#i think i may be reading into things a bit too much

[petermorwood]

As someone who's also done some writing, this is all Extremely Sound Advice. :->

Here are a couple of point enhancements, and a rant about how a famous production torpedoed itself - IMO, anyway - by getting fixated on one of them

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(2) Head-hopping / POV change - think screen format and a change of camera angle. A "dinkus" (one or more asterisks, bullets or other symbol) between paragraphs is enough to indicate this, and you're good to go.

I do something similar in my own posts, including this one, though properly speaking the asterisks would be centred. I've done that with the next set, though since I've done the centring by inserting spaces, they may be well off-centre in other themes:

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(3) and (4) Treat info- and expo-dumps like pungent seasoning. Your recipe (story) needs them, but Not All In A Lump.

A good way to do this (the equivalent to "stir in gradually") is to combine them with other action - eating a meal, a walk-and-talk, watching some non-essential business like someone grooming a horse, washing a car, mowing a lawn etc., etc.

Intersperse the necessary dialogue of the info-expo with descriptions of and comments on the other business. If that business can be made relevant to the info-expo (comparisons, side-comments etc.) so much the better, but the point is to break up what can too easily be what TVTropes calls A Wall Of Text.

Thriller-writer Philip Kerr's later books are notorious for this: there are numerous instances where a character starts to talk ("Open Quotes") at the top of one page and - without interruption and sometimes even without paragraphs - doesn't finish ("Close Quotes") until halfway down the next.

Worse, the character is often reciting a chunk of background information from Kerr's research files which should have stayed there, or at the very least been pared down to its bare essentials as something a human being might say during a conversation with another human being.

Which Does Not Happen. :-P

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(8) about epithets, tackles something well-enough known that it has a TV Trope, "Burly Detective Syndrome". This has a cousin, "Said-Bookism", and no matter what you might have heard or indeed seen posted along with lists of sometimes-ridiculous alternatives on Tumblr, "said" is not dead.

It's alive, it's well and it's doing its job, which is to be the unobtrusive hook from which dialogue is hung. As I've said more than once, if a hook attracts more attention than the thing it's holding up, something's gone wrong.

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(10) If there's a scene that's likely to be fun to write, and another that's likely to be a slog, then if it works for your writing habits try to swap to and fro between the writing of them, with fun as a reward for slog.

If chop-and-change writing like this throws you off, then write the slog first and the fun after since once again, that's the reward, something to look forward to. Doing it the other way means you're looking at the slog to come, and that's not my idea of a reward.

Also, it can happen (personal experience) that after the refreshment of the fun, you'll come back to the first-draft slog bit and revise it into something better.

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I'd suggest (6) and (7) about subverting expectations - whether characters' or readers', and the one will become the other as reading happens - are something that need approached with care, and should always have a solid reason beyond (box tick) Not What They Expect.

Showing an unsubverted episode or incident - for instance the character's going-out preparations, or their commuting-home routine - is necessary, often more than once *, to establish Normality, so the character and reader are aware that This Time Is Different.

(* I've seen this done by cut-and-paste repeating the same description from one chapter into the next. It was imaginative and effective there, but could easily have tripped up on its own cleverness by seeming UNimaginative. YMMV.)

Why is the character including a concealed weapon in their party dress-up? Why is the character concerned they might be tailed during that commute? A comparison between ordinary and extraordinary is needed to show this doesn't happen every single time.

It's also a good way of racking up page-turning tension before invoking (5) that cliff-hanger chapter ending... :->

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And now the rant... :-p

Subverting expectations as a (box tick) action because it was So Effective That One Time is what transformed the final seasons of a once-popular fantasy adaptation into such a disappointment.

"Game of Thrones" is an excellent example of subverted expectations, such as the Red Wedding where - despite the way heroes are expected to escape at the last minute - a crapsack world like Westeros means bad things play all the way through to their bad conclusion.

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It's also an excellent example of how bad writing and a (box tick) attitude can lead to subversions that should have been left alone.

One instance is the way Jaime Lannister's redemption was abandoned "to subvert expectations" (box tick) complete with redemption-dismissive dialogue that was a slap in the face to several seasons of character development.

The lack of any hint or implication that such a thing was even possible suggests - to this viewer anyway - that it was no more than a (box tick) without additional thought as to whether it was logical in-story, as long as it generated yet another "Oh No, we didn't see that coming!" reaction from the audience.

(Of course nobody saw it coming, since neither plot requirement nor character development had any reason for it to happen.)

Sometimes a story should play out logically as a story because It's A Story, Not A Documentary. Terry Pratchett knew this and called it Narrativium, the element which drives stories. TV Tropes calls it The Theory of Narrative Causality.

Whatever the name, and however storytellers may tinker and tweak with it, they ignore its basic rules at their peril.

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Another example is Cersei's death.

When a writer as amiable as C.S. Lewis said:

"Let there be wicked kings and beheadings, battles and dungeons, giants and dragons, and let villains be soundly killed at the end..."

...just dropping a building on her without involving any of the many other High-Profile Characters she'd hurt throughout the series was ridiculous, especially with one of those High-Profile Characters already in the vicinity.

It may well have subverted expectations, but it was a lousy resolution.

It was also bad storytelling which abandoned at least one long-anticipated set-up (all too common in later GoT), and still vexes me since in a storyline filled with subversions for the sake of shock value, NOT subverting audience expectations but instead rewarding them with what they want (what they really, really want) becomes a subversion in itself.

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It's not hard to imagine more original and entertaining ways of bringing Cersei's pigeons home to roost, the most obvious being a fatal encounter with Arya-reFaced-as-Jaime.

This IMO would have been a much more satisfying use of her well-established Faceless Man sneakmurder skills than that no-setup leap from nowhere onto the Ice King, another Bad Guy built up to deserve a more spectacular termination than his you're-done-now-kthxbye demise.

Certainly after eight seasons of scheming, murder, cruelty - and infuriating smugness, oh yes, that too - having Cersei "soundly killed" should have involved something, anything, more conclusive, up-front and personal than a load of bricks landing on her head.

Subvert, yes. But not just for the sake of doing it.

*****

And as @writeblrfantasy concluded, no matter what way you're doing it, have fun in the doing of it...

my 10 holy grail pieces of writing advice for beginners

from an indie author who's published 4 books and written 20+, as well as 400k in fanfiction (who is also a professional beta reader who encounters the same issues in my clients' books over and over)

show don't tell is every bit as important as they say it is, no matter how sick you are of hearing about it. "the floor shifted beneath her feet" hits harder than "she felt sick with shock."

no head hopping. if you want to change pov mid scene, put a scene break. you can change it multiple times in the same scene! just put a break so your readers know you've changed pov.

if you have to infodump, do it through dialogue instead of exposition. your reader will feel like they're learning alongside the character, and it will flow naturally into your story.

never open your book with an exposition dump. instead, your opening scene should drop into the heart of the action with little to no context. raise questions to the reader and sprinkle in the answers bit by bit. let your reader discover the context slowly instead of holding their hand from the start. trust your reader; donn't overexplain the details. this is how you create a perfect hook.

every chapter should end on a cliffhanger. doesn't have to be major, can be as simple as ending a chapter mid conversation and picking it up immediately on the next one. tease your reader and make them need to turn the page.

every scene should subvert the character's expectations, as big as a plot twist or as small as a conversation having a surprising outcome. scenes that meet the character's expectations, such as a boring supply run, should be summarized.

arrive late and leave early to every scene. if you're character's at a party, open with them mid conversation instead of describing how they got dressed, left their house, arrived at the party, (because those things don't subvert their expectations). and when you're done with the reason for the scene is there, i.e. an important conversation, end it. once you've shown what you needed to show, get out, instead of describing your character commuting home (because it doesn't subvert expectations!)

epithets are the devil. "the blond man smiled--" you've lost me. use their name. use it often. don't be afraid of it. the reader won't get tired of it. it will serve you far better than epithets, especially if you have two people of the same pronouns interacting.

your character should always be working towards a goal, internal or external (i.e learning to love themself/killing the villain.) try to establish that goal as soon as possible in the reader's mind. the goal can change, the goal can evolve. as long as the reader knows the character isn't floating aimlessly through the world around them with no agency and no desire. that gets boring fast.

plan scenes that you know you'll have fun writing, instead of scenes that might seem cool in your head but you know you'll loathe every second of. besides the fact that your top priority in writing should be writing for only yourself and having fun, if you're just dragging through a scene you really hate, the scene will suffer for it, and readers can tell. the scenes i get the most praise on are always the scenes i had the most fun writing. an ideal outline shouldn't have parts that make you groan to look at. you'll thank yourself later.

happy writing :)

[jungwnies]

roommate from hell - oscar piastri (1/5)

୨ৎ : pairing : oscar piastri x gn!reader ୨ৎ : synopsis : forced into an accidental roommate situation, oscar and you struggle with clashing habits, sarcastic banter, and unexpected tension…until frustration turns into something much deeper.

୨ৎ : genre : romantic comedy & light angst (barely...) ୨ৎ : tws : forced proximity, mild conflict, emotional tension, and mutual pining. ୨ৎ : wc : 1140

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five

The apartment listing had sounded too good to be true.

"A modern two-bedroom in a great neighborhood! Affordable rent! Recently renovated!"

You had jumped on it. Places like this didn’t stay on the market long, and after what felt like a lifetime of apartment hunting, you were ready to sign a lease and never look at another rental website again.

So, you scheduled a tour, packed a mental list of negotiating tactics, and prayed to whatever higher power existed that this would finally be the one.

Across the city, Oscar Piastri was doing the exact same thing.

Unlike you, he hadn’t even bothered looking at multiple listings. He had sent his assistant a simple message: Find me an apartment. Quiet, good location, no crazy landlords. He wasn’t picky, he just needed a place to live between races. Simple.

At least, that’s what he thought.

One Hour Later – At the Apartment

The moment you walked into the leasing office, you knew something was off.

For one, the landlord, a middle-aged man named Greg who looked permanently stressed, was nervously shuffling through papers like he had forgotten how to read.

For two, there was already another person standing there, signing a stack of documents like he had just secured the place.

You blinked. “Uh, what is happening?”

Greg looked up, his face immediately twisting into an expression that screamed oh no.

The guy next to you, a very casually dressed guy in a McLaren hoodie and cap, barely glanced up. “I’m signing my lease,” he said simply, like this was his apartment and you were the intruder.

You frowned. “No, I’m signing my lease.”

Greg audibly gulped.

McLaren Hoodie Guy finally looked at you properly, his eyebrows pulling together. “That can’t be right.”

You turned to Greg, arms crossed. “Okay, Greg, what’s going on?”

Greg inhaled sharply through his nose. “So, funny story..."

You knew it was not going to be a funny story.

“...there was a bit of a mix-up, and it looks like I… um… may have accidentally leased the same apartment to both of you?”

Silence.

You blinked. "What?"

McLaren Guy squinted at Greg. “You may have?”

Greg winced. “Okay, did. I did lease it to both of you. But in my defense, I didn’t realize it until just now, and I already spent your security deposits, so I really can’t refund you until next month.”

Your jaw dropped. “You already spent...!?!? Are you kidding me?”

McLaren Guy let out a long breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. “So what are you saying? That neither of us can live here?”

Greg let out a nervous chuckle. “Well… I could cancel the lease for one of you, but…” He glanced between you two. “Do either of you have another place lined up?”

You exhaled, crossing your arms. “No.”

McLaren Guy sighed. “No.”

Greg’s face paled. “Right.” He rubbed his hands together, clearly dying inside. “So, um… what if you two just… shared it?”

You and McLaren Guy turned to each other at the exact same time, both shaking your heads.

"Absolutely not."

"Not happening."

Greg held up his hands. “Okay, okay! Just hear me out.”

You shot him a look. “You literally just admitted to scamming us.”

“I didn’t scam you—"

McLaren Guy scoffed. “You spent our deposits.”

“Okay, I accidentally scammed you.” Greg sighed, running a hand over his face. “Look, I’ll cut the rent in half if you both agree to stay. Just for the first few months, until I can sort this out.”

You turned back to McLaren Guy, fully expecting him to shut it down. Instead, he looked like he was considering it.

You frowned. “You cannot be thinking about this.”

He shrugged. “Do you have another option?”

“…No, but that doesn’t mean I want to live with some random—" You gestured at him vaguely. “—McLaren fanboy.”

McLaren Guy’s eyebrows shot up. “Fanboy?”

“Well, yeah,” you said, motioning to his hoodie and cap. “You’re decked out in McLaren gear. You look like you’re about to go meet Lando Norris.”

Greg made a strangled noise.

McLaren Guy just stared at you, something unreadable flickering across his face. His mouth opened for a second, then closed.

Then he exhaled, shaking his head. “You know what? Fine. Let’s do it.”

Your stomach dropped. “Wait—what?”

He grabbed the lease papers, signing his name at the bottom with zero hesitation. “I don’t have time to find a new place, and I’m not about to couch-surf across Australia.”

You turned to Greg. “You cannot expect me to live with a stranger.”

Greg gave you a deeply exhausted look. “I expected to lease this apartment to one person. Life is full of disappointments.”

McLaren Guy grinned. “You’re lucky I’m an excellent roommate.”

You let out a humorless laugh. “I highly doubt that.”

Two Days Later – Moving In

You were right.

Oscar Piastri was not an excellent roommate.

The first issue became apparent when you opened the fridge and found nothing inside except for a can of Monster Energy, a half-empty bottle of water, and two whole heads of lettuce.

You turned to him, arms crossed. "Do you… not eat real food?"

Oscar barely looked up from setting up his PlayStation. "I eat at the McLaren hospitality tent most of the time."

You squinted. "McLaren hospitality—" You let out an exasperated sigh. "Oh my god, you’re a team employee, aren’t you?"

Oscar blinked at you. "Huh?"

"You work for McLaren," you said, pointing at his hoodie, the McLaren duffel bag by the door, the literal McLaren keychain hanging off his keys. "That’s why you’re obsessed with the team."

Oscar stared at you for a long moment. Then, very carefully, he said, "Yes. That’s exactly it."

"Called it," you muttered, going back to unpacking.

Oscar smirked to himself but said nothing.

The second issue? He was too quiet.

You were used to some kind of background noise. Either it was music, TV, literally anything, but Oscar? He just moved around the apartment in silence, which somehow made you more on edge.

Then, later that night, you really reached your breaking point.

You had been winding down, wrapped in a blanket on the couch, scrolling through your phone when you suddenly heard a deep sigh behind you.

You turned your head slightly, only to see Oscar staring at you from the other side of the couch, arms crossed, looking very unimpressed.

You blinked. "What?"

Oscar sighed again, slower this time, louder. "You chew really loud."

Your jaw dropped. "Excuse me?"

"You’re, like, aggressively loud."

Your eyes narrowed. "I will throw this popcorn at you."

Oscar smirked. "You wouldn’t dare."

Without hesitation, you grabbed a handful of popcorn and launched it at him.

Oscar gasped, dodging the attack. "Greg was right! This was a terrible idea!"

You grinned, grabbing another handful. "Welcome to hell, roomie."

taglist : comment to be added

© 2024 jungwnies | All rights reserved. Do not repost, plagiarize, or translate.

[bernardsbendystraws]

You Don’t Own Me

P1 P2 P3 P4 P5 P6 P7

Chris Sturniolo lives by his own rules, refusing to be controlled. Some see him as a rebel, a troublemaker—but is that the full truth? Meanwhile, Y/N is focused on making the most of her last year of high school, determined to have a normal teenage experience. But when their worlds collide, they realize they may have more in common than they ever expected.

WARNINGS: Mentions of kissing, mentions of family death, bra touching, talk of needing to piss ? 

A/N: This chapter is LONG. Lmk if we like it being this long or if I should break it up next time sorry! Proofread by @darksturnz (ty lovely girl!)

With love and big tits, Rose

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

P7: Bras & Piss

wc: 2700+

Not even a single insult. Chris barely even lingered in the main room with Matt and me—like he couldn’t even fathom breathing the same air as me. 

It hurt. The dull ache in my chest seems to worsen everytime he ignores me. Even though it’s only been a couple of days, it still just felt different, and not in a good way. 

Luckily, Chris hadn’t caught me loitering in Matt’s room to help him out with his date with Mia. Although, part of me wish he had. Maybe then he’d at least ask or say something mean. And I just wanted him to say something—anything. 

“Pleaseeee?” Matt begs, his hands clasped as if he’s praying, the same plea falling from his lips yet again. 

Ever since I helped him with his outfit, he hasn’t stopped pushing one idea—he wants to make it a double-date. That way, it wouldn’t have to be so awkward at the beginning. 

But who the fuck was I gonna take on a double-date? The only men I’ve talked to recently are Chris, Jimmy, and Shawn. 

Chris is just not an option. Even though Jimmy’s sweet, that would be weird as fuck. And Shawn…well, I’m still mad. But I have to pick. And I can’t let Matt down—not when I see how much effort he’s putting into this girl. If I couldn’t have a perfect love story, at least I could watch it. 

Shawn. 

I stare at his contact on my screen with distaste, my gaze flickering from my phone back to Matt sitting across the table from me.

“But you and her will have so much fun—”

“Please! I don’t know what I’m doing and I just…I’d feel a lot better if I know you’re there,” he says, his face contorted as if he’s in pain. 

Sighing, I look down at my screen with hesitation. My fingers brush against the key, my cheek pulsing with a sharp sting as I feel my teeth gnaw into the muscle. 

I may hate Shawn right now, but I don’t hate Matt. Matt felt like the first real friend I had made in a while, maybe even ever. And this would help our friendship grow, maybe I’d even like Mia as a friend too.

Ugh. 

|  To Shawn: Hey, do you wanna go on a double date with me this Friday?  |

I send the message before I can rethink the wording. My nose scrunches as I see the read receipt pop up immediately, three dots moving on the screen as I watch Shawn type back. 

|  From Shawn: Fuck yeah ;)  |

Ew. How did I ever think this man was crush-material? Before that dumb party, it was like some sort of unspoken thing, we were always flirting, always touching more than just friends typically would. But now even the thought of his dumb brain coming anywhere close to me made everything in my stomach churn uncomfortably. 

“Thank you, you’re the fuckin’ best!” Matt cheers, walking over to me, pulling my head in his hand before planting a platonic kiss on my head. His arms shoot up in the air. He does a stupid little victory dance, nodding his head to an imaginary beat. 

“What the fuck.” I look over, seeing Chris staring at his brother incredulously, scratching his head before nodding his face from side to side, turning around and walking back down the hallway. 

It’s the first time I’ve heard his voice in days. For some reason, it makes everything inside of me feel a little bit lighter, like it’s some sort of relief. 

Maybe he’s easing up. 

I shake the thought off as Matt sits back down, blabbing on about anything and everything. 

It’s nice to have a friend. 

___

Matt was helping return the favor. It felt weird to bring a boy in the house, my mother was definitely judging. But I needed help. And I liked Matt’s style the first day we talked, plus—who the fuck else was I gonna ask?

“What do you want to wear?” he asks, flipping through the clothes in my closet while peeking his head over his shoulder to look at me sitting on the bed. 

I shrug. “Matt, I don’t know. Maybe something comfy, but like…I don’t know,” I whine, huffing as I roll my eyes. Why did this have to be so difficult? Shawn was probably gonna wear what he always wore—black jeans and a long, loose T-shirt, the ones that always had a sports number on the back. 

“What about this?” Matt pulls out a skirt. 

I immediately shake my head. “Hell no. It’s too windy, I’m not dealing with that.” 

He points, nodding as he shoves the article of clothing back into place before shuffling through more options.

“Hey, um, what even happened that night? You know…with Chris,” he mutters, his voice quieter than before. 

My face scrunches as I think back on the memory. “I don’t even know. He showed up at window at like, 2 in the morning—”

“How did he know it was your window?” Matt asks, cocking his head to the side as he turns to look at me. 

I shake my head quickly. “We made awkward eye contact when he was taking a walk—but that’s not the point. He came here, bribed me to go on a walk—”

“How did he bribe you?” Matt quips. He holds his hands up defensively as I glare at him.

“Trevour, duh.” I state, the obvious information dripping sarcastically as I let out a dramatic sigh, “Then, we went for a walk. It was… nice?” My voice rises almost as if I’m asking a question. Matt nods slowly, his scrunched face unrelenting as I continue to explain, “He gave me an apology. I mean, he didn’t say sorry, but like—well—you know what, I don’t fucking know, okay? All I know is that we came back here but my window had slipped shut. He was gonna sleep on the floor, but he just couldn’t and we were too tired to argue and—”

“And then you cuddled like a married couple?” he cuts in. 

I click my tongue against the roof of my mouth, squinting at him as I cross my leg over the other, resting my hands on my knee. “Matthew, shut the fuck up. I’m going on this date for you—I’d rather lick a toilet seat, fuck a splintered broom, and—”

Matt cuts me off, walking over and shoving clothes into my lap. “What about these?” he asks. 

Looking down towards the fabrics, I purse my lips to the side. Baggy cargos, a tight fitted black long sleeve shirt with lace details, and a maroon bra—

BRA?

“WHY THE FUCK—”

“WAIT SORRY!” he panics, grabbing the bra and throwing it aggressively back into the closet, “I just didn’t wanna hear about you fucking a splintered mop or whatever the fuck so I panicked and I—-I didn’t mean to, I swear!” he shouts, his eyes bulging as he covers his mouth with one of his hands. 

My face relaxes and I swallow thickly. He didn’t mean to, it’s fine. He saw my fucking bra, but it’s fine. 

“You’re lucky we’re friends and I like your dad,” I whisper lowly, my eyes twitching as I inhale a shaky breath, “-or I would slap your man tits so fucking hard they melted off your scrawny fucking chest, you stupid little—”

“Oh my god, wait! This is like—just another level of friendship for us then! Think of it that way,” he says, slapping my arm lightly. 

Is this bitch for real?

“I’m gonna go change in the bathroom,” I announce, stalking off towards the bedroom door. I turn around and point my finger directly at his chest, watching as he gulps. “Don’t touch a thing,” I warn. 

Matt nods quickly, clasping his hands together as he stands deathly still. 

At least he’ll be the only one touching my bra tonight. 

___

It wasn’t awful. 

Burst of colors and history are painted throughout canvases hung on the colossal walls. Matt and Mia had already ventured off. In fact, it didn’t really seem awkward at all. 

It made me smile watching their brief interaction. Matt was being an absolute fool, scratching the back of his neck like a damn dog. Mia, however, was shy, but excited. Apparently she really liked all of this. She loved it even more when she realized Matt would listen to her rant about each masterpiece for hours on end. 

Shawn was fine. It wasn’t anything special, but it wasn’t uncomfortable by any means. I think he could sense my stiffness, being able to understand that whatever we had going on had taken a big step back. 

“How’ve you been? Tessa said you guys haven’t hung out for a while,” he points, his hand swinging obnoxiously between our bodies. I think he was trying to hold my hand without directly asking. And it was fucking annoying.

I rub my lips together as I try to keep my gaze pointed ahead. “Yeah, I guess I just haven’t had much time with the project and all,” I answer. 

That’s a lie. I had time. Honestly, I've been kind of bored recently, but he didn’t need to know that. 

“Shame, we miss you, ya know?” he teases, bumping his shoulder into mine. 

They miss me? 

My body slumps a little more with each step. I see Matt and Mia from the corner of my eye, a smile crawling on my face as I see him utterly infatuated with her presence. Maybe that could be me someday, having someone who wanted to understand the most pointless things about me. 

“Heyyyy,” he waves his hand in front of my face, pulling my attention back to him as I feel my cheeks flush. Damn. I’m like a fucking iPad kid when it came to everything. “If they're too distracting, we can venture off further…you know, just us,” he suggests, his brows lifting on his face as he licks over his lips. 

His face is even pissing me off. Why is he looking at me like that?

“Shawn, I’m still upset with you. You drove drunk,”

“I only had a few drinks, you’re being fuckin’ dramatic,” he interupts, huffing as he rolls his eyes. 

Only a ‘few drinks’ could do a lot of damage. 

I wonder what Chris was like before he lost his mom and his brother. Maybe it was someone like Shawn. Someone so incapable of taking any sort of accountability, someone so… careless. 

Silence sinks into the air. A brush of heavy tension weighs downward as I try to create just the slightest bit more of distance between us. 

“Hey, hey,” he coos, quickly tugging my hand into his before cradling it with his other. I look up at him as he stares down at me, my face twisting as I gaze around us. “I’m sorry, okay? It’s dumb, I know. I just… I guess I just wanted to have fun and make sure you had fun too, alright? That’s all it was, it won’t happen again. Swear,” he says, pulling our hands apart and interlocking our pinkies. 

My eyes squint harder at him before I let out a deep sigh, slowly nodding before retracting my hand back to my own body. At least he’s taking accountability. 

“We’re gonna go get ice cream, you guys wanna come with?” Matt asks, stalking towards us with a stupid smile on his face. My eyes fall down, seeing his hand pulling Mia’s lightly, his thumb swiveling against the back of her palm. Oh, he’s so fucking adorable with her. 

“Nah, go ahead. I’ll drive her back, go have fun,” Shawn answers before even sparring me a singular look. 

Bitch. He’s not even my boyfriend and he’s trying to speak on my behalf. Yeah, this isn’t gonna work. 

“Are you sure…?” Matt’s eyes trail to mine. 

I purse my lips before giving an affirmative nod. They’ll have more fun alone. “Yeah, go ahead. Don’t have too much fun,” I joke, offering a small wave as they walk down the marble flooring, disappearing past a corner. 

The sound of Shawn’s chuckle makes my face furrow, my lips curling into a tight line as I raise my brow at him. “What’s so funny?” I ask

Shrawn shrugs. “Just couldn’t wait to get me alone, could ya?” he teases, playfully wiggling his brows and sparing me a wink. 

I chose this over ice cream? 

___

That date hadn’t ended awful, but definitely not good, either. I was still waiting for Matt to finish up. It had been hours at this point, but I couldn’t find it in myself to be anything but happy for him. 

I didn’t know where else to go. I felt really drained, I just wanted someone to talk to. This was the only thing I could think of. And even though it seemed a bit odd at first, it felt normal, as if this was something that has happened at least twenty times before.

“And then what happened after Matt and Mia left?” Jimmy asks, petting Trevor nuzzled up in his lap as he gives me his full, undivided attention. 

He was more than happy when I showed up knocking at the door. I was just glad it wasn’t Chris who answered. And speaking of, I still didn’t know where he was. Probably in his room or something. 

“Well…” I look up to the ceiling, retracing the memory as I explain, “It wasn’t bad, I guess? We used to, I don’t know—flirt? But he’s just so…I don’t know how to explain it,” I groan, sinking further into the couch. 

Jimmy laughs. “Then what went wrong today? He seems sweet enough, why were you even mad at him?” he asks. 

My eyes scrunch close. I wasn’t gonna tell him that detail. I had already told him too much, definitely more than I should have. 

“I think he was gonna kiss me and I…I don’t know. I just kinda brushed it off and asked him to drive me home and well… here we are,” I sing, covering my face with my hands. 

The old man looks down at Trevor as he rubs the dog’s ears. “Maybe you just gotta get out of your head and give him another chance, kid. Whatever he did, just put it aside and try things out. I mean, thank god for my wife giving me chances. If not, she would’ve left me in the dust when I accidentally got paint in her damn hair,” he breathes out gruffly, laughing dryly at the reminiscent memory. 

A smile climbs on my face as I listen to his tone get softer. The slight joke holds meaning, a lot of meaning. No wonder Matt was so sweet, he knew how to treat a woman. Chris on the other hand? Maybe he did at some point. Definitely not now though. 

“Thanks, Jimmy–”

“What did I say!” he exclaims, standing up and ruffling my hair, “Call me J-Dawg!” 

I shake my head with a vicious laugh. “I’m not calling you that.” 

The man shrugs before stalking off towards the garage. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m gonna go fix this damn light switch in the garage, keep Trevor company until Matt gets home, alright?” 

I don’t have time to offer a response as I hear the heavy door click shut. My eyes drift over to the snoozing dog, my heart melting into a puddle as I watch his closed eyes flicker with a vivid dream. 

He could be dreaming of going on a walk—a walk with her, a woman I’ve never met—a woman I’d never get the chance to meet. 

Maybe Chris dreamed of her too. Maybe that was why he didn’t typically sleep well. 

“I need to pee, hold on, Trev.” I announce to the dog, slightly shaking my head at myself. Not only is he a dog, but he’s dead asleep. Did it really matter if I let him know? 

As I start to get up from the couch, I freeze hearing his voice. 

“Why’re you in my house? And why are you telling my dog you need to fuckin’ piss?” 

Chris. 

[newttxt]

hi quip! i really like your one piece comics and i am curious how you do them! i'm not good at comics and want to be better at drawing them! how do you learn how to make comics?

thank you!

uh oh... im afraid u have caught me at the perfect crossroad of "bored at work" and "unrelated task ive been meaning to do but keep putting off."

this is long. i hope you like reading (and grayscale progress pics). and of course!!! disclaimer before we begin that this is just how I, personally draw comics. there is no "right way."

quip's comic-making process!

Switching my typing to make this more legible...

My process can kinda be broken down into 6 steps:

Brainstorming

Thumbnailing

Sketching

Panels & Text

Lines

Tones/Colors

1. Brainstorming

My brain is a leaky sieve on a good day, so I sloppily jot down ideas in my phone notes the moment I have them. This helps me when it's time to draw too, because if I feel art blocked, I can look through old concepts and see what catches my interest.

Otherwise, I love drawing for other people's writing. :) And if worst comes to worst, doing manga/comic page redraws in my style teaches me new things every time.

Once I have my idea, I'll usually make a bulletpoint list of "plot points" or "story beats" I want. Then I plan the comic with this format that I've adapted from a tutorial I read once. I'm going to use my most recent comic (original comic post) as an example.

I start in the third column, writing notes of what I'd want to see in each panel. I also include the dialogue (in this case, I didn't have to write the dialogue! it's from the fanfic linked in the original comic post!). I usually write the whole name like [Luffy:], but at this point I've drawn so much of these guys, just the first letter works.

I like to handwrite these notes to get an idea for how much text I'm putting in a single panel.

After I describe all the panels, I go back and separate them into pages. I can't tell you how to know how many panels to a page. It's whatever works for you. I just kinda know about how big each panel will be, and so I can feel when I'm probably running out of space. (Also. You can change things later. I don't in this example, but I add/drop pages/panels all the time.)

2. Thumbnailing

Thumbnailing—as the name suggests—should be done tiny. Too tiny to accidentally get sucked into details.

This is about marking down blobs where items/characters go, and figuring out the paneling. I'll draw and redraw these a bunch of times too.

This is also the most time-consuming/brain-working part for me. If I were in a zine that did progress percentage, I'd try to finish thumbnailing around the 50% mark (but I'm also a moderately fast artist, so your mileage may vary).

I think the terrible quality makes them charming, actually. I really like how silly they look. :')))

I will add, when you draw your "page" rectangle, make sure it's the same proportions as your actual canvas for the final image. You want an accurate idea of how much space each panel will take up, especially if you have a lot of text.

3. Sketching

This is my most recent change to my usual workflow, and it's saving me a lot of time. I make my thumbnails a bit bigger (each one about half the size of the final canvas), and I sketch these basic body forms right over them.

It just helps give me placement for my actual lines!

I usually draw these in a paleish color so I can lower the opacity and not get distracted by them while lining. The random darker parts are to either help keep two forms separate (like when two characters have their limbs all over) or to better define sections that were too sloppy/poorly proportioned.

I also think this helps my poses stay looser, because I have more dramatic/wriggly shapes that aren't too bogged down by proportions yet.

Sidenote: I CANNOT show this here, but sometimes this is when I take videos. Of myself. I prop my phone camera up and shoot a video of me acting each panel. :/// It looks really dumb, but it also shows me fun body language ideas like hand gestures, expressions, weight distribution, etc. Just pretend you're an overdramatic cartoon character, and try not to worry about your roommates or mother walking in on you doing odd things. (You can also use the video for anatomy reference later, but I usually just capture the vibe and don't try to copy the actual video frame.)

4. Panels & Text

Oh, boy. So, the panels are usually just straight lines (though it's fun to make creative exceptions, like a round panel to mimic looking through a spyglass), but there are some fancy rules that I don't strictly adhere to.

I believe (I have no technical training in this. Take everything I say with a grain of salt) the vertical gaps (between two side-by-side panels) should all be a consistent width and the horizontal gaps (between two panels on top of each other) should be another. The vertical ones? Should be thinner? Because you want the eye to easily glide between them, whereas the horizontal gaps should be a visual barrier to keep you from jumping ahead. Just something I've vaguely noticed.

There are lots of fun "default layouts" you can look up. Or keep it a consistent grid. I think it's fun to sometimes have characters/objects sticking out of panels and overlapping others. This is just a matter of taste, creativity, and inspiration. (Read Witch Hat Atelier... It has some of my favorite paneling...)

You may also notice I have already done the speech bubbles. This is, to me, a crucial step. This helps me catch early if I don't have enough room for all the words. It also lets me plan the art in each panel with the speech bubbles in mind. There's nothing worse than working really hard on a panel, and then you realize there's no room for the bubbles.

I also try to lay them out in a way that guides the eye! Even without art, can people tell where to go next? Better yet, if I want people to look at panels out of order (aka not left to right, in my case), can I use the speech bubble path to make them? Here's just a vague example of what I mean.

As an added bonus, doing speech bubbles early also allows me to be lazy! :) Ignore the comic; I'm not supposed to post it yet oops,, There's a whole lot of drawing to do on each comic page, and I am not wasting my time on stuff that will be covered up. So yes, if I hide my bubbles, there are a lot of unfinished lines trailing off into nothing. (As a bonus, if there's a part of a character you're struggling with—and it won't look weird to do so—you can move speech bubbles to just hide the problem area yayyy)

Making the actual bubbles could be their own whole tutorial, tbh, but there are some general guidelines I use.

Zoom out when you choose your font size. You want to know how it will look to the average reader, so it isn't super teeny tiny or way too big. You generally want to keep the same text size for all your pages/bubbles.

When I draw bubbles, I try to size them about one vertical letter height (and some change) around the words [left side]. This isn't always the case though, because humorously large or funny shaped text bubbles can convey different feelings [right side].

On Procreate, I set my bubble lines to Reference and just drag-and-drop the white fill on a separate layer below the lines. (Remember to turn Reference back off again when you're done, or your fill bucket won't work right when you're drawing.)

To get the white outlines I use to keep the bubbles from cluttering up the art, I literally just Gaussian blur an all-white copy of the lines + fills... and then I copy and merge it 5 times until it's opaque enough. This is a terrible way to do it, but it works for me. :')

5. Lines

This is the part that I can't tell you how to do. I literally just. Draw right over my wacky sketched body forms. Boom. Comic drawn.

I'll make three suggestions:

Don't focus on making every panel perfect. Give a little extra love to big ones or ones you want people to linger on. Otherwise, know that people are typically speeding through the art. It's way more important to focus on storytelling than art technique. In my opinion, a good story that's told well will always be better than a beautiful one told poorly. (Some comics are beautiful AND well-written... Alas, I am just a hobbyist who needs to get the ideas out of my head at top speed.)

Put your background lines on a different layer. Put your foreground lines on a different layer too, if you have those. Basically, I try to keep the main part of each panel (usually a character or object) on my lines layer so I can erase background/foreground/etc lines to ensure clarity/focus.

You can make background lines lighter colors too. I have too many numbers sorry. (1) Background. The stuff that's farthest away. Lightest lines. Few details; more focused on shapes and the suggestion of a background (I'm not good at backgrounds). (2) Midground. Same distance away as the characters are. Lines can be black. (3) Also midground, and also the same distance away. But they're very detailed, so I lighten them so they aren't so distracting. (4) The characters. Black lines for focus. For people who haven't seen the comic, I swear they are just hugging. This is SFW. D:

6. Tones/Colors

Do not. Do NOT ask me. I don't understand colors. I hate working with them, but I try because I want to improve. I hate doing anything beyond the simplest grayscale shading. Please go elsewhere for your coloring/tone advice. This is how my color picker looks 95% of the time. I have pre-set "percentages" of black that I got by lowering the opacity of a black layer and just color picking it. I don't even know the exact percentages I used. Good luck out there. Be better than me.

7. Sharing

This is a bonus step that I didn't mention earlier, but it's actually the most important of all of them.

You need a friend. Or maybe a groupchat or discord. A family member or coworker if you're really close like that. I don't know.

Find SOMEWHERE you can spam wips and be cheered on. Drawing comics takes a while, especially if you're trying to tell longer stories than I'd dare to attempt. If I don't force someone to praise me for every line I draw, I shrivel up and die.

Also if and when you post online, add alt text. I'll admit I'm the first person to complain and drag my feet on this, and I literally use a screenreader myself when my eyes hurt (strong prescription glasses wearer). Comics should be accessible, because stories are fun and everyone should be able to enjoy them.

***

Learning???

And I guess lastly, how do you learn to make comics? Two steps: 1) read them and 2) make them. This is the tragedy of creating things.

1) Reading them: I grew up reading comic strips, western serialized comics, and webcomics. I've always loved graphic novels too. Then in late middle school, I started reading manga (Death Note and Haikyuu were my first two), and now I'm trying to read more webtoons (sorry im so slow bree)!

I also... mass-consume doujinshi, thanks to proxy mailing services and bilingual friends/Google Translate/knowing some Korean. (I have an entire bookshelf of doujin, actually,,)

The thing is, it's not usually enough to just read comics. You also need to be thinking. :/ I notice paneling, comic devices, clever comedic timing, etc. as I go. It's just a lot of studying/learning while also enjoying the story.

2) Making them: You just have to start. :( Even if you think they're "bad." My first comics were actually just drawings placed randomly all over the page, connected by speech bubbles (yay... I was already practicing how to place bubbles to lead the eye around the page...). I was going to post a pic here, but I'm a coward. Backscroll my account and you can find some older ones though.

I also know my art in general improved dramatically when I did ten comics in ten weeks for my friend's fic. Don't do this. It hurt my hands/wrists. But do practice in moderation.

***

If you actually read all that... I hope it made even a modicum of sense. And maybe it was even helpful? Just know at the end of the day, there is literally no right way to draw a comic.

And if you aren't ready to go for it yet, you can start by just adding a couple speech bubbles to your illustrations or doodles! It's a way to add storytelling and dialogue writing to things you may already be making.

Yay. I love comics. :))))

[starry--eye-s]

Yaaay :) Interesting, interesting. I understand the tea struggle, acquired taste, took me while to enjoy it too. This line also cracks me up, I need re-read it XD Everyone it's here btw if you want to see Jonas high on medication :p

Alright, so:

5) For "finding our place", Phin and Jonas are going through a bit of therapy in Sequester so I did a bit of research on trauma response/PTSD. That's something I knew about but never had close in my life so I wanted to have an idea of the symptoms and write that as respectfully as I could.

17) Well, I've recently written nsfw stuff ^^ Which is not everyone's cup of tea, totally fair and I understand. I honestly never thought I'd write that. But somehow I pushed through the embarrassment and realised it can be fun to write and can be also an insight into what's in your character's head when they are quite vulnerable.

23) Ooooh I get to talk about that! Okay, so, I absolutely want to finish the 2-3 chapters of my WIP, but I KNOW what I'm doing after. I have a MIDST medieval AU turning in my head for a few weeks now. A version with knights and Imogen's queen, there's witch hunt thing with Lark because she killed the previous king, etc... I will get there and I think it's going to be great :D

Thank you so much for playing with me :)

Alright let's keep it going I love this!

@acaptainbyanyothername may I?

Let's see, 8 (for both Imperfectionism and The witch and the ghost of stationnary hill), 9, 27 pretty please?

Fanfic/Author Ask Game

Write a scene from [insert fic] in another character’s POV

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A character you enjoy making suffer.

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Wild Card: Ask me something else!

[soobmint]

moon song | choi yeonjun [a] ; [s] (14.8k words)

“so i will wait for the next time you want me, like a dog with a bird at your door.” moon song, phoebe bridgers

first installment in the “punisher” collection. masterlist can be found here.

pairing; choi yeonjun x fem!reader

blurb; for better or worse, you have placed your heart in the hands of choi yeonjun, a struggling musician trying his best to be all you expect of him. but when you realize you’ve been losing more and more of yourself just to keep him near, you fear you may be too far gone to keep yourself from falling down with him.

genres; angst, established relationship

warnings; alcoholism, profanity, suggestive content, themes of mental illness & destructive thought spirals

playlist; find it here!! shoutout to @heetendo for helping me make this, she found half the songs for it <3

author’s note; hi all, welcome to the first piece in my punisher series! this is my first time putting out both a suggestive fic and a fic that’s 99% angst haha. it was really exciting to try out some new things, and it helped me get out of my writing slump for sure! do be sure to check out the warnings before reading, and i hope you enjoy moon song <3 (also, highly suggest giving the song a listen!! you can find it here.)

taglist; @hoonbear @hyuckworld @heetendo @yeonjuniper @soobin-chois @magicalstellar @maplecornia @baekberrie @boba-beom

[back to my masterlist]

WHEN THE MOON RISES, YOU FEEL AT PEACE.

The muted blue reflects off the ocean, illuminating the stones beneath your bare feet with a soft glow. In the distance, the bright beam of a lighthouse streaks its way through the dark blue sky. Waves gently caress your toes, but you can hardly feel the chill of the evening sea. Instead, you feel the warm hands covering your own, tucked away in the front pockets of your coat. 

As you sink back against a firm chest, you can hear a far off sea barge blare its horn. You taste salt on your lips, smell the smoke from a campfire a little ways down the beach. If it weren’t so cold out, you would suggest taking a walk down the pier to your favorite ice cream stand, but the biting air keeps you in place. You close your eyes, snuggling back against the figure standing behind you. He chuckles, pressing a soft kiss against your cheek.

“Happy birthday, Y/N,” He says quietly, lips brushing against your skin. “I’m sorry I couldn’t do anything special for you today.”

You shake your head. “Don’t be. This is perfect.”

“Perfect? Really?” The doubt lacing his voice makes you smile. He has always been so unsure of himself.

“Yes, perfect.” You tighten your grip on his hands. “Just being here with you is enough for me.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Then he asks, “Do you remember this place?”

Of course you do. It’s the place where you had first met him. It seems like so many years ago now, you have begun to lose track of how much time has passed since then, all the days blurring together in one whimsical haze. 

“How could I forget it?”

He rests his chin on your shoulder. “Look up,” he whispers.

You cast your eyes upwards, and what seems to be hundreds of thousands of stars speckle the sky, surrounding the blue moon. When you see the stars, you can’t help but think of his eyes. They would sparkle just like this from time to time, entrancing you with their wonder, as if endless possibilities lied just beyond them. God, you would do anything if it meant seeing that starstruck gaze for even one extra moment.

“They’re beautiful,” you say.

“Wanna know something?” He asks.

“What?”

“For you, I’d capture every single one of those stars. I’d bring them right down to earth, tie them up with strings, and hang them from your ceiling so you could see them every night before you go to sleep.”

You laugh a bit, heat rushing to your cheeks. “You’d do that? With your bare hands?”

“Of course.” You can hear the smile in his voice. It’s velvet, warm and soft.

“And what about the moon?” You tease.

“The moon? No problem – I can give you that too.”

“And how would you go about doing that?”

“Easy – a lasso. Throw it around the whole thing and pull it down to you. I’ve been working out a lot more recently, you know.”

Your laughter is vibrant this time; contagious as it falls from his lips as well.

“I love you,” you say.

His lips are on your neck now. “I know.”

There’s a burning in your throat. Your chest is tight, mind racing. There’s so much you want to say – so much you need to say – but the words are stuck on the tip of your tongue. It’s as if your head has been overcome by a fog. You feel everything all at once; desperation, panic, desire, hope, anything and everything in between.

You turn around. “Yeonjun.”

The space behind you is empty.

----------

When you wake up, you remember nothing of your dream other than the faint taste of salt.

Your phone is ringing beside you on the couch. You rub the sleep from your eyes, glancing at the time before answering the call. It’s 11:42 PM, and you can hardly see anything in the pitch black room.

“Hello?”

“Y/N, thank God! This is my fourth time calling you.” It’s Yeonjun’s friend, Wooyoung, on the other line. You’ve gotten quite used to his late night calls.

“I’m sorry, I fell asleep.” You stand up and flick the lights on, forcing your mess of unfolded laundry and empty coffee mugs out of hiding. You wince at the disarray; you’ll be sure to clean up later. “Where are you guys?”

“We’re at Mr. Kim’s, it’s on the –”

“The corner of First and Main. I know.” You grab your keys – heavy with an assortment of keychains, most of them gifted to you by your boyfriend – from amid a pile of notebooks and loose pieces of paper on the coffee table. In your hurry, you don’t even take the time to change out of your house slippers. “I’ll be there in five.”

The drive feels long, though it only lasts a few minutes. You crank up the volume on the radio, the generic pop song nothing but white noise to your buzzing mind as the lights of your small town turn to one big blur out the window. When you park beneath the street lamp outside Mr. Kim’s pub, you close your eyes and take a deep breath before you step out of the car.

The bell above the door jingles as you enter the pub, the smell of grilled pork and fried rice filling your nose. The place is nearly empty, a few drunken laughs and dated music from the crackling speakers filling the otherwise quiet atmosphere. The fluorescent lights flicker. You squint, scrunching your nose. You’ll have to take a couple painkillers when you get home – you always get a headache from the blaring artificial light.

Hands in the pocket of your sweatshirt, you glance around. It doesn’t take long for you to spot your boyfriend, face down on his usual table in the back corner of the restaurant. Wooyoung is seated across from him, head in his hands, several other empty plates abandoned on the table. The rest of the group must have left already, you suspect.

Wooyoung catches your eye and waves you down. You nod, making your way towards the table. “Sorry for waking you up,” he says when you arrive. He gestures to Yeonjun, who hasn’t made a single movement since your arrival. “I just figured he shouldn’t stay out like this for much longer.”

You wave off the apology. “No, it’s okay. Thank you.” Gently, you brush a hand through Yeonjun’s bleached hair. His skin is warm when your fingertips grace his forehead, glistening with sweat. He groans, and you’re glad – a tiny part of you always wonders if he’s even alive when he gets like this. “Rough day, I’m guessing?”

Wooyoung shrugs, stacking the scattered shot glasses together. “I thought it was okay. We played a gig down the street. Got a couple hundred bucks out of it. He looked so happy for a while but then he just . . . I dunno. Started drinking.”

You nod, easing your arm around Yeonjun’s waist. “Hey, time to get up. Let’s go home.”

It takes both you and Wooyoung to lift the barely conscious Yeonjun from his seat. He’s leaning against you as you pull him along, feet dragging along the laminate. The scent of cherry soju is strong, bitter as it overcomes your senses. You’ve always hated the smell; it reminds you of the cough syrup your mother would have to force down your throat when you were a child. Yeonjun never seemed to mind it.

You stop by the front counter. The pub’s owner has just come out from the kitchen, and you pull your wallet from your back pocket. “How much, Mr. Kim?”

He shakes his head, eyes crossing from the money in your hand to Yeonjun’s head on your shoulder. “He can pay me for it himself next time he comes in here – next time he’s sober, that is.”

You sigh, pushing your card closer to him. “We talked about this. No more handouts.”

“It’s not a handout. I’m just waiting for the customer himself to pay me. Consider it me putting it on his tab or something.”

“No use arguing with him, Y/N,” Wooyoung says. He spots Yeonjun’s guitar case by the door before you do, picking it up as he throws a wink at Mr. Kim. “We’ll see you soon then, sir!”

“Sooner than I’d like, I’m sure.” Mr. Kim’s gruff voice is difficult to hear when he mumbles. “Why don’t you ever offer to pay, eh? You’re just as bad as he is!”

“See you!”

Wooyoung practically pushes you and Yeonjun out of the pub, bell ringing once more to announce your exit. He hurries to open the passenger door of your car, and you all but drop Yeonjun into the seat. He moans, squinting at the brightness that falls from the streetlight. You buckle him in and close the door, sighing as you brush the hair from your face that had begun to stick from sweat.

“You know, these days you have to act more like a mom to him than a girlfriend.” Wooyoung’s voice breaks your moment of solitude. He closes the trunk – you assume he’s put Yeonjun’s guitar in there. “And by these days I guess I mean the past like, eight months or something.”

“Funny. I’m barely containing my laughter.” Your voice is monotonous, not a trace of humor to be found.

“Sorry. Too far?”

“Always.”

He smiles, but it doesn’t last long. “I’m wondering though, Y/N. How long are you gonna keep doing this?”

You lean back against the car, raising a brow. You don’t smoke, but if you did, you figure you’d be craving a cigarette right about now. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t you think Yeonjun’s been treating you like shit lately?” 

The question is a knife to the heart. It’s instinctual, the way you shake your head in an instant, standing up straight and squaring your shoulders as though you’re preparing to defend your very life. “Of course not. He’s just going through a lot right now. You know that.” Your words are sharp, retaliation for the stab of Wooyoung’s.

He raises his hands in defense. “Hey, I never said he wasn’t. He’s my friend, so of course I’m sympathetic to what he’s going through. What we’re both going through. He’s not the only one in a failing band.”

“If you understand, why would you accuse him of treating me like shit?”

“Because he is!” The force of his voice takes you by surprise, and you’re stunned into silence. He sighs, pushing his hands into his pockets. “Sorry, sorry. It’s just – you’re my friend too, y’know? So I see what you’re going through because of him, and I can’t help but get pissed off.”

“I appreciate it, Wooyoung. Really, I do.” You pause, reading the doubt in his eyes before glancing over your shoulder. Yeonjun’s leaning his head against the window, lips pursed. You swallow. “I swear, it’s fine. We’re fine.”

It’s Wooyoung’s turn to lift a brow, leaning forward onto the balls of his feet. “Really? Tell me then, did he get you anything for your birthday today? Or at least acknowledge that it’s your birthday?”

“That’s not fair. You know he’s had so much going on today and –”

“Y/N, would you listen to yourself? He could’ve sent a text, left a note, or God forbid, given you a phone call at the very least.” He’s not yelling anymore, but his words still strike like blades across your skin, and you flinch. 

Wooyoung closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. When he opens them again, the frustration is gone. Now, he’s looking at you like you’re a wounded dog, desperate and dependent, waiting for something that’s never going to come.

“When’s the last time he asked you about your passions? Your dreams, your goals? Have you even had time to sit down and write lately?”

Your silence is the only response he gets. The muggy air is suffocating you.

“You deserve more than this, Y/N. You deserve so much more.”

Your eyes are burning, and you feel the lump in your throat that’s been there for what seems like days get bigger.

“I love him.” It’s all you can say, because in your world of drunken calls at midnight and the bitter scent of cherry soju, it’s all you know to be true.

He sighs in defeat. “I know you do. I just wish you would give a damn about yourself sometimes too.”

You go your separate ways after that, him giving you a halfhearted wave as a farewell. His words are still lingering as you put the car into drive and begin your route home. When you hit a red light, you glance over at Yeonjun, his sharp features glowing crimson in the hue. His brows are knit together, sweat beading above them. You notice his dark roots growing in; it’s been months since he last got his hair bleached. His cheeks are flushed, lips parted. He used to look so peaceful when he slept, you recall. You wonder how long it’s been since you’ve last seen him without that crease between his brows.

Carefully, you wipe your hand across his forehead to rid him of some of the sweat. He sighs, leaning into your touch before taking hold of your wrist. “Y/N?”

“I’m here, Jun,” you say, ignoring the tears that bead in the corners of your eyes. “I’m right here.”

He presses his lips into your palm, kissing you once, twice, three times. Your heart dances at the touch, aching for more. Yet the desire is diluted by the smell of alcohol and the absent look in his eyes. The light turns green, and you can’t bring yourself to pull away from him. You make the rest of the drive with one hand.

When you get home, it takes all of your strength to get him out of the car and into the apartment. His feet are dragging, and he’s clinging onto you as though you’re his lifeline as you stumble through the living room, nothing to light your way but a single lamp in the corner of the room that you had left on just for this reason. He accidentally knocks one of the empty coffee mugs to the ground, mumbling an apology that you immediately dismiss.

“It’s fine, baby,” You say without a second thought. “Just focus on getting to the bed, yeah?”

Somehow, you make it to your room, moonlight spilling in through the crack in the gray curtains as you drop Yeonjun onto the unmade bed. You push your hair back from your face, sinking into the mattress. His eyes are tethered to you, glazed and heavy, watching you pull his feet into your lap as though he’s in a trance. You’re trying, desperately, to push your conversation with his bandmate out of your mind, even as the words swarm you like moths to a flame. With an absent mind, you untie his shoelaces, slipping the sneakers off his feet and setting them down on the carpet.

I love him. I love him. I love him. 

It’s a mantra in your buzzing mind, the only loose thread you have left to cling to as everything else unravels. Your days may be hell, your nights may be lonely, moments may go by like whispers in the wind. But you love him. You love him, and this should be enough. It is enough.

You’re grabbing the cuffs of his socks now, rolling them together before placing them inside one of the sneakers. Taking hold of his wrists, you gently pull him towards you so that he’s sitting up. For some reason, you’re unable to meet his eyes as you begin to unbutton his shirt; perhaps you’re afraid he’ll be looking at you with the same pity that Wooyoung had shown earlier, or even worse, with some amount of contempt or disdain for you.

The first button is undone, then the second. When your fingers hover over the third, you pause. Yeonjun’s fingers gently encircle your wrist, his thumb tracing its way along your veins. Heart in your throat, you meet his gaze. He’s looking at you with heavy lidded eyes, pink lips barely parted.

“Yeonjun?” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong?”

He moves your hand, slowly, til your palm is pressing into his exposed chest, fingertips brushing against his collarbone.

“Touch me,” he rasps. “I want you to touch me.”

You’ve gone still at his words. You know he needs rest – that you need rest. But his eyes are begging you, his hands luring you, as he moves your own further up so that it’s on his neck, your fingers touching his hair. He leans forward, his forehead on yours, nose just barely meeting the skin of your burning cheek.

“Please,” he whispers, and you feel his breath against your lips. “I need you.”

Those three words; simple in theory, but dangerous in practice. They’re your Achilles’ heel, your fatal flaw. You’d do anything, anything, if it meant that he needed you. You’d lose yourself in him completely if that’s what it took to see the stars dance in his eyes once more, to see his shoulders lift as though the weight of a thousand worlds no longer rested upon him, to see his brow unfurrow from the release of his countless burdens.

You’d do it all a thousand times over. Why, for him, you’d even offer the moon.

And so, you oblige to his request, unable to ignore the fire in your own chest as you push your fingers into his hair, raking your hand through the knots and tangles. He sighs in what must be relief, grabbing your thighs and pulling you onto his lap. You make quick work of the remaining buttons on his shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders and tossing it to the ground. He buries his face in your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone. You bite your lip, feeling the trail of sparks he leaves against you as he works his mouth along your skin. Your hands are moving up and down his bare chest, feeling every bump, every line, every perfect imperfection. The feeling of his skin on your own is addictive; you cannot satisfy your senses, the urge to feel all of him, everywhere, all at once fogging your already clouded mind. You can feel him beneath you now, as his hands travel higher up your thighs, fingers playing with the hem of your shorts. Breath hitching, you press against him, feeling warmth between your legs. 

“God, yeah, just – just like that.” He groans, hips raising up to meet yours as he catches the skin of your neck between his teeth. A whimper slips through your lips as you keep your hips moving against his, your lips following your hands as they explore his jaw.

“Don’t stop,” he mumbles against you, fingers pressing into your thighs so hard, you’re sure they’ll leave marks; but you don’t mind. In fact, you only wish he’d press harder, your body aching for him more and more, even as you’re practically melded together. You want to feel him on every cell of your skin. You want to taste him, to cover him, to breathe him in and never exhale.

It’s sudden when he pushes on your shoulders, causing you to fall back against the mattress. He’s over you now, taking both your hands in one of his and holding them above your head, his other hand sliding beneath the hem of your shirt, traveling up your ribs. Your back arches at the touch; you’re desperate to push ever closer to him, even if it’s impossible. He pulls the neckline of your shirt down, exposing your shoulder and the top of your bra. His lips are on your chest now, sucking and biting at the skin there. You suck in a sharp breath at the feeling, your eyes rolling shut as he slides his knee between your trembling legs, his tongue tracing its way along your collarbone.

You’re panting, chest heaving as his lips travel back up your neck, your jaw, your cheek; every inch of your skin is burning in his wake. You’ve been aching to feel his lips on yours, craving the sweet taste of him in your mouth.

But when his lips finally cover your own, the taste isn’t sweet like the vanilla ice creams you used to share on the pier, or the peaches you had sunk your teeth into backstage before one of his first gigs all those years ago. Instead he tastes bitter, the traces of cherry soju still burning on his tongue.

It’s the taste that brings reality crashing down around you. Suddenly, the burning between your legs isn’t pleasant – it’s too hot, too dangerous. His hands are singeing your skin now, your name falling from his lips a curse rather than a blessing. It’s a brutal reminder: he’s not sober. That’s why he’s doing this. It’s a stab straight to the gut.

“Yeonjun,” you whisper, breathless, when he comes up for air. “You’re drunk.”

His breathing is shallow, his hand still gripping both of yours. “What?”

“You’re drunk,” you repeat, freeing your hands from his grasp. You place your palms on his shoulders, easing him back as you sit up. “We have to stop.”

He’s breathless still, lips red and raw and hanging open, hair tousled. His eyes are searching yours, pupils big as saucers, his ever-knit brows showing his confusion – or maybe even concern. “Y/N, I –”

“It’s okay, Jun. Really.” You push a halfhearted smile, brushing a strand of bleached hair behind his ear. “You should rest.”

There’s so much he wants to say. You can see it in his eyes. But you also see the exhaustion, the confusion, the dismay. You’re terrified of what may come next.

Pity.

Regret.

You need to leave before he even has the chance to show a hint of either.

You lay him down, pulling the covers up over him. When you lean down to press a kiss to his forehead, his heavy eyes are already falling shut.

With a sigh, you walk to the window and cast a quick glance at the sky before pulling the curtains all the way shut. You leave the bedroom, pulling the door shut behind you as quietly as you can. You hate the silence that has settled over the apartment, the only sound being your bare feet against the cold floor. There’s a sudden sharp pain in your heel and you wince, looking down to see a single shard of glass that had chipped off the mug Yeonjun knocked over in his drunken haze.

You pull the shard out of your skin, hobbling one-footed to the bathroom to grab a bandaid. When you open the cabinet above the toilet, all that’s left in terms of bandages are the cheap Iron Man ones Yeonjun had bought nearly a year ago. As you peel it open, wiping the blood from your skin before pressing the bandage on, you almost smile.

After taking care of the cut, you head towards the kitchen. You light the candle on the counter, slowly filling the room with the faint scent of vanilla and amber, the wooden wick crackling as the flame begins to flicker. After setting the lighter down, you pull open the fridge and grab a paper plate covered in plastic wrap. It holds a single slice of semi-stale chocolate cake, leftover from the last-minute birthday treat your coworkers had purchased during your lunch break. You grab a fork from a drawer and glance at the clock. It’s 12:59 AM; too late to even wish yourself a happy birthday.

When you sink down on the couch and take your first bite, you can’t help but think that the cake tastes quite bitter as well.

----------

Yeonjun is cold when he wakes up the next morning.

The sun beats in through the tiny slit in the curtains and he groans, pulling his pillow down over his face. He tucks his blanket around his body, desperate to kill the chills that shake his nearly naked self, but it’s no use. With an exasperated sigh, he turns onto his side, stretching his arm out.

“Y/N,” he mumbles, fingers searching for your body in the bed beside him. He pries his eyes open when he doesn’t feel you. Your side of the bed is bare.

He sighs, tossing his pillow off and running a hand over his face. When he sits up, he sees his discarded clothes on the floor and the memories of the night come rushing back to him. He remembers the heat of your body, the desperation in his voice as he practically chanted your name like a prayer. Most of all, he remembers the ache in the pit of his stomach as he watched your eyes go dim beneath him, and the defeat on your face as you laid him down to sleep.

Choi Yeonjun, you fucking idiot.

He’s no stranger to calling himself names. His mind is no friend of his.

He stumbles out of bed and towards the pile of unfolded laundry in the desk chair, pulling on a pair of joggers and one of your old tee shirts. It’s not his size, but he doesn’t mind; he likes how it smells just like you. Your favorite lavender perfume must be embedded within the threading, filling him with both comfort and guilt as the scent overtakes him.

In the living room, he finds you curled up on the sofa. No blanket, no pajamas – just a half-eaten slice of cake on the coffee table, the T.V. remote loosely gripped in your hand, reruns of an old sitcom buzzing on the screen before you. Slowly, he takes the remote from your hand and switches off the T.V., brushing his fingers over your cheek before he kisses it lightly, careful not to wake you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. Of course, you don’t hear him. Deep down, in some twisted way and for reasons he cannot attempt to explain, Yeonjun is glad that you don’t.

He walks to the kitchen, seeing your favorite candle still burning in a pool of melted wax. He blows it out, watching the tendrils of smoke rise and dissolve in the air. He walks to the cabinet, pulling out garlic, bean paste, and some red pepper. He puts some water on the stove to boil, grabbing the tray of diced vegetables you keep in the fridge for him. Though he doesn’t mind the taste of his own haejangguk, he much prefers it when you make it; but he knows it would be cruel of him to wake you up.

The water has come to a boil, so he throws in the rest of the ingredients for his hangover soup. His head’s pounding, and he wishes he could shut off the sun as its streams in through the skylight above him. He sets the burner to low heat and puts a lid on the pot, leaving it to simmer for a bit.

He leans back against the counter, his hand brushing over a small stack of photos behind him that you had recently gotten developed, knocking some to the floor. With a sigh, he crouches down to gather them back up, his hand pausing as he grabs the first one. It’s a picture of him with his arm around your waist, both of your hands cupping his cheeks as he holds a vanilla ice cream cone. In the background, the sun is setting over the ocean, the sky painted in strokes of pinks and purples and reds and golds. You have a dot of the ice cream on your nose – he remembers that he had smeared it there himself after you tried to take a bite of his dessert. Both of you are laughing, mouths wide, your eyes scrunched up into crescent moons while his bright gaze is fixed on you. He remembers Wooyoung taking the picture during one of your walks to the pier near your home. It’s dated back two summers ago.

A smile is tugging the corners of his lips. He can’t remember the last time the two of you had taken a photo together. For the briefest of moments, he can feel a ghost of the joy that had once filled him. It’s spilling out of the picture in his hands, seeping through to his chest.

The feeling doesn’t last long. It never does. 

The smell of his soup boiling on the stove draws him back to the present. He quickly scoops the rest of the scattered pictures together, setting them back on the countertop as he rushes to the stove. He takes the pot off the heat and switches the stove off, taking the lid off to let the steam free. The spices fill his nose, causing him to cough as they overpower his senses. You have always told him he’s a bit heavy-handed when it comes to adding the red pepper, but he only seems to remember your advice when it’s too late. Every time.

“Jun?” He turns at the sound of your voice, seeing you sleepily rise from the couch. You rub your eyes, covering your mouth as you yawn and make your way towards him.

“Morning,” he says, trying his best to smile, though he can’t be sure what the correct way to speak to you is right now. He knows he acted selfishly last night, but he also knows that you’ll refuse to bring it up. At times, he wishes you would unleash all hell on him; he wishes you would scream, dig your nails into his skin, bite into his flesh with the words of resentment and anger he only imagines you have buried deep within your heart of hearts.

But you never do. And he’s far too much of a coward to ask you to. The tension of last night will linger, you’ll both carry on until the next thing happens and it snowballs, getting bigger and bigger but never crashing down around you. You wrap your arms around his waist, looking down at his breakfast. “You should’ve woken me up, Jun. I know you like my haejangguk more, I would’ve made it for you.”

“I know you would’ve,” he says. “That’s exactly why I didn’t wake you up. You need to rest.”

“I’m fine though,” you mumble, leaving his side to pull a couple of bowls down from one of the cabinets. He notices the dark circles beneath your eyes and wonders how fine you truly could be. You take a ladle from a drawer and scoop two servings of the soup into the bowls, fishing out some spoons to eat with. 

“You don’t have to eat this babe. You’re not hungover.” He watches as you set the dishes down at two of the bar stools, climbing up to sit atop one of them. “I’ll make something else for you.”

“I don’t mind,” you say, smiling sweetly at him. “It tastes pretty good regardless. Can you bring me the black pepper?”

He nods, turning around to find it. When he turns towards the cabinet, his eyes fall on the calendar that’s hanging on the side of the refrigerator. Yesterday’s date is circled in red, with poorly done doodles of a cake and confetti surrounding two words written in bright pastels: Y/N’s Birthday.

His stomach drops. There’s a big black line crossing out the date.

“Do you have any gigs today?” Your voice is distant to him, his gaze still stuck on the calendar as his head swarms with thoughts, his hand shaking around the can of pepper in his grasp. How could he forget your birthday? How had he reached such a devastating low that he couldn’t even properly celebrate with you, the one person who had stuck with him through every high and low? And how could you not even think of mentioning it to him?

“Jun? You okay?” He slowly turns back to face you at the sound of your voice, seeing the worry lines creasing your forehead. One day, those wrinkles would be permanent, and he can’t help but feel like the full responsibility of it will fall upon his shoulders.

He walks towards you, passing you the pepper you had asked for as he sits down beside you at the counter. Hesitantly, you take it from him, but your eyes are still fixed upon him as he stares down into his bowl, his appetite seeming to be completely erased from him.

“What’s wrong?” Your hand is on his shoulder now. His skin nearly burns at the touch.

“I missed your birthday.” His voice is quiet, heavy. Silence settles in the room afterwards, and he can’t bring himself to look at you. Your hand drops from his shoulder.

“Oh. That. Seriously, don’t worry about it. I know you’ve had a lot going on lately with the band and all, so it makes sense that –” 

“Y/N.” He cuts you off, his eyes meeting yours. You stop mid-sentence, mouth ajar. “Stop it. Stop making excuses for me.”

“They’re not excuses, it’s just the truth. What kind of partner would I be if I got mad at you for being overworked all the time?”

“And what kind of partner would I be for letting myself get away with forgetting your birthday?” His words are piercing, but he can’t help it. He already feels terrible, and for some reason, the lack of anger or spite on your part is making him feel even worse. You shrink down into your stool, gazing absently at your soup.

He closes his eyes, sighing as he runs his hand down his face. “Y/N, I’m not – I’m not angry. Not at you anyways; just at myself. I’m sorry for getting frustrated, it’s just . . . God, I wish you would care more about yourself.”

“I care about myself enough, Jun.” You’re almost whispering now, moving your spoon around in your bowl but not taking a single sip of the broth. “But I care about you too. Of course, I was a little disappointed but – I don’t know. I just want to be here to support you, I can’t justify getting angry at you when I know you’re having a hard time.”

The words are not new to him. He’s heard them from you countless times before. At first, he found them comforting; knowing you would always be there for him, supporting him through the dark times and not just the good. But as time went on, the words had begun to weigh him down. How often was he there to offer you the same support you gave to him constantly? How often did you even ask for it?

He sets his spoon down, taking both your hands in his. Your eyes go wide when they meet his, your shoulders tense.

“I’m going to make it up to you, Y/N. I swear.” His words are firm, and he means them, truly, with every bone in his body. He’s tired of being a burden to you, so tired that he makes these promises to you almost every day. But this time, he’s going to keep it; this time, for sure.

Your eyes look dim when you smile. “Alright.”

“Where do you want to go? We’ll do something tonight, right after my show at the Alley.”

You purse your lips, mulling over a thousand different possibilities in your mind. “Can we go down to the ice cream stand at the pier? The one we used to go to all the time.”

He nods, squeezing your hands tightly. “Of course. It’s a date.”

Your smile grows wide, and you lean forward, pressing a kiss against the tip of his nose. He lets his eyes fall shut, savoring the way the kiss warms his heart that had felt like ice for so long, even if the relief only lasted a moment. 

He is going to do everything he can to keep you smiling this time. He is done making you wait for him – he has to be. This is the promise he makes to himself.

And so, the cycle begins.

----------

The air is muggy inside the venue that night. The red lights are dim, the aroma of spilt beer and fried chicken taking over Yeonjun’s senses as he steps inside the small building known as the Alley, home to many aspiring bands booking their first venues or failed musical acts who never made it past this point. The line between the two categories is quite thin.

The crowd is gathered round the stage, a few stragglers left behind at the bar near the back of the open space. The venue capacity sits around two-hundred, and it looks to be about halfway full. He has to push along the edge of the crowd to make it to the waiting rooms.

Yeonjun is pulling you along behind him, his painted fingers interlocked with your own as the hum of the crowd buzzes over the grunge rock spilling from the loudspeakers. He’s got his guitar slung over his shoulder, tightly clutching the strap in his free hand. When he glances down at you, he can tell that you’re a bit nervous – this crowd was a bit larger than most of the open mic nights that Yeonjun and his band frequent.

“Are you sure you’re gonna be okay, Jun?” You ask, straining to be heard over all the noise as you make your way to one of the back rooms near the stage. “I know you get nervous with larger crowds.”

You’re not wrong, of course. One of the more popular up and coming bands in the area had asked Yeonjun’s to open for their set. Most of the people in the crowd tonight – if not all of them – have no idea who they are. Not to mention the fact that the venue hadn’t even offered them a soundcheck – they were coming in cold, with little to no preparation.

“A little bit,” he answers honestly. He smiles, bumping his shoulder against yours. “But the show must go on, right?”

You smile back at him, giving his hand a squeeze. “You’ve got this.”

“And what about the rest of us?” A high-pitched voice pierces Yeonjun’s ears as Wooyoung joins the both of you, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Are we gonna do well too, or is it just him?”

You laugh, the three of you entering the assigned waiting room with floors made of checkered tile and a cheap popcorn ceiling overhead. Nobody else is there yet – the room is empty aside from a cheap wine-stained couch and a couple of folding chairs.

“Of course you’re gonna do well too, Wooyoung,” you assure him, leaving Yeonjun’s side to sit down on one of the folding chairs. “I just figured that went without saying.”

“Where are the others?” Yeonjun asks as he sits on the other folding chair and begins tuning his guitar, Wooyoung stretching out on the couch and taking up all the space for himself. “They usually come with you.”

“Not sure; they haven’t been answering my calls at all today.” Wooyoung sighs, pulling out his phone. “It might just be you and me tonight.”

Though Yeonjun is disappointed by the statement, he can’t say that he’s surprised. The days where he and Wooyoung end up taking the stage alone have become more and more frequent. He twists the final peg on his guitar, plucking the strings one by one to check that they’re in tune. 

“We’ll make it work,” he says.

Wooyoung nods. “We always do.”

Yeonjun can feel your eyes on him, but he doesn’t look your way. He knows you’re worried about him. He knows you want to offer him support and encouragement, but he can’t take it right now. He’s terrified of letting you down – again.

A woman with bright blue hair dressed in all black pops her head into the room. “You guys are on in five. Get ready.”

Yeonjun nods as she disappears, standing up from the chair with his guitar in hand. He glances in the full-length mirror hanging before him on the wall, wondering if he’s underdressed in his ripped black jeans and Pink Floyd tee that’s so old, he would label it as ancient – but you always correct him, preferring the term vintage. He doesn’t have time to contemplate his choice of dress any further though, as you and Wooyoung both stand up with him, following him out the door and up the stairs that lead to the side wings of the stage. 

Wooyoung pulls his drumsticks from his back pocket, making a quick glance at the rusty old drumset sitting towards the back of the stage. You grab hold of Yeonjun’s sleeve, smiling up at him as you squint against the colorful lighting. Yeonjun notices the way your nose crinkles along with your eyes – something he’s always loved about you.

“Knock ‘em dead, yeah?” Your voice is as soft as it can be while still being heard above the murmuring crowd. You run your fingers through his hair, a last-ditch effort to fix up a few of the pieces that frame his face.

He gently takes your wrist in his hand, lowering it from his face as he leans down to kiss you swiftly. “I’ll do my best.”

The stage is set with a single microphone in the center, the drumset a bit behind it. There’s a single spotlight hanging low over the mic, the same burnt red as the rest of the lighting in the venue. He glances at Wooyoung, who gives him a reassuring nod. He clutches the strap of his guitar. 

He takes his first step out onto the stage, Wooyoung following close behind. A few people in the crowd notice, turning towards them. Most give the two of them a passing glance, checking to be sure that they’re not the main act of the night, before they resume their buzzing conversations or boisterous laughter.

He stops in front of the microphone, tilting it upwards so that it matches his height. He spots the aux on the ground and leans down to plug it into his guitar, a high-pitched screech humming over the room for a brief moment before it fades away. He looks over his shoulder to see Wooyoung take his seat behind the drums, giving him a thumbs up, mouthing the familiar words, You ready?

With a sigh, Yeonjun gives the only honest answer he can think of by shrugging his shoulders. This was their routine as of late.

He taps a finger against the mic, the familiar thumping coming out muffled through the loudspeakers. He clears his throat, taking another look out at the crowd.

“Hey everyone, how are we feeling tonight?” His voice is clear, gaining the attention of a few more people in the crowd. A couple of half-hearted cheers resound, and he’s thankful for that at least. “My name’s Yeonjun, and this is my buddy Wooyoung on the drums. We’re happy to be here tonight to open up the show for you.”

He looks over to the wing, seeing you standing there, hands clasped together over your chest. You’re glowing red from the overhead lights, eyes sparkling. You perk up when you catch his gaze, throwing him your ever-warm smile. He can only lift the corner of his mouth, his nerves already beginning to wear him down. 

He glances back at Wooyoung again, giving him a nod as he adjusts his grip on the neck of his guitar, fingers clasped tightly around the pick. The drummer smiles, clicking his drumsticks together, counting off the beat.

One, two, three, four.

He strikes the first chord, letting his eyes fall shut as the sounds of his strings fill him, drowning out the buzz of the crowd. When the first lyrics leave his lips, he’s already felt himself drift away. Eyes closed, he can imagine himself being somewhere else, anywhere but here. He’s not standing on the stage burning beneath the lights, overwhelmed by the flood of voices kept in time by the steady beat of the drums and the thrumming of his heart, sending hot blood coursing through his veins. 

Instead, he’s sat upon a blanket in the sand, the plucking of his guitar harmonizing with the waves melting against the shoreline, a crackling fire burning before him beneath the starlight, slightly blocked out by the wisps of a few gray and blue clouds. The salt air is muddled by the smell of smoke, the gentle breeze tickling the tip of his nose. Wooyoung’s fast asleep on the other side of the fire, arm covering his eyes as his mouth hangs open, a trickle of drool slipping down his chin.

And you. You’re there by Yeonjun’s side, head resting upon his shoulder as he picks out the melody, singing softly, the words falling upon your ears alone. 

This, he thinks, is what music is meant to be. A connection from himself to you, the lines of a song reaching your heart much deeper than any words he could speak. Words failed him so often when he tried to talk. If he could sing forever, serenading you with all the right words set to a lulling melody that rang sweet in your ears, he would sign himself away to it in a heartbeat.

The first song has ended, and he opens his eyes to find himself back in reality, square center on the stage. It’s not you he’s looking at – it’s a crowd of uninterested strangers, eyes seeming to fall anywhere but himself. It’s like whiplash, the serenity he felt moments ago rapidly being replaced by the anxiety and displacement he’s become all too familiar with. The lights are too bright, the voices are too loud, the air is too warm. He feels so small. He shouldn’t be here – he should be anywhere else.

He turns to look at you again. Even across the distance that separates you, he can see the worry swimming in your eyes as you give him a thumbs up. He’s certain that the words of his song had fallen short even upon your ears. You had probably heard nothing but your own racing thoughts, screaming with worry and tension as you watched him intently, wishing for him to not fail.

He knows you – perhaps a little too well. His throat is tight, his chest screaming for air. He’s never felt as far away from you as he does in this moment.

The rest of the set flies by in a haze of tension and suffocating disinterest from the crowd. He expected this, prepared for it even. But for some reason, he can never seem to get past the disappointment that comes from it.

He manages to push out a quick “thank you” to the mic when they’re finished, but he can hardly see the point in it as it falls upon deaf ears. A few people clap, but Yeonjun doesn’t stay on stage long enough to hear. He unplugs his guitar, all but running towards where you wait for him in the wing.

“You did great, Jun,” you say. “I mean it.”

He can’t even force himself to smile now. He needs to get out of here.

“Good job, sweetheart!” Wooyoung throws his arm around Yeonjun’s shoulders, drumsticks clanking together as he clutches them in one hand. “How we feeling?”

“Can we get out of here?” Yeonjun feels as though there’s a fist around his throat, choking all the air out of him at an alarming pace. He rubs a hand along the base of his neck, skin burning. “I can’t – I’m not thinking clearly.”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” You waste no time in linking arms with him, pulling him alongside you down the steps with Wooyoung following close behind. “Woo, can you grab his guitar case from the waiting room and meet us outside? I think he needs some air.”

“Sure thing. See you out there.”

Yeonjun is in a trance, not feeling his feet touch the ground as you guide him along the edge of the crowd once more towards the exit. When he takes his first step out into the cool night air, he feels like he’s finally come up from underwater, taking a cleansing breath in, exhaling moments later. He sits down on the cement steps, ignoring the thud of his guitar hitting the concrete behind him. You waste no time in sinking down by his side, rubbing his arm in an effort to provide even the smallest bit of comfort.

“You okay?” You ask. He can feel the pity in your eyes without even looking at them. He keeps staring down at his scuffed sneakers.

“I’m alright.”

He hears the door open behind them and looks up to see Wooyoung hovering above him, his black guitar case littered with stickers in hand.

“You good?” His friend asks, motioning for Yeonjun to hand his guitar over. 

He lifts the strap over his head, grabbing the guitar by the neck and handing it to Wooyoung. “I just needed some air. I’m okay.”

“I think we did a pretty good job,” Wooyoung says, kneeling on the ground to set the guitar in its case. “We got a decent response from the crowd.”

Yeonjun watches you nod in agreement, but he himself remains quiet, fiddling with his shoelaces. He can hardly remember any of their set to begin with, and what little he does recall feels like it’s the opposite of “decent”.

“So, what’s the move for tonight?” Wooyoung asks. “Celebrating a late birthday for Y/N? Oh wait – did you ever end up remembering it in the – ow!”

You’ve leaned down to smack Wooyoung’s cheek, ending his trail of harsh – but well deserved – words that were no doubt pointed towards Yeonjun. He doesn’t miss the venom in his friend’s voice, and he feels the sharp pang of guilt dig deeper into his chest than it already was before. 

“We’re gonna go down to the pier,” he says in response, forcing a smile. “See if the ice cream shop is open.”

He feels your eyes on him again, but can’t bear to look. He knows that concern he doesn’t deserve will be waiting for him in your gaze. It’s nothing but salt to his open wound. 

“You know Jun, maybe we should just go to Mr. Kim’s tonight instead.” He looks at you then, eyes widening at your suggestion. “You’re not feeling the best, and it’s super cold out – I bet the shop isn’t even open during this time of year anyways.”

“No, Y/N.” He grabs both your hands, shaking his head. “It’s your day, we’re going to the pier. That’s what you wanted.”

You smile, running your thumb along his knuckles. His skin tingles at the touch. “Seriously Jun, it’s okay. We can just wait til it gets warmer out. It’ll be more fun at that time anyways.”

Yeonjun glances at Wooyoung, surprised to see his friend minding his own business for once – or at least pretending to mind his own. He’s whistling the tune of one of their songs, securing the latches on the guitar case as he clearly does everything in his power to avoid eye contact.

The one time I need his loud ass to chime in and back me up, Yeonjun thinks. He’s really useless, huh?

He looks back at you. “Y/N –”

Your lips cover his, cutting his words off. He hesitates before his eyes flutter shut, taking in the warmth that comes from the feeling of you against him as his body shakes from the chilling air.

When you pull away, you’re still smiling. “It’s okay, Jun,” you whisper. “Let’s go get something to eat.”

He remains quiet for a moment. He can’t quite tell if your smile reaches your eyes.

“Okay.” His voice is barely audible, his nose brushing against yours. “Let’s go.”

You nod with contentment, standing up and pulling him to his feet along with you. “What about you, Woo? Wanna come with?”

“Sure, why not.” The drummer smirks as he walks closer to Yeonjun, bumping their shoulders together while wiggling his eyebrows. “As long as this guy’s paying. You’re good with that, right sweetheart?”

“Stop calling me that,” Yeonjun mutters, sinking his elbow into Wooyoung’s side with enough force to send the latter stumbling back a few steps. “And I’m paying for my girlfriend, of course. But you’re on your own.”

Wooyoung flashes a middle finger, tongue stuck out in mockery, and Yeonjun returns both gestures as he wraps his arm around your shoulders, noticing the hand you’ve placed over your lips in an attempt to hide your laughter. “Lead the way, sweetheart. Y/N and I will be close behind.”

“Screw you,” Wooyoung says, unable to mask the smile blossoming on his lips. “And take your stupid guitar too. It’s heavy.”

Yeonjun grabs the case with his free hand, the two of you falling into pace behind Wooyoung as you make the short walk to Mr. Kim’s pub. The lights outside are flickering; Yeonjun makes a mental note to remind Mr. Kim to check the batteries later. That is, if he remains sober long enough to remember to do so.

But tonight is about you. He will stay sober if that’s what it takes to make things up to you. He has to.

The bell above the door jingles in its familiar tune, the scent of soju and samgyeopsal wafting towards you as soon as the three of you cross the threshold. The pub is fairly quiet, only a few of the tables occupied by guests. 

Mr. Kim is waiting behind the counter, barely containing his eye roll when he spots Yeonjun and Wooyoung. “You two again? Was last night not enough for you?”

“Relax, Mr. Kim.” Wooyoung’s voice is smooth and assuring – he’s very used to charming his way into various kinds of situations. “We’re not here to drink our sorrows away tonight. It’s our lovely Y/N’s post-birthday celebration! You wouldn’t want to turn away your most loyal and dearest customers on such a special occasion, would you?”

Mr. Kim’s eyes narrow when they land on you, peeking around Yeonjun’s shoulder, offering a meek wave in greeting. He sighs, gesturing towards the table in the back corner of the room. “Just go sit down.”

“Ah, see! I knew you had a big heart.” Wooyoung reaches towards the older man with two arms, almost as if he were going in for a hug.

Mr. Kim flicks him square in the middle of his forehead. “Get away from me.”

“Love you too, Mr. Kim!” Yeonjun notices the redness that the elder’s contact had left behind in the center of Wooyoung’s forehead – there would definitely be a welt there tomorrow.

Yeonjun leaves his guitar propped up in the corner behind the counter like always before he leads you back to your usual table, pulling out your chair before he takes his place beside you. 

“Three servings of rice and samgyeopsal, please!” Wooyoung yells, earning a shout of confirmation from the staff as she heads back towards the kitchen. “And a few bottles of cherry soju!”

“Wooyoung.” Yeonjun makes a cutting motion across his neck with his hand, head shaking with intent. “No soju.”

“It’s okay, Jun,” you say, pushing his hand down. “I wanted a drink anyways.”

His brows crease, lips pursed. “But you hate the cherry flavor.”

You shrug, pouring a cup of water from the jug on the table. “It’s growing on me.”

Your words linger with him as the waitress sets a few glasses and two bottles of cherry soju on the table. 

“Two?” Wooyoung asks, raising a brow. “You guys think that’ll be enough?”

“Should be.” Yeonjun takes a sip of your water as Wooyoung fills your other glass first with the fruit-flavored alcohol. “I’m abstaining.”

There’s silence for the briefest of moments. Then, boisterous laughter echoes across the room, drawing the attention of a few other patrons. Wooyoung is clutching his stomach as he continues to laugh, and Yeonjun kicks his shin under the table. 

“Would you shut up?” He hisses, nodding a thank you to the waitress as she sets down a few bowls of rice along with the plate of uncooked pork.

Wooyoung wipes the corner of his eyes, the laughter finally having subsided. “Sorry. I just – I’ve never seen you turn down a drink.”

“There’s a first time for everything, right?” He turns the grill on, smiling at you when he notices you staring at him with wide eyes, hands frozen around the glass of soju. “Come on,” he says, nudging you in the side. “Drink up, birthday girl.”

You hesitate before throwing the shot back, eyes crinkling up as you take a hard swallow. Wooyoung cheers as you pour him a glass next.

“I haven’t seen you drink in ages, Y/N,” he says before taking his first shot as well. “You deserve to let loose a bit tonight.”

You cough, placing your palm flat against your chest. “Well, I’m remembering now why I don’t drink. This tastes awful.”

“Nah, you’re just not used to it.” Wooyoung motions for you to raise your glass again. “You’ll be loving it in no time.”

You shake your head in disagreement, but oblige to his request as you lift your glass up once more, taking your second shot. You shake your head, lips pursed in disgust as you force the liquid down.

“Alright, stop forcing her, Wooyoung,” Yeonjun insists, pushing his friend’s hand away as he raises the bottle towards you once more. “You’re the kind of person they warned us about in middle school during all those assemblies about peer pressure.”

“You’re one to talk,” Wooyoung mutters, pouring a second shot for himself and taking it down only seconds later. He barely even flinches at the taste. “I see you drunk way more than I see you sober.”

Yeonjun pauses, and Wooyoung immediately knows he’s crossed a line. You clear your throat, gesturing towards the plate of pork. “I think the grill’s warm. Want me to put the meat on?”

“No, stay still,” Yeonjun insists, glad for the break in the uncomfortable tension that has settled over the table. “I’ll do it.”

The grill sizzles as the pork settles atop it, the savory aroma immediately filling his senses. He pushes the pieces around with the pair of tongs that were resting beside the plate, focusing all his attention on his task as he tries desperately to ignore the scent of the soju creeping in. The sight of the third shot glass, empty and untouched, burns in the corner of his vision. He’s determined to ignore it.

Yeonjun sets the first few pieces of cooked pork on your plate, giving Wooyoung a pointed look as he does so. The meal carries on smoothly for a bit – no more talks of sobriety or peer pressure from Wooyoung for you to take another shot of the bitter drink. There’s light conversation and laughter, reminding Yeonjun of how things were just a few years ago when the three of you first started hanging out together, right after he had asked you out.

“It’s nice to be out together again – all three of us,” Wooyoung says, taking the last piece of pork from the sizzling grill. “Why’d we stop doing this again?”

“We just got busy.” You take a swig of water, bowing your head in thanks to the waitress as she sets another dish of meat to cook and two more bottles of soju on the table – Wooyoung had already drained the first.

“You’re right. How could I forget our band taking off in infinite success?” Wooyoung shakes his head, emptying the contents of the new dish onto the grill. “The life of a star isn’t an easy one, I suppose.”

You laugh a bit, but quickly bite it back, glancing over at your boyfriend. He forces a laugh of his own, though the words of his friend are piercing blows to his already fragile ego.

“Lighten up, sweetheart.” Wooyoung reaches over the table, ruffling Yeonjun’s hair. “It’s all jokes.”

Yeonjun smiles bitterly, nodding in assumed agreement. He passes the metal tongs to Wooyoung who then takes his turn cooking the meat, returning to the light-hearted conversation he had been having with you moments before. 

This leaves Yeonjun with the perfect opportunity to begin thinking.

And thinking.

And thinking and thinking and thinking.

He thinks about the buzz of the disinterested crowd watching their show that night, a sea of blank faces and muddled voices drowning him out. 

He thinks about the bright lights, burning through his eyelids despite how tightly he shut them, desperate to keep the beams from slipping through the cracks. 

He thinks about the steel strings of his guitar, digging into the calloused skin of his fingertips, the pain so familiar he hardly feels it at all anymore, but still potent enough to remind him that it was there.

He thinks and he thinks, until he cannot bear to do so for a second longer.

Without a word, he takes an unopened bottle of soju and twists the cap off with the ease that only comes from what feels like a lifetime of experience. Ignoring how your eyes burn into the side of his head, he pours himself a glass and throws back the shot. The alcohol burns its way down his throat, and he closes his eyes as the feeling overpowers him and then subsides all in an instant.

Just one shot, to keep me sane. That’s all.

He lets his eyes meet yours once again. You quickly look away, reaching toward the grill as the second batch of meat finishes cooking. He glances at Wooyoung, who is pointedly keeping his eyes anywhere but his best friend. 

It’s guilt this time that’s flooding Yeonjun’s entire being. God, how could he be so fucking selfish? It was just one night, one night that he needed to push his own needs aside for yours. He wanted to, more than anything. Yet, somehow, he always lost in this battle against himself. No matter how hard he tried, what moves he made, this was a game he was forever destined to lose.

His throat feels like it’s closing, ears ringing, head swarmed with the sounds of the restaurant. The relief from the first shot is long gone, and he’s staring at the bottle of soju again. He’s merely a puppet, the bottle of burning liquid his master, pulling the strings as he reaches forward and takes the bottle in his hands once more.

He had already screwed things up. One more shot couldn’t hurt, right?

When he throws back the second shot, he tells himself it is just to keep the thoughts quiet. With the third, he assures himself that it’s to loosen up the tightness in his chest – nothing more.

The fourth is to chase the third. He hates leaving things on odd numbers.

By the time he gets to the fifth, sixth, seventh, and eighth, he’s far too tired to think of reasons why he continues to down them. He loses count soon after that.

----------

Deep down, you had known the night would end up this way from the very beginning.

You tell yourself that you’re not resentful. It doesn’t bother you at all, the fact that you’re leaving Mr. Kim’s with Yeonjun’s arms wrapped around your neck from behind as you desperately try to pull him along the sidewalk, the buzz from the two shots you had taken long gone. All that’s left now is a searing headache and a knot in your stomach.

Wooyoung has left already, carrying Yeonjun’s abandoned guitar with him. He had offered to help you bring Yeonjun home, but you insisted that he go first. You don’t know why, but you’re embarrassed – not of Yeonjun, of course, but of the fact that Wooyoung thinks you can’t handle him on your own. You’ve gotten quite used to this.

You’ve made it a couple blocks down the street, drunken words falling from Yeonjun’s lips in incoherent rambles that you’re too exhausted to try and make any sense of.  You shift his weight, bringing one of your arms around his waist as the other holds the wrist of the arm that he has draped across your shoulders.

“Y/N,” he mumbles. “Stop.”

There’s sweat beading on the back of your neck. You shake your head, gritting your teeth as his feet drag down the sidewalk. You hate to think of the scuff marks it’s sure to leave on his sneakers “No, Jun. We’ve gotta get you home.”

“I wanted to walk you home tonight,” he croaks, his words followed by a few hiccups. “It’s your sort-of-birthday, I should – I should be carrying you.”

You shake your head, biting the inside of your cheek. “Don’t worry about it, alright? Just focus on walking. Left foot, right foot, left –”

“No.” He plants his feet, legs wobbling. The movement is so sudden that it causes you to trip, bringing him crashing to the cold hard ground with you. The back of your head smacks against the pavement, his form crashing down atop of you. You hiss in pain, but you quickly push the feeling aside, sitting up to grab Yeonjun’s shoulders.

“Are you okay?” You ask, eyes searching his dull ones for any hint of pain. He blinks at you slowly, lips settled into a pout as he brings his hands up to cup your face. His palms are clammy, fingertips rough with guitar-string callouses.

“Yeonjun.” You grab hold of his wrists, voice dripping with worry. “Are you hurt? Talk to me.”

“Do you love me, Y/N?”

The question is so sudden, it freezes you to your core. You go still, hands clasped around his wrists.

“Of course I love you, Yeonjun.” The words require no thought on your end, spilling from your lips freely. You’ve said them so many times, you’re not sure why he even feels the need to ask you to say them again. Maybe you’ve done a worse job at showing it than you thought.

He frowns, brows knit as always. “How much?”

“What?”

“How much do you love me?” You can see tears brimming in his eyes, and your heart aches.

“So, so much, Yeonjun,” you say, running your finger along the back of his hand in a soothing rhythm. “More than you could ever imagine. I’d do anything for you. Anything at all.”

He sighs, eyes falling shut. He leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. “Would you catch the stars for me?”

It’s an odd question. If he weren’t completely wasted and practically sobbing in your arms in the middle of the street, you might even find it to be an endearing one. “Yeah, sure. I’d catch the stars. I’d bring each and every one of them down to the ground for you.”

“What about the moon?”

“The moon too. If you asked me for it, I’d give it to you. I’d give you anything, Jun.”

He stares at you in silence, a single tear falling down his cheek, hanging onto his jaw.

“Kiss me,” he rasps, leaning even closer so that his lips are only a breath away from yours.

For some reason, you’re hesitating. His lips are practically against your own already, tempting you closer to the comfort they always provide for you, melting the worries of your small and insignificant world to nothing as you’re taken over by thoughts of nothing but him.

But tonight, you don’t want your worries to fall to the wayside. You’re searching his eyes again and remember how you used to see the stars shining in them. Tonight, you curse the city lights under your breath. They’ve killed your shot at seeing the starlight’s reflection there when you need it the most.

His eyes fall shut. “Y/N. Kiss me.”

Your throat feels tight, the worries in your mind pressing in on you, like the walls of a prison cell that are about to cave in, locking you forever in their grasp. They come closer, and closer, until you fear they’ll suffocate you and swallow you whole.

You throw away any reservations, closing the distance between yourself and Yeonjun, taking his lips captive with yours. Every clash of your teeth, every swipe of his tongue against your chapped lips, every breathless whisper of your name falling from his mouth – it all pushes the negative thoughts further and further away. His kiss is a haven, despite the burn of the cherry soju, just like you knew it would be.

You’re reminded once more, as you are every moment of every day: you love him. You love him, and it’s still enough to get you by.

----------

No matter how many times Yeonjun wakes up in bed with a hellish hangover, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to the pain and guilt that simultaneously wash over him within an instant of him opening his eyes to the late afternoon light seeping through his window.

When he turns over on his side, squinting against the brightness in the room, his guilt multiplies tenfold when he realizes that you’re not in bed next to him. Again.

He sits up, running his hand over his eyes. He takes a whiff of his own breath, nearly gagging at the rancid smell of sour soju that pours out of him. One sniff is all the motivation he needs to drag himself out of bed and stumble towards the bathroom. He grabs his toothbrush and toothpaste, getting to work at remedying the horrible version of morning breath that’s plaguing him.

The memories of the night before are coming back to him, playing one by one in his head like a bad movie looping on a broken DVD player, skipping and replaying all the most dreadful moments, savoring the bad luck of the lovers on screen. He squeezes his eyes shut, scrubbing furiously at his back teeth as his mind works against him once more, reminding him of how badly he’s screwed up, of how awful you must feel, of how you’re definitely not going to bring it up to him, and of how he’ll need to make it up to you for certain this time, promising you to never screw up that badly ever again.

He spits into the sink, turning on the water to rinse it down. He watches it go down the drain, eyes unfocused as his mind races. He’s tired, he’s so tired of this vicious cycle that he puts you through every week – no, every day. He can promise himself til the end of the world that he’s going to change, that he’s going to abandon his reckless ways, that he won’t let the thoughts win ever again.

But he’s afraid. He can hardly believe his own promises now. How long can he keep convincing you to have faith in him, when his faith in himself is already gone?

He hears the front door to the apartment open, followed swiftly by your voice. “Jun? You up?”

He turns the faucet off after splashing a bit of cold water in his face. “Yeah, in here.”

“Ah, perfect. You’re already here,” You say as you turn the corner into the bathroom. There’s a plastic bag in your hand, and you set it on the counter, pulling the items out one by one. A box of black hair dye. Conditioner. A pair of plastic gloves. A plastic mixing bowl and a brush.

“What’s this?” Yeonjun picks up the box of hair dye, turning it over in his hands.

“Your roots are growing in.” You stand on your toes, gently pulling your fingers through his hair. His eyes flutter shut for just a moment, savoring the touch, before the guilt in his stomach pulls him back to reality. “I know it’s not really in the budget for you to go back for another bleach, yeah?”

He nods, setting the box dye back on the counter. “You’re gonna dye it for me?”

“Of course.” You respond without hesitation, and he’s not surprised. Your words from the night before are seeping into his brain, clouding everything else around him.

If you asked me for it, I’d give it to you. I’d give you anything, Jun.

You’re prying open the box, pouring the color and developer into the bowl. His throat feels tight. Whether it’s from the chemicals or the lump of regret he’s been harboring for what feels like decades, he’s not sure.

Per your instructions, he sits down on the closed toilet as you pull on the plastic gloves. You clip up a section of his hair, slowly working the product into his blonde strands, fried from too much bleach. Every touch from you against his scalp, every brush of your chest against his shoulders, every breath from your lips that he feels gently caress his neck as you lean in for a better angle is working a fire up within him. He’s suffocating from the inside out. He needs you closer, your touch, everything. The fire is creeping his way through his stomach, invading his lungs, burning his throat. He needs you. Yet, at the same time, he wants you to step as far away from him as possible. He’s afraid, so afraid, of this consuming fire within him jumping from himself to you, burning you alive right along with him.

He’s quiet during the entire process, and so are you for the most part, only the occasional hum from your lips breaking the silence. He realizes you’re humming one of his songs. His eyes burn. He chooses to blame it on the chemicals.

“Okay,” you say when you’re finished covering his hair with the black dye. “All done. I’m gonna hop in the shower while it develops, then you can rinse it out.” He nods, and you narrow your eyes. “Jun. Have you eaten today?”

He gulps. “No. . . Kinda just woke up.”

You huff out a breath, pulling the gloves from your hands tossing them in the garbage. “Go eat, please. I’ll come get you when it’s time.”

You practically shove him out of the bathroom and towards the kitchen before turning back to put the shower on. He glances over his shoulder, seeing that you’ve left the door cracked open. He wanders towards the fridge, trying not to itch his scalp. The dye burns a bit, but he barely notices.

He finds a cup of yogurt and fishes a spoon from the drawer, propping himself against the counter as he slowly starts on his “breakfast”. Soon enough, he’s finished the cup and he hears you shut the water off.

“Jun!” You call. “It’s time!”

“Mm, coming,” he mumbles, tossing his garbage into the can before he slowly makes his way back to the bathroom. He pushes the door open, a thick cloud of steam hitting him instantly. He waves his hand through the air a bit and stops when he sees you through the fog, nothing but a towel wrapped around your body, hair wet and sticking to your shimmering skin. His breath catches in his throat as his eyes travel up your body, tracing all the curves and edges until he meets your gaze. 

You smile softly at him. “Ready?”

“Ready?” He rasps, clearing his throat. “I mean – for what?”

“To rinse your hair?”

He swallows. “Oh.” He pulls off his tee shirt, leaving him in just his boxers. He feels warm as the steam wraps around his bare skin. You push back the shower curtain and motion for him to step inside. He sees the stool that you’ve set on the floor of the shower and sits down, watching as you step in behind him. You pull the shower head down and turn the water on, testing the temperature on your hand before letting the water run over his hair, gently running your fingers through his locks.

The water is lukewarm and muddied from the black dye, trickling down his neck and bare chest. He’s not sure why he feels so guilty for the way his heart is pounding against his chest, the way his hands are aching to touch you as you stand behind him and rinse the product out. He’s been with you for so long and he’s seen every part of you time and time again, but no matter how much he tries, he can never seem to shake the nervousness that overcomes when he feels your breath down his neck, sending sparks flying down his spine, igniting a fire in his veins that he had no means of extinguishing. Every touch of your fingertips against his scalp pains him. It makes him want you more and more.

“Y/N.” His voice is raspy. He clears his throat. “How long is this gonna take?”

“I’m supposed to rinse until the water runs clear.” You’re leaning down when you answer him, probably to get a better angle as you continue to run your hands through his hair as you rinse. He’s sure you’re unaware of the way your lips accidentally brush against the shell of his ear when you speak, but he isn’t so lucky. He can’t ignore it. The sparks are running all along his skin now.

He swallows. Hard. “And how long does that usually take?”

You laugh lightly, your fingers casually sliding a bit further down the nape of his neck before retreating back behind his hairline. “Why, Jun? Do you have somewhere to be?”

He doesn’t understand how you still can’t seem to see the agony you’re causing him. He doesn’t quite understand it himself; he’s made you his countless times. Yet, for some odd reason, he still feels the same desperation, the same urgency, the same overwhelming longing for your skin against his as if it’s the first time all over again.

He reaches behind him and clasps a hand around your wrist, stilling your movement. His chest is rising and falling with labored breaths, water continuing to slide down his skin, pooling beneath his feet.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He slowly pulls your hand down, your palm sliding over his shoulder and down his chest. By pulling your hand down, he’s also drawn you closer to him. He feels the rough fabric of your towel against his back. “Nothing’s wrong.”

You’re closer now; he can feel your breath against his neck more distinctly than before. Your breathing has become labored to match his own. He feels your chest push against his back with each inhale. He tilts his head back so he’s looking up at you as you loom over him. Your cheeks are flushed, and he’s unable to tell if it’s because of him or the lingering steam. He keeps one hand over yours on his chest and brings the other up to cradle your jaw, his fingers lightly grazing over your cheekbone.

“Jun.” You inhale sharply after whispering his name, still holding the showerhead in your other hand. The water is pointed at the shower floor now, occasionally splashing up onto his legs. He pulls your face down, closer to his own, until his nose is brushing against your skin. Then, his lips are against yours, soft and gentle, heart fluttering in his chest. 

You sigh against him, your hand moving freely along his chest now, tracing circles across his damp skin. He moves his other hand up to hold the other side of your face, pulling you further against him. He wants to remain gentle, afraid of the intensity of the fire that continues to blaze within him. Yet, as though entranced, he parts his lips and closes them around yours with more pressure than before. You hum at the movement, your hand halting briefly against his chest before slowly sliding lower down his stomach, reaching dangerous territory as your fingers tease the waistline of his boxers.

Electrified by the sensation, Yeonjun loses control. He breaks the kiss, leaving you with your mouth agape as he stands abruptly, prying the running shower head from your grasp and hanging it back in its place. The water pours over both of you now like rain, black from the dye as it runs down Yeonjun’s bare chest. He tosses the stool out of the shower, ridding himself of the only obstacle between himself and you. 

He cups your neck in his hand, pulling you flush against his chest as he collides with you once more, desperate and feverish as his teeth graze your bottom lip. You gasp against him, hands sliding up his back, tangling themselves in his dripping black hair. He turns and pushes you back against the wall, hands desperate as they work to unravel the towel that still covers you. He tosses it over the curtain rod once you’re free of it, his lips trailing down to explore what he’s just uncovered. Your hands are still in his hair, small gasps and moans slipping past your lips when he reaches the sensitive spots on your chest with his lips, biting gently before smoothing the skin over with his tongue.

Your hands slide down his chest, followed by a trail of black from his hair as they wrap around to his hips. You pull him into you as his mouth travels back up to the crook of your neck, grinding your hips against his. He gasps, biting at your skin when you make contact.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he whispers, palms covering your breasts as you push yourself into him once more. He groans, resting his forehead on your shoulder as you continue to move against him rhythmically, kissing along his collarbone.

“Yeonjun,” you rasp, moaning softly when he slides his knee between your legs, pushing against your sensitive spot.

“I want you, Y/N.” He knows you know this, but he feels the need to say it at this moment.

You still at his words. He raises his head, eyes meeting yours. He can’t be sure if it’s tears or the shower water, but something is welling in your eyes.

He furrows his brow, brushing your sopping hair behind your ear. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

You smile softly, shaking your head. “Nothing. I just– I needed to hear that.” You softly push your lips against his, sliding his boxers down as you kiss him slowly.

“I love you, Jun,” you whisper against him, jumping up to wrap your legs around his waist. He catches you, holding you against him as he kisses you back, gingerly, closing his eyes and shutting out the pain he had just seen in your gaze.

He’s too aware now– aware of why there were tears in your eyes. About the guilt he’s felt all these months, and the sickening feeling that has been growing in the pit of his stomach; it’s all become so clear to him. The way he’s been holding onto you so tightly, without thinking about how he’d been dragging you down with him. How he’s been so afraid of the person he was becoming that he couldn’t bear the thought of being alone with himself– without you.

Because he knows, at the end of the day, that you would do anything for him without him even having to ask. That you would stay beside him with claw marks in your skin and bruises around your wrists from how desperate he had been to keep you there, no matter the cost.

He knows that you would ruin yourself a million times over for him. You would never let him go.

Not without him letting you go first.

----------

You had heard it said before that everything would feel just right for a fraction of a moment right before it all went so horribly wrong, so horribly fast. 

It’s subtle at first. You open your eyes, smiling as the sunlight trickles through the open window. Rolling onto your side, you reach out your arm, hoping to brush your hand against his skin. When you find the space beside you to be empty, you’re disappointed, but not particularly surprised. This is to be expected.

However, when you sit up, something is off. Everything is too quiet, too empty. You slide out of bed, wandering into the kitchen, heart rate increasing with each step you take.

“Jun?” You call, biting the inside of your cheek when silence is the only response.

You see a note taped to the front of the fridge. Your breath catches.

Before even reading it, you’re certain you know what it says. There’s a feeling somewhere deep in your gut, toiling like a stormy sea.

You hold your breath as you pull the note off and begin to read.

Y/N,

Have I ever told you how much you remind me of the moon? You are soft, glowing, lighting the darkness. Constant – even when I can’t see you, I know you are there. Somber, kind. Beautiful. 

Everything.

How could I deserve to love the moon when, right now, I can barely even see the stars?

I am the tide. Pulling close to you, then rushing far away. I want to stay close, but right now, I can’t. Something pulls me back, each time.

I love you. So, so much. Because I love you, I have to let you go. I need help. The kind of help that would be cruel to continue asking you to give me. I want to get better, not just for you, but for myself as well.

My moon, please continue to shine. I may not see you, but I will always know you are there. And, like the tide, you will still hear me, even from afar. In the songs on the breeze, the melodies in the trees, the steady beat of your heart. Remember me in all of it.

When the time is right, and if I can get better, I will find you again. I promise. But in the meantime, I ask you just one thing: don’t waste away waiting for me to return. Live. To the fullest, in the most beautiful way you can. Please don’t forget to live.

Love, Jun

Teardrops stain the paper. Your hand shakes as you sink to the ground, unsure of what sounds leave you as your chest heaves, eyes squeezing shut to block out the sunlight that now feels blinding.

Yet, in the midst of it all, something small and warm settles into the pit of your chest. It burns, yet it comforts you. As you sob, fists wrapped up in the soft fabric of his tee shirt that you had fallen asleep in, you pretend that you are holding on to that warm feeling, keeping it close, never letting go.

This feeling – this hope – is what keeps you going. You know that, despite it all, you will not forget to live.

----------

THE SUN SETS, AND YOU FEEL AT PEACE.

The soft pinks and purples of the last bit of sunset begin to fade, rippling away with the ocean’s waves as the sun sinks beneath the horizon line. You take a deep breath, closing your eyes as the salt air fills your nose. The sand is cooling beneath your feet and you shiver as the breeze flows by, wrapping your cardigan tighter around your shoulders.

There’s nobody behind you now, but that’s okay.

A bell dings in the distance. You turn, letting your eyes slide open.

You aren’t sure if it’s him at first, partially due to the distance, and partially because his hair is now back to his natural black color. He’s riding his bike, dinging the small bell from the handle. As he approaches, you can see the soft smile settling on his lips. In his hand, he holds an ice cream cone.

Tears prickle at the corners of your eyes, but you smile, so big you can’t help but laugh.

He stops in front of you, nearly dropping the ice cream cone from his hand before he lets the bike fall to the ground. His own eyes are full of tears, but he too smiles, stars dancing in his eyes. He extends the ice cream cone to you, and you smile wider, fingers brushing against his as you grab hold of it. “Happy birthday, Y/N.”

Your heart skips a beat at his voice. “Thank you, Jun.”

You’re both silent, soaking in the presence of one another, listening to the waves crash against the shore, saltwater spraying across your ankles. His head is tilted towards the sky.

“Look up,” he whispers.

You lean your head back, sighing in contentment as the moon comes into sight.

“It’s beautiful,” you say.

His hand slides into yours.

“Yes. You are.”

[jeminie-rising]

onigiris for valentine's

[ Inumaki Toge x Reader ]

link to AO3: [ onigiris for valentine's by JEMINIE ]

summary: "Perhaps he didn’t get a bag with a purple ribbon, but he looked at his own colour on the ribbon that was tied on your hair."

Or, it's valentine's day and you give everyone a bag of cookies with ribbons of their favourite colours apart from Inumaki. He then realises that his ribbon was actually in your hair all along.

warnings: Inumaki Toge uses sign language, Soft Inumaki, Inumaki says more than just rice balls ingredients, fluff, toge and reader being complete idiots in love, no smut!, they're both so in love, Not actually unrequited love (they just shy), Yuuta is so supportive, love confessions (finally), slow burn

characters: inumaki toge, The Inumaki Clan, Fushiguro Megumi, Itadori Yuuji, Kugisaki Nobara, Zen'in Maki, Panda, Yuta Okkotsu

word count: 6,623

authors note: hi, i know i know. It's the end of February and why am i posting a Valentine's themed one shot?

WELL BETTER LATE THAN NEVER!

sorry, i wasn't in the mood to write about love during the month of my ex's birthday lmao. so not only was i late, but this one shot might not be as good as i would have hoped. I shall come back in the future to fix it, hopefully

In the meantime though, ENJOY xx

and reminder:

sign language in this fanfic, like in all the others, is based on japanese sign language, not ASL.

this is part 3 of the Holidays with Toge series but can 100% be read on its own

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Don’t wait for someday. She’s thinking the same thing as you. - kids that fly

It has been weeks since New Year’s Eve. January seemed to pass in the blink of an eye and even worse, it seems like nothing really has changed. Not the classes they took, not the amount of times Itadori begged for you to help him out with English, not the missions you took up with your classmates, and not the way Inumaki treated you.

You started to believe everything that has happened was a figment of your imagination. His little trick and tease during the countdown to the very last second of last year, was nothing more than his way to pull a joke out of you. It’s not that it was something out of the ordinary. He liked to pull pranks on people with Panda all the time. Something Maki had to deal with every day, being the only other classmate they had that was present. Unfortunately for her, the mysterious fourth second year was always absent, making her the only and biggest target of Inumaki and Panda’s annoying plans.

But exactly because of it, they moved on from Maki and started widening their target to the first years. They started with Itadori, quite the gullible one and easier to get forgiveness from. A safe bet, you’d say. They managed to make him believe he was invisible for an entire afternoon. Even miraculously got help from Megumi, who did not want to get involved. But because it came natural for him to ignore Itadori, he indirectly added to the two’s bit.

They managed to pull one on you too. But in comparison, your prank seemed quite mellower. One day, mid-january, you came back to your room after class only to see it filled up with Christmas decorations when you were sure you put them down just the previous week. Even then, you were certain that you never really owned Santa curtains and elves bedsheets. It took you a whole two days to bring down everything.

Up to this day, you weren’t sure how it was that they entered your room. 

“I can hear you both snickering there,” Maki warned the two solidified prankers of the school, “if this is one other prank you’re planning you will–”

“It’s not!” Panda was quick to defend himself, “Toge was just making a joke.”

“If you two have so much time to joke around then might as well use that to train the first years.”

You and Nobara couldn’t help but smile at that idea. Training with a second year other than Maki? Definitely! 

Maki was a force of nature. She may not have any cursed energy but she made up for it with raw skills and talent. Nobara swore she would take ten Pandas over one Maki any day. And that she did. Maki wasn’t even done sparring with her before she ran towards Panda to start their training. You only looked at her, a little bit of betrayal in your face for leaving you behind.

Maki looked at you expectantly, now that Nobara was gone, you were next.

“I, actually–”

“Hey, guys!”

Everyone turned around but only the second years reacted to the newcomer. 

“Who is that?” Itadori asked, almost appalled, as soon as he saw Maki actually smile.

Megumi, who was the only one from the first years who has been in the school long enough to know, smiled proudly as he answered Itadori, “That’s Yuuta Okkotsu, the last of the second years of the Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Te–”

“Yeah, yeah,” Nobara interrupted him. “That’s the last of our upperclassmen then?”

“I guess...?”

With a groan Nobara let down her shoulders, “ugh, so there’s really no handsome guy in this entire school uh?”

“Hey!” Itadori pouted, but Nobara was already waving her hand, shooing him away.

“I think he’s kinda cute,” you admitted.

“Yeah, in a sick Victorian kid way,” Nobara was looking at Okkotsu from the midfield with the rest of her classmates. He was quite far from them, but she could already observe him without problems from where she stood. “He looks like he’s ready to go at any time, are we really sure he’s a special grade?” 

Megumi scoffed at her question. There was little to underestimate about Yuuta Okkotsu, and his grade was not one of them.

“Hey guys come here!” Panda waved for the first years, “let me introduce you to Yuuta Okkotsu, our classmate and friend.”

Everyone gave a small nod, all with their own reasons as to not make the first step, but overall, the cursed energy he emanated from that distance was enough to keep them away.

“Don’t worry, he’s not gonna bite,” Panda reassured them.

“Not him anyways,” Maki added, making Inumaki chuckle.

“Hello, I’m Yuji Itadori!” The pink haired boy was the first to introduce himself, you couldn’t help but wonder if he trusted Panda enough to do it or he really was just that kind of guy to not care about his own safety. The times you went on missions with him made you think it was the latter.

“Nobara Kugisaki,” she simply said, studying him with her gaze. She only let a beat pass before she added, “You’re really a special grade sorcerer?”

Yuuta could only smile at her, and with the most casual tone he answered her, “uh, yeah, I am.”

“He doesn’t look like one, does he?” Maki snickered, knowing exactly what hid behind the false appearances.

“I guess…” Nobara continued, still quite skeptical. Her reply mostly being for his appearances. “Well, my friend here thinks differently.”

Your eyes widened, “I didn’t say anything!”

“You said he was kinda cute!” Nobara reminded you. Your eyes were almost falling out of your eye sockets.

You were not the only one. Everyone present was quite taken aback by that comment. Not really expecting that at the moment. Yuuta couldn’t help but glance towards Inumaki, the boy’s face was half hidden, but he knew his friend enough to notice that little frown between his brows forming.

“And I guess you must be [name], right?” Yuuta tried his best to break the ice that was formed. You frowned at him, confused as to how he could possibly know your name. Catching on your reaction he continued, “Sorry if that sounded weird. I was away for missions, but my friends kept me updated about everything and everyone… Inumaki especially talked to me, so of course I’d know of you.” 

“Oh, well, yeah that’s me,” you chuckled, then turned towards Inumaki, his gaze was avoiding yours. He spoke about you? You quickly shook the newly forming delusions away. He must speak of every single one of you.

That’s just the kind of person Inumaki Toge was in your eyes. Sweet, kind, considerate, and so loving and caring about other people. To the point where he would limit his entire life to a few ingredients just to make it a little bit safer for everyone around him.

“Why are you here anyways, Yuuta?”

“Well, I wasn’t around for Christmas and New Years, at least on Valentine's Day I could spend it with my other single friends!” Yuuta cheered.

“Single?” Panda asked skeptically before whispering, “Is that safe to say for you?”

Yuuta could only chuckle, but you, Nobara, and Itadori were left confused. Itadori was the only one mouthful enough to bother to ask, “does Okkotsu-senpai have a girlfriend?” Others hesitated to answer, and when they did Itadori was quick to add thinking he got it wrong, “or boyfriend? …Partner, perhaps? …lover?”

“Yuuutaaa,” a screeching voice came out of nowhere bringing the three first years ready for combat, sensing the cursed energy around them becoming heavier out of nowhere.

“Calm down,” Maki warned, and you weren’t sure if she was referring to you first years who were instinctively in fighting positions, or Yuuta and whatever entity that was slowly appearing from behind him.

Everything within you, every training combat and exercise was pushing you over the edge to attack, but you hesitated. You pulled yourself and your instincts back, knowing well that if it was an enemy, your second years would be the first to react. With a deep breath, you calmed yourself down.

“Rika, it’s okay,” Yuuta was… reassuring the creature?

You frowned. Unsure how to react and even less sure what to think. Was that what made him a special grade? Was that even a cursed technique?

“Yuutaaa, why are they flirting with youuu?” 

The voice seemed to reverb until your bones, chilling your spine. But the tone seemed like that of a child throwing a tantrum, something about it seemed odd. It wasn’t until Panda started explaining the situation that Nobara placed her hammer back in her belt and Itadori let go of his tight fists.

“Sorry for having spooked you,” Yuuta apologised quickly after the explanation.

“It’s alright!” Itadori was the first to smile at him, “I understand your predicament.”

“Predicament uh, big words from you,” Megumi scoffed. “Trying to impress or something?” 

“Shut up,” Itadori gritted his teeth.

The second years all laughed, and Yuuta went back to the topic he was hoping to have since he came, “anyways, I was hoping we could all do something for the fourteenth? It’s a Friday so we all could go do something after classes…”

“I think that’s a fun idea!” Itadori cheered at the thought of being able to go out with his friends, “Maybe we can watch a movie?”

“I would love that!” Yuuta smiled fondly at the pink haired boy, “It’s been ages since I’ve been to the movies…”

“I’m going if we’re not watching one of those weird movies with long ass titles you like,” Nobara sighed.

“I heard they’re making a release of rom-com movies for the week of Valentines,” you brought up the ad you recently searched. It was in your plans to invite Inumaki for a date, but you knew that was never going to happen. This group activity could be the closest thing you could get to seeing him during Valentine’s day.

“Perfect!” Itadori looked through his phone to buy tickets for everyone before anyone could even agree on coming.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You were a coward.

Or at least that’s what you have been thinking of. Hiding behind the opportunity of hanging out with everyone to avoid confessing your love and asking Inumaki on a date. Both Panda and Nobara have been cheering for you since the winter holidays to take a step, and you were sure that this Valentine’s was going to be your perfect opportunity. However, it all went to smoke when Yuuta came around (you pathetically excused yourself). Or maybe he gave you the opportunity to see Toge on Valentine’s day without having to confess your feelings. 

With this new motivation you thought of what you could possibly do to make the day a little bit more special for him. Maybe a Valentine’s gift was going to be enough? Or was that too forward?

You thought of giving him chocolate. But only giving him while giving others nothing felt kind of weird. So you started making everyone some cookies, something different from his but still made from the heart. But by the time you made everyone a pack of cookies, you noticed how his chocolates paled in comparison to homemade cookies. Sure you didn’t want his gift to stand out, but now it seemed like it was too little.

You racked your brain over what else you could do, but before you realised it, the first few rays of sun came through the window and you knew you had no more time to do anything else. You still had to prepare to go to class and fix the kitchen. With a calming breath, you told yourself that you’d have time during the lunch break. So without battling yourself over it for longer, you quickly cleaned the utensils and counter you used.

You almost didn’t make it to class in time, but fortunately, your training as a sorcerer was helpful to you in more ways than just fighting curses. Classes that day went smoothly. Well, not smoothly, more like they were just background noise for all the thoughts you were getting for later than day.  

“Hey let’s have lunch at th–”

“Sorry but I have to do something right now!” You said running away already, giving them no time to say anything. 

“Where is she going?” Panda asked, confused to see you running away.

It wasn’t often that everyone would have lunch together. Usually it was first years with first years, and second years among themselves. Often everyone would have their lunch alone too as they had their own things going on. But that was one of the rare times when Okkotsu was home from his long term missions, so they all decided to take advantage of that by spending more time together.

“We don't know either…” Itadori admitted.

“Girl things?” Megumi offered it as an excuse but he honestly didn’t care much. Compared to Itadori, he trusted you to do stuff on your own without getting in too much trouble.

Inumaki stayed quiet, not even offering an ingredient as an addition to the conversation as he usually does. The only one noticing his gaze fixed on you running away towards the dorm rooms was Yuuta.

“She’s probably okay,” he reassured his friend by putting a hand on his shoulder. “She doesn’t seem the kind of person to go through troubles by herself.”

“Tuna tuna,” the boy replied, his gaze lowering to the chocolate he hid in his pocket.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Other than your absence, the break went quickly and without a hitch. Everyone had a laugh sharing stories with each other. While for the afternoon classes, you were, once again, tardy, but nothing too outrageous to get the teachers to complain. Their annoyance seemed dissipated thanks to the sweet smell that came from the big paper bag you had with you.

Itadori couldn’t help himself, he had to ask about it. He leaned to the side and whispered closer to you, “What do you have there?”

“It’s just a little gift,” you giggled to yourself.

“It’s for Inumaki-senpai, isn’t it?” Nobara leaned in to join the conversation.

“Aww dang,” Itadori pouted back into his seat, his groan a little too loud catching a stern look from their teacher. He lowered his voice again, hoping it would be low enough to not be reprimanded despite knowing he could be heard anyways, “I wanted something too…”

“Just wait for later!” You tried to keep your voice low.

Patience wasn’t one of Itadori’s virtues. He kept poking at you during class, after class, on the way to the cinema, and when they were in line to claim their tickets. The others weren’t phased by anything at this point, especially when it came to Itadori, but Yuuta was new to the bunch.

“You guys seem like a good pair,” he said, smiling at you and Itadori. There was only a beat, before he realised his choice of word and had to add, “I meant that as a like platonic pair –like good friends–”

“Yeah,” Itadori laughed, “I imagined.”

“But what are you guys doing?” He asked, “Is this a normal occurrence?”

“More than you’d think,” Maki sighed. 

“It would stop if you could finally spill the beans,” Nobara poked at you. “What are you hiding?”

You looked at the remaining line for the movies. There was still quite a line, pairs of people for the most part, and those that weren’t were a group of girls celebrating in pink –galentines, you thought. There would be enough time before your group’s turn so you decided to take the opportunity at your grasp.

Putting down the paper bag, you started grabbing the elaborated pink bags tied each with a different coloured ribbon. Analysing the colours of the ribbons, you started to distribute them to all the different members of the group.

The green one to Maki. You assumed she’d prefer a darker chocolate flavour, given how much she enjoyed coffee in the early mornings. Similarly to Megumi’s, which was tied with a teal ribbon, who received coffee flavoured cookies from you.

In your hand you still had a red ribbon confection and there was no question to who it would go to. Even Nobara was eagerly looking at the bag with her favourite colour. The girl grabbed it from your hand before you could even offer it to her. Soft and chunky cookies inside, just like she likes them. Similar to hers, but bigger in size, was Panda’s. His bag was also the biggest one among the ones she held. A black ribbon wrapped around it tightly. 

After giving Panda his bag, there were only two more remaining. Yuji awaited his turn impatiently, his feet marching in place as a way to stimulate his eagerness. You almost wanted to keep his bag to tease him, but his face made you guilty enough to give his next. A bag adorned with a pink ribbon, and different flavoured cookies inside to reflect his chaotic nature. 

“Yaaay! Nothing beats homemade cookies!” He celebrated them above everyone’s head the moment he had them in hand.

Everyone chuckled at the boy, his enthusiasm contagious to everyone. But it wasn’t enough to keep Toge distracted for long. He looked at the last bag you held in hand, and could smell the sweet sweet cookies that fought their way out of the white ribbon.

“And this one…” you held the bag in front of you, “is for you!”

It wasn’t only Inumaki who was speechless, but among everyone was Yuuta, who hesitantly reached out for the bag you were handing him, “Me…? I–I wasn’t expecting anything… we–”

“Of course you get some too!” You laughed as if it was an obvious thing.

“Uh… how about Inumaki-senpai?” Itadori pointed out what everyone was thinking.

At his question, a dust of pink blush, similar to his ribbon, tainted your cheeks. You were trying to avoid doing this in front of everyone, but with everyone’s eyes on you, you had no choice. You opened up your purse, instead of the paper bag, hesitantly, hoping for an escape. And there it was, like the Gods answered your prayer.

“Next!” The lady called out for them.

This was enough to grab everyone’s attention to the cashier lady. In between busy choosing the movies and which seats to take, you took this opportunity to grab the purple tupperware from your purse and push it against Inumaki’s side.

“For you,” you whispered. “Happy valentines, Inumaki-senpai.”

You didn’t even let him say anything before you rushed your way after the other first years, who were arguing if it was better to have all seats in one row or take two rows of equal numbers.

“She gave you… tupperware?” Panda peaked over Inumaki’s shoulder, “Are the cookies inside?”

Inumaki could only shrug his shoulders. Some part of him wanted to have a cute bag with a ribbon too, but he shoved that feeling aside. He was about to eat cookies you prepared for him, who cared what they came into?

He carefully opened the tub but instead of the sweet smell of cookies he smelt the familiar scent of… onigiri?

The two looked at the tupperware container holding two rows of onigiris carefully placed over purple sheer paper. There was a moment of silence between them as they stared at the rice balls, before Panda started laughing dropping on the floor, catching the attention of people around them.

The silver haired boy could only frown and send a kick to his friend, “Bonito flakes!”

But the panda only laughed more at the unintended pun, “t-that’s right! There are bonito flakes –This may be the best prank ever!”

Toge looked back at the tupperware to notice one of the onigiris to have bonito flakes on top of it. That wasn’t common to have from store-bought onigiris –these were home-made, he concluded. With one look he searched for you among the first years, unsure truly how to react or feel about the gift he received. Although, once found the little bow on your head amongst the others, his doubts were somehow cleared. 

How could he not have noticed before? 

“What’s your favourite colour, senpai?” You once asked him once when the flowers were blooming and offered a various range of colours for him to pick on without having to speak out loud.

Inumaki looked pensive for a bit. Then pointed at a violet that was by her hand, “tuna mayo.”

You followed his finger with your gaze. For a second you thought he referred to your new set of nails, but then noticed the violet in between your pinky and ring finger. 

“Violet?” You asked to clarify.

He gave a single nod, “Salmon.”

“It’s a pretty colour!” You affirmed, “they’re similar to your eyes…”

Inumaki was once again grateful for the collar that hid his face and his red. Hoping to change the attention from himself to you, he pointed his finger back at you, “mustard?”

“Me?” You asked before thinking about it. You aren’t sure why you had to think about it. You knew what your favourite colour was. It has always been white. The infinite possibilities white could hold is far too alluring for you to not have it as your favourite colour. But after seeing the purple in Inumaki’s eyes, you hesitated for a bit. What were possibilities compared to the certainty that you found in him? “W-white,” you finally admitted after a moment too long.

Inumaki looked up at the sky, his gaze pensive and they looked farther away than where you ever could, but then he pointed at the clouds. You could only nod, smiling at him. 

“Yes, like the clouds.”

He then looked down at the ground. Picking a single daisy, he offered it to you. 

“Yes, like daisies.” You reached out for it and twirled it between your two fingers, “and mongolias… and jasmines –my favourite!”

Inumaki looked at you, his head tilted, “Mustard?”

“Yeah, I love Jasmines, they smell like comfort!”

Inumaki seemed to think about something for a bit, then brought his hand to his hair, he grabbed a few strands from his bangs and looked at it making cross eyes you giggled at. Then he looked through his bangs and directly at you, “Mustard?”

You frowned slightly unsure if you understood him correctly. This seemed to not translate to you in his ingredients, so he shifted his body towards you and clearly showed his hands. Back then, he was already studying sign language from the book you have gifted him on his birthday. He was still quite choppy on his sign language but he was getting the hang on it quicker than you did.

You knew his intentions and with a focused eye, you followed his hands as he unzipped his collar down. A sign of vulnerability from him, you learned. You tried to not get entranced by the snake fangs by each side of his mouth and forced your eyes to follow his hands instead. With all his fingers together he twisted the tips of them against each other. Colour.

“Colour?” You repeated his sign out loud and he gave you a nod.

He then pointed his pointer to his teeth showing his own fangs. The small smile he formed as he signed and flicked his finger, made you almost forget what he was trying to say. You shook your head trying to regain focus, but poor Toge assumed you didn’t know that particular sign and looked up instead to point at a new cloud. Then back to your daisy that still rested between your fingers. 

You nodded and repeated the sign for the colour white by grinning your teeth out and flick your pointer finger against it. “White,” you spoke out before bringing your two fingers at each side of your cheek as you dropped your hand down, your two fingers met at the tip of your chin. “I like the colour white.” Before a pause you added without sign language, “My favourite.”

He couldn’t avoid a smile at your words. He pointed at you before repeating your own sign. You. Bringing his fingers to his chins, highlighting his snake eyes, and dropping his hand to meet his two fingers to the tip of his chin. Like. Then he pointed at his forehead.

“Y-You…” You gaped before finally realising, “...r hair.”

He nodded and you could not keep in a smile, “yes, I do like your hair colour.”

White was your favourite colour. That was not something Toge would forget anytime soon. That was the colour of his hair, the colour of the flowers you smelt like, the colour of endless possibility. Ever since that afternoon at the field of flowers with you, he has seen the colour in a different way. 

He looked at your ribbon again, the one that held your hair together, but it wasn’t white like it usually would be to match your uniform, it was purple instead. His favourite colour. The same colour as the paper that held all his onigiri safe. Perhaps he didn’t get a bag with a purple ribbon, but he looked at his own colour on the ribbon that was tied on your hair.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The movie was a hit. Everyone fell in love with the characters as much as they fell in love with each other. Itadori in particular was ecstatic over the ending.

“I can’t believe she wasn’t dead after all!” He jumped as everyone followed on the way back home, “I still don’t understand how it happened…”

“Of course you don’t, simpleton,” Megumi commented a few steps behind.

“It wasn’t said in the movie!” Itadori fought him.

“There are implications!” Megumi scoffed.

As the two argued between themselves you couldn’t help but laugh. It was nice to have a moment with them like that. With studying and missions, it was hard to find a time where everyone could act like normal kids –as normal as a sorcerer could get anyways. Having a literal panda walk with you guys didn’t really keep the attention away from the group. You could only guess the things going on inside people’s heads. But you assumed, just like you did when you met him for the first time, that people thought he was just one of those people who liked to get into anthropomorphic animal costumes. 

You looked behind you to check on the said friend, beside him, of course, there was Inumaki who already had his eyes on you. You knew it was too late, but you still looked away and hoped he didn’t pay mind to you. After giving him his valentine's gift, you weren’t sure how he would react, but he hasn’t said anything and that made you more anxious.

“You should make a move,” Yuuta approached him after witnessing the very short interaction.

“Tuna?”

“You never know when it’s too late,” the boy shrugged. “Sorcerers like us don’t have the privilege of time.”

Toge couldn’t look away from his friend. He was right, with all the missions you both had to go through, even more now after Sukuna’s return, there were no promises of a tomorrow. He only had today and his feelings. And with nothing more than that, the boy gave his friend a thankful wave as he caught up to you, who walked ahead of them.

You, in turn, hoped for any kind of reaction for your gift, a comment, a sign. You weren’t really expecting a grand thank you, but nothing seemed a bit too much. Sure you walked away the moment you passed the gift, but part of you was hoping for even a nod from the distance. 

You felt a tap on your shoulder and you knew it was him.

“Kelp,” he greeted you with a gentle nod.

“Hey, did you enjoy the movie?” You asked, hoping that the question would lead him astray from the thought of your onigiris. But it only did so much as he nodded again.

“Tuna tuna,” he changed the subject again, pointing at your purple ribbon.

You followed his hand, something you found yourself accustomed to at that point. “Ah yes, it’s new, do you like it?”

He paused before nodding at you, “salmon.”

“Seems like you hesitated there,” you chuckled, teasing him, but it didn’t seem to budge him at all.

“Onigiri,” you heard him say, that new word made you almost snap your head towards him in surprise. You weren’t quite sure if he meant that literally or if he was using new food-related words to communicate his thoughts. With a slight frown you tried to look for the answer in his subtle expressions.

“Onigiri…?”

He nodded, grabbing the tupperware you gave him from his bag, “onigiri.”

“Oh,” you nodded, “yes, onigiri.”

He then placed the tupperware back into his bag, allowing him to use his hands for signs. You watch him as he placed his left hand flat over a pointer finger directed towards you. With one single movement, he pointed towards you. Why?“Why onigiris?” you asked clarifying, he hummed at your interpretation. “Well, I thought you’d like to have onigiris, I just assumed they were your favourites since you chose the ingredients to be your vocabulary… Did I get it wrong?” “Bonito flakes!” Your worried expression made him shake his head as quickly as he could, hoping to shoo away your doubts. “Tuna mayo.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled. The sound of your light laughter was too soft for Inumaki to hear over the chatter of the people around. Especially with Itadori having a full conversation with Nobara right in front of you. He had it in mind to curse them to shut up for a second, just to hear your giggle better. But he quickly moved that bad idea aside when you spoke again. “Each of them have different ingredients inside, I made one of each of the ones you mention the most –There are two of tuna mayo, your favourite.”

Toge could only smile fondly at your words, his chest fluttering with affection towards you, even more than before. He thought about the savoury snacks he had in his backpack, and then of all the cookies and chocolates that were being exchanged throughout the nation at that moment, and he felt like he had the best deal out of all of them. You didn’t simply give him chocolate, like he initially would have wished for, but took time to think about what he would have liked most and actually make it. He puffed his chest lightly at the new treasure he held in his bag, eager to take a taste of them as soon as he could.

“Do you like it?” You asked, looking at him, as you all walked down the street, now closer to your school, “Maybe I should have given you cookies too…”

“Bonito flakes!”

“So you’re okay with it?”

He smiled at you, and he looked around before placing a hand on your shoulder. You looked at him in slight surprise, but his gaze was directed towards Panda, “Tuna tuna.”

The friend smiled at him and gave him a single nod, as the others continued to walk away. You saw Panda pulling Itadori away by his hood. Something about wanting to watch being mumbled away. Without Itadori and the rest, there was a soft silence around you, realising how much quieter things were when it was only you and Inumaki. Nothing awkward, just peaceful. But what did warrant for such quiet and for your friends to go ahead without you both? Your delusions were already jumping everywhere, and you had to push them away before you could get ahead of yourself.

Your gaze turned back to Toge, who had his eyes already on you. “Is there something wrong?” You asked unsure. You felt like there was something to be said, but couldn’t bring yourself to take the first step to leading the conversation.

He shook his head, before zipping down his collar. You were quite sure that he was going to use Sign again, so you followed his hands closely to focus. But to your surprise, he brought his fingers to your chin and gently pulled your face up to meet his eyes. 

This simple gesture was enough to cause you to sweat cold. You fidgeted with your fingers hoping to distract yourself from his, that were still on your chin. 

“Inumaki-senpai?” You asked hoping he would finally get to the point. You weren’t sure how much longer you could handle being so close to him without breathing.

He took a step back, much to your health. But his gaze was still fixed into yours, silently guiding you to not look away. Not that you could even if you wanted to, his eyes were as hypnotising as that of a snake luring a prey.

Then he did what you didn’t expect him to, he began to open his mouth.

“I…” he attempted, “have been practicing.” 

You swore your heart stopped the moment he opened his mouth and began to beat only at each word he spoke. Unsure if you were supposed to ruin the moment, you kept quiet, not daring even to move a muscle, afraid you might miss something.

He seemed to be thinking about it for a bit, then with careful breathing, he spoke again, “I have been practicing, to not infuse my words with cursed energy.” He paused as he breathed in a big chunk of air. You wondered if it took a lot of him to do so.

“That’s amazing, senpai,” you said before you even realised you were talking. Perhaps when Inumaki could talk, it was you who was rendered speechless. You looked for words to say as he smiled at you clearly quite proud of himself. “Since when?”

He paused before answering. For the first few times he did so, you thought it was because he was thinking about what to say, but it seemed like he was actually selecting which words to use. Despite him keeping from infusing his words with cursed speech he still deliberately thought of words that were still relatively safe to speak, just in case. 

“Since New Year’s Eve,” he carefully enunciated his syllables.

You couldn't contain your own smile, “You’ve made amazing progress!” 

He smiled back at you and gave a small polite bow, “Tuna mayo.”

You giggled at his favourite onigiri ingredient. Perhaps he was still more at ease with speaking like that. And to properly show his gratitude, he was going to do it with ease.

Then he took another deep breath in and nodded to himself. You watched him patiently, hoping for more words from him. It was cold, middle of february but spring was still so far away from arriving in the hills of Tokyo. But you paid no mind, you could stay there for an entire day and a night if it meant that you could have a conversation with Toge.

“I wanted to be able to speak properly with you,” he said after having attentively selected his words. He imagined everyone would practice their speech to themselves and to a mirror before giving it, and although he did so too, it still didn’t feel enough for him. Nerves got to him quickly as he inched closer to where he was aiming. He looked at you, hoping to gain courage from it, but it only made him even more nervous. 

In the long pause, you assumed he was done, so with a small smile you tilted your head, “that’s sweet, Inumaki-senpai.”

“Wait–” he shook his head, “Ikura.”

Your eyes widened slightly, shutting up. It was faint, but you felt the tingle of a cursed energy in his ‘wait’. It didn’t hurt, you noticed, his cursed speech never did hurt you. But it was an odd sensation crawling into your skin and grabbed onto your very muscle cells, forcing you to comply by pure force. There was worry in his eyes, as he noticed it too, but you smiled at him hoping to reassure the boy. With a single nod from you, he was able to breathe again. Perhaps your actions too had the same effect on him as his cursed speech. It took so little from you for him to change emotions and follow your silent commands.

“I wanted to tell you so many things,” he continued his thoughts from earlier. For the first time ever since you’ve known him, it was him speaking and you were listening. It was a dream that you never thought would be real. It made you so grateful for your world of curses, spirits, and impossibilities.

“I like the colour white too now,” he admitted out of nowhere, remembering that one afternoon in the field of flowers. 

“And I don’t actually like fish eggs…” he said, recalling that one time you offered some to him and he could only grimace at you. You never knew why he did, but now you knew it wasn’t directed at you.

“I don’t like morning assemblies,” he admitted before carefully selecting his next few words, “that’s why I never go.” –That’s why you never see me. He wished to say, knowing from Panda how often you looked for him during the assemblies. But if he said those words he was scared you would go blind, or worse, you’d never see him specifically.

He took a deep breath and then, just as he practiced, “I wanted to thank you for Christmas,” he said remembering how it was her idea to bring everyone to visit him, “and that I am sorry for taking your last grape on New Year’s Eve.” You tried to hide your smile at the memory. At the time, you were stunned and flustered, but looking back it was quite silly. But if that memory was not going to make you blush, his next words would have been enough to do so.

“And that you looked very beautiful.”

He smiled looking at you. Perhaps because he started to get the hang of it, he wasn’t feeling as nervous as earlier. But the more he spoke and the more he looked at you, he could only find more courage to spill all his secrets. To give you everything he had. To tell you every single thought he ever had selfishly hoping you’d keep them all.

“I was going to tell you on New Year’s Eve,” he continued before chuckling to himself, “but we got interrupted.”

The memory of your silent conversation on New Year’s Eve came back at you. The way he held his fingers on each side of his cheek close to expressing how he felt. You kept your eyes fixed on him, afraid to even blink. Afraid that in that fraction of a second where you blinked, your lashes might swipe him away from you or miss his words.

You had a vague feeling of what was to come. He was so close to telling you so many times that you developed so many ‘What-If’ scenarios that all of them resembled the one where you were in at the moment. You prayed to all the Gods looking over at you two, to the saint of Valentine’s day, that nothing would interrupt you anymore.

“This might be nothing compared to your onigiri, but…” You watched him as he pulled a chocolate bar from his pocket, and with another deep breath in, a solemn look, and a fond smile, he offered both the chocolate and his feelings to you, “I like you.”

[itsaspectrumcomic]

Hello :),

[EDIT: This is a super long asks, sorry about that 😭. I‘m just very unsure of this whole topic and I tend to ramble when I‘m nervous.] I‘ve been following your little comics for a while now (and always thought "ah, I do have a few symptoms but I‘m surely not autistic, I‘m not that extreme") aaaaaaand it turns out I may have it! At least every single test I did (which were a lot with a few months in between) resulted in a high percentage and I‘m actively looking for a therapist to get an official diagnosis- but that‘s not the point I‘m trying to get to, sorry I‘m rambling a bit.

Ahem I‘m still pretty new in this autism… community? Can one call it like that? And I constantly doubt my self-diagnosis and stuff, especially because I have trouble finding out if something is a special interest or just a hobby. Recently, I saw one of your comics in which you mentioned books would be a special interest of yours (or have been in the past). Is that really a thing? I‘ve had a phase where multiple people told me I was addicted to books because I just couldn‘t stop reading/rambling. Whenever I had the time I read, and that is not an exaggeration, I read from morning to evening. Over the years, I started analyzing the books, making up my own stories and getting into writing. Now (which means in the last seven months) my… hobby has changed to (over) analyzing every aspect of a specific show I‘ve watched, and how every tool (animation, camera work, music etc.) was used to enhance the story. I literally can‘t just… not talk about it. It‘s agonizing to talk about other topics, although it has somewhat gone better over course of the last couple of months. And the worst is that the show‘s second season was a total writing disaster and I can‘t stop thinking about it, to the point that I kind of want to slam my head in the wall just to get it out and focus on idk. My English exam or smth. It went so far that I actually started my own rewrite because it bugs me so much how the writing changed and-

I‘m stopping here. Sorry again I‘m also a bit sleepy rn, so my brain is not working correctly. What I‘m actually asking is: does that sound like a hyperfixation? Because every website so far has told me autism means obsessing over niche topics, but writing and books are pretty mainstream, right?

Oh and how the heck am I supposed to know what is neurotypical and what’s autistic?? Because ever since I started researching, I keep catching myself doing stuff like rearranging spoons so the comfortable spoons are on top, or keeping tissues in my pockets to rip them when stressed, but isn’t that normal? Everyone wants to have the comfortable spoons on top, right? Right??

All I‘m saying is… I’m confused. And nervous. And constantly doubt myself. Your comic made me think that maybe some of the self-doubt wasn‘t as warranted because special interests don‘t have to be super… special?

Yeah and I really like your comics byeee :).

Hello, I'm glad you like my comics! :)

Anything can be a special interest! It doesn't matter if it's considered mainstream or a lot of other people like it too, and it doesn't have to be 'strange' or 'niche'. If you are intensely focused on a subject, activity, piece of media etc, spend a lot of time thinking about it, learning about it, talking about it, and get a lot of joy out of it, that counts as a special interest. The difference is the intensity.

For example, a neurotypical person might like Marvel shows, enjoy watching them and chatting about them with friends and maybe own some fandom related merch or occasionally write fanfics, whereas an autistic person with Marvel as a special interest might rewatch them over and over, have dialogue memorised, want to collect every figurine, write about and analyse it, know trivia about the production and the comics etc.

(This is a generalisation btw - a person can be obsessed with something without being autistic, they'd need to have other traits too. And you don't have to know absolutely everything about a subject for it to be a special interest.)

All that to say yes, if you have an intense interest in books, reading them, writing them, analysing them, then it definitely counts! Same goes for your show :)

If you relate to that and other autistic traits, you are welcome to consider yourself part of the autistic community.

(Btw, I think most neurotypical people don't really think about whether the most comfortable spoon is on top. I think they just put the spoons in the draw and move on to something else.)

[chiaraforfun]

I think they both make fair points actually, because what @elenasalvatore1 is referred to what happened once they where together, and @jilyydoe to both before and during.

I've always been a big fan of Hinny, and I find this extremely true analysis a bit unsettling, lmao. However, I would like to clarify 3 points that are very subjective.

The first is that yes, Harry and Ginny probably wouldn’t have stayed together forever instead of what Rowling later decided, because they were likely together for insufficient reasons. At the same time, I don’t see Harry with Hermione as a good match (I could easily write a fanfic about it because it would work well as a romance, just to be clear). I don’t know if it’s because they literally grew up together, and I can’t fully support those couples who date young and end up marrying, but I never saw them as "in love".

They had a beautiful friendship, that's it.

However, it's also true that I love Romione, which goes against that last thought, BUT there has always been that... I don’t know... distance? The friendship that Hermione and Harry shared is not the same as that between Hermione and Ron. You could almost feel that tension from the start. So, I guess it makes less sense to me.

Point two: Ginny in the books is very different from the films, where they made her too flat, and while it may be true that the premises of their relationship were somewhat toxic (okay, maybe a bit more than somewhat), them being together makes sense. I reiterate, not forever, because I believe they would inevitably break up sooner or later, but in the books, it makes sense, and she is fantastic. I mean, she is mean to Fleur behind her back, but so is the rest of them beside a few if I remember properly. It's not an excuse but I think I remember Ginny and Hermione both making fun with Mrs Weasley.

She makes fun of Ron but let's be realistic, I did the same with my brother and he did the same with me. I'm not proud and growing up we changed but let's not forget she's still young!

All the dynamics makes sense if you think of her age.

We are so used to see the golden trio as "older" because of what they fight but in truth they are not.

So I guess I do give her a bit of an excuse for her behaviour. Also because she was funny, I'm sorry.

And then, as @jilyydoe pointed out, Harry's last thought before dying was about her so—why not!

Point three: for once, we’re not reading about the extremely predictable relationship between the protagonist and another main character. I mean, come on, let’s break away a bit. I love f/m friendship!

True friends, not romanticised.

Point 4 (that I forgot about): I really don't think that Ginny loves because of his popularity.

Surely that’s the reason she had a crush on him in the first year, but I don’t think that’s the reason she fell in love with him. I believe the story of the younger sister falling in love with her older brother's friend is an old classic, but there’s a deeper reason behind it. And it's the same thing here, among many reasons, right? I mean, Harry was constantly with Ron, he spent a lot of time with the rest of the brothers, and it often happened that he was at the Weasley house. In my opinion, she started to fall in love with him precisely by spending time together, gradually more and more, especially since at the beginning she was a bit pushed aside by her brother, lol. Then, indeed, she tried to have her own experiences and well, we all know how it went from there, toxic dynamics included.

But, I don’t think she fell in love with him for popularity. That, I would say, was just the spark that ignited everything else

I get all your other points and yess it's ruined a bit my idea, I won't idolise their relationship anymore (😭 ), and I get it, it's not that perfect, but maybe that's why I like Hinny so much; it’s unpredictable. It’s a couple that means nothing from a distance, but for them, it’s everything.

I don’t know, it makes sense to me, and I apologize for not being able to explain myself better. English is not my native language, and unfortunately, I don’t know how else to convey these concepts.

P.S.: The thing that makes me cringe a little about Hinny, I have to admit, is that it gives me a bit of a “mommy issues” vibe because of the hair, lmao.

Ya'll really gonna come in here and tell me you love Harry Potter but you hate Hinny.

You're going to tell me to my face that you love Harry James Potter, a man who has been through so much. Lost his whole entire family., and you're going to deny him his greatest source of comfort.

Are you actually going to tell me that you think ferret face or someone who Harry has described as a sister to him is a better fit for him than someone who makes him happier than he can ever remember being.

He was willing to die happily just thinking about her kissing him. Literally his last dying thought but you're gonna come here and tell me that you hate true love.

Please.

[akemiiya]

are you really a flowey fan if you can type u in your browser's search bar and the first thing that shows up isn't undertale.com/alarmclock/flowey

[silusvesuius]

unleashing the same hellscape i did on my notes app here it's my nelvas thinking dump i wrote just for fun and to keep track of what i view them as up 2 this point. Might change my mind on it later on it has a lot of things written in brackets for no reason . it's like ~2500 words long which isn't much but i think i said everything i've had in my mind for now read it for fun if you like to have fun leik me :) And talvas :) And nelothxP

retyping what i said in the tags of those last text posts and rearranging those thoughts a bit: in my train of thought that's been going steady since early 2024 i'm almost certain that neloth might see talvas as the epitome of being morally Clean (before that changes because of neloth's influence over him) and generally pure as a person. pure not used in the Pervert way; neloth is just a veeery big fan of talvas having absolutely no backbone and being very docile when it comes to him. which is r expected traits 4 someone if they find themselves under neloth's thumb as an apprentice, but it being written that he isn't at all catty and defiant to his face is cute. all talvas manages to do is shit talk neloth to others and pray neloth doesn't find out he meant the things he said but also can’t help feeling bad about it, even though neloth doesn't and wouldn't care, if he found out. neloth is happy with being an obnoxious & disgusting person. truly.. him growing obsessed with talvas' docile and innocent nature doesn't necessarily have to add up to him wanting to Taint or Ruin him (and if it happens ((it does)) it's not done on purpose, neloth can't hold that much control and power of his actions in that specific department). he encounters difficulties when he realizes he actually wants that Elven Twink.. it's too far gone to fix anything after he's tampered with talvas' patience and stability, and even then he can't be honest with talvas about anything, because he still wants to hold a great deal of power over him (neloth essentials for survival).

Might be the type to just want talvas to magically(haha) think it's okay that his wizard master desires him and expect that energy right back without talvas actually acknowledging it because it'd make neloth feel insanely cringy and embarrassed.. humiliated.. EVEN. but that's just in a deep deep dark corner of his mind, he isn't stupid. when trying to gain 'access' to his apprentice ("*His* apprentice" is also kinda funny way of viewing his mind too. just cause talvas is working as an apprentice under him neloth probably already feels a concerning sense of ownership over him that makes him feel very good) he can't even make the signs of interest be apparent to talvas because he's insanely inept at being Soft and honest for obvious reasons. he can tell what possibly could make talvas warm up to him even after he treats him like shit for eons but there's no way he's bringing himself to do it (change is embarrassing, especially in their formal dynamic, and especially at his age). so it's a half-assed attempt (actually he's trying his hardest🙄) to try and make talvas be (at least) less afraid of him. not that talvas has any other place that we know of that he "Belongs" to, he just sticks with neloth regardless of anything. neloth watching him as he sleeps ensues . Guys what do i do to make my apprentice let me hit because all of the eye contact i do with him while gripping his arm or petting his knee isn't helping. 

if we were to go back to how that spark is ignited in neloth swamp of a heart, brain… idk, it has to be when he realizes talvas' capability of forgiveness and 'Sucking it up' instead of lashing out at neloth after .. anything, but perhaps physical abuse in particular. neloth a 100% has absolutely no problem putting his hands on anyone, especially someone he sees so often, such as talvas. not that talvas really annoys him (his clear and voiced obedience pleases neloth as anyone can tell), but he just doesn't see it as too much of a big deal. the physical mistreatment that happens once in a blue moon isn't intense enough to scare off talvas for sure anyways. neloth is a bitch so all he can so is smack him at the back of the head (talvas finds it very normal) and slap him if he's feeling festive (something talvas finds kinda extreme but not that it happens often. he sometimes feels like he deserves it, or that neloth is warranted to do as he pleases. he tosses around it being justified or pitying himself, though). May be possible that neloth would realize he Like Likes talvas once he slaps him, mayhaps, for the first time, but talvas' immediate reaction to being treated like that is just sadness mixed with feeling shame for tearing up/crying in front of someone he respects *bishoujo sparkles sfx*. talvas is a delicate soul so he can't hold warranted emotions like that for long, and even tho it's expected of him to be making eye contact w/ neloth in a setting like that, he wouldn't be able 2 bring himself to do it because looking at neloth would make him wanna burst out in tears like a weeeee baby. Booo hooo.. talvas is the 19th century (4th era) damsel that runs out of the ball in tears after no young cavalier invited her to dance. watch this bleed into the most awkward and silent week of neloth's entire life because talvas doesn't even really feel like speaking to him or looking at him, but neloth doesn't wanna brute force the usual respectful etiquette out of him cus he thinks that's just gonna make talvas hurl himself down on some rough rocks at the seashore. Good thing talvas is very spineless and forgiving (especially in relation to neloth… i mean.. who r YOU to not forgive him) so that might just last a day or two. the hurt always stays tho. neloth this is why talvas doesn't wanna smash you.. you might've made some conclusions about what elven twink you like but talvas is just even more scared of you now. was your Pervert awakening worth it. and even if we do backflips and jump thru the point where everything is too far gone for either of them to go back, dude is still too afraid to make out with his apprentice. Deserve. but why though because talvas wouldn't refuse. for what reason? we may never know

^^^ this makes me feel like i love seeing characters i reaaaalllly love (elenwen and talvas in this case) as enigmas in situations where they're confronted with something so ""Intimate"". elenwen's stance on this is final tho cause she's a grown ass woman and there's no way you could reshape her brain. ulfric left her mind plane in SHAMBLES. talvas has more right (in the literal sense) to be erratic or inconsistent with his actions. maybe he likes to be desired. Also i strongly believe that talvas has probably never been in love (for any reason rly but it's mostly him not having actual time for it + not seeing it as something that is important to him at that point in his life)… i want neloth to be his first experience with Love so that it ruin his view on it forever. can't get myself to say he'd be in love with neloth at any point though. From his standpoint it really should feel empowering and 'nice' that neloth wants him in many ways (ew).. cause that's a man with status.. power.. ability to do anything rly . talvas is in no condition to be playing mind games with him or anything tho so don't get that idea. he's not strong enough of a person to be Tricking anyone or to be Playing with anyone's feelings. neloth would be immune to that, too. neloth can just kinda tell talvas is too good and … UNTAINTED. talvas wants to see the best in everyone. too bad he genuinely detests you, neloth.. so: he doesn't actually love neloth but wouldn't be happy to see his tombstone either. SO (PART TWO): if you time it right he wouldn't be against getting Freakkkkyyyy with you okay?but no promises

even if @ some point talvas develops indistinct feelings towards neloth cause of neloth's own incessant weird-mild advances it wouldn't have to mean he just likes old men permanently now. actually it kinda does. i can sorta feel it rearranging his braincells and making him unable to normally interact with people in his age range. he probably already had a hard time talking to others in hopes of developing a friendship just cause he's timid but after neloth's nonstop abuse and Accidental romance mind games he morphs into a whole new type of guy. it's hard to notice at first but he'd probably just start to leech off of neloth's prissy and unbearable personality in a natural course of things + neloth is the only person he sees and talks to on the regular pretty much. < this can just be reworded as just the cycle of abuse and whatnot. if he notices an opening in the abilities and Smarts of another person, especially someone his age/younger, he will automatically see them as umm…stupid. and also insult your abilities to your face if he snaps. he strikes me as the type to be afraid to say what he really thinks (another consequence of being glued to neloth all the time when all talvas does is act like he totally respects anything he says) and gets scared if anything slips out his mouth but is proud in letting the "Truth" be known because he already figured out you're a lesser being than him. he's just cloning neloth's verbal abuse braincells though he would never put his hands on someone. his desire to be mean and see himself as superior stems from neloth always disparaging him obviously.. talvas 4 that reason is very self conscious of his abilities and doesn't rly think he's all that useful or talented. his self doubt then would play into how he doesn't know when to believe what others are saying to and about him.. i wanna imagine that talvas is very oblivious to neloth's weirdo status just cause he partly doesn't even want that thought to cross his mind. i bet everyone but him sees it and finds it gross😕 but nobody in the vicinity is strong enough to tell neloth that he should be ashamed LMFAO. if you would try and even hint to talvas that it's happening he'd never take you seriously and just get mad. he's protective of neloth's image more than neloth himself is; not that people knowing neloth has abnormal sodomistic inclinations toward his apprentice would make his public image worse than it already is (everyone already thinks he's weird so it's not shocking at all) but talvas still wouldn't wanna hear it cause he thinks it's just false. maybe he's just ashamed that he's being brought into the whole thing. also because he doesn't wanna face the reality EJI23JRIO32KJ Well talvas when neloth makes an actual move on you don't say that we didn't warn you.. we're all waiting till neloth's status as an obvious apprentice-pervert becomes obvious to you

even if he's willingly ignorant of the fact he still thinks of the 'accusations' a lot when he feels like it. and unknowingly begins feeling even more uncomfortable in neloth's presence. heart starts beating faster and everything. neloth could come up to him meters away and talvas would still cover his mouth in realization and be like "i knew it… the DB told me but i didn't wanna believe it …..😦 so you really do like young men … and you're in love with me ..😨" *Neloth wakes up from this fever dream drenched in sweat* < neloth doesn't want (obvi) talvas to react that way at any point because he himself would just get scared so they'd just be staring at each other wide eyed. but talvas jumping into his advances isn't what he wants either (that'll also scare him). neloth is still relying on talvas' politeness to let him do as he pleases. but it is impossible for talvas to let it slide without questioning anything regardless so🤷‍♀️ take your few Ls and move on. neloth just wants talvas to sit on his lap. wants to spoonfeed him soup. he's so romantic. he also wants to(sniper on rooftop blows my head to bits). neloth is actually a pretty touchy feely person when he's feeling Frisky (=deranged about talvas). I'm certain his favorite part of talvas' body is his legs. talvas has beautiful young man skipping leg day legs. so nothing special at all but neloth wants to touch them lol.. let your master wizard squeeze your calves and he might just be occupied enough like a kid playing with a fidget toy to not abuse you verbally for 3 seconds. as i said befoar neloth is unpleasant with his touch because he doesn't know how to be soft + doesn't even want it to necessarily feel very 'rewarding' as to not pamper talvas. petting talvas kinda turns into a nervous habit for himself and an instrument of some sort of Reassurance 4 talvas when he wants him to know he’s not mad, for example. non-vebal confirmation. talvas still finds it weird but thinks it’s a charm point too. neloth wouldn't even be against touching him familiarly in front of others but only in a "older male figure" ways ex. touching his knee or putting his hand at the back of his neck (talvas sees it as some sort of disciplinary tactic though). physical touch that matches neloth's age and is enough for it to be seen as not necessarily romantic / overtly weird. 

there'ssssss no saving talvas after such a powerful person gets his hands on him. any will to leave would leave HIM either out of fear or out of attachment and neloth wouldn't just let him go (Alive at least) since he knows the things he knows. if talvas were to escape i'm a Truther of him not feeling in place and wanting to go back cause it's the stability that he's used to. but tbh if he encounters neloth on accident anywhere he's gonna start running. I was drinking tea while writing this and started choking on it i just nearly died writing this are youhappy. anyways, nelvas is a never-ending abusive relationship that doesn’t even have High highs, all it has is low lows. neloth always mistreats talvas for any reason but is never genuinely kind from the heart or out of remorse. .. hmm……yeah. I forgot to type this back out from my posts tags > talvas might just start viewing neloth as fuck crazy and demented after he Finally notices at least one molecular sign of gay attention from him . like ‘Oh wow Master Neloth obviously doesn’t get any female attention or anything cus he’s a sick fuck why does he have to search for it from me Can varona take the hit for me 🥺 *sees her dead body being dragged by the DB* hmm i guess not well i’ll figure something out i guess’ (he doesn’t) also the dialogue talvas has with varona after he steals neloth’s book trying to conjure some bs up will always be so cute to me he’s so defensive and afraid of neloth finding out. Him trying to decipher neloth’s handwriting is cute TOO ik their 19th century love letters to each other would go crazy and make sense to anyone but each other but i’m not gonna talk about 19th century girl talvas x neloth rn it’s too much . what ever. i think i’m done thank you i should just go back to drawing them as grecian pottery red figures or smthj Fun stats for you 4 getting to the end: times the word ‘abuse’ is used: 6

[rei-ismyname]

That is a really good point. I'd love to see that too, though I think it could go either way. At that point in time Logan is so high on his own farts and pretty much everyone enables him. He's never been especially shy about trying to kill Scott himself. It may not be explicit but are there many ways to slash or stab a moving target non-lethally with science fiction sharp metal claws?

I guess that's Logan though, right? Violent and hypocritical. I'm sure he'd have complicated feelings privately, likely filtered through his Jean obsession with a hint of 'a warrior deserves a better death than that.' That's just speculation though, the point is that we didn't get it, reflecting or otherwise.

I absolutely agree that Logan behaved worse, however he wants as usual. I've been re-reading bits of the Utopia era and for all that people complain about Scott and blame him for whatever - without him every single mutant would have died several times over. I think he's held to an impossible standard during the most difficult time for mutants and then cast aside once the crisis was over. He wasn't just a military leader either - he dealt with political crises and an ongoing extinction event while being attacked by governments, paramilitary groups, robots from the future, demons, etc etc times a million. We should always criticise our leaders and what they do in our name but nobody else put their hand up. I believe whoever was in that position would have received similar treatment while doing a worse job. We'll never know, but it's interesting that the Jean Grey school didn't really face any serious threats.

Yeah, fuck Old Man Logan though I appreciate that Jean herself got to emphatically reject his bullshit. It's hypocrisy either way, but especially coming from that fool.

Yeah, I mean dude has his chance to and he threatened, terrified and traumatised them. I know you mean that Doylistically, but I was pretty satisfied with the kids' reaction to that clown as any kind of moral authority. The Jean Grey school was built from glass and Logan threw a lot of stones. Him internalising young Jean's disgust would break the pedestal Marvel built for Logan. Creepy MF.

Yeah Rosenberg's run was peak Logan Behavior. Everyone was getting in on it so Scott did the sensible thing and abdicated/decentralised leadership. Still got blamed for everything. Logan's emotional immaturity is never more apparent than the Rahne situation (which was a terrible choice btw. Spot on trans coding with nothing new to say, just fodder for Logan's violence.) It's there on the page for once - what was anyone supposed to do to prevent that? She walked away to live her life how she wanted. Short of locking her up, that's life. Agreed re the funeral.

I have a grudge too.

Yeah, I mean I'm always going to be glad they did something new. Broke the cycle of misery that had been going on for at least a decade. I feel like a lot of grudges were put away to make it work, though they were never truly buried. The problem with Logan is that he's too damn popular and it's frozen his personality at where it was in the nineties. People change around him and just accept how he behaves. We could be generous and say that the apologies and growth happened off page. Not only is that unlikely (his behaviour hasn't changed a bit) but it's a waste of character growth. I'm not the average Wolverine enthusiast (I assume) but that would be great to see.

I'm adding that to my wishlist too, though I doubt it'll ever happen. I think Wolverine fans can handle some honest emotional growth and consequences for his actions, but Marvel is conservative with their cash cow.

Cyclops mourns Logan

Pretty sure he's dated more psychics than that

They really called it Cyclops in YOU. Hell yeah. Anyway, Logan is dead. Scott, unaware that he's in a comic book, is treating this event as if it's forever. Lucky for us, because their messed up relationship is like crack for me. He considers how Logan was his most complicated relationship, and that's a lot coming from him.

There's definitely resentment there, because Logan was and is a selfish jerk. It's refreshing honesty, and very Scott Summers. He's remembering all the different ways in which Logan made his life harder, acted like a creep, or spited him needlessly, yet Logan's death is keeping Scott up at night.

I love this flashback to after the Dark Phoenix Saga (I think) and it makes pretty clear that Logan transferred his idealisation from Jean to Scott. Scott is standing at his wife's grave and somehow Logan manages to make literally everything about him. At least he acknowledges his grief and says 'sorry for your loss.' Wait, no that doesn't happen actually. The bastard just tells him he's not allowed to quit because of his psychosexual obsession. I wonder what Scott is thinking as he walks off. An optic blast in the back would be somewhat justified (and funny) but Scott usually has better self control than that.

He considers the aftermath of Fatal Attractions, when Magneto performed field surgery on his bones. Logan definitely wasn't used to not being immortal and the apex murderer. His recovery was long and his whining intense.

Is Scott biting Magneto there?

Scott approaches Logan as he's punishing himself in the Danger Room and echoes his words back to him, offering him a hand up. He remembers the heartwarming threats and the good times shared together fighting for their lives. Brothers in grief and violence, rivals who are simultaneously paternal figures to each other.

Scott is very prone to blaming himself for things going wrong, and Logan was always there to remind him. I don't think he's being fair on himself but he never really is. Blaming Scott for things is an X-Men sport. He repeats Logan's insane words for a third time - 'we don't get to quit.' Scott cries in the snow on all fours outside the base where Logan was repeatedly tortured and dehumanised, but he doesn't quit.

Scott imagines what Logan's funeral would be like, and he's not far off. He thinks hard about an appropriate way to honour his memory. The answer is obvious - alcohol and violence. I have no doubt Scott knows exactly where every mutant hater watering hole is, but it's funnier to imagine him wandering around until he finds one.

Proving he knows him pretty damn well, Scott sends Logan off by beating the shit out of some bigots and drinking over their unconscious bodies. 'Here's to you, bub. See you in a year or so.' Cyclops is pretty famous at this point, so these dudes probably know exactly who he is. They'll be telling that story for a while, of the time they were drinking and hating on mutants then Scott Summers came out of nowhere to fuck them up. Logan wouldn't be proud exactly, but he'd probably grunt and call him bub. That's practically 'I love you' from Logan, and Scott loves his dumb ass too.

[newttxt]

20 questions for fic writers

thank you @strawhattery for @ing me, even though i do feel like it's a not-so-subtle urge to finish my current wips... (i need the kick)

for reference/those who only see my art, i used to be a fic writer who occasionally drew. that's obviously changed, but i am trying to write more, so you can find me at pseudoanalytics on ao3.

1) how many works do you have on ao3?

44, but only 35 are linked to me (9 are anonymous...)

2) what's your total ao3 word count?

347,773 😰

3) what are your top five fics by kudos?

while i nodded, nearly napping (suddenly there came a tapping) [haikyuu, ushiten]

redacted :/

the inherent romance of classical conditioning (or, the fine art of emotional recognition) [haikyuu, sakuatsu]

you're really pushing it (but you're going much too slowly) [haikyuu, ushiten]

redacted :/ (sequel to the first redacted...)

4) what fandoms do you write for?

most of my fics are so old i can't bear to look at them, but i'm trying to write more for one piece. then i've written a decent amount of haikyuu, pacific rim, and star wars.

5) do you respond to comments? why or why not?

initially? i absolutely do! but as any of my friends will tell you, i struggle to even reply to dms or texts. so alas. i drop off pretty quickly

i LOVE comments though, and i eagerly read and reread them frequently ;__;

6) what's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

oh sheesh. you may only ask once (so be prepared for the reply) which is a bad end for pacific rim 2. or i guess... a worse end. it's also a bit of a role swap au, if i remember correctly.

7) what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

i... honestly don't know. i typically write happy endings. i like to write "missing scenes" and post-canon, so things tend to be rather open-ended or to just lead into the next part of canon. my memory is also not my prize-winning quality, so i can't really remember how my fics ended pre-2018ish.

8) do you get hate on fics?

i know i've gotten some ruder bookmarks, but not typically, no. i get more hate on art or in my ask box, but i honestly just delete it all, so it never sticks.

9) do you write smut?

yes, though its debatable if it's "smut" so much as "sex in such an irreverent context that it becomes humor." i cannot take sex seriously, so alas, i rarely write it seriously. i use it more as comedy and a tool for character studies. i do enjoy a stoic character's facade getting cracked open.

10) do you write crossovers?

i don't write legitimate crossovers, with characters from different medias intermingling, and frankly, i rarely do au's either.

but if i have one weakness, it's that i am ALWAYS a sucker for a pacific rim au. yes, i am rotating a one piece version in my head.

11) have you ever had a fic stolen?

i had a sakuatsu one reuploaded to wattpad under someone else's username. they deleted my author's notes and added their own, as if they'd written the fic, too. hilariously they even used my art for the cover.

it got taken down, but idk why. i never reached out about it.

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

yeah! i've had 5 translated, and i've had 2 turned into podfics, which is cool.

13) have you ever cowritten a fic before?

nope. i'd be terrible to work with, tbh. my writing process is a holdover from my journalism days, and the steps are a mystery even to me. i think i'll stick to drawing art for other ppl and their fics.

14) what's your all time favorite ship?

i will hold to the fact that it's asanoya from ao3. they were the first ship i got really invested in, and i see their impact on everything i ship to this day. they were my "blueprint," if you will. i still get smiley when i see art for them!

on the flip side... terezi/vriska was also a formative ship for me. but i won't discuss that.

15) what's the wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

rip go ahead and start talking (i'll pick up the slack). it's my 1-of-2-chapters ushiten fic that i should just mark as complete, since the first chapter can stand alone.

16) what are your writing strengths?

hard to determine your own strengths, but i think my dialogue/characterization are pretty strong, especially since i still regularly flex those muscles when writing comics. i also think i'm funny.

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

writing.

but seriously, i am so bad at sitting down and just hammering out a fic. don't get me started on outlines or longform works. i'd rather grab my pencil and start drawing, i'm afraid.

18) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

i think there are ways to interweave words or terms in other languages, but overall, i'm a fan of just standardizing everything into one language. if your character understands it, i think all readers should be able to understand it. and i'm not a fan of when you're expected to scroll to the end for a translation; i think it interrupts the reading flow.

this is a generalized opinion though. i think there are ALWAYS storytelling exceptions, so if the other language usage is really important to your theme/intent, i can see why you would do this!

19) first fandom you wrote for?

please don't do this to me. it was maximum ride. yes, the james patterson books about the kids with bird wings. i wrote 4-5 fics, i was in middle school, and — as far as i know — they are still up on ff dot net. no, i won't elaborate.

20) favourite fic you've ever written?

hands down, it's the sakuatsu domesticity simulator. it's not necessarily my best work in terms of writing skill, but i also drew over 50 images for it and html coded it into an interactive story. i'm just proud that i started a big project by myself and i actually finished it!

it's my dream to someday make a whole visual fan novel. i feel like the domesticity sim was the first step.

oh boy i'm bad at tagging but if @syrupfog, @lawsbbygirl, @macabrekawaii , @bmouse, or @cooknumber3 want to go for it... :))

[themyscirah]

Ok game time which 3 series would you just DIE to get a run on ? I'm talking full creative control, can be as a writer or an artist + plotter if that suits your vibe best

My 3 are

Suicide Squad

Wonder Woman

Green Lantern Corps/Green Lanterns

(in that order)

[antimony-medusa]

Good morning it is the final 24 hours of Fandom Trumps Hate, and auctions close at 8:00PM EST on the 1st! As I write this the evening before close my auction still sits at 30 dollars, but for reasons that may or not be related to getting push notifications on my phone for the news, I am SUPER INTO getting people to donate money to these charities. Weird, huh.

Also number go up = good.

So! I am here to dance my dance again and remind you that I have a fic on offer for you! Minimum of 5k but let's be honest— we've all seen how my fics expand in size. I will write a variety of servers and characters and dynamics, I will strap in and make your prompt happen.

And my friends told me to get really hubris-tactic with this, so it's time to delve into my comments. Have you written fics to prompts before? Why yes I have, and some testimonials from people I've written for before:

First of all, one thing to note is that I have read this (if my ao3 history page is factual enough to go off of) 16 times since it has been posted, and that count might not even be high enough. I am OBSESSED with this fic. 

On my Bagina hurt/comfort: I'm Ready To Shake Things Up (Dear God)

this was WONDERFUL, the character voices are SPOT ON, the balance of them being really funny with the hints of tragedy and with Tommy having a generally very rough time and!!! i cannot compliment the character voices enough, you do such a good Tommy but also such a good Techno and Ghostbur and! everyone! I could read the whole thing in their voices, including the narration-- it was DELIGHTFUL :D i was so excited when i woke up and saw that you wrote me bedrock bros-era tommy fic and it 1000% lived up to it, this is incredible

On canon-compliant bedrock bros: What's A Man Gotta Do Around Here To Get His Manly Hands On Some Gapples?

Wow. This is amazing! I love literally every bit of it. Every individual word! The flow of the story is wonderful and it reads like a published short story (seriously, your writing is amazing). I love how the stakes are set from the very first sentence. And the attention to detail! The science fiction elements! The way you implemented Minecraft mechanics! The LORE!

on Emduo Wilderness Survival Hurt/Comfort: Silhouette Figure In The Smoke

i love the mix of banter and sincerity in their dialogue—from phil teasing techno about being slow to it being turned back on him when /he’s/ the one who gets soaked, old man too slow to outrun some raindrops. and that phil is damp with big wet wings taking up the cabin the whole time. he should shake them out and pass the dampness on to techno as payment for the old jokes. i love their comfort around each other, too—the hugs, the sharing the couch.

on Emduo QPR proposal: Things Could Be So Easy (If You Let Them)

—> and in summary: okay I have such a weakness for bravery in horrible situations and interiority and wild fight scenes and ambiguously happy/worrying endings where the future can’t be set and is possibly terrible but *not yet* and just. my gosh. thank you this is super great. the bee has a HUMAN HEAD

On ranboo-centric syndicate body horror superhero au: The Pros And Cons Of Digging Your Own Grave

The last scenes were so good too? And the number-discord exchange? I'm screaming (inside, as it's past midnight in my timezone). But I know I will be thinking about this fic a lot in the next days and in random moments in the future! It's amazing! It has so many things I adore! It's so well written! Thank you so much for writing this story and sharing it and for gifting it to me! I feel honored and almost crying and laughing, I'm so happy I got to read it ♡ Thank you!!! Thank you!! Edit: it's morning, I'm still thinking about the fic :D thank you again!!

On my Original Work Barista Supervillain/Superhero With A Caffeine Addiction: A World Away (A Step Apart)

Make me dance to your tune! Bid today!

Or! I'm out of your price range or not offering your cubitos, but you still want to give money to charity? I have been the recipient of some incredible spreadsheeting which I have filled into this live-updating spreadsheet of everyone who's offering MCYT!

The notes are just notes to myself to remember which auction it is, but feel free to make a copy and make your own notes! Marvel at the code someone made happen!

Have a good last day of auction, everybody. Let's startle and amaze the charities at how much money we're donating to them.

Let the Auctions Begin

And the FTH auctions have just opened! (How did you post this so early in your morning, Medusa, don't you sleep until noon? Scheduled posts, my friend.)

I would say take a look at the whole selection of MCYT on offer, or cruise through the entire 600 tags of different fandoms, but I am here specifically to point to my auction! Don't you want to donate money to charity and get me to make your prompt a reality? I said any charity would work, so you can choose from the entire list.

I will write: DSMP, QSMP, Origins SMP, SMPEarth, or Original Work! If you've been on this page you know what characters I specialize in (it's emduo, I know this is a shock to us all), but I'm pretty confident that I can take either side of emduo and pair them with any other character, and I could write that. BBH and Technoblade are the light of my life for the duration of the time it takes to write the fic. However, if you look at my Ao3 and say "what I dearly want is for Medusa to write me awesamponk", I'd be fascinated to know if you've been hoping for that the whole time I keep uploading more syndicate (heartbreaking), but also I will give that an honest shot if you win my auction. And I love original work! Make me make up new blorbos that will live in my head forever!

Again, if you've seen my Ao3 then knowing that what I listed as my strengths are: friendship, queerplatonic relationships, hurt/comfort, minecraft worldbuilding, canonical family (qsmp), and humour. I've got that in the bag and I've done that for exchanges and for Voices for the Blade prompt fest. Got a set of blorbos or an original work prompt in that niche? I can make that happen for you with great emphasis. Want the characters to be neurodivergent and disabled? In a relationship that's a secret third thing between friendship and romance? Banter? I got you.

But for this I will also write ship/smut! Again, if you check my page, this isn't my most experienced section, but I have written it before (mostly Original Work), and for charity I will absolutely make your blorbos kiss. Because I was offering Original Work I felt like saying I'd only do gen OW was kind of like not really offering OW as an option, so— gates wide open. Hit me. If you are over 18 and you are donating to charity for this, the sky's the limit. (Note: the sky is not ACTUALLY the limit, I do have a DNW in place about stuff that I'm not gonna be a great fit for, but mostly I deliberately wanted to leave myself as open as possible because it's for charity!)

And in the complete other direction: I will write non-canon family dynamic for this! You really want Technoblade to be a baby being adopted by dadinnit? For You. For Charity. I Will Make This Happen. Tickled by my sense of humour but you wish they were actually family? 🥺 Here's your chance to send money to charity and make a family of your dreams a reality!

A note on Original Work: this doesn't mean that I'll write your OCs, I cannot promise to reliably do that. What it means is that you give me a prompt like "Teenage Girl Turning Into A Werewolf & Her Sister" or "Retired General/His Arranged Marriage Husband Formerly Enemy General" or "Witch of the Woods/Animal Shifter Stealing From Her House" and I will write you an original story following those prompts with characters I make up from scratch. You can check my series on Ao3 to see examples of Original Work I've published in the past! And here is a tag set of hundreds of original work prompts from the Original 5k exchange!

I think that's everything. Send me an ask or shoot me a message if you have any questions! Five and a half days of auctions, let's see if we can get some money raised for charity!

[orcelito]

Wild that anytime I post an update a lot of people read it and are even excited about it and have their own thoughts and reactions to it that I'll never know.

Comments are only the very tip of the iceberg with it. And I am Very grateful to commenters for letting me in on it. But in the same way that I'll be excited with my friends when a fic we love updates, it's likely that Other people enthuse with Their friends when my fic updates. And it's just so strange. An experience I'll never have access to.

Everyone's relationship with my fic is unique. So many different people with so many different circumstances and preferences... and the number of people that have told me that my fic is one of their favorites, some even saying it's their Favorite favorite... every single one of them have their own relationship with my writing.

It's just interesting to me. I think and think and think on my writing. I have my plans for basically the entire fic, the way I want it to end already thought out, all the major plot beats and the relationship progressions, All of that thought out. I love my writing so very much, but I'm on the inside looking out. This is my mechanical horse, and I'm in here laying out the groundwork and pulling levers and constructing limbs, puttering away making the horse move. Forever and always, my relationship with it will be more intimate than anyone's, and yet more clinical. Because I know it better than the back of my own hand, but I'll never have the experience of reading it fresh. Of reading it without knowing everything that's going to happen from now to the end and beyond. I won't have the thrill of the plot twists I have planned, the delight at seeing things progress, the horror at seeing things go wrong...

This is my mechanical horse, and I'm making it move.

I just always wonder what it must be like to see it from the outside. I hope to others that it's a pretty horse.