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tiannasfanfic · 2 years ago

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Edge of Seventeen: Part 1

Eddie Munson x fem!GothReader (Angst)

[Masterlist] [Crossposted to AO3]

Summary: Sometimes change can be a good thing. Not for you, it seems. You change one thing and suddenly all of Hawkins High School is gunning for you.

Rating: Teen & Up

Author Note: Femme presenting Reader, she/her pronouns. Inspired by an interview with Ally Sheedy where she admits she absolutely hates her character's makeover from The Breakfast Club. I always hated it too, and have had my fair share of this as a goth, so I wrote this in vindication.

CW: Outright bullying (comments about clothing, makeup, who Reader is dating); passive aggressive bullying (backhanded compliments, gaslighting); crying; self-doubt; self-esteem issues; self confidence issues; cussing; ditching school.

Word Count: 1,736

You were nervous.

So very nervous.

It was the start of the day. You were just finishing getting your bag with the stuff you didn’t need at the moment stored away in your locker. After locking it up, you turned to head for your first class and caught a couple of jocks checking you out as they passed by. It made you feel self-conscious again and you tugged at the fabric around your legs.

You’d been wanting to branch out with your style a bit, shake things up some. That’s what you had finally decided to do today. And of all the days you had to pick to do this, you had to pick the one day that Eddie wasn’t going to be here until lunchtime.

You weren’t sure about the exact details yet, but when Eddie called you this morning, he had promised to fill you in later. Something had come up last minute he needed to do with Wayne. He assured you everything fine though, and he didn’t sound stressed or worried. Eddie had felt terrible about the short notice since he always picked you up for school, but you easily found a ride from one of your friends that lived nearby.

Now you wished you had changed after getting off the phone with him. The idea had occurred to you, but you thought it’d be okay without Eddie there. He was always telling you it was okay to be adventurous and branch out of your comfort zone, so you thought you would for once. You knew if you did, he would be very proud of you.

Over this past weekend while at the mall helping your best friend shop for a prom dress, you’d found a skirt you liked. It was plain black, of course, so it ticked off two checkboxes on your normal style checklist. But, unlike your normal style, this skirt was extremely short.

Well. Maybe not extremely short, but knee length was still way shorter than what you were used to. From your hips to about mid-thigh it almost fit A line style, but then started flowing out a bit so it was a loose and hung down. It not only showed off your lower legs, but also a bit of your figure around your hips and upper legs.

Regardless, you’d fallen in love with this skirt. It had only taken a little encouragement from your friend before you bought it. You had proudly showed it to your parents, and they thought it was adorable, but also you.

That was the only thing you had changed today. You still had on your normal t shirt with a cardigan over it, and your normal dark sneakers on your feet. You’d swapped your calf length socks for dark ankle length socks, but that didn’t count in your mind since you never wore anything short enough to show off your socks. Most of your skirts almost dragged on the floor. The rest of your skirts DID drag the floor. Close to half of them were a bit frayed around the hem as a result.

First period went by okay, as did second period. You got some looks, but they didn’t bother you much after the first couple. Both of your teachers complimented you, as did a few of your classmates, including Chrissy Cunningham who sat next to you in Algebra. The Hellfire Club all whistled at you and cat called you good naturedly, which made you grin. You expected that since you were the only girl in the group. Even though you weren’t technically in Hellfire Club, you were in Hellfire Club.

But then after second period, the comments started.

“Why don’t you dress like this more often?”

“You clean up well when you actually put some effort in!”

“Look who decided to be cute today!”

“Now if you’d just smile more, you might actually be pretty!”

By fourth period, a couple of the popular girls whose names you didn’t know decided you were completely redoing your image and you desperately needed help with it. They swarmed you in the restroom at one point and were actually mad when you wouldn’t let them wash your face and redo your makeup.

Right before the lunch bell, a note came to you. You didn’t know who it was from. It wasn’t signed and whoever wrote it did so in block lettering so you couldn’t recognize the handwriting.

KEEP IT UP! MAYBE SOMEONE WILL WANT YOU ASIDE FROM THE FREAK! :)

When the lunch bell rang, you didn’t even bother to stow your items away in your bag. You just swooped everything off your desk into your arms and hightailed it out of there, immediately going into the girl’s restroom next to the classroom. By the time you were in a stall, shoving your books into your backpack, tears were streaming down your face.

No one bothered to think before they spoke. That was the main problem here. You felt some of your classmates may have been trying to be nice and funny at the same time. But it didn’t land right. Not with you, at least. No one realized exactly how backhanded these sorts of “compliments” were. After a little while, you couldn’t tell the difference anymore between the sincere compliments and sarcastic ones.

That note though? That killed you. Not what it said. You didn’t care what it said. But the fact that someone was actually cruel enough to think it was a clever idea to pass a note like that over to someone.

All this over a skirt. A fucking skirt.

A skirt which you now decided was going on the grill and burned when you got home.

As much as you wanted to openly weep and just let it all out, you couldn’t. Other students were in and out of the restroom on their way to lunch. You didn’t want anyone to hear you, so you sat quietly on the toilet, waiting until you had been alone for a while until you came out of the stall. You took a moment to fix your smudged makeup, which was a bit tricky with all the black eyeshadow and liner you wore, but it turned out good enough. Then you quickly went to your locker, stowed everything you always kept at school and took out everything you brought with you every day. After lunch, you fully planned to ditch. While you’d always gotten some bullying since the change from normal to goth, this was a new level of cruelty Hawkins High School hadn’t shown you yet.

You regretted coming to the cafeteria as soon as you stepped in there.

It started out as a couple of whistles, then a cat call or two. You did your best to ignore them, keeping your head down and your eyes to the ground as you tried to hurry to the safety of Eddie and the Hellfire table.

Eddie. If you could just get to Eddie, he would be your anchor, and everything would be okay. Eddie always wanted you to be comfortable and happy, neither of which you were right now, but you knew he could calm you down and make you feel better.

But then you passed the jock tables, home to the basketball team and cheerleading squad, and the whistles and cat calls turned to jeers. They didn’t bother trying to disguise their teasing as compliments.

“Look who woke up on the normal side of the bed this morning!”

“Holy shit, she has legs!”

“Should’ve swapped the rest of her wardrobe, too.”

“Get rid of the black shit on your face next!”

“Aww, looks like our baby girl freak is finally blossoming into a nice young woman.”

That last comment made you feel a slight crack of anger in your head. You shoot a look in the direction of whoever spoke it and were completely unsurprised to see it was Jason Carver. He had that smirk on his face he always gets when teasing or bullying somebody. You glanced next to him at Chrissy and saw she had a mortified look on her face, looking close to tears on your behalf as she watched this go down.

That actually hurt your heart to see more than Jason’s words did. Chrissy was such a sweet person. She had been one of the few to really go out of her way to genuinely compliment you and be interested in your style choices. She had even offered some styling tips that fit your personality and you had been excited about her suggestions.

Your gaze shifted quickly back to Jason, your eyes narrowing into sharp slits. Now you weren’t only hurt and upset for what happened to you today, you were also angry on behalf of Chrissy that she didn’t have a good man at her side like you did.

Your emotions quickly walled themselves away in self-preservation mode so you wouldn’t do anything silly, like show anger or cry in front of these piranhas.

“I am a nice young woman,” you told Jason, your voice cold but loud enough so the tables around you could hear. “Which is more than can be said about you, Jason Carver. Do us all a favor sometime and pull that basketball out of your ass, yes? Maybe, just maybe, relieving that significant pressure might actually turn you into the nice young man you only pretend to be.”

With that, you spun on your heel, ignoring the look of slack jawed surprise on Jason’s face, ignoring the few cheers that burst out from the other tables, and strode out of the cafeteria with your head held high. You vaguely heard someone call your name, but you were done and completely ignored it while you were still holding yourself together.

No anger or tears from you. You were proud of yourself for that. That’s two “weaknesses” they wouldn’t be able to clock you for. But you knew what WOULD be sad about you after today. Now that, on the other hand, definitely did not bug you. You were okay, from time to time, with being known as That Bitch.

On the outside, at least. The dignified composure lasted until you were out in the hall, around the corner and were out of eyeshot of everyone else. You took off running for the door, your vision wavering as tears spilled out of your eyes once again.

#eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson blurb #eddie munson x goth reader

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mono-red-menace · 10 months ago

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no actually there's also still a little bit of "you look like laios" in there that she doesn't like, but she can't say that to falin because falin is trans and that's kinda just saying "you look like a man"

i think they could work it out, i think falin could be like "no marcille im actually fine and i actually feel extremely femme just sometimes being too femme is bad sensory, so i sometimes have to go back to a little more neutral in presentation." and marcille will stop worrying as much but will still flinch whenever falin tries to kiss her when she has short hair because it looks a little like laios is trying to kiss her.

sorry just realising the reason marcille hates whenever falin goes even remotely masc is that she looks like laios

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genderqueerdykes · 2 years ago

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Can you explain how your transfeminity works with your transmasculinity? I wanna use transfemmasc but I wanna hear why others actually use it before I decide.. And also, how does your transfeminity work with the butch label?

yeah! those are very good questions, thanks for taking the time to ask! ^ _ ^

i think i'm going to start identifying with the label genderfluid again, because i think i do experience fluctuations in presentation and identity- sometimes we are femme, sometimes we are butch, mostly due to the nature of being a system, so i think including the element of fluidity in our identity is very important!

as for transfeminity and butchness, you can be a transfem butch! amab and intersex transfem butch lesbians are still transfem, it's just that you're transitioning to a masculine kind of femininity. you might identify as a woman but a butch one, or, in my case, a butch fem and woman aligned nonbinary person. i'm not taking estrogen due to the fact that it makes me feel extremely fucked up, but i am still transfem in the sense that i have very femme days due to having femme gay men in my sytem as well as femme lesbians, and when i identify as butch i am identifying as a woman aligned gender, just not a binary one- i don't feel comfortable saying i'm a trans woman, but i'm the closest nonbinary equivalent- demigal/demigirl is pretty good. the fluidity makes things a bit wobbly at times as well. technically i identify heavily with the term lesboy but that's due once more to bigenderism & butchness

my transmasculinity is a bit tough to describe these days, but the way i best describe it is my transsexuality. i needed my body to be more masculine because my physical dysphoria was crushing. my body was all wrong. my family would NOT let me keep my beard, they kept forcing me to use nair to remove it and i was so tired of that sensation. i also liked my facial hair and just... didn't like the way i looked without it. i snapped and stopped taking estrogen and went on T and suddenly i felt so much better in my body and more comfortable as a person.

i identified as a trans man for a very, very long time, and i've been questioning that label lately, as i'm not sure if it's a good fit. when i came out in 2011 - 2012, i told my family and friends that i was "a person". and when they couldnt' accept that and kept gendering me as male since i said i wasn't a woman i complied. i went well. if you won't see me as a person, i'll settle for a man. and i did this with the rest of society. i appreciate you sending this ask because i've been wanting to personally step away from the trans man label. i don't think i'm a trans man. i have some alters in my system who are men, but on the whole idon't think we ever really identified as a man OR woman- we've always been "people". it's also hard to really have an identity label designed for a single person when you have so many people living in a single body.

i think i can experience multiple genders at once at times, and i also experience fluidity between them due to systemhood. but, if you want a simplified answer, i'm a genderfluid bigender transmasculine transsexual (in reference to my HRT) neutrois & agender person, and a transfeminine butch demigirl/enby. at times it's easier to say transfemasc/transsexual bigender nonbinary person, but i think after dropping the trans man label, i feel a lot better, and i feel this is the most accurate. =) i'm reclaiming my neutrois & agender identities from when i first came out, i'm not going to let people tell me who i am anymore =D

that being said i am perfectly fine with helping trans men, as i lived as one for a decade! and i really love helping trans men realize that it's okay to be a man, it's okay to be masculine, and also how to get on testosterone, and get the help they need. so i don't want trans men to stop sending asks, i still <3 trans men and the community, i just don't think i identify as one anymore, i'm tired of adopting a label that just isn't me. but i'm okay with being seen as an honorary trans man of sorts. also due to my intersex condition it makes things very difficult :'- )

anyway thanks for taking the time to ask! if there's anything else you're curious about let us know we're happy to help! take care, good luck in your own journey

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circus4apsycho8 · 3 years ago

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more than a hug. | the batter x reader

Fandom: OFF

Pairing: The Batter x Reader

Warnings: jealousy, cussing

It was no surprise to you that the Elsen were very cuddly creatures. Not only that, but they were very squishy, too. You absolutely loved hugging the cute little guys! Who wouldn’t? They were warm, soft, and sweet.

The first time you had hugged an Elsen was after Dedan had finished yelling at the one. You and your beloved Batter had stepped out of the barn before you found yourself rushing over to the pitiful thing. How could you not? The poor guy looked like he was about to cry.

You were quick to scoop him into your arms. “Hush now. He’s just a mean old man. You did nothing wrong.”

He accepted your hug and buried his face into the crook of your neck. You hear him sniffle a little bit. “Th-thank you…hhh…you’re too kind.”

“You’re welcome,” you mumbled, hugging him a little tighter. You heard your Puppet awkwardly shuffle around, causing a deep chuckle to emanate from your chest. A few seconds later, you set him down onto the ground. The little Elsen had a slight blush on his cheeks.

“Miss, th-thank you and your…uh…friend here for purifying the barns. Even if it didn’t get noticed by the Inspector, we appreciate it…” he teeters off when he notices Batter glaring at him. You smack the Batter’s shoulder and smile down at the Elsen.

“You’re very welcome! Take care of yourself, alright? I think it’s about time we got a move on.” Batter remains silent as you bid the Elsen goodbye.

“I will! Good luck with…whatever you’re doing!” the Elsen wishes before the Batter grabs your hand and drags you behind him.

“Thank you!” you yell, waving at him before turning back to your Puppet.

“Dude, chill. You can let me go now,” you comment. He reluctantly releases his grip on you.

“What was that about?” he demands, looking anywhere but at you.

“He was about to cry, Batter! He was scared! I couldn’t just leave him like that!” you retort, rolling your eyes.

“He would have gotten over it.”

You sigh. “Sometimes a little kindness goes a long way, Batter.”

…

The second time you were cuddly with an Elsen is when you and Batter got stuck in the shopping mall maze. Batter was getting extremely frustrated and you just wanted to get the hell out of that blue hellhole.

So, when you and Batter found a lone Elsen who had claimed to be lost, you declared it was time to take a break.

“I’m lost,” the Elsen said, “I could make a fire with the boxes...to ward off the ghosts...but...that would be too dangerous.”

You immediately began to answer, but Batter pulled you back outside for a moment.

“Don’t answer him.”

You roll your eyes, growing annoyed. He couldn’t just boss you around like that. “He’s lost, Batter. We need to help him get out of here!”

“He can find his way out by himself.”

“Batter. He’s scared. Can’t we bring him with us? It’s only temporary. I can do all the talking, too!” you push, trying to decipher how he’s feeling. Batter frowns at your words, and not for the first time, you wish you could see his eyes. “He might attract a Spectre.”

And it was then and there you knew there was something else wrong. Throughout all of your travels, Batter had strived to attract Spectres so he could Purify them. Hell, he’d even shouted out to them in the smoke mines! So why was he so worried about attracting them now? Especially since they were much weaker here, too?

“Since when are you worried about attracting Spectres?” you grill, folding your arms and narrowing your eyes.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, clearly caught off guard. Shaking your head, you look back up at him. “Look, what’s up with you, man? This isn’t like you.”

“I don’t want him to come with us,” he answers. You don’t buy it, but at the same time you know he’s not going to crack just yet.

With a sigh, you say: “I don’t think that’s all, but I know you won’t tell me. Can’t he just come with us? Who knows, he might be of help!”

He remains silent for a few more moments, then: “Fine.”

You grin before darting back into the room. The Elsen looks up at you hopefully.

“Come on, we can help you get out,” you coo, smiling.

“Wh-what about the ghosts?” he asks.

“We can protect you from them. Trust me,” you answer before offering your hand to him. He takes it gratefully before you pull him up.

“Thank you very much, ma’am,” he replies. You hear the Batter scoff quietly from behind you.

“You’re welcome,” you respond.

“Let’s go,” comes Batter’s voice as he nearly stomps out of the room. You roll your ryes. So much for taking a break.

“Ignore him. He’s always grumpy,” you inform, taking his small hand and pulling him behind you.

…

During your trek through the exasperating maze, you noticed Batter was considerably quieter and tenser. Eventually, you had decided that he would tell you about whatever was bothering whenever it suited him. He seemed to be angry too, if the way he was taking out whatever monstrosity showed itself. It was almost like he didn’t want to listen to you but did anyway. His stubbornness grew to the point where you just allowed him to do whatever he wanted with the battles, so you could comfort the Elsen.

And when, finally, you five reached the Judge, the Elsen quickly thanked you and scampered off while Batter spoke to the Judge. You waved at the unfortunate Elsen before turning back to the conversation at hand.

“Is not this publicity so effective and efficient whilst defying the basics of consumer marketing?” the Judge says once he sees you. The two of them are facing some kind of advertisement painted on the wall.

“For silkier hair: the meat fountains of Alma,” Batter reads, clearly unamused.

“Oh, you can read? Anyway, I am glad to have found you. Maybe you can help me unravel the mystery that fate has placed before me,” the Judge comments. He glances up at you and smiles before trotting over to you. You sit down cross-legged against the wall before he crawls onto your lap. Smiling, you pet his soft fur.

“It turns out that my brother has been living in this area for many years. He has a special affinity for colors of the cool kind. Unfortunately, I have so far failed to cross his path. I have tried to betake myself to the roof of the library, where he resides. However, I found the door closed. Even the long hours of intensive, repeated meowing and compulsive scratching did not do a thing.”

“Aw, I’m sorry Judge. Is there anything we can do to help?” you question, scratching him behind his ear. He mewls in response, flipping over onto his back in a silent request for tummy rubs.

“My request is as follows: if at the bend of a corridor you happen to see Valerie, give him my greetings.”

You nod. “Will do.”

“Okay,” The Batter agrees. “Puppeteer, I’m going to go speak to Zacharie for a moment. Do you mind waiting here while I do so?”

You’re mildly surprised, but you agree anyway. “Uh, no, go ahead.”

“Thank you.” He saunters away, trusty bat in hand with Alpha and Omega following him.

You blink. “That was weird.”

“Eccentric of the Batter indeed,” agrees The Judge, “what do you think is amiss?”

“He’s been acting very…out of character lately,” you muse, “I’m not entirely sure what’s going on.” Is he mad at you? Should you be doing something differently? If so, then why isn’t he just talking to you about it? “I wonder if he’s mad at me.”

“I highly doubt that. Your beloved Puppet could never be angry with you for long,” The Judge responds.

You shake your head, causing the Judge to glance up at you. “I don’t know, Judge. If I did something wrong, he just…he needs to speak up. I guess I should ask him about that, huh?”

The Judge nods. “If you truly believe so, then communication is the sole solution.”

“Alright, then,” you sigh, sifting your fingers through his soft fur.

A few minutes later, Batter reappears in the room, the Add Ons at his side. It was then you realized he didn’t buy anything because you were the one holding the credits.

“You good?” you question as the Judge reluctantly slides off of your lap.

“Yes. We should go,” he answers, although you catch a glimpse of his cheeks, which are…wait, is he blushing? You wonder what the odd merchant had said this time around.

Before you left, however, you approached the masked merchant standing idly behind the counter.

“Ah, buenos dias, dearest Puppeteer. How could I be of assistance?”

“Could I see what you have on you?” you ask. He chuckles.

“Of course, belle femme,” he replies, showing you his wares. You’d grown used to the odd nicknames he gave you.

You ended buying a few Fortune Tickets and some meat, placing all purchased items in your inventory before bidding Zacharie goodbye. Before you can move away, however, the merchant catches your hand in his. You freeze, watching as he lifts his mask ever-so-slightly before he brings the back of your hand to his lips.

“It’s always a pleasure to serve this little ragtag team of yours. Sois prudente, jolie fille.” Releasing your hand, he chuckles at your shocked expression, smirking as he glances at your stunned Puppet.

“Th-thank you,” you stutter before Batter places his hand behind your back and pushes you out of the door.

Once you’re outside, you blink a few times before you’re able to speak again. “Dude. What. The. Fuck?”

Batter shakes his head, probably both at your choice of language and recent events. “Language. I don’t know why he’s…” he sighs.

“He’s so weird. Wait…aren’t you fluent in French? What did he say?” you question.

Batter huffs. “The first nickname was ‘beautiful woman’. The second one was ‘Be safe, pretty girl’.”

Your cheeks grow even redder upon hearing the translation. “W-what? Really?”

He nods, remaining silent as the two of you continue to the park.

“Puppeteer…” he starts, voice soft.

“Yeah?” you ask, looking up at him. He avoids your gaze blatantly.

“I…” he trails off before continuing, “I think we should rest in Zone 0 before going to the park.”

You nod, the exhaustion of getting through the maze catching up with you. “Agreed.”

…

Once you two have reached the abandoned Zone, Batter hurriedly guides you past Zacharie, despite his greeting, and ushers to the upper levels.

“Which floor would you like to stay on?” he questions.

“Here’s fine,” you respond, sliding onto the floor. He hesitates before sitting next to you and dropping his bat onto the floor. You lean your head on his shoulder, causing him to tense up a bit before relaxing.

You hear him sigh again. “I’ve upset you, haven’t I?” His voice sounds uncharacteristically sullen for a man as stoic as he usually is.

“Kind of. I just wish you would talk to me. What’s going on with you, Batter? You’ve been acting weird lately.”

He heaves yet another sigh as you straighten your neck and shift. Batter looks up at you while you move. You end up straddling him with your hands on his shoulders. He stiffens at your gentle touches. From this angle, you can finally see his eyes.

You can’t tell exactly what color his eyes are, so you reach up before grasping the brim of his hat. He catches your wrist gently before you can pull it off all the way.

“Do you mind?” you whisper. “I really want to see your eyes.”

His grip on your wrist loosens before he removes it completely. “Go ahead.”

You smile at him in a silent thank-you before you remove it.

His eyes are a pretty shade of amber. They hold a kind of exhaustion that could only be obtained by fighting for something one couldn’t accomplish.

“Your eyes are beautiful,” you comment, smiling, “why didn’t you want me to see them?”

He bites his lip for a moment before looking away. “I am not entirely sure. I guess I just…don’t want you to see my…my real ones.”

“Your real ones?” you question, tilting your head slightly.

“Yes,” he confirms, placing a hand on your cheek. “I don’t want to scare you.”

“You won’t, Batter. Will you show me, please?” you ask, enjoying the feeling of his hands.

“Very well,” he says, “will you close your eyes for a moment?”

You obey quietly, pressing a hand against his. His hands are much bigger than yours as well as drier and calloused from using his bat so much.

“You may open your eyes now.”

Upon opening them, you find that his amber orbs have been replaced with four eyes. The irises are a deep shade of burgundy while the rest of the eye is a pretty crimson color.

“Whoa,” you breathe, removing your hand in order to trace the skin around his eyes. Even though it’s definitely unnatural for a human, he still looks handsome. “Those are even cooler!”

“You think so?” he questions, still unsure.

“Yes. I mean…I’ve never met anyone with red eyes before. I…I think they look even better than your other ones,” you confess, smiling shyly at him.

He studies your face for a moment before a teensy little smile lights up his face. “Thank you, Puppeteer. Thank you.”

You chuckle. “That’s what you get for having a pretty face. Now,” you lean back a little. “What’s been going on with you?”

His little blush is back, which almost makes you giggle. “Well…it has to do with what I talked to Zacharie about earlier.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I…whenever I saw you hugging the Elsen or just…being affectionate with someone else, it made me angry. I wasn’t sure what exactly why I was; after all, you were just trying to be comforting. I knew Zacharie would have an answer, and he did. He informed me that…I should tell you. I wasn’t sure how. Eventually, he told me that…I was…jealous.”

You chuckle. “If you wanted a hug you should’ve just asked,” you respond, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling yourself to him. Burying your face into the crook of his neck, you smile as you feel him return it with a relieved smile. He loosely wraps his strong arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

You note that he smells like…bubblegum? Not just any bubblegum, but the kind that’s sort of stringy? Like the baseball gum. You chuckle, inhaling his scent.

Suddenly, he slides his hands up to your neck and he gently pushes you back a little bit, rubbing the tips of his thumbs over your jawline. You move your hands to his chest, right over his heart. It steadily beat beneath your fingertips. After that, your gaze sinks down to see his lips: they’re dry and chapped, but still so, so kissable.

The Batter releases a grunt before he pulls you forward, and your lips collide. He’s gentle and slow at first, testing the waters. When the two of you break apart for a moment, you go in for another one again; this time around, it gets a little more heated.

His hands slide back down to your waist, where he pulls your torso to his. You find your hands tangled in his ivory white hair. You feel him running his hands along your curves, to the small of your back, then retreating to your waist again.

You’re pulled back by the need for air. As you gaze into his red eyes, you recollect just why you love this man. He had protected you, tried to help you when no one else would. Even when he did get a little snappy, it was because he wasn’t exactly sure what to make of both the situation and his own feelings. It was there when you were looking at him, you realized he felt the same way.

He breathes your name, brushing a hand against your cheek again. You can tell he’s at a lost for words.

“I had a feeling you wanted more than a hug.”

#off #the batter x reader #off by mortis ghost #zacharie off #oneshot #reader insert

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a-big-apple · 3 years ago

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Thoughts on Surface Pressure 1/2

Sorry but I gotta go off about Luisa again, I have watched this song eight million times and I can’t keep it in anymore

Let’s start with “the magic’s fine, Luisa’s fine”

Luisa set all these wandering donkeys down in a straight line, she sets Mirabel right in the center of that line, and dusts her off to make the tableau perfect. Abuela’s expectations weigh on them all, but Luisa has really internalized this need for perfection in the same way Alma has: it’s all about appearances. The most important thing is to make everything seem the way it should, including herself. If things look fine, things are fine.

And she tries so hard! She strikes her hero pose! But her body’s betraying her with little signs of stress, the first tiny crack in her facade.

She even has these little tired-looking lines under her eyes, she’s working on no sleep, sweetheart you’re 19 please take a nap T^T But she’s the strong one, she’s not nervous, she’s trying to reinforce to Mirabel exactly what she thinks is expected of her, because she thinks that’s all she’s allowed to be.

How does she prove she’s fine, even as the cracks are showing? Work.

Who knows how these boulders got here, but they’re in the way, crowding the path. In the middle of rounding up donkeys and trying to placate her sister, she’s found a problem--so she’s cleaning it up. We’re still in the “real” world here, this is genuinely the kind of thing she does every minute of every day.

Also, I think because of the pose she strikes, the first hundred times I watched this video I thought the boulder broke over her shoulders, but no, it literally cracks apart on her head. I know there are obvious comparisons to be made with Luisa and the donkeys as beasts of burden, but also she’s hardheaded here, literally and figuratively stubborn as a mule in resisting Mirabel’s questions.

I’m here for those tense back muscles tho ngl

Also I’m super interested in how surprising all this is to Mirabel!

I think the implication is that Luisa has never shown her this before; maybe she’s been annoyed with her little sister or been cranky sometimes, but Mirabel doesn’t know what to make of the anger and aggression that’s bubbling up here. This is new territory with sweet, agreeable Luisa. Mirabel’s never had any reason to be wary of her, she got right up in her face at breakfast and got in her way just before this song started because in spite of her power Luisa is safe, and this reaction is catching Mira off guard.

I can’t talk about this song without screenshotting this moment, LOOK AT HER

"And I glow ‘cause I know what my worth is” sounds like a mantra because it is. Luisa thinks she knows what her worth is, but it’s so tied to her gift and her ability to perform that it’s incredibly fragile. She’s convincing herself. Glowing implies everything bright and good and powerful that she wants to be, but it’s a little dissonant with the energy she’s radiating here. She’s trying to brute force them both into believing all is as it should be, and the strain shows in her face, in the extremely gorgeous way her heavy breaths are included in the visual and in the audio track.

Now, supported for at least another second or two by this pep talk to herself, she’s back to work clearing these gd rocks:

She’s trying to get into the right headspace: this is easy, it’s a dance, she can do it no hands and look damn good too, but the lyrics break my heart: “I don’t ask how hard the work is, got a rough indestructible surface.” Luisa does WHATEVER IS ASKED. She doesn’t consider whether it’s too much for her, or whether it’s something so easy someone else could do instead. And even though she’s got this beautiful, classically femme look, she describes herself as rough. Literally indestructible. I can’t help but think that she feels, viscerally, how different she is from every other woman she knows in this tiny town, even though in the real world women come in every shape and size, including hers. In her mind, looking the way she does is a part of her gift, and her gift is what makes her valuable, and she’s (mostly) proud of that.

But in spite of her best efforts, she can’t actually hold it together anymore, especially with Mirabel right there to witness her start to crumble.

“I take what I’m handed, I break what’s demanded,” but look how upset she is about it!!! LMM tweeted some early lyrics to this song a while back and iirc this line used to be “I take what I’m handed, I’m taken for granted.” INCREDIBLE to me that the sentiment is still there, it’s just in the subtext of her expression. She’s stating what she does, what she’s supposed to do, but with Mirabel there watching and reacting, Luisa’s finally starting to let herself feel how it’s hurting her. She is taken for granted, and she can’t keep pretending anymore.

“BUT!”

I’m OBSESSED with this transition into the song space. Luisa’s frustration has torn up the surface of reality and brought us into pure metaphor--something Mirabel is EXCELLENT at perceiving. The themes of perception and perspective go deep in this movie, and this song is a really clear illustration of the way Mirabel is able to viscerally understand the emotional realities of her family. To Mirabel, what Luisa later describes as “a little talk” is an entire fantasy of the internal chaos Luisa’s been hiding. Every visual from this point on is a metaphor, but the real emotions are all over their faces and that’s what carries the audience through the transition.

“UM OMG”

“Luisa what’s happening??”

“Confession time sis I FEEL BERSERK--”

“--as a tightrope walker in a three-ring circus.” The spotlight on her! The faceless audience, just silhouettes in the dark! Tbh this shot brings me back to Dumbo, and being a tiny kid terrified by the scene where faceless men and elephants are laboring to pitch the circus tent in a rainstorm. That scene is about unseen and thankless work, and is also deeply racist, but I feel like there’s a line to be drawn from the danger there to the danger here, even though Luisa’s most backbreaking work is performance. This metaphor space is filled with references, including to the Disney back catalog.

Even the donkeys have gained a metaphor layer:

In the “reality” space, they were just vibing, wandering around bare-backed, chewing grass. Here they have blanket pads strapped on, ready to be loaded with whatever they’re asked to carry, just as Luisa always has to be ready.

Mirabel is literally launched into the air by the force of the dangers here, and the chaos is only just beginning.

This all seems terrifying and unpredictable to Mirabel, but for Luisa this is everyday life. She’s ready, a step ahead, already taking in the next crisis as Mirabel is clinging onto her.

And as Hercules (the most obvious Disney self-reference, even though the designs are different) is making a break for it, Luisa is already (so gently!) setting Mirabel down...

...and accepting the tools of the hero trade. She has to be prepared to do what no one else can. She’s asking “Was Hercules ever like ‘Yo I don’t wanna fight Cerberus?’” because a mythological demigod is the closest thing she has to a peer--and nobody’s ever asked her if she wants to fight Cerberus, if she wants to move a chapel, if she wants to reroute the river again (because didn’t she just move that bridge yesterday??). Nobody can do what she does, so she has no way of knowing if it’s okay to be tired, or scared, or frustrated, or reluctant.

And now Mirabel is inside this struggle with her, so even as she’s expressing the source of her pain--“I’m pretty sure I’m worthless if I can’t be of service” (OUCH)--she has to keep going.

It's so rough that for a lot of this song sequence, this is what Mirabel sees:

The next crisis, and Luisa putting her body between Mirabel and danger.

And she wins! Victory! Right?

Wrong.

“A flaw or a crack, the straw in the stack that breaks the camel’s back, what breaks the camel’s back?” Solving one crisis just leads to another; the ground is never steady under her feet, her emotional landscape is always fracturing.

But she doesn’t actually fall! She chooses to dive headfirst into whatever is coming next, because that’s how she keeps her balance, she keeps going, going, going.

And when the spotlight brightens...

We get the hero poses again. No problems here! Luisa’s fine! But in the audio we get the truth she’s trying to cover, sung quiet and breathless: “Pressure like a drip-drip-drip that’ll never stop.” Resigned.

“Pressure that’ll tip-tip-tip” is taking its toll, though:

Luisa herself has become a scale--still trying to balance everything, but also bringing to mind a lot of layers of visual reference to Egyptian mythology (Anubis weighing hearts against the weight of a feather to judge their fate in the afterlife), Greek mythology again (Themis, goddess of divine law and order, frequently symbolized by scales of justice), and Christianity (the Archangel Michael frequently shows up in art weighing souls on Judgement Day).

Once again Luisa’s peers are gods, but she finds herself struggling. The donkeys are funny and fit the theme, but they’re also representing all her responsibilities piling up, and I’m IN LOVE with how many of them it takes to match the weight of Mirabel.

Luisa’s sister, and by extension her family, is SO MUCH MORE IMPORTANT--but eventually she just can’t keep the balance anymore, and she pops.

Whew. OK. I’m upset about this poor kid’s internal landscape, but let’s keep going.

Another hero landing!

I know everything is emotionally kind of terrible here but this brief scene makes me laugh. Mirabel is floundering, the donkeys are watching Luisa with anxious expressions but the one on the right does a little stompy dance while Luisa’s dancing, and Luisa’s A GREAT DANCER. Also I love/hate the pattern of barbell-lifting Luisas in the background, the inside of her mind is wallpapered with imagery of her doing her job and being strong. (Also I think the triangular patterns match the lace on the waist of her chemise/top?? The DETAILS)

Mirabel’s worried, this donkey is worried, Luisa is worried but she’s STILL PERFORMING.

“Give it to your sister, your sister’s older”

Luisa throws this wink around. She winks at Mirabel and at a random townsperson in “The Family Madrigal,” and she’s using it here as a cover--look, things are wild but I’m on it! And for a second Mirabel is fooled, because this is the sister she knows.

But Luisa once again is already sizing up the next crisis, and she doesn’t actually have time to treat Mirabel as gently as before.

She’s still protecting her, because that’s the most important thing, but she’s only got two hands (and hips that don’t lie).

Also, can I talk for a second about the phrasing of “Give her all the heavy things we can’t shoulder”? In the previous line, Luisa could be talking directly to Mirabel. She points at herself, it’s sensible that she’s giving an instruction, give it to your sister, this girl right here with the muscles and the thumbs. But the “we” in the second part of the phrase turns the whole thing on its head. She’s not telling Mirabel to give her this weight. She’s quoting everyone else in her life telling Mirabel to give her this weight.

And then we get another stunning bit of vulnerability, another look between the two of them that’s laying bare what this is doing to Luisa:

“Who am I if I can’t run with the ball?” A nice, friendly sports metaphor, how bad could that be?

Sorry, excuse me, the ball is THE ENTIRE WORLD, with South America front and center. Luisa is placing herself at the same level of responsibility as Atlas, literally holding up the globe. What’s interesting to me is that for Atlas, it’s a punishment, and he’s usually depicted as struggling under the weight. But holding up the globe isn’t actually that hard for Luisa, she’s got it one-handed. The pain point for her is the fear of failure: “If I fall”

And even here, she’s not falling because she stumbled, she’s falling because the ground under her feet is tipping sideways, the foundation of the magic, her family, her understanding of herself is all suddenly unstable.

I love how every transition is some kind of dramatic movement, Luisa and Mirabel are always dropping from the sky into a new danger.

Her face is killing me. Another peril, stuck in a giant coffee pulper like she’s in a Golden Age superhero comic. But again the peril isn’t the problem, it’s the emotional pain she’s in, the grip-grip-grip that won’t let go.

Look at this Superman pose!!!!!

(Cue Five For Fighting.)

AND SHE’S STILL GOING. Carrying Mirabel around like a sack of potatoes now:

Because the gorgeous visual metaphors that are these geysers just keep popping off! Girl’s a ticking time bomb, and she’s using that built up pressure to get her from one problem to the next.

Here she comes to save the day, but Mirabel is really grasping the severity of what’s happening now. She’s starting to recognize that her familiar strong and unflappable sister is an act.

Now we get Luisa quoting again. “Give it to your sister, your sister’s stronger, see if she can hang on a little longer.”

Go listen to this bit really closely, the strain in her voice is so palpable, just like the strain in her posture here. She’s hurt, and this line is accusatory and a little sarcastic--she’s always emotionally dangling from this cliff, and nobody sees it, they just keep piling on bit by bit, and expect her to keep her grasp. In a lot of ways she’s put herself in this position, reading more severity into what the adults in her life expect of her than they probably intend, but also nobody is checking on her.

AND SHE STILL DOESN’T LOSE HER GRIP. She’s holding on, it’s the CLIFF that cracks. She asks “Who am I if I can’t carry it all, if I falter?” but she hasn’t faltered once in this song so far, it’s everything she’s trying to hold on to, trying to rely on, that’s failing her.

THAT’S SOME POTENT ANXIETY.

Ok, I wrote a ton about the rest of the song and Tumblr ate it, so I’m going to split this into two posts! Second one is here.

#encanto #luisa madrigal #surface pressure #it's actually unhinged how long these posts are i'm so sorry

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wandringaesthetic · 2 years ago

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I have often been right on the edge of writing a long, meandering post about this but I have no conclusions, so

You may get more than you wanted here

Warning for various weight and body issue things.

Partially this is a gender thing and partially this is an age thing and partially this is a thing where I have some neuroses regarding food and fatness

The overall questions of what I want and whether that can be translated into goals and actions.

question ONE is: what do I want my gender to be and how do I express that to other people?

I'm in a spot where ... I've been reluctant to describe myself as non-binary or ask for they pronouns because.... I'm, you know, AFAB and present just this side of feminine for the most part. Offers more freedom of expression in dress. And also.... this is the body I have and I care more about being hot than being male or female. My hair is long and I don't want to cut it. I'd grow it to my ass if I could without it looking bad. The only outward way I express any kind of gender oddity is I hatehatehate makeup.

AND YET. Without going into it too much, I feel like I'm, emotionally, more stereotypically masculine. For good and ill. I feel like, 90% of the time when someone says something like "As a woman ..." They're going to say some stuff I don't relate to at all.

I've often thought that, if I thought I would be read as a man, I would crossdress sometimes. But in order to pass, I would need to either cut my hair (Extremely Do Not Want) and/or grow a beard (drastic, don't really want, comes with some other stuff I don't really want). So, basically I could put all my energy into appearing masc and I'm only going to hit butch lesbian, which isn't quite right either. And to even do THAT I would have to cut my hair which, again, is one of the few things on this earth I'm sure I don't want. And I'm cool with having boobs and a round butt, generally. It's fine to really good.

So how does one express this? What box does one check? Fuck if I know I have an existential crisis every time I get asked about preferred pronouns.

I've tried to take the advice "think about what you WANT rather than about fitting in a certain box" and basically I would describe it

Androgyny is a pretty much impossible target to hit, though.

And.

Ugh.

The way I would ideally be perceived is *squints* "not sure if pretty man or jacked woman." A sort of androgyny that mostly only exists in anime characters and even there, mostly only in AMAB ones. This is, again, an almost impossible target to hit. But I can probably/maybe at least hit "attractive threat."

So basically, trying to take the "think about what you want rather than what box to check" advice, I thought, well. I don't think I need hormones or anything but I should probably go to the gym.

Which leads to the rest of this.

Question two is: is what I'm trying to do even possible?

THEORETICALLY if one is trying to approach androgyny from the AFAB side by getting swole, one would skip leg day, but I have meditated upon this at length and no. No. I want my ass to be as thick as God will allow without surgery. I want to look like I could kick over a truck. Hell, I want to be ABLE to kick over a truck.

(threat? Threat. Attractive threat.)

In part this is because. Given my genetics and hormone mix, my legs and butt are just. Going to look feminine unless I got pretty drastically thin. And. Generally I'm somewhere between okay with that and very very into it. My hips do not lie. But not all of their truths are pleasant. Or useful.

I have not really found any models to emulate of people approaching androgyny from this direction. A few randomly discovered stock photos and that's it. Muscular women for the most part seem to present as very femme. At least when they're taking thirst pics for the internet. Also, women who are very strong do not necessarily LOOK very strong. Because, despite many peoples' apparent fears, muscular women do not actually look like men. Which is something everyone should know if they've ever, like, seen a thigh, any thigh, and especially if they've gone to a womens' gymnastics meet. We have a cultural blind spot here. There's broader shoulders, yeh, but still overall narrower skeletal structure and more rounded shape generally because more subcutaneous fat. An overall impression of Bigness that may or may not be read as "muscular." It might be read as "athletic" and it might not be read at all! We have not adequately romanticized this body type. And thighs. Like, the percentage of mass in the butt and thighs of an In Shape woman versus an In Shape man is so much different.

So I'm pursuing Strength, generally, all over, but is that actually going to get me what I want? Is what I thought I wanted actually what I want?

Question 3 is: how fat do I want to be? One has some control over this. Probably not as much as is publicly believed, but some.

One gains weight to gain muscle, but at what point does One want to Cut?

A stupid truth about myself that took me a dumb amount time to come to terms with is that I really like to eat. I like food. I like sweets.

Working out generally increases your appetite and increases the amount you can eat without gaining more fat and sometimes you *want* to gain weight to put on muscle mass. I consider these to be perks. I can eat more and I will also enjoy it more?? I am more motivated to cook? Amazing. Awesome. Genuinely, what a wonder to derive pleasure from something you have to do in order to continue living.

Given that my body is the place that I live and not just an image or a suit of clothes I walk around in, I'm not going to be able to realistically maintain a very low level of body fat without making myself miserable. I would like to have abs. I wanted to have abs since I was a kid! And theoretically, at this point, the muscle is there. If I lost, like, 20 lbs I would have abs. Which sounds doable, theoretically. Sometimes the effort seems like it would be worth it.

But losing weight suuuuucks so much and I'm pretty sure that I would not be able to maintain it . But it's not just the abs, it's having any kind of muscle definition and therefore being perceived as strong/muscular.

But also! you don't choose where you lose fat from and past experience has taught me that I lose it from the gut last, which would mean sacrificing some tits and ass in order to get abs and it might mean losing MORE than those 20-ish pounds. and I KNOW I wouldn't be able to maintain THAT. And in the process of losing weight you're plateauing or backsliding a little in strength, which kills my motivation.

Also, i'm not getting any younger here and I've had a child. I can be a little fatter and have nice, fluffy pretty boobies or I can have kind of sad loose ones. And there is a stretch mark situation here. I'm not sure how good it is even possible for the tummy to look?

And hey, while we're on that subject, how big do I want my boops to be? One doesn't have that much choice in that, barring surgery, but one does have some! Playing around with things has led me to the conclusion that if I gained weight while taking some supplements I could probably go up a cup size or maybe two?? Do I want that?

(I think I have pretty much decided that I Do Not. I want what I have to be full but don't really want any extra. Don't want the boops to outpace the butt. Don't want to look top heavy.)

(we return to the "what gender do I even want to be?" question)

The kinda fucked up honest answer to the "how fat do I want to be?" question and also the "how big do I want my boobs to be?" question is: it depends. It depends, mostly, on where I am in my hormone cycle, because:

An issue separate from "wow, it turns out that I really like to eat" is that part of my lizard brain likes the idea of getting really, really fat. To levels that would fuck up my life. This does not harmonize with any of my other desires for my self or my body, so mostly this stays in the realm of fantasies I wish I could scrub from my brain later. But every few months or so the lizard does get in the driver's seat and this results in some binge eating. It's difficult to pinpoint, especially since I've had an IUD I don't menstruate, but the ebb and flow of whether becoming completely spherical sounds great or disgusting to me is dependent on my hormone cycle and I'm pretty sure the peak "want to consume the entire earth" point corresponds to when I'm ovulating. Progesterone? Maybe??

TAKE THAT AS YOU WILL.

There is an upper limit to how fat I want to be, though, because after a certain point I start to dislike how my face looks and have a little loss in flexibility and I would like to be able to do at least one pull-up, which would be easier if I were lighter.

I don't have any conclusions here but I do have a few more semi related thoughts:

Sometimes I think: I am in my 30s. What am I even trying to accomplish here? There was this one old Whose Line Is It Anyway? prompt that I think about a lot: "middle aged woman who is proud of her body." And that is ageism but also there is a limit to what I'm going to be able to achieve and anyone younger would be at an advantage. What in the Stacy's mom am I trying to do here?

But. Every time I look at Emily Haynes I lengthen my estimates on how long I have to be hot. One can be hot for actually a super long time.

Because I was a big nerd I wasn't super athletic in high school or as a young adult, so I'm very often doing more than I could ever do before. I don't have the frustration some people have of being unable to surpass my younger self. I do it constantly.

I generally feel better, physically and mentally, than I did in my 20s. There are a lot of reasons for this, but it's basically that I feel less stressed and more in control of my life. My health is better, my skin is better, i weigh more than I did but I'm in much better shape.

Working out without the primary intention or sometimes no intention at all of losing/maintaining weight is extremely freeing and gaining strength has been..... Not exactly easy but way easier than I thought it would be.

(I went, in the space of a few months, from not lifting to "I believe that everyone who can lift should" embrace the gym bros, become one with the gym bros)

That said, I think without smart phones for tracking purposes and without Bluetooth headphones to listen to something while I'm working out and without various online and print resources, strength training would be difficult to impossible for me to keep up with. Because of executive dysfunction and boredom, firstly. and also because I wouldn't know what I was doing and would have difficulty explaining what I want to a trainer.

I would have said that I work out for 80% vanity and 20% health, but tbqh one of the big reasons I do it is so that I can sleep. Which I guess is a health concern. Before I was going to the gym every weekday I was walking 2 to 5 miles every day because if I'm not regularly doing some physical activity I start feeling like tearing my skin off and I can't sleep. There's also a confidence thing? Just, feeling better about myself because I'm physically able to do more.

I've tried to adopt a viewpoint of embracing vanity. Well, not vanity, which has that Ecclesiastes connotation of being fruitless. Self love. Narcissism, not in the DSM sense but in the Really Feeling Yourself sense. Dressing like your personality. Dressing like you're the hottest person in this Walmart. Potentially spending some amount of money or time in order to do that. Collagen to keep my hair from breaking so I can finally grow it to my hips, maybe. Ironing out some kind of skincare routine so I have 80% less acne and maybe I'll age a little slower. If you look at it as part of this, working out several times a week is some wildly luxurious Treating Yourself.

This self love&vanity attitude is often confused with chasing some impossible ideal of youth and/or beauty. A wretched level of materialism. Plastic surgeries that make you look like a mannequin, etc. Spending too much time and effort on something temporary. It's all temporary! But I think one does begin to take a wrong turn when one starts trying to deny mortality. Yes, you will age. You will die. Remember that thou art mortal and all. Trying to look and feel as good as you can in the meantime seems like the opposite of that, to me. The night will end, but let's dance while we can. Eat the food before it goes bad. Don't save the fancy stuff for a special occasion. Use it now.

If I could somehow instantly poke myself into a perfect body (if I could even decide what that is) I don't think I would. I would not want to live in a body without a history. I wouldn't want to be generic. If I actual get where I want to, I would probably be if anything a bit off-putting to general audiences. I might be already! I want to be odd. I want to have character. And I want to have somewhat visibly Been Through It.

And also? I find it pleasing and motivating to think of my body as a work in progress. Like, the process is part of the point. I like that my pants have gotten tighter around my thighs and looser around my ankles. I like when I can notice some new definition somewhere random. The top I'm wearing right now is almost too tight across the chest and shoulders. I notice it all the time and it's soooo pleasing. I like.... Becoming. Becoming What, I am not so sure.

Kind of wish I could settle on what I even want my body to be instead of my only recourse being becoming a shapeshifter

#long post #my posts #personal

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moonlit-han · 4 years ago

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part i: he came in through the bathroom window

genre: college au, neighbor au, fluff, humor pairing: femme reader x 3racha in poly relationship part word count: 5k part warnings: suggestive, alcohol consumption, explicit language request: yes and no~ a/n: this is in no way represents stray kids or bang chan, seo changbin, and han jisung, as it is a work of fiction. and to my readers: this is the first part in a series that’s rather dear to my heart, and while i’m not sure how long it’ll end up being at the moment, i hope you enjoy it!

✧ masterlist & tag list info in bio ✧

↠↞

Just before your final year of college, you moved into a new apartment—well, your part of a shared house that had been made into several apartments. There was another one on the ground floor with yours, and then two upstairs. It was clean, with lovely light and a surprisingly nice kitchen. Your bedroom was nicely proportioned, too, with amazing closet space. The bathroom adjoined your neighbor’s, and there was even a little door that connected the two, for some reason. You quickly found that you had to leave the window open, even just a crack, to air out the room—an old house meant no ventilation fan. Occasionally, the proximity to your neighbor made it a little weird when you ended up taking a shower at the same time because he sang in the shower. On more than one occasion, you had to stop yourself from joining in.

You later found out that said neighbor was a music student at the same university as you, and you were sure you would have never met him if he hadn’t been your neighbor. He didn’t hang out with the same people as you, didn’t have any of the same classes, seemed to spend all his time shut up in his apartment occasionally strumming on a guitar, and was just generally an introvert. He did seem to have two best friends whose laughter you heard through the walls on a regular basis.

On the second day you lived there, a Friday, he knocked on your door, a mango in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

“Hi, I’m Jisung,” he chirped. “I live next door. I brought you a house-warming gift—sorry it isn’t fancier. Hope you like it!” Jisung thrust the wine and mango into your surprised hands and then darted away to the other side of the house before you could even invite him in. You just stood there for a solid two minutes, staring into nothing with the mango and bottle of wine.

Wow, he was hot. Shit.

For the rest of the day, you went about your business, unpacking and arranging your things. The bottle of wine drew your eye but you resisted temptation, knowing that you wouldn’t get anything done if you opened it in the mid-afternoon. Occasionally, you heard music or slightly worrying thumps from Jisung’s apartment. But, you’d only just moved in and didn’t know him well enough to feel comfortable going to check on him. Surely he was fine, right?

Around 6 pm, you gave in and got the bottle of wine. Rummaging in one of the boxes still lounging on the kitchen floor, you found a wine glass, and miraculously, the bottle opener, too. As you poured out the liquid, it smelled fruity and a little sweeter than you normally liked wine, but it was a gift and you’d been working all day. You couldn’t pass up free alcohol. And perhaps because you’d been moving in all day, the wine tasted delicious and you soon poured yourself another glass. Thinking there had to be a reason for Jisung including a mango, of all things, with the wine, you sliced it and ate a few pieces in between sips of wine. The combination was perfect, and you wondered how Jisung had discovered such a lovely pairing.

As you settled in for evening, your thoughts strayed to your new neighbor. He seemed nice enough, albeit a bit shy, and was thoughtful enough to bring a housewarming present. That had to count for something. But what you couldn’t get out of your head was just him—the way his eyes sparkled with mischief, the way his hair swooped around his face. And with the hoodie that practically swallowed him whole, Jisung was absolutely the cutest, most handsome guy you’d ever seen.

Pausing the show you were watching on your computer, you had to take a few deep breaths to calm your racing heart. You’d only just met the man, and you hadn’t even said anything! How could you be falling for him already? Heck! Giving up completely, you decided to go to bed . . . on the sofa you were currently occupying because you hadn’t set up your bed yet.

↠↞

Three months later, you were successfully moved in and your classes were in full-swing. You’d seen Jisung a few times as you came and went from your apartment, but you hadn’t really talked much. You were okay with that, though—classes were busy and it wasn’t as if there was some mystical Book of Rules for New Neighbors that you had to read and follow directions from. When you did talk, though, he was perfectly nice, making sure to ask how you were doing and actually listening to what you had to say—a rare quality, you’d found. He always gave you a toothy grin that seemed to light up his whole body, too.

Your door knocker barely ever got used, which was why when very loud knocking echoed through your apartment on Saturday, you were sure the apocalypse was coming. Cautiously, thinking of all the bad things that could happen if the person on the other side of the door meant you harm, you opened your front door. Revealed on the threshold was Jisung, along with two other young men who could only be the best friends you heard so often.

“Hey, Y/N,” Jisung said, moving slightly to the side so you could see his companions. “So, I figured I’d introduce you to my friends, since they’re around a lot. Also, I usually ask one or both of them watch the apartment when I’m gone sometimes.”

“Oh. Okay,” was all you could manage while being stared at by three highly attractive young men.

“Can we . . . come in?” Jisung asked hesitantly.

“Um, yeah sure,” you said, blinking, and moved out of the way.

So that was how you ended up with Jisung and his two best friends lounging on the couch in your apartment. They seemed perfectly at home, not noticing or simply not caring about the mess of books and mugs on your coffee table, nor the—

Oh shit, the laundry.

Your laundry—underpants, bras, and all—was hanging on a drying rack in the corner of your living room under the window. You scurried over to the rack and quickly threw a towel, which had been catching any rain that happened to fall on your windowsill, over the clothes. Turning round, you found the guys looking at you. You smiled nervously, knowing you were blushing.

Jisung put his head in his hands. You felt like doing the same thing just then.

“So, let me guess,” said the one sitting on Jisung’s left, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. “You’re name’s Reina, right? Since you’re lovely as a queen?”

You burst out laughing. You couldn’t believe someone had actually just used such a ridiculous pick-up line on you. “Sorry to disappoint,” you said, still giggling. “My name’s Y/N.”

“Oh well,” Chan said in mock-sadness, “that’s a pretty name, too. Just about as pretty as you!”

“Chan, fucking hell, man,” Jisung groaned. “Can you not flirt with every single person I introduce you to?”

“Sorry, ’Sung.” He still winked at you, though.

“Yeah. Okay.” Jisung addressed you again. “So this,” he pointed at the one he’d called ‘Chan,’ “is Chan. And the other dork who insists on being friends with me is Changbin. They’re also studying music composition and production.”

“Nice to meet you. And honestly,” you added conspiratorially, “I don’t understand why you’d want to be around Jisung either. Did you know he sings in the shower?”

Now it was Chan and Changbin’s turn to burst out laughing, falling onto the sofa’s arms.

“Jisung, your neighbor’s cool!” Changbin chuckled once he got himself under control. “Why didn’t you introduce us sooner?"

Jisung blushed faintly and grumbled something about not getting the chance. He’s really cute when he blushes, you thought.

“But yeah, we’re the bane of the Music Department’s existence,” Changbin said cheerfully. His voice was slightly husky, but somehow melodious, too.

“Just call us 3racha—because we’re spicy like Sriracha sauce!”

“Chan!” Jisung hissed, shoving his friend but he couldn’t wipe the grin off Chan’s face. Even though he seemed determined to be the cheesiest person ever, you noticed that Chan had extremely cute dimples and kind eyes.

“Wow, you three really are something,” you observed, with only a hint of sarcasm tinging your voice. “Jisung, did you really just come over and insist on coming into my apartment just to introduce your friends? Or, did you need something?” It came out slightly harsher than you’d meant it, but still. He’d practically barged in!

“Um, yeah, pretty much,” Jisung said. “Like I said, I wanted you to at least know who the people coming and going were.”

“And if you ever need anything,” Changbin added, “we’ve got you.”

“Thanks?” you said, not quite sure how they’d be able to help you, since you’d a) only just met them, and b) didn’t have any way to contact them. Although, Changbin did have a quiet confidence about him that was actually quite reassuring.

Jisung sighed, a little fidgety. “Well, I think we’ve trespassed on your time long enough. Let me know if the music’s too loud, okay?”

All four of you stood at the same time, Changbin leading the way to the door. “See you later, Y/N,” he said. “It was lovely to finally meet the person we’ve been hearing so much about.” And then he winked, too.

What was with these guys and winking? you groused to yourself, trying to keep ahold of your expression. Wait, he didn’t mean… oh fucking hell. Judging by Changbin’s smirk that’s exactly what he’d meant. Why did the walls have to be so thin? Why!

Clearly exercising all the self-control he had, Chan just waved and said “Bye” on the way out. Jisung stopped as he was halfway out your door.

“Sorry this was unexpected, Y/N. I just thought you’d like to get to know them.” Jisung smiled a little sadly, and with that, carefully shut your door after himself.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding just as a small scuffle broke out on your front step. You could almost hear Jisung berating his friends for something. Running a hand through your hair and massaging a temple in the process, you walked back over to sit on the couch. As you continued massaging your head, your eyes were caught by a folded piece of paper on the coffee table.

Strange, you thought, I don’t remember ever having that pattern of note paper. You picked it up and opened it to see. . .

Wow, the audacity.

One of the guys had left all three of their numbers for you on that slip of paper. Chan’s even had a heart next to his. They really had some nerve. Then again, you weren’t exactly complaining that three hot guys had just left you their numbers. You never knew when that could come in handy.

↠↞

You were finally snuggled in bed when you heard a crash. You went stiff for a moment, thinking through the various things that could have made that sound in your apartment. The sound seemed to have come from the bathroom. Okay. So, it might have been the mirror or a glass you forgot to move off the edge of the sink. It didn’t have to be the window. Besides, there hadn’t been any other noises after the first.

Reluctantly, you got out of bed and trudged to the bathroom to see what had happened. The shelf you’d put up two days ago lay on the floor surrounded by the shards of a vase you’d placed on said shelf just earlier that evening.

“Damn it,” you muttered, bending to pick up the shelf and the larger pieces of glass. The weight of the vase must have been too much for the shelf, even though you’d properly attached it to the wall. You methodically cleaned up the glass and reattached the shelf to the wall, not putting anything on it this time in hopes that it wouldn’t fall again.

When you woke up, the shelf was still up and you felt rather smug for putting it back up properly. And when you got home, the shelf was still up, too.

That night, you took a lovely bath—taking care to crack the window to let out the steam—twisted your hair up into a comfortable top-knot, and then laid down on your bed with just yourself for company. You sighed gratefully. It had been a long week and you desperately needed some rest.

But, before you could even settle into the softness of your mattress, you heard the distinctive sound of shattering glass. From inside your apartment.

Fuck, not again.

You slipped out of bed, throwing on your sleep shorts and a loose tank top before padding out of your bedroom. Walking as silently as you could, by putting your the balls of your feet on the ground before your heels, you made your way to the bathroom.

You heard a thump just as you put your hand on the doorknob. If that shelf had fallen again…

It was not the shelf.

None other than Han Jisung was sprawled on your bathroom floor, arms and legs going everywhere, and a look of distinct puzzlement on his face. He shook his head, clearly having banged it on the floor. There were bits of broken glass scattered all around him, and you could see a light dusting of it in his hair.

“What the fuck?” you shrieked, backing up to just outside the door.

Jisung looked up at you and grimaced. “Hi?”

“What the hell are you doing in my bathroom? How are you in my bathroom? You had better have a damn good explanation, Han Jisung.” You couldn’t believe it. You’d thought Jisung was nice, that he was normal. But this? Sneaking into your bathroom at 12:30 am? That was just too much. Only a creep would do that.

Jisung scrambled onto his knees, his back to the wall. Under the window. The window that had just been broken. “I can explain!” he said, hands going up in front of him as his shoulders shrugged, as if expecting a blow.

“You’d better talk fast,” you said, your voice dangerously low.

“So, like a dumbass, I forgot my key.” He gulped, then took a breath. “And the guy who lived here before you used to let me come through here when I forgot my key because there’s the connecting door.”

You glanced at said door, which you’d assumed was sealed permanently. Apparently not. You glared at Jisung, who continued.

“Um, I thought I’d just climb in and go through the door. I didn’t mean to break the glass, I promise! My foot just got stuck and so I kind of tripped through the window, if that makes sense? I’m so sorry, Y/N! I thought I’d told you about the whole window thing!” Jisung’s face was screwed up like he might cry, his whole body tense as he made himself as small as he could.

You almost felt sorry for him. Almost. But, you didn’t say anything, waiting for Jisung to provide more of an explanation.

“I— My front windows don’t open and the back and side ones open onto the hill, so there’s nowhere I can use to climb into my own apartment. That’s the only reason this has happened. Really, I’m sorry!”

“So,” you said, hands on your hips, “you’re telling me that you used to climb through this window whenever you forgot your keys.” Jisung nodded. “Did you ever think of making of copy of the key and hiding it under a rock or something?” You were in utter disbelief—how hadn’t he done that? Or given Chan and Changbin keys? You mentally rolled your eyes.

“Shit,” Jisung lamented. “No, I hadn’t thought of that. Like I said, he just let me come in this way and it seemed to work fine. Plus, I don’t think the landlord would like us making copies of the keys, right?”

“Jisung, right now that’s the least of your worries. Please remember that you’re sitting on my bathroom floor. At 12:45 am. I was in bed!” You sighed loudly. Jisung just looked so dejected, you couldn’t stay angry at him for long. “For fucks sake, come here,” you said, reaching out a hand.

He took it, careful not to step on any broken glass from the window, and let you pull him up. His hands were calloused from playing the guitar. And suddenly, Jisung was very close to you. Very close. You could see how long his eyelashes were and the place where he must bite his lip when he’s nervous—you could smell his shampoo. You were also all too aware of just how thin your tank top was, and, it would seem, so was Jisung. You crossed your arms, hoping he’d just think you were cold from the breeze coming in the open window.

“I’ll contact the landlord tomorrow and say I was playing baseball or something and accidentally hit a ball through the window,” he said quickly, stepping back and trying not to look any lower than your face.

“Okay,” you replied, heartbeat faster than you’d care to admit. “Thanks. Now please get out of my bathroom, Jisung. I really do want to go to bed.”

“Yeah, sorry. Really, Y/N. I’m so sorry about this. I’ll— I’ll go get some cardboard and tape to cover the window. I’m sorry!” Jisung seemed like he would start rambling wildly any moment now.

“Just go back to your apartment. I’ll take care of the window, okay?” you tried to be as firm as you could, but Jisung could do sad puppy eyes better than anyone you’d ever met. Dear god, this boy… You gave in. After all, it would be one less thing for you to do. “Fine, Jisung. You can patch the window. Do it quickly, since I want to go to bed.”

With a soft, apologetic smile, Jisung went to the half-door next to your bathroom cabinet. After a moment of him fiddling with the latch, the door swung inward to reveal a small space through which he could crawl. Sighing, Jisung bent down and looked up at you. It did not escape your notice that this was the second time that night that you’d seen Jisung on his knees.

“Again, I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I’ll be right back to fix the window—just go back to bed.”

Before you could respond, Jisung was crawling forward into the slightly dingy area between your apartments.

↠↞

Jisung did, indeed, take care of the window getting fixed. When you went out to check how it looked, you noticed a conveniently placed log that would make it much easier to, say, climb through the window above. You estimated the height from the ground to the windowsill, and realized that Jisung would have had to jump and then pull himself up just with the strength in his arms in order to get through the window. Yes, the wood shingle siding provided fairly good footholds, but not that much. Damn, you thought appreciatively, he’s strong. You were suddenly glad for the chill in the air to cool your now too-warm face.

You found yourself thinking about Jisung at the most inconvenient times, such as in your lecture classes, and quickly realized that, even though you didn’t know him as well as you’d like, you had a crush on your neighbor. Strangely, you still hadn’t run into each other on campus, but you’d seen Chan and Changbin—in the distance and too far away to talk to. You weren’t sure what to make of the fact that you were into Jisung, but your daydreams had certainly become much more vivid.

That one night was just the first time of many that Han Jisung crawled through your window in the middle of the night. By the sixth time it happened, you decided to talk to Jisung.

You heard the familiar rattle of the window and immediately raced into the bathroom in time to help Jisung down. It was a bit sad to see him on the floor after he accidentally caught a piece of clothing, his backpack, or, one memorable time, an earring, on the window. You held out a hand to him, and he took it, hopping into the room like a lady exiting a carriage.

Holding Jisung’s hand was surprisingly nice. His grip was firm and comforting, as if he were transferring his warmth and affection—

Wait, affection? Huh . . .

You quickly dropped Jisung’s hand, but not after checking that his feet were planted on the ground.

“Jisung, why don’t you come into the living room, okay?” you said, hoping you didn’t sound nervous.

“Oh. Sure!” Jisung was clearly baffled, since you’d never done anything like this. Remembering to shut the window behind himself, he followed you into your apartment. By now, he should have been almost used to seeing you in your pajamas, but he wasn’t. Your tank tops left nothing to the imagination, which was maddening for him.

You pointed Jisung to the couch, and he took a seat, sitting with his back ramrod straight and an expectant look in his eyes. You couldn’t help but smile a little as you curled up on the other end of the couch. Jisung, who took this as encouragement, smiled back.

“Jisung, I’ve noticed that you’ve come through this way once a week for over a month,” you said. “There’s no way you’ve actually lost your key every single fucking week. So, why have you been coming through into my apartment every week?”

You knew it sounded a little silly, but he had been appearing between 9:30 pm and 1:30 am every Friday.

“Um, yeah. I may or may not be really bad at keeping my keys on me. Also . . .” Jisung’s voice trailed off so quietly that you couldn’t hear him properly.

“What did you say?” you asked.

“I’m really bad at keeping my keys on me?”

“No, the other part,” you said slowly.

“Damn, I was hoping you wouldn’t hear that,” Jisung grumbled.

“Jisung, what the hell?”

“I wanted to see you,” Jisung said and ran a hand through his hair, embarrassed.

You were stunned. It almost made sense—Jisung was clearly an introvert and seemed to be one of those people who would rather do something outrageous than actually have to talk to someone, much less someone they had a crush on. Neither of you had exactly made many other attempts to see or talk to each other, besides random meetings at the mailbox and leaving your apartments at the same time. Although, he had asked you to bring him soup when he got a cold in September, and you’d happily taken him some. Amazingly, the fact that he’d been all but sneaking into your apartment for the last six weeks didn’t bother you as much as you thought it would. That, you realized upon later reflection, probably had something to do with your crush on him.

“You . . . wanted to see me?” you asked, voice soft. You barely noticed as you uncurled your legs and shifted closer to Jisung. Your hands rested on the upholstery beside you.

“Yeah.” Jisung had moved closer, too, and now you were sitting side-by-side, facing each other.

“But why?”

“Because,” Jisung said as he reached out and linked his pinky finger with yours. You nearly jumped, the contact seeming like a spark leaping from him to you. “Well, you’re beautiful and kind, and I’d like to get to know you better. And whenever I hear you laugh at whatever silly thing you’re reading or watching, I end up giggling because it’s the best sound I’ve ever heard. Did I mention you’re beautiful?”

You were silent for a minute, staring into space level with Jisung’s elbow; he shifted nervously but you didn’t let go of his hand. Your mind raced nearly as fast as your heartbeat.

“Kiss me, then,” you said, and Jisung’s eyes went wide. “Kiss me, Jisung.”

Jisung hesitantly placed his hand on your waist as you gently cupped his cheek—you could feel his pulse jumping in his neck. His touch was light as a feather and you could feel his hand shaking, even as he drew you closer. He leaned forward at the same time as you did, too, and a dull ache spread through your forehead where it had hit Jisung’s.

You crinkled your nose, leaning your head against the couch, and rubbed your brow.

“Oh my god, Y/N, are you okay?” Jisung said, not even thinking as he ran his hand over what was now a slightly red spot of your forehead.

You giggled and said, “I’m fine. Are you okay, though?”

“I’ve had worse,” Jisung chuckled. He also leaned against the couch, resting his arm on its back as, throwing all caution to the winds, he traced the arch of your cheekbone with a fingertip. “Here,” he said as he leaned toward you again and placed a kiss on your forehead.

“Aw, you’re too sweet,” you said. Jisung was directly in front of you and you thought, Well, since he’s already this close. So, you leaned in and placed kiss after kiss down his jaw. Still hesitant, Jisung turned his head slightly and brushed his lips against yours. It was only for a second, but you immediately caught his lips with yours, wanting more. As you took the lead, Jisung relaxed into the kiss. His lips were warm as you renewed the kiss over and over.

You took a breath, smiling and moving your free hand to Jisung’s hair—It really was as soft as you’d always expected. He hummed contentedly, leaning his head back slightly into your hand.

“I’ve been waiting to do that for so long,” Jisung breathed, letting out what might have been a laugh or a sigh.

“Me, too,” you said, still carding your fingers through his hair.

“And now you’re too far away,” Jisung pouted, and slanted his lips to yours again. Continuing to twine your fingers around his hair, you let your other hand run over Jisung’s arms and chest, then down to wrap around his waist. As you did, Jisung held your hip and pulled you closer so you were nearly sitting in his lap. Not that you minded. You transferred a hand to his shoulder so you wouldn’t topple over. Jisung swiped his tongue along your bottom lip and you gladly opened to him. He tasted of the vanilla chapstick he clearly used, and as you explored each other’s mouths, you slipped your hand under the hem of his shirt.

The feeling of your hand on his skin nearly made Jisung faint from surprise and he gasped against your lips before kissing you even more enthusiastically. After long moments of wonton kissing, your arm ached a little from resting on the back of the couch and, reluctantly, you broke the kiss. Jisung’s lips were very red and swollen.

“Are you okay?” Jisung asked, worried as he pulled back, just in case. You didn’t let go of him, though.

“Can we change positions a little, Ji?” The nickname had just slipped out and you didn’t realize you’d call him that until you saw his expression.

“Of course.” Jisung paused, not exactly sure what to do next. “Um, what do you want to do?”

“Well,” you pretended to think for a moment, “we could lay down a bit?”

Jisung blushed a little at the implication that hung in those words. “That’s,” he began and cleared his throat. “That’s just fine with me.”

Taking a deep breath, Jisung slouched back onto the arm of the couch, bringing you with him. You had to do some scooting yourself, and soon found yourself straddling his legs. Jisung reached up and pulled you down to him, running his hands up and down your back as he did so. You rested your forearms on the couch behind Jisung and brought your lips back to his, leaving little kisses around his lips before fully kissing him again. Kissing him was like finding a lucky penny: unexpectedly sweet and such a simple yet exciting thing that you couldn’t help but want to leap with joy. All of a sudden, a giggle burbled up out of you and you hid your face in the crook of Jisung’s neck.

“What?” Jisung asked.

“Nothing,” you mumbled.

“No, really. What is it?” Jisung was quite curious now.

You lifted your head, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks. “I kind of want to see you shirtless now,” you admitted and immediately burrowed your head in his shoulder again.

Jisung laughed, really laughed, as he said, “Yeah? Well, I can’t take my shirt off with you on top of me.”

Still quite embarrassed that he’d even considered what you’d said, you sat up and Jisung lifted the hem of his t-shirt. You couldn’t help yourself once his shirt was off: you whistled, murmuring, “Holy shit.” While you’d guessed that Jisung had nice muscles, you weren’t expecting him to have abs for days and killer arms, not to mention perfectly proportioned pecs.

Jisung smiled, a little embarrassed. “Um, like what you see?”

“Oh, you have no idea,” you said, and trailed a finger down his chest. Jisung let out a shaky breath and you felt a hard pressure underneath your bum. Your pajama pants felt quite thin at the moment. Swooping down, you captured his lips again and continued to run your hands over every inch of him you could reach. Jisung moaned every time your hands returned to his chest, and he slipped a hand down to your bum to hold your hips to his. Your kisses were soon so heated they were almost desperate, your hands ranging over each other’s bodies as the warmth inside grew.

“Jisung,” you said, breathing hard. You sat up, realizing, belatedly, that your top was dangerously low now. “If we don’t stop now—”

“I don’t want to stop,” he whispered. “But if you do, we will. It’s okay, I promise.”

Jisung was so gentle and careful, you could almost cry. “Oh, Ji,” you murmured, and kissed him again, lingering at his bottom lip before pulling back. “I don’t want to stop either.”

Jisung craned his neck to kiss just below your ear. “Then we won’t.” As you continued kissing, any hopes of going back to sleep disappeared like mist in early morning sun. But you didn't want to go to bed, not when Jisung’s hands were slipping under your tank top.

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