute understanding of loss to be able to pull it off? i haven't figured that out yet. and so i conclude, instead, with this. grief's familiar rooms and how it reminded me of the scenes wherein seungkwan is rewatching the clips (pulling at its buttons / that are not answers); poem and how, by and by, it reminds me of this gorgeous piece as a whole. i'm changed in inexplicable ways because of something in the orange, and i'm not exaggerating. how lucky are we to be in a time where writing like this is free to read; how grateful am i to exist in viv's orbit, under the same starry skies. the poem story ends, soft as it began, —

something in the orange

summary. remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love. pairing. boo seungkwan x gn!reader genre/tags. ANGST, (semi-graphic) major character death, interstellar au-ish (just the blight), non-linear narrative, blurred fiction and reality if you squint (sorry I reread goodbye eri while writing), unbeta’d (mistakes are my own) wc. 5k suggested listening. love wins all, iu // 消費期限, seventeen // triassic love song, paris paloma // eight, iu prod. & ft. suga // yawn, seventeen // something in the orange, zach bryan (or niall's cover)

notes. midnight in korea now; happy birthday kwannie! this is very experimental, and admittedly i'm not fully satisfied w it, but I didn't know how to change it atp. sorry boo, it's your birthday but i give you pain. as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

D-17 EXT. SEOUL TRAIN STATION – KOREA – DAWN The sun rises over the ruins of Seoul Station. The air is clear of smoke and fog. A shot of the sun peeking over the heap of steel, glass, and cement that once served as the station’s framing. The train tracks run to the far horizon, to the left and right of the frame. Pan to YOU (young-looking though age is ambiguous, former writer, love of SEUNGKWAN’S life) squinting at an old, battered map of Korea’s train lines, and a compass. You’re wearing battered jeans that are slightly too big, boots, and a sturdy leather jacket. Behind the camera, SEUNGKWAN (male, young-sounding though age is ambiguous, former video producer) narrates.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         BOO-log number 529. We’re now figuring out how to get to Mokpo. Neither of us are any good with directions, but my partner decided that we could try following train lines since the none of them are running anyway. You look up at the sound of his voice, noticing the camera.

                YOU             (exasperated, but fond)         Kwannie, are you filming again? We have 30 batteries, but not all of them might be working. You might need to save battery and memory if you want to video the view of Jeju Island.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         It’s okay, I really just wanted to record us before we start. Once we’re walking, I won’t use the camera as much. And I have twenty other SD Cards!                 YOU             (not surprised)         Okay, we’ll definitely figure something out for the batteries, then.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Now— Seungkwan’s voice changes to a more formal tone, as though he were imitating a newscaster.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         What are your thoughts as we start our newest adventure? The camera catches your grin. You follow along, changing your tone to an impression of those backpackers in TV documentaries.                  YOU         Um, I’m excited to see Jeju-do, even from afar, because it’s part of Seungkwannie, and we had our honeymoon there. As long as we’re careful, I know we can do it. If we’re lucky, we may even find someone who can bring us across. Beat. You look ever so slightly awkward in front of the camera.                 YOU (CONT’D) Wait, here, give me the camera. I’ll record you this time. The footage shakes, briefly showing a tiled floor, then train tracks, before panning to a blurry face. The camera shakes for a moment before the image comes into focus, revealing a beautiful young man with dark hair. Seungkwan does a better job at the “interviewer voice”, but you’re no slouch either.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         So, Seungkwan-ssi, what are your thoughts as we embark on a new adventure?                 SEUNGKWAN             (genuine)         I think it’s about to be wonderful.

D–2183

When the Blight started, both you and Seungkwan were in high school. Though only having known you since that start of your third year, you’ve quickly wormed his way into his life—visiting his house, having dinners with your family, and he even managed to force you into joining the badminton club with him.

Bees now officially extinct, the news proclaims, an effect of the ravaging of nearly all plant life. Asia in particular has suffered; the widespread rice shortages due to it becoming impossible to grow resulted in widespread famine. The extinction of plants used for feed, made food prices across the board skyrocket. Corn, it seems, is the only crop that can resist the Blight—and the rest of the world now has to adjust its staple food to mimic the old Americas.

“Seungkwan.” You prod his ribs.

“Mm?”

“What would you do if the world ends tomorrow?”

“Marry you.” You laugh, until you realize he isn’t joking.

“What?” Your voice pitches to an incredulous squeak.

“Marry you,” he repeats.

“Why, though?”

“I always wanted to get married,” Seungkwan replies, after a moment of pondering. “And if the world ends tomorrow, as of today you’d be my best candidate for marriage.” 

For a moment, you just look at him, eyes tracing over his features. Your steady gaze makes him shift, uncomfortable, wondering if he said something wrong. Eventually, you shrug, though there’s a twinkle in your eye as you quirk a smile at him.

“While I don’t support shotgun marriages, I’d make an exception for you and the end of the world.”

His breath catches, heart stuttering as he tries to parse your answer in his head. “Wha—you—”

“Come on, Seungkwan, don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” you groan, flopping sideways to plop your head against the armrest. Your legs tilt as you do, your foot brushing against his calf. He tries not to jolt at the contact.

“I’m sorry!” He pouts, trying to calm the uneven fluttering of his heart. You laugh, shifting your lean in the opposite direction, so your head lands on his lap. Despite having done it a thousand times before, he traces softly the way your hair falls, admiring the way its color contrasts with the color of his pants.

(Looking back, he’ll think about how that day changed things, even just by a little bit; how his gazes grew longer, noticing more how the sunsets glowed against your face as you walked home together every day, painting you golden. How you’d both gotten used to creative ways of shelter when mild dust storms come, thanking your luck each time that you had gotten home before it truly began.

He’ll think about how, a year from that day, he kissed you as he walked you home for the last time before you enter your separate colleges, swallowing the teasing took you long enough from your lips as he finished his shaky confession. 

He’ll think of how you exchanged second buttons like those characters from that anime you liked did, and the quiet promises to make things work even as the world seems to turn more barren than both of you can follow.

He’ll think of how three years from then, he gets on one knee, to your tearful yes and salty kisses. Your small marriage, with just your families, batchmates, and some professors, followed by a beautiful honeymoon in Jeju. Despite it all.

None of these decisions had anything to do with the end of the world, but you and Seungkwan made them, nonetheless.)

D-9 INT. A TENT – A TRAIN STATION SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SEOUL AND MOKPO – NIGHT The footage is grainy due to the lack of proper lighting; the camera shakes as Seungkwan seems to be trying to balance it on something. The tent is quite cramped; the inside is sparse, with only two sleeping bags and your knapsacks—Seungkwan’s with two camping pans attached with a carabiner.  The leather jacket you were wearing is now resting on one of the bags. You have both swapped your sturdy day pants for more comfortable, albeit worn, sweatpants. Out of context, it looks like a vlog filmed by two campers on a hike. The camera steadies as Seungkwan moves away. He moves to sit beside you. There is an easy intimacy as you thread your fingers together, almost mindlessly.                 SEUNGKWAN         BOO-log number 531. We passed by a sign that said Nonsan. That means we’re probably halfway there.                 YOU         We made progress better than expected, didn’t we? I estimated at least two weeks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (nodding, excited)         I thought the train tracks would have been ruined, since the stations are, but they’re surprisingly reliable.                 YOU         It’s true; of course there were times when we had to find our way around the tracks, or climb above anything that fell down over it, or go through some cornfields, but mostly, it seems we’ve been lucky.                 SEUNGKWAN         By the way—everyone, it looks like we’re in a tent in the middle of nowhere, doesn’t it? Don’t be fooled, we set this up in a convenience store.                 YOU             (laughing)         You ruined it! Now we can’t be funky backpackers with a tent on the train tracks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (playfully lecturing)         It’s good to be truthful, you know. What if kids watch this someday? We have to be good moral people.                 YOU             (with the remnants of a laugh)         Okay, okay. We set this up in the Seven Eleven inside one of the train stations. Abandoned, obviously. We made it in right before the dust storm hit.                 SEUNGKWAN         Another good news today is that we managed to barter something for food.                 YOU         Yeah. This one engineer or something—I think he’s a veteran? But we saw him tinkering on his porch and offered a trade, his corn for our cables, and now we have dinner.                 SEUNGKWAN             (joking)         It’s not jokbal, but it’ll do, I suppose.                 YOU             (groaning)         Oh my God, what I’d give for some jokbal right now. With bossam. And soju. SEUNGKWAN         I’ll be dreaming of that tonight.                 YOU         Anyway, everyone, we’ll end the log here, so we have enough batteries for a nice long BOO-log at Mokpo. Both you and Seungkwan wave your corn (dinner) at the camera. You reach forward, covering the lens with your palm. The clip ends.

D–20

Seungkwan walks around the house. He’s doing his last checks, checking between what’s in his bag and what’s in the rooms to parse if he’s missed anything—batteries, your wallets, matches, passports, birth certificates, first aid kit, water bottles, toothbrushes, all the canned food in the pantry, the sturdiest kitchen knife you both owned (wrapped in two layers of cloth), the Swiss knife he was gifted a few years back, flashlights, a whistle, and all the carabiners and hard cash you had were already packed.

He finds you in your shared bedroom. There are a bunch of wires there, evidently cut from various appliances. You’ve wrapped the cables as neatly as you could manage. On the bed, you’ve laid all your dry-fit shirts and the sturdiest pairs of pants you both have. Then, from the dresser, you’ve collected the most expensive jewelry the both of you own—well, all of them, but you separated the expensive ones in another pile. He points to the latter.

“What’s that for?”

“If cash fails, maybe gold won’t. I don’t know, just in case the currency collapses. But they’re worth bringing all the same.” Also, you hold out copies of both your health insurances. He opens his knapsack and quickly stuffs them in the same place as your other documents.

“Last resort kindling?” Seungkwan offers, showing the cluster of documents in his compartment. The remark draws a quick breath of a laugh from you.

“Probably.”

“How about the wires?”

“You never know when we’ll need some emergency engineer bullshit; plus, if it comes to it, the wires will probably be better barter material. Before you ask,” you hold up one hand, “I edited a zombie novel a few years back. But if that kid was pulling out of his ass, we’re fucked.”

Despite your disclaimer, the no-nonsense, matter-of-fact way you’re handling the situation makes something settle in him, as though all he needed was an anchor amid the chaos. He pulls you close, placing a kiss to your temple. The tension in your body melts as you press against him. For a moment, Seungkwan just holds you. A temporary anchor before you need to move.

Turning to him, you offer a quick peck to his lips before holding up his trusted camera bag, worn as it is. “Bring it,” you tell him firmly. “We need a little bit of happiness. Get all the SD cards you have, too. In case we just never leave Mokpo. It’s small enough to stuff in our pockets.”

Seungkwan can’t help it; he grabs your face and kisses you. The camera bag sits between you awkwardly, but he doesn’t care. He savors this, the familiar taste of it, the contours of your face that his hands have long since memorized. You pull away, but not before kissing his lips again, then his nose. He’ll never quite get used to the way you look at him, as though there is something new to love each time.

“We’re gonna be okay, my heart.”

D-4 EXT – A LONG STRETCH OF BEACH – MOKPO, SOUTH KOREA – SUNSET The camera captures a breathtaking sunset. The sky is a wash of oranges and pinks, the clouds purple yet lined in the light of the sun. Mokpo is on the southwest side of Korea; the view of the sunset is particularly beautiful, as the sun sinks down into the sea. There are faint silhouettes of islands both near and far from the shore. The waters are tranquil, and there are no sounds except for the steady wash of the waves on the shore.

The shot slowly pans to you. Your expression is tranquil, despite the dirt and tears across your clothes.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (soft, so soft you don’t hear)         Pretty.                 YOU             (clueless)         Hm?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Nothing. Can you see Jeju Island from here?

He already knows where it is.                 YOU             (laughing softly, a little sad)         To be honest, I don’t know which piece of land I’m seeing is Jeju. A finger appears at the edge of the screen.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         There, that’s Jeju. Right behind the blob that looks like a hat.                 YOU             (squinting)         Oh! Right, that’s what it looks like. Beat.                 YOU (CONT’D) The view is beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sea. Seungkwan hums the opening to Tears of Mokpo. You don’t recognize it until he softly begins to sing the opening lyrics.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (singing)         사공의 뱃노래 가물거리면…                 YOU             (laughing outright)         That doesn’t have anything to do with Jeju! He sings louder just to spite you. You playfully roll your eyes. Bending down, you unlace your boots and take off your socks, sinking your bare feet into the sand with barely-concealed relish. Seungkwan stops singing as he knows what you’re about to do.                 SEUNGKWAN         Careful; don’t step on anything sharp. As you move forward, the camera follows you. It is revealed that the beach is not so picturesque. The sea seems to have dried up some, and even here, bits and bobs of life float on the surface and linger in the sand.

There are the usual culprits: plastic bags, empty cans of alcohol and soda, and snack wrappers. Yet visible also on the camera are the following: bullet shells, shrapnel, a chair leg, a ragged pillow, and a cracked desktop monitor. As all this is visible, the camera centers on you laughing, splashing in the saltwater and enjoying the breeze in your hair.                 YOU             (calling; audio faint)         Kwannie! Come here! A beat. The camera zooms in on your face.                 YOU         Kwannie, come on! Hurry up!                 SEUNGKWAN             (proximity makes his voice loud)         Okay! A rustle. The camera is laid down, cloth (Seungkwan’s jacket) obscuring part of the footage. After a nudge, the cloth disappears from frame. Another figure, barefoot, joins you.

D–119

Jeju has officially been declared abandoned, lost for some other country to use as farmland. The radio announced the treaty ratification today. Seungkwan is a spectre around the house, listless and heartbroken. 

Months ago, when the conflict began to escalate in earnest, he began whatever arrangements he could to ensure his family was safe, moving them as near to the farming areas as he could manage and encouraging them to share whatever techniques they knew could help former cities now learning how to farm. The news does not make the sharp pang of grief dull any less.

He is at the age when he is to receive a conscription notice; Korea has since shifted its system to split soldiers into those who will either fight on the front lines of the Resource Wars, or serve by tilling the land and ensuring that there is enough corn for the population, however dwindling. There is no guarantee on which one he is to get, even if he did register himself as head of household (and should hypothetically be assigned the latter), but he is due to receive news in a few months’ time.

The promise of the notice hangs over both your heads. In the mornings, you spend ten more minutes just looking at him, as though you were memorizing the shapes and contours of his features. At night, he curls into you more tightly than before; once you’d have complained that it was too hot, now, you simply wrap your arms around him and let him sink his face into your hair.

“Hey, Seungkwannie.”

“Mm?”

“Let’s go on a trip.” The hand mindlessly running through your hair falters. 

He pulls away, looking at you with a furrowed brow. You keep your head low, pressed against his chest. “What?”

“Let’s go south. Yeosu, Mokpo, whatever, just near the beach, as close as possible to Jeju. Just…just see it, even from afar.” At his silence, you barrel on. “If we walk enough, we can make it in two weeks—a week if we can hitch a ride with one of those crop trucks or something—and then just another two weeks back, if we don’t settle in Mokpo outright.” 

“Food—”

“I can pack us as much as I can. We’ll need to ration, and possibly trade, but we can do it. The treaty is in place, and it’s most dangerous up north right now. Going south isn’t as big of a risk, and the weather has been looking good lately.” Finally looking up, you cup his cheek, tracing the skin with your thumb. He presses his lips to your wrist.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to Kwannie. I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

“I…” he falters. It’s tempting. Unbearably so, despite the nagging at the back of his head that it would be better to leave it at that, keep his memory limited to the days you spent there dodging dust storms and falling in love. He doesn’t know how much it’s changed. How much the ocean might have even dried up. He doesn’t know if he can stomach to see it. “Give me a few days to think about it?”

“Of course, Kwannie. All the time you need.”

D+29

Seungkwan’s life has been demarcated into two. Before, and after. He goes through the motions of the government-run fields: waking up, clocking in, eating breakfast, tilling the soil, weeding, lunch, the occasional drills in case they were still expected to fight, transporting corn from one warehouse to another, dinner, sleep. Repeat.

Not a lot of people are here; many prefer to till fields they own, or collectively own; for once, agrarian reform straightened itself out at the start of the Blight. Yet with the dwindling population—slowly withering family trees—those lands acquired by the government grew.

Sometimes, Seungkwan thinks of home. He was lucky enough that the head of the center, Seungcheol, was kind enough to register his name as part of the deployed cadets under his supervision, despite the incomplete paperwork he had when he stumbled into his field, frail and dehydrated from lack of food and water.

Home remains now only in his memory, and in every replay of the Christmases he captured on camera. The soil is more unforgiving than before; it distracts from the loneliness.

EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The wedding is humbly decorated with dried corn leaves fashioned into flowers, as there are no real ones anymore (none within the budget, anyway). Guests came as they are, though everyone has made an effort to clean up more than usual. It is currently the reception, and the speakers are playing a quick beat. The guests are dancing, laughing, and cheering, though their movements are blurry and almost smeared onscreen (step-printing effect). In the middle of it, you stand, the only still figure in the frame. You’re smiling softly to someone behind the camera, very clearly in love. Cut to Seungkwan, in a similar position, the guests around him dancing as but blurs. He is wearing a similar expression. He begins to walk forward.

You meet in the middle, still the only clear figures to the camera, and begin to dance.  As though the dance were a spell, the surroundings cut to: INT. A MEDIUM-SIZED LIVING ROOM – NIGHT EXT. SEOUL STATION, IN RUINS – DAY INT. YOUR TENT (MAGICALLY ENLARGED) – NIGHT EXT. LONG STRETCH OF BEACH (UNPOLLUTED) – MOKPO – SUNSET Hold this image for a moment. The sea laps at your ankles. The bottom of both your garments brushes against the saltwater, but neither of you seem to notice. Both you and Seungkwan close the gap to meet in a tender kiss. Suddenly, cheers. You part, and are back to: EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The newly-married couple smiles and waves. The bottom of their garments are damp.

D+167

It seems surreal to have all the batteries he wants, and even a computer where he can replay all his footage—more than 4000 hours’ worth of it. It took a few months of work to earn enough credits and rank to access it, but Seungkwan pursued the goal with single-minded purpose. There is enough electricity in this center to run a few computers, and Seungkwan is its most regular customer, painstakingly going through each clip on the dozens of SD cards he has.

For footage so far back, from when you had just been married, there are parts where he no longer remembers what happened after the clips end. They remain in his memory as but colored ghosts, warm-tinged with nostalgia. Cabinets that would never be opened again, now filled, in his dreams, with infinities.

The house of his memories blurs with the house of his oneirism. In both, he subsists on sleep and daydreams. But memory will betray; it won’t tell him if the house he remembers has been altered by each remembrance. So he watches his videos. He walks through his house, now only alive in video and reconstructed by memory. He sees himself and he sees you, in all the different iterations you both were. Wonders if he could stitch both into narrative. Wonders if he could even bear to cut any scenes. He’s never thought about the violence of that act until now.

Inventories do not just catalogue possession; they also measure the potential of loss. It was a quote from one of your writing workshops, discussed over a late dinner. You could still afford some meat then; Seungkwan had saved just enough for a small slab of cured pork, which you would cut tiny slabs from for both of you to enjoy before bed.

He has five minutes left of his designated slot with the computer.

Seungkwan watches, and he catalogues.

D=0

Seungkwan only remembers in flashes—a gunshot. A scream. It’s only when he replays that moment in his mind that he realizes it was his voice. Barely a thud as your body is cushioned by the corn leaves. Dark red liquid, somehow both grainy and slippery on his hands as he drags you into the thick of the field, away from the path, trying desperately to stem the blood while minimizing your trail. Until finally, he collapses, feet unable to bring him a step further.

More flashes—your eyes, only ever kind. Even at your last moments. The way you hold his hand and place it over the pocket you keep his SD cards, as though reminding him one last time. The way your eyes search his face, first desperate, and then resigned. The way he leaned in when you opened your mouth, to hear your final words, only to feel the ghost of chapped lips brush against his ear. The gush of blood that dribbles past your mouth that tells him you’re gone.

(The Resource Wars felt like more a backdrop than anything else; you had come this far without any altercation. Yet even as you screamed that you were not thieves, just travellers, the gunshot rang. 

The cornfields weep with him as he leaves you behind, SD cards clutched in his bloody hand.)

D–4

TIME CUT TO: It is twilight, now. The camera is trained on the horizon. The sun has fully set, and night is beginning to settle in the sky. Only the barest hints of orange remain. The footage has already become slightly grainy due to the lighting. Neither you nor Seungkwan are on the camera. Instead, voices are heard while the darkness arrives. It is not evident whether the footage was taken accidentally, or on purpose.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (softly)         I’m glad we came. Really, even if we couldn’t get to Jeju. I’m glad. I’m glad it’s with you.                 YOU (O.S.)             (just as softly)         I’m glad too, my heart. You filmed the whole sunset, didn’t you? Start to finish?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Yesterday and today. I have so much footage that I don’t know what to do with.

Breath.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         Actually, that goes for all the BOO-logs. Even the ones from high school and college.                 YOU (O.S.)             (surprised)         You never tried editing them?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         I have, but what then? There are hardly any theaters now. Nowhere else to post. And electricity is expensive.                 YOU (O.S.)         Okay, but if we both die, what do you think’s gonna happen to this camera? Seungkwan is many things; a prideful badminton player (before the Wars stopped sports events), a videographer, casual vlogger, and a corn field worker. You are also many things; an editor (before your company closed from too little employees), author, copywriter, and occasional tiller.

Both of you still enjoy nurturing sparks of creativity when they come.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm. someone picks it up and it gets immortalized in a post-war museum. And our videos will be a special feature.                 YOU (O.S.)         Oooh. And the war museum would be on a spaceship, with funky gravity and new plants and meat the astronauts domesticated from a different planet.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         And there’s a new jokbal. Call that out of this world delicious.                 YOU         Stop! Despite the terrible joke, you both laugh, then let the conversation drift into comfortable silence. The sun has fully set. Nothing much can be discerned visually from the footage.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         Hey, Seungkwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm?                 YOU (O.S.)         If you had the chance, like computers and steady electricity, would you edit all the BOO-logs into a short film?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (skeptical, but thinks about it seriously)         What would the plot even be? A married couple traveling to Mokpo, dodging dust storms and chasing each other through cornfields? Watching the stars at night?                 YOU (O.S.)             (earnest)         Yeah! Or, y’know, make it semi-autobiographic, like two lovers wanting to visit where they first had their honeymoon. Or maybe I’m sick and you want to take me to the sea one last time? The footage earlier could fit with that storyline.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Don’t even say that!                 YOU (O.S.)             (laughing softly, apologetic)         Sorry, sorry. But if you do make a short film, I want to be the first to see it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you work.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         What about you, then? Would you write a book about us?                 YOU (O.S.)         Oh, definitely. And you’d be the first to read it. The footage cuts.

D+182

Seungkwan replays the footage again. Beside him, Vernon fiddles with a pen.

“What do you think about making this a short film?” Seungkwan asks. 

Vernon stops. 

Seungkwan may be their newest addition, but the rest of the crew has grown protective. He brings light to their conversations, effortless in his ability to entertain and bring laughter. Mingyu asks him of his favorite foods, especially the ones he misses from Jeju, even if recreating them is near impossible. Seungcheol reprimands anyone who tries to bully him into giving up his share of rations. Junhui has begun to joke more, noticing how Seungkwan seems to be particularly into his humor. 

Yet everyone recognizes the sadness that still clings to his heels.

Vernon looks, for a long moment, at the monitor, frozen with a picture of a smiling face he’s never known—never personally, only ever through the screen and Seungkwan’s stories, always shared in quiet whispers in the privacy of his room.

He knows, though. Knows that this person was real. They loved, and were loved. It speaks in how the camera follows whoever is in the frame. The cuts of certain clips, as though either the person behind the camera joined their partner or had a moment that could not be captured in film. Most of all, it was the way whoever was in the frame would, without fail, smile at the person behind it. 

“I think,” he replies, choosing his words deliberately, “that you are in a unique position to dictate how someone is to be remembered by those who never knew them. And…” he hesitates, wondering if two months of these quiet conversations is still too little to be so candid with his friend, especially when talking of loss.

So, so much loss.

Seungkwan answers that question for him. “It’s okay, Vernon-ah.”

“…Well, I just wanted to say that it’s a burden to bear, is all.”

EXT – A CORNFIELD UNDER THE STARS – NIGHTTIME The stars have emerged, visible in all their glory. After the start of the Blight, when the population began to dwindle, electricity and many other resources became scarce. Much of the light pollution that was once a problem has disappeared. Brilliant dots twinkle overhead. To you and Seungkwan, it could pass for the Milky Way. The POV seems to be at a low point; stalks of corn are visible at the edges of the frame. Yet the stars are bright, captured exceedingly well.

You’re softly speaking aloud Laura Gilpin’s The Two-Headed Calf. It was one of the poems you memorized in college, as a creative writing major. YOU (O.S.)             (as though from far away)         Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother. It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual. Long beat.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Twice as many stars as usual…let’s look up together.                 YOU (O.S.)         I see the stars, my heart, but I’m tired…

A breath hangs in the air. Some rustle of cloth, as though someone had adjusted so you fit together. A soft sigh.                 YOU (O.S.) Good night, Kwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         …Good night, darling. End.

note. are the screenplay bits from the short film? the raw sd card clips? his memories? distorted memories? guess we'll never know. nonlinear bc grief is nonlinear. pls tell me your thoughts (even/esp if u didn't get the story lol) take care of yourselves always <3

[caspi-snz]

I AM NGL YALL-

4.0-4.4 spoilers?

(Mostly just N/euvillette things)

IMAGINE OK-

N/euvi regains his whole dragon sovereignty, right, per the course story stuff.

BUT LISTEN

Imagine that once he regained these powers, his body notices some interesting changes as well. N/euvillette finds that amongst an array of other things, his nose has grown rather sensitive. Usual things he encounters on the daily, such as garden flowers or a stray cat, drive the appendage off the edge. He finds himself reacting so badly to things he'd grown used to being around, and in order to readjust to this life he's had to drop personal pleasures of his own, such as leisure walks(he is still trying to find one place with flora that won't set him off). And resorting to making small requests to the melusine guards, such as keeping all animals and flora away from him until he can sort out the meaning of these new changes.

[seiwas]

for writing game, iwaizumi + assistance <3

hope this sparks some inspo and thank you in advancee

hi there!! thanks for sending in a prompt 🫶

contains: friends to lovers (ish), halloween parties, reader is dressed as catwoman, expletives, iwaizumi is thiiiiis 🤏 close to murdering seijoh4 (jk)

iwaizumi + assistance

this is a set-up.

iwaizumi knows he shouldn't have fucking believed anything the boys "promised" him back when they assigned him this costume.

the suit is fucking tight, spandex digging into his groins and all other crevices that definitely should be aired out after after a few hours. he's had to constantly readjust his stance almost every few minutes, the black fabric compressing his thighs and torso, significantly constricting the range of motion his shoulders and arms are typically used to. if anything else, it could double up as a back brace from how rigidly straight it's kept his posture all night.

he'll give it to makki though; he did outdo himself sourcing this year's costumes―this batman set looks pretty damn legit.

except for one tiny problem.

there's no fucking pee hole. it's a zip-up, zip-down one-piece situation. and that normally wouldn't be a problem, except that oikawa "accidentally" knocked over a cocktail straight into his pants, the sickeningly sweet liquid now seeping straight into the fabric and past his boxers―cold and sticky as it touches his skin.

and so, the problem: his pants are wet, it makes him want to fucking pee, and coincidentally, the only vacant bathroom is across the hall, at your apartment.

this is why he believes this is a set up. that, and the fact that you're dressed in an outfit strikingly similar―just with cat ears.

he's been asked five times in this party if you're in matching couple outfits.

it catches him off guard, flusters him because of how badly he wants to say yes. but, you're just friends, and he doesn't even think you like him that way (despite mattsun and oikawa practically begging him to confess. makki tells him he thinks you're going to do it first).

so he politely smiles and says no, but you look good, your costume clinging to you in all the right places. thank fucking god he has a cape because he's pretty sure he spent the first 30 minutes in the party hiding his boner.

"hajime, it's fine, i swear," you stand beside him in front of the conveniently locked bathroom in oikawa's apartment. from the other side of the door, he's pretty sure he hears mattsun and his girlfriend mumbling. maybe fucking? who knows. "you can just use the bathroom in my apartment."

he glances at you before closing his eyes, contemplating, before finally agreeing to you.

"okay."

if he's being honest with himself, friends is definitely an incomplete label to what you are. as oikawa's neighbor, you are conveniently around all the time; and oikawa being oikawa, the ever-social butterfly, he's somehow managed to carve a space for you in the friend group.

(never mind the fact that oikawa's sniffed him out from the moment he first introduced you.)

you were a crush, then a friend, and now you're someone he picks up from work and drives back home three times a week, because he "has to train oikawa." you don't question it, even when you both know he stays over for dinner way past the gym's open hours.

"you know where it is," you open your apartment and urge him in.

"sorry again," he turns to face you.

"yeah, yeah, just pee!" you laugh, shoving him towards the bathroom door.

getting out of the suit is manageable, and he's able to wipe off a bit of the cocktail that's leaked to the suit and his boxers just to make sure it isn't gross and sticky when he gets home later. peeing is a big relief once he gets it over with, but it's when he has to suit up again that things become difficult.

stretching out the spandex one body part at a time is a workout in itself―the hardest task being when he has to pull it over his shoulders, adjusting it to fit properly over his arms and chest.

but then the zipper breaks.

and he truly thinks makki has fucked him over.

iwaizumi contemplates what to do next for a good, good while. he tries calling oikawa, only to no success every time; no way in hell is he calling mattsun in the middle of having sex. and calling makki isn't even an option; he'd never hear the end of it.

then you knock on the door, your voice soft and concerned as you ask, "hajime? you good in there?" you hit it spot on, too, "do you need help with your suit?"

iwaizumi presses his palms to his eyes. he's a rational man, straightforward and logical in thinking. there is literally no other option for him right now but to ask help from you. again.

fuck.

.

it's 30 minutes later when oikawa barges in your door, and the sight that greets him is iwaizumi in nothing but a hoodie (the hoodie you borrowed some time ago) and his boxers, with his hands on your waist as you hover your hairdryer over the crotch of his batman costume―cat headpiece off and all.

"you finally got together?!"

[teddywesworl]

ok elaborating on this. trying to explain what i mean by a cipher. because it's about tone and genre expectations, but it's also more than that.

your first paragraph (or two) is the framework through which the rest of the work is interpreted. consider:

these four lines of text provide the following information:

this is an "Illario forgiven" fic

Lucanis and Spite have been arguing about this decision, but

"pieces are moving into place," i.e. there is a plan afoot which Spite is allowing to proceed without resistance out of respect, but

other Crows are causing trouble in a way that tells Lucanis they don't respect him.

the scene is set. however, this information leaves us with the following questions:

why did this version of Lucanis forgive Illario?

what plan is afoot? what pieces are moving into place?

which Crows are causing trouble? and how?

and these questions are the basis for the rest of the fic. if you are reading at all closely, you will have them in the back of your mind from the very start. you will be waiting for answers. you will, hopefully, be looking for answers before they are explicitly revealed. you may even clue in to the idea that each question may be answered in more than one way, and some answers may only be implied. the important thing is that a skilled reader is primed to look.

the 'cipher' here, the key that you are being asked to use to decode the rest of the story, is the very presence of unanswered questions about action and plot.

this is an appropriate cipher for this fic, which is structured like a heist or an intrigue. think of the way heists are often intercut in ways that withhold information in a way that is immensely satisfying to watch when the information is eventually revealed.

consider:

this opener presents, in some ways, a much simpler cipher. the first sentence is a classic "hook," a snappy little one-liner which is then expounded upon in the following paragraph. questions are left unanswered (who was that guy? and what exactly did he do to 17 year old ashur?), but they are questions about character beats, and they land differently.

the point of this opener is less to ask questions and more to provide an emotional foundation for everything that follows. this is the story of a man who has been hurt in a very specific way. this wound will affect the way he acts and the emotional catharsis he achieves for the rest of the story. this single paragraph is the key to understanding this specific character. you will get more out of the story if you hold this paragraph in your mind throughout.

this is an appropriate cipher for a slow-paced character study with less focus on plot and more on emotional beats. think of a prestige drama that starts with a prologue that might feel disconnected from the main storyline, until the story progresses and characters reveal more of themselves.

consider:

this is a heavy worldbuilding opener, which can be appropriate for dense high fantasy if there's a good enough reason to provide that information from the jump. do we need this info right now? is this info useful context to interpret what follows?

without spoiling my entire novel, the most important sentence in this paragraph is the last one: "There was no written record to corroborate such a claim, only the oral tradition of the local grandmothers."

that's the cipher; that's the key to understanding everything that follows. i want you reading this novel with the knowledge in the back of your mind that a conquered people has an oral tradition which is in conflict with written records.

these are obviously just three examples, and there are uncountable ways to effectively begin a story. But: that first paragraph establishes much more than you may realize, and it colors your reader's interpretation of everything after it. Take advantage of that opportunity to say something about the story you're writing and put up some damn set dressing. peace and love

honestly the most life changing bit of writing technique i've applied to my work in the last few years is: first paragraph as thesis statement. or maybe first paragraph as cipher? or lens? in any case, the very first paragraph (or page, or chapter) has the power to prime the reader to interpret the rest of the work in a certain way, with an eye out for certain elements.

likewise, if you are a skilled reader, you can pull a lot of information out of a well-crafted first paragraph, and you can take that information with you as you engage with the rest of the story.

this is why it drives me sort of insane now when a story starts with dialogue or a character waking up in the morning or similar. experienced writers harp on about the importance of the first sentence as a hook to get the reader invested, but it's just as much about (hello sorry im obsessed with the psychology of storytelling) influencing the way the reader engages with everything that comes after it

anyway happy wip wednesday here's the beginning of first talon lucanis fic

and the beginning of the ashur pov companion to other masks

and the first paragraph of the novel (im not fully 100% sold on this one but it sure does provide the cipher)

call this an invitation to post first paragraphs for wip wednesday, if you wannaaaa

[gejnialne-arty]

Currently I'm rereading this amazing fic called I May Be Invisible, But I Still Look Good by @dandylovesturtles and it has a looot of amazing moments, but for some reason this one stood out to me- April emanates such Big Sister energy here and I adore how she took Leo's Whole Situation, it's just so sweet to me and then Mikey commenting in the background- I had to draw it!

[13eyond13]

love it when a character that's hard to read intuitively for you has like a dedicated fandom interpreter who can just glance at their blank face in a panel and then give you a 3k word essay on their innermost thoughts & desires & fears and neatly tie it back into the themes & whatnot as if it's the most obvious thing in the world

[yellowocaballero]

Omg hi Ms. Yellow Caballero big fan of your work <3 For real though, I'm really excited that your sharing the Weekenders, it was a joy to read and I'm bongocat-ing now that others also get the privilege to read it as well.

Referencing your tags, would you please elaborate of ableism in fandom and, like you said, how fandom treats characters with unpalatable disabilities?

Hi Ms. Bud Lite I'm a big fan of you <3

TL;DR A fear of writing characters of highly marginalized identities shields you from criticism and discomfort, but it's actively stigmatizing to people of these identities and as a writer you really need to get over yourself and write The Icky People.

I guess I'll come out swinging on this one and say that fandom doesn't like severe mental illness. (As a note, when I say severe mental illness (SMI) I mean illnesses such as psychotic disorders, bipolar disorder, substance use disorders, personality disorders, etc)

Obviously, nobody likes people w/SMI. It's just insanely egregious in fandom to me, since fanfic writers absolutely love writing characters or HC characters with depression, anxiety, or a specific variety of PTSD That Isn't Scary. People actively reject any character HCs for a SMI. When people write a character with SMI, they nicely downplay it, ignore it, substitute it for a disorder they like better, or rewrite it. It's completely untolerated, in both headcanons and in fanfiction, and every time I bring it up I always get the most interesting reasons why somebody couldn't possibly acknowledge a character's SMI in their writing. I've heard all of these:

"I don't know enough about the disorder to write it accurately." Do research.

"I'm not X, so I can't really depict it." You probably aren't a cis white man, but you depict those guys just fine.

"It feels insulting to the character." There is no shame in having a SMI.

"I can't understand what it's like, so it's better to be cautious and avoid giving characters stigmatized identities." There are LOTS of experiences that you'll never understand because you've never had them - you just don't want to write anything you're uncomfortable with. People with SMI make you uncomfortable, and you don't want to write anything that makes you feel uncomfortable, or think of a comfort character in an uncomfortable way. SMIs are marginalized differently than solely depression/anxiety/The Nice PTSD, and by refusing to write them you're actively contributing to the stigma.

I think (?) I've spoken in the past about how I believe that the rigorous external and internal policing of writing people of marginalized identities is actively harmful towards efforts to increase diversity of experience and background in fiction. A lot of fanfiction writers are just terrified to write people who they can't directly relate with, because they're worried 'they'll get it wrong' and be Big Cancelled. I think this is negative enough when it prevents people from going outside of their comfort zone, but on a macro level I think this results in people refusing to write characters of marginalized identities as all. It's an insidious thought process, and it's reflected in people's unwillingness to diversity their writing or acknowledge canon diversity.

'Well, I don't understand what it's like to be Black, so I don't want to write Black people'. 'I want to project on this character, so I only want to write them with mental illnesses and identities I have'. 'If I write a marginalized character incorrectly people will yell at me, so I won't write a marginalized character who's marginalized differently than me at all'. Can you imagine writing a lesbian character with a boyfriend because 'you feel uncomfortable writing lesbian experiences'? It's blatantly homophobic. But people do that with disability and race/ethnicity ALL THE TIME.

People with SMI notice that you feel uncomfortable with them. It's obvious. They notice when a character has a SMI + anxiety, and you only write their anxiety. They notice when a character displays symptoms of a SMI in canon, but you write it out. And POC notice when the characters of color are written out. I know we all like to project on the blorbos and relate to them, and in the joys of your own head do whatever, but as a writer if you only stick to identities you're comfortable with you are actively being a worse writer. Which to me is the REAL sin lmfao.

[tokyoteddywolf]

Urgh

I'm debating posting The Fic, the fixit for the Teal Mask arc of Pokémon Scarlet/Violet. I've already written a sort of self insert slash fix it for the main game, and I was working on the second part, the Kitakami first part.

See, the problem is the fact that me and the guy who edited/helped/has a main character in the story are... no longer friends, to put it plainly. Ended badly, too, which I regret, but not like there's much I can do about it.

So do I rename the character? Leave it to rot in my docs? Keep everything and finish and post it? I don't know. And I can't exactly ask him. Like I said. We ended it very badly, and I regret it some, but the damage is done with no way to fix it, so we shrug and move on with our lives.

But anyways, my main deal is I don't want to leave my lovely labor of love to stagnate in my Google docs. I want to finish and post it. I want to make the story mine again, since it was my idea in the first place. Regardless of dead rotting friendships still freshly murdered and cooling, burned bridges and all that.

I'm gonna leave a poll then, yall decide what I should do. But I do plan to finish that fic and post it to my AO3 account. Peace.

[cosmicswritings]

so more reproductive but also body hate hcs for starscream. so he is a seeker, and seekers were created to be strong grade military bots, and when it comes to reproduction they were specifically created to sire. seekers themselves were not actually made to carry, they were seen as 'sires on demand' and it would be something that was expected of them because a sparkling sired by a seeker has extremely capable flight abilities and agility, but is also strong and sturdy.

starscream didn't like that, he didn't ever have the desire to be a sire or use his spike, but it was always something that was expected of him. so the whole thought that, due to his body type he had to be a certain way and it was expected of him, even by some romantic partners, made him really sick and it makes it difficult for him to get in romantic relationships or talk about starting a family. starscream only wants to exclusively carry but not a lot of people want that from him or expect that of him. he also had to go through procedures to get it done as well, to be able to carry and to completely remove siring capabilities/protocols from his system.

one of the many reasons he likes to change his body around so that he isn't associated with a seeker frame type when he gets into relationships.

[johnbly]

WIP game!

i was tagged by @tortoisesshells ✨

so i have two fics going one rn: 1) in the boat purgatory in at world's end, james comes across gov swann and the two have a final conversation together (not using that for this since i haven't done too much but something to look forward to i guess) and 2) bolt's "what if james had a dragon" fic and subsequent discussions and questions has me now doing a "what if hornblower had a dragon" fic so here is an excerpt from that:

“Who are you?”  The dragonet is speaking French, and internally Hornblower swears. Is French the only language the creature knows? It’s no issue for him, of course, but how can it be expected to be a British dragon if it only knows French? “Captain Horatio Hornblower, most recently of the HMS Sutherland,” he replies, also in French – awkwardly so, because it’s a ridiculously formal introduction to make to a dragon, but in light of never having conversed with one before he’s fallen back on the old habit of saying more than is necessary. “That is not a French name,” the dragon says. In English. “Non – no, it is not. You speak English, then?” “I do.” Pause. “That was a long introduction. I hope you don’t want me to use it whenever I want to call on you?” The idea of a dragon wanting to call on him at all is no less ridiculous than having a conversation with one, but it – he? The voice is deep – has a point. “You can call me 'Hornblower',” he says.

i don't remember who all is writing things that hasn't already been tagged, so if you see this and are a writer, feel free to share!