#i've def always enjoyed reading fic and stuff of him. but he wasn't like my /guy/

[umemiyan]

never did i think i would become something of a bakugo girlie. guess i should learn not to underestimate my ability to fuck around and find out 😃

[hell-heron]

Rambling about my fic and literary hardships under the cut

I think the thing that gives me the most secondhand embarrasment on rereading/finding new comments for ikmka is the way I handled the ensemble/background/random ironborn OCs part of the cast, there's just too many for the lenght, a lot of episodes are bizarre/pointless/just there to separate more important scenes etc, was it really needed to have three separate fosterlings of Alannys and three separate Botleys as speaking characters etc can't believe someone Is reading this dreck right now...

Part of it is I've always been someone who enjoys coming up with family trees and pointless headcanons and then can't let go of them lmao since I was 13 it was a problem and you can see it in even short fics (red moonlight, three boys etc not to mention the entirety of my Romeo and Juliet production). Like for example the worst offender (besides the Victarion thing where I was biased and wanted to include the oaf because I love him) is definitely the little trip to Iron Holt where I was attached to the little connection I came up with for Aladale Wynch (why is an ironborn knight at the Wall? backstory) and also to Calla Orkwood/Wynch a true 13 year old girl OC produced entirely by my heart and ass. And then after I came up with that I felt the need to continue on that thoroughline so it would be a feature of the fic and not one random extraneous episode.

On the other hand I really do think this fic needed the reader feel as violently dunked as Theon was in this social whirlwind, thematically, it's important to show/don't/tell that Theon is experiencing this kind of sudden and jerky reintegration to this culture, all these new opportunities for healthy peer relationships, mentor relationships, mentee relationships that should more than make up for losing one younger friend but don't, all these responsibilities and social obligations as a young lordling that should make him feel justified in coming back but don't, all this praise and acceptance for his actions which should make him feel better but don't, all this exposure to the consequences of the Greyjoy rebellion that should make him feel righteous about wronging the Starks in return but don't. Its stuff a more skilled writer could definitely have conveyed in tighter fewer scenes but I personally enjoy the confusing whirlwind approach!

(I also wasn't the best I fear at making this return different enough from canon- It felt like there were a lot more new meetings that should have been reunions, now its three years and not ten. But that also makes partial sense to me - he missed three years of passage from childhood to adolescence and now his world has opened abruptly beyond the confines of the Island of Pyke rather than gradually)

Overall though this reminds me of a musing I periodically have, which is that the novel/short story form is just... Bad at conveying the social sphere of extroverted characters or very connected characters (which I wanted Theon to be, Theon is very extroverted imho). You constantly see this criticism with characters who are characterised as popular but have three besties or unintentionally come across as being detached from everyone. GRRM, definitely one of the authors who should not be encouraged to add more characters and background details, constantly gets comments on how his court settings feel empty or how his characters who you wouldn't expect to be loners only have one friend outside of family. In 2021 my sister was having one of those downswings in social situation you have when you're out of sync with your former group in how fast you're going thru puberty and I was researching middle grade books that had less emphasis on rigidly insular groups and codependent bestie bonds and more on relationships developing organically and situationally and there wasn't really anything besides Anastasia Krupnik and thats a serial

(Ikmka is def a middle grade novel among other genres tbh)

Or like recently I've been struck by how well Ljudmila Petrushevskaja does it in short stories but she definitely also does it by confusing whirlwind technique; also Emma and Persuasion are good examples to me but not exactly everything that Austen writes is. Its just this very delicate balance of lots of people all of whom are known and some kind of relationship exists with and who are loosely arranged in groups but you don't get the feeling every single person has an ironclad thematic reason to know the protagonist, you know. Its a really hard realism/thematic coherence balance to strike and I can never describe it until I see it

[kopikokun]

okay okay omg get ready because it's A Lot under the cut.

VIVIAN!! (is it okay if i call you that bcs you can def call me arin!!) this is literally the nicest thing i've read ever? when i first read this i wasn't having the best day, and this was so sweet i actually cried LMAOOOO

at first, i actually wanted to call the fic 'Do You Wanna Know' because it fit so well with the whole thing with taeil unsure whether he wanted to know more about yn. also, dywk is so like... sultry and even though it didn't translate through as much here (because i can only write awkward dorky dynamics HSHAGH) i wanted the fic to emulate a little of that. i scrapped that idea in the end though. OKAY HAHA BUT ANYWAYS!! taeil is extremely underwritten for which makes me sad, but AHH POOL BOY TAEIL?? idk that also struck a chord with me, so you and me both. it's just like *sigh* taeil <3 you know?

aND AHH I'M GLAD YOU ENJOYED THE WAY I CHARACTERISED HIM! it was one of my worries when writing because it felt ooc, so hearing you say it made your heart do flips???? omg that made my heart do flips!! like, there's no other feeling i wanna evoke more in my readers than that stomach churning feeling you get from a crush when they read my fluff so that made me giggle. also, luckily for you, i tend to write a lot of timid idol x forward yn dynamics because it's a fav trope of mine hehehhe

the sentence with the gossamer sunscreen was one i was pretty proud of!! idk just the imagery of gossamer feels so whimsical? the combination of the G, S and M?? i really can't explain it haha. the verb 'weave' is one of my favs too!! never thought.. i'd have a fav verb?? lmao anyway, this fic felt more lighthearted with its language and the ostentatious part of me couldn't resist writing in excessively extravagant stuff. happy to read that you liked that part though!!

in conclusion, i know i'm sounding like a broken record at this point, but your review made, and still makes, me so happy. thank you so much for taking time out of your day to leave such wonderful comments. i really admire your skill as a writer too, particularly your affinity for weaving together (see? i told you it's my fav verb) such out of the box concepts. you have a beautiful grasp on language and your word choice always sets up a scene/emotion in such an eloquent way. i'm looking forward to your work!! (especially your rhc series because i love am's discography???)

(p.s. hope you're continuing to recover from your exam brainrot ✊😔)

(Don't) Tell Me More༄ m.taeil

↳ Taeil's loaded, and that's a severe understatement. So, what on earth is this rich kid doing cleaning pools every Sunday? Looking for love, of course, and a little help with rubbing sunscreen on his back. Ultraviolet protection's a must; it's getting real hot in here.

pairing: (secret rich kid) pool boy!taeil x gn rich kid!reader

genre: fluff, suggestive

warning(s): the suggestive bit is the unaddressed tension, and the one joke about bad porn taeil makes. overall, just the ~vibes~ haha

word count: 2153 words

author's note: i got... carried away. no worries, the starved taeil fans deserve a meal. idk how many years it'll take for the next one. also, please notify me if i accidentally used any gendered language. i’ve checked multiple times, but i’m human, and would sincerely appreciate if you pointed out any of my mistakes or even offered feedback ��

☆༓･*˚⁺‧͙ 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗹𝗶𝘀𝘁: do i wanna know (arctic monkeys) ✧ head over heels (loveleo) ✧ honey (moxie) ✧ dance with me (sir, please) ✧ doubt (hippo campus) ✧ heat waves (glass animals)

← BACK TO NAVI.

Labour isn’t Taeil’s forte. Born with a gold spoon between his lips, and six digits in his bank account at five, he’s lived a life beyond lavish.

Fridays are reserved for piano lessons and tennis, Saturdays for buttering up his father’s potential clients in country clubs, and Sundays for swimming in the five meter deep pool in his backyard. Well, at least, Sundays used to be.

Taeil’s plenty passionate about swimming–freestyle, backstroke, butterfly–but about cleaning swimming pools? Not so much.

So, why is he spending every Sunday afternoon sweaty, swathed in sunscreen, and despairing over chemical imbalances? The answer is simple, and lazing on a deck chair at this very moment: you.

You’re new–courtesy of the raise in your father’s already outrageous salary–and when Taeil first lay his eyes upon you at the park, he was enamoured. He’d actually tripped on a root in his trance, and you’d crouched beside him to ask whether he was alright. Humiliated, he’d silently hobbled after as you lead him to a bench. You’d nursed the wound he hadn’t realised he’d sustained as best you could: rinsing and dabbing it dry.

“I’ll walk you home,” he’d said. “A token of appreciation, if you will.”

You’d accepted his token. The walk wasn’t far, but it was likely because you made for such good company. Taeil would be engrossed even if you droned on about cheese for an hour, which coincidentally, is exactly what Mr. Liu’s monologue had entailed the month before. That conversation had bored him half to death however.

It felt too quick; your estate was already looming over him, auguring the end of your encounter when he’d finally recovered from his ignominy. Desperate for more, Taeil had blurted out the first thing in sight: your pool. That’s why you’d mentioned your dad needing a pool cleaner every weekend, and how, despite being clueless in the department, Taeil had wholeheartedly offered himself. You’d been elated, beaming, over the moon. How could he say no?

It had seemed appealing in the moment, but his train of thought had been superficial. Turns out, those mass-produced specially-targeted summer chick-flicks were lying! Who would’ve guessed? Pool boying was not just flaunting your washboard abs and bulging biceps as you netted a few leaves. Oh no. The first few test cleans Taeil had done with his pool… well, it became off limits for a week. And an actual expert had to be hired. Those gritty aspects aren’t the most marketable, or inherently sexy, so Taeil supposes the chick-flick deceits are partially excused.

But back to what matters: you. Your–how should he put it?–spunk, hadn’t been anticipated. Not an ounce of that pretentious reticence the local wealthy feel entitled to prevails in you. It’s refreshing. You’re adrenaline personified. Just your presence has Taeil’s heart palpitating. Since he’d been hired, every week has been more fleeting glances, yearning touches, puckish banter. And last week… well, there’s no time for that, because now you’re beckoning him over, your hand wrapped around a tube of sunscreen. Taeil prances to you, complaisant.

“Sit,” you urge, dragging a wicker stool in front of you. “You’re done for today, right?”

“Yeah, water didn’t need treatment this week. Just skimmed the surface for debris.” Taeil hesitates. He feels awkward after last week, when he’d kissed you. Yes, kissed you. You haven’t said a word about it since, and there’s no way in hell he’s doing it first. “But, it’s okay. I’m gonna go soon.”

“Aww, please, Taeil? Sit?” You pat the chair and smile, eyelashes glinting in the sun. That’s all it takes for Taeil to succumb, the rattan crackling beneath his weight. Your fingers graze his arm. “It’s a hot day, huh? A swim would be nice.”

His eyebrows crease. "Sorry, were you waiting?"

“No, no, it’s fine.” You tilt your head. “But…”

“What?”

“Do you want to go swimming with me?”

Taeil fists the material of his swim shorts, spine erect. The fabric crinkles. Whether he wants to what? “Oh, uh, well, I don’t wanna intrude. I’m sure your parents wouldn’t be happy about me swimming in their pool.”

The heat of your body seeps into his skin as your arms coil around his. “They don’t mind, and if they did, they’re not home to say so.”

This feels like the start of a trashy porn. Taeil flushes. “Oh.”

“So? What do you say?”

His adam’s apple buoys. “Sure. Wouldn’t hurt, right?”

“Exactly.” The sunscreen’s cap clacks open. “Here, you gotta reapply more.” Taeil extends his palm, and you squeeze some into it.

He deliberates his next move. It’s difficult to think when you’re gazing at him like that, lashes batting and lips curled into a demure smile. “You don’t mind if I”��he rubs his nape with a free hand–“uh, take off my shirt, right? I don’t wanna dirty your pool.”

“Sure! I definitely wouldn’t mind, so long as you’re okay with it.” You tuck your knees to your chest. “Why? Do you want me to look away?”

“No, I just wanted to make sure I wasn’t making you uncomfortable.” Taeil’s going to pass out, he’s betting money on it.

He doesn’t, but he does glow incandescent when he strips himself of his clammy shirt. The humid air only exacerbates his feverish blush.

Growing up, Taeil’s parents always emphasised presentability, and he’s nothing if not presentable. He’s proud of his physique, diligently maintaining it with rigorous exercise, and sure, he’s had a few self-conscious blips, but they’re transient. Taeil knows he’s attractive, yet under your keen eye, he rubs sunscreen–on his neck, chest, and abdomen–hunched forward.

“Do you need help?” You peer over his shoulder, wagging the aquamarine bottle like bait. “With your back. You know, for the spots you can’t reach?”

You’ll be the death of him. You’re going to kill him, but he honestly wouldn’t mind that. Taeil’s never had any ‘spots he can’t reach’, but, “Yeah, sure. Thanks.”

Your fingers are ridiculously delicate, like you’re weaving gossamer across his back–sunscreen webs, if that’s a thing. Taeil’s sure someone would pay grotesquely for that. Mr. Liu would.

Neither of you speak, only the sound of skin against skin drifting alongside the scent of coconut oil and cocoa butter. At one point, your nails unintentionally trail his back, and Taeil shivers.

His body tingles with the vestige of your touch, and when he assumes you’re done, you stun him with a good, hard, satisfying squeeze to his shoulders; the ones twined rigid from graft. Taeil actually groans in relief, which had probably stunned you. Or maybe that’s what you were hoping for.

Internally, he’s broiling in mortification, but externally, his shoulders slacken, his head hangs forward, and his exhales are long and grateful. It’s embarrassing. For crying out loud, he has his own professional masseuse, yet when it’s you doing it–yeah, he needn’t elaborate further. He’s gushed about you enough.

“Feels nice, right?”

“God, yeah, it feels”–a particularly forceful squeeze elicits another groan from him–“good. Do you have any experience? You’re amazing at this.”

“Just my dad. When I was younger he used to pay me to massage his shoulders after work,” you say, fingers miraculously knowing exactly which muscle to knead at what intensity. Is this what heaven feels like? “Well, there was also the massage course I signed up for a few years ago.”

“Well”–another sigh–“it definitely paid off.”

“It better have, given how pricey it was.” Your lilt is roguish, and it sounds like you’re enjoying this as much as Taeil is.

He wants to die like this, but you’re already standing, and stretching your arms overhead before he can really soak the sensation in.

“Let’s go for that swim, huh?”

“Uh,” Taeil blinks, dazed, “yeah.”

He trails after you, facing away when you lower yourself into the water without qualms. Duh, it’s your pool. Why would you have scruples about swimming in your pool? Taeil, on the other hand, dithers, because it’s not his pool, and he can’t help but fret that your parents could walk in on you swimming with the pool boy.

“Hurry up! A little water’s not gonna hurt you.”

“I’m not scared of the water,” he says, staring pointedly at you. He’s never felt so vehemently for someone before, and you’re so… unpredictable. It’s invigorating. It’s terrifying. Do you like him, or are you just bored?

He ventures as far as sitting on the edge of the pool’s deck, where water kisses concrete. His legs dangle, acclimating to both the temperature, and the reality that he really is about to jump into his employer’s pool. The water is cold, caressing his leg as you wade closer to stand between his knees. Your eyes sweep over him. Taeil’s stomach coils. He hopes you like what you see.

“You okay?” you ask, hand over his right knee. It’s freezing. “You look a little flushed.”

Your hand crawls further up his leg. “Yeah,” he scoffs, “I wonder why.”

“Aw, don’t be shy,” you grin, upturning your palms and offering them to him. “Come on.”

Taeil should’ve thought your motives through, but how could he have denied your invitation? He’s still a guy, and well, it’s you. Regardless, he should’ve scrounged up some semblance of prudence because it was blatant what you’d needed his hands for. To pull him under. Literally.

The tug is harsh and efficient, jolting him forward into the polar depths before he can object. Taeil’s not thinking straight–the stark contrast in temperatures pummel his rationality–so he grabs the closest thing he can: you. It’s reckless of him, given the two of you are in the deep end and he could drown you. But risks evade his psyche as he loops his arms around your waist, your body pressing into his. Fortunately, he won’t be facing charges anytime soon because you do resurface, still in his arms, and strangely, you’re not pissed, you’re laughing. Laughing so hard your head’s thrown back, and your body trembles. It’s not funny–you could’ve died for God’s sake–but Taeil feels a rumble course through him; a chuckle, a giggle, a laugh. Now, he’s laughing too, though there’s nothing funny about this. He’s laughing because you’re laughing, and that’s enough of a reason for him.

“Are you okay?” you finally say, titters dissolving into a faint smile. “That was mean of me, sorry.”

Your face is inches from his, so Taeil’s voice shrinks. “No, it’s fine. I’m sorry I grabbed onto you though. And, oh, uh”–he starts loosening his grip of you–“sorry I–”

"No, wait.” This time, it’s your arms curling around him. “It’s fine. I don’t mind this. It feels… nice.”

“Yeah… it - it does.”

The water laps at his sternum, and Taeil takes his chances by nuzzling his nose into the crook of your neck. You let him, though neither of you know each other enough for this kind of intimacy. Maybe that’s why he’s so enthralled by you. Hell, you don’t even know he’s the son of some rich socialite. To you, he’s just the pool boy. Maybe that’s why you’re playing along with him. Because there’s something exhilarating about chasing something you shouldn’t when you’ve never had to run before. Because there’s a thrill in pain when you’re unscathed. Because when you’re someone like you and Taeil, mistakes can be afforded. Anyway, what does Taeil know of pain? In fact, what does he know of you to think this? It isn’t like he knows what your intentions are with him. You’re unpredictable. That’s your whole schtick. It’s funny, because Taeil knows your pool’s pH levels better than you.

Your fingers scrape into his sopping hair.

Or maybe he likes you for you. Maybe he likes what little of you he does know. So, does he want to know more?

“What do you think of me?” he murmurs against your skin.

“You’re fun.”

“Is that all?”

“Well, then, what do you think of me?”

Taeil lifts his head from your shoulder, the strength of his embrace withering. “Honestly, I don’t really know.”

You grin. “See? It’s hard to put into words, right?”

“I guess,” he smiles. You make it sound nice that you don’t know him. You make it sound like there’s just too much that you can’t express it. Maybe that’s what’s happening right now. Maybe there’s just too much Taeil likes about you to comprehend, so he thinks there’s nothing he really likes about you at all.

“You’re funny, Taeil.”

He isn’t. “Thanks.”

Taeil’s unsure how much time passes; long enough that the water’s gone tepid at least.

“Do you… like me?” he asks. Maybe if he hears you say yes, he’ll know what all the things he adores about you are.

There’s a pause.

“You’re fun, right?” you ask, thumbing a rivulet from his cheek.

“Yeah, I’ve been told I am.”

“Then, yes.” Your lips brush his. “I like you, Taeil.”