#so when i post it. it will be consistent weekly updates beginning to end :)
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patron-saint-of-emesis · 1 year ago
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i. am holding onto 100k words of a mostly finished otto octavius x oc fanfic. its like 75% finished but that 25% left is all rewrites and editing. ive decided its gonna b my goal to get the first chapter up before october ends. hot motto autumn begins
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dreambunnynotes · 8 months ago
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bunny's 60-day glow up challenge ❤︎
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hi my loves! my birthday is right around the corner and i want to end the year strong, so i thought it would be a cute and encouraging idea to host a challenge for all of us glow-up girlies! the steps for the challenge are very simple and customizable, and they give plenty of space for low-energy days. this challenge is all about trying your best to remain consistent in your goals, not to strive for an impossible "perfection" but instead to build trust in yourself that you can show up for your beautiful self and achieve the glow up that you deserve!
steps for the challenge:
pick three habits or things you want to dedicate time to every day
write a sentence or two on why you want to focus on these habits so that you have motivation and inspiration to complete them on hard days; this could include a basic "why" or you could write out specific goals you'd like to achieve through these habits
write out three different energy level variations of the habits so you can achieve your habits even on low-energy days
optional step: write an intro post sharing your habits and goals with everyone! you can use the tag #bunny60days to connect with others doing the challenge and hype each other up with accountability and love - you can also tag me and i can cheer you on hehe! 🥰 otherwise you can simply keep track on your own using a journal or planner or whatever works best for you!
optional step: write daily (or weekly) check-in posts sharing what you accomplished on the different days of the challenge, what you'd like to improve on the next day, or just a general update on how you're feeling. remember that this is a feel-good challenge, not a shame-filled one, so be kind to yourself and use this reflection as a way to show compassion and empathy to yourself 💕 again, you can use the tag #bunny60days to track your progress and see how others are doing!
the only very important rule for this challenge:
if you fall off and don't complete every habit you've written down in a day, do not start the challenge over, just pick up from where you left off! remember, this challenge is about building self-trust and resiliency - this means that you won't let one bad day or break in a streak stop you from continuing your habits. being "strong and hardworking" doesn't mean doing everything perfectly from day one, it means picking yourself up when you fall off course and trying again even though you may feel imperfect.
why only three habits?
when we do challenges, it's so easy to want to accomplish everything all at once, from working out to sleep schedules to everything in between. however, when you eventually burn yourself out or don't complete everything on your super long list of habits, shame is bound to follow, and shame does not make healthy soil for a beautiful plant to grow. starting off with three habits with different energy levels is a good way to ease into habit building while still feeling challenging enough to be interesting.
i don't know where to begin! can you give me an example of some habits or goals?
absolutely! if you'd like an example, you can check out my own personal goals for the challenge here. i'll be participating too, so you know that you have at least one person joining you in your glow up! 🥰 there is also a blank template below for you to use for your own glow up adventure.
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blank template for you:
my chosen habits:
-
-
-
my goals and why's:
habit one:
habit two:
habit three:
my habit energy tiers:
habit one:
low energy:
medium energy:
high energy:
habit two:
low energy:
medium energy:
high energy:
habit three:
low energy:
medium energy:
high energy:
let's do this! bunny xoxo
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courtney-deserved-better · 1 year ago
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Would it be cool to hear about the courtney time travel au? Or at least, like, some basic info? It sounds cool! It very cool how this fandom has a lot of time travel au/rewrites :)
a lot of it i'm keeping under wraps for the moment (such as the ships and title and whatnot) but here's what i'm happy to share!
the premise is that at the very end of all stars, courtney is sent back in time to the beginning of total drama island. the entire fic will be from her pov and it's... long. i've written 25 chapters so far, totaling around 70k words, and that's just up to the end of the basic straining episode. the chapters are 2k-4k words long each. my guess is that the final fic will end up being 150-175k words long.
i've been working on it since july 5th 2022 and my hope is to finish it sometime in 2025 but i have no idea if that'll happen. i won't be posting it until the entire thing is written and then i hope to do weekly updates. i've been pretty consistent working on it in the long run so hopefully if i keep chugging along i'll get there eventually!
thanks so much for this ask, i love that you're interested! i'm very excited for when it's done and i feel ready to share it with everyone!
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linaket · 2 years ago
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February wins, March Writing Goals
So yeah, I missed my weekly update, but I knew I wanted to do something for my goals for March.
The end of February has been a bit rough for me. I started some construction in my house, and it's made me realize that I cannot sit and write much if there's someone nearby. I simply can't concentrate. So that's thrown a bit of a wrench in the plans I had.
Still, I'm excited to say that I made some progress on Tinder Saint in February, even if it wasn't as much as I wanted. I hit the 20k mark which is a kind of magic number to me because it feels like the thing I am writing is... an actual solid thing at that point.
I also made this writeblr in the last month, and I'm very happy that I did. I've already made a few new writer friends, and what more could I ask for? However, I do wish I had thought through the blog names a bit more. I'm likely going to rename this writeblr and my main so that they make more sense together. I wish I could just flip which of my accounts is my main, but that's apparently not a thing that one can do on tumblr. I've got about 12 years worth of "inspiration" things on @oh-sisyphus and I like to keep it highly curated, because often I like to scroll through it with my brain on low, and there's absolutely no way a tagging system would be something that I could suddenly integrate on over eight thousand posts and I can't even begin to figure out what it would look like so. Here we are.
I do want to try and make some goals for March, mainly because I actually do really well when I have solid, manageable goals to tackle.
March 2023:
reach 30k on Tinder Saint. It's a low number, I know, but I've got quite a bit of life stuff swirling around including a huge editing job I need to start, as well as things happening in my "day job" and my house. I don't want to feel too much pressure on reaching something that would be harder to attain because I will likely shut down and not do anything. So. Another 10k in a month. That's doable.
organize tumblr things. I did take time before "officially" launching my writeblr to get a theme that I (mostly) liked and thought would work, but y'know how it is when you don't really know what you need until you start using a thing? I still need to put together a WIP intro/page for Shadow's Prey, which is my primary project and the series that Tinder Saint is actually a part of, as well as maybe think about what tags I want to use and possibly make a list at least for myself so I can be consistent with them.
read / comment more on others' work, and also participate more in the writeblr community. I want to get to know more writers and their works, and send more asks! I love when I get them, so I'd like to make someone else's day, too, if I can.
Honestly? That might be all I can manage this month. I think they are good goals, though, and I hope I can say at the end of the month that I've got them all checked off.
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wonustars · 3 months ago
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ahem ahem. *taps mic*
hello, here i am with another long reblog because one of choco’s stories has absolutely crushed me (in the best way possible). *SPOILERS AHREAD*
let me start off with my initial thoughts going into reading:
if i’m gonna be honest i didn’t want to start this till the last part was posted and ended up reading it during the weekly updates because i got too impatient 😂
i was so immersed into Wonwoos character while reading the first two parts. he was lowkey miserable but the contrast between Wonwoo and Her had me by the throat. there is nothing i love more when the couple consists of a girlboss and a shy man who would do anything for said girl boss
back to Wonwoos character:
i found it very enjoyable to read everything in his pov. every emotion he felt, i had felt it too. im ngl i cried during a few parts of the story just envisioning how he views the world and how he works through all his emotions.
Her’s character:
i loved Her so much. you dek. she reminded me so much of myself. The outgoing, outspoken, and sometimes can be perceived as intimidating to those who aren’t very close to her. the jack of all trades yet master of none. my god. that’s how i portrayed her at least, getting hyper fixated on one thing just to abandon it the next day to try something else. her relationship with mingyu made me raise my eyebrow once or twice. i knew from the very moment that fight between her and bells happened at the party, that mingyu was cheating on her with bells. it was clear as day, and my heart went out to her. she deserved so much more. i’m not sure if it’s character development or maybe we just got to see more of her true personality once the story came to an end, but Her is so much more than what people made her out to be.
if there’s one character i could yap on about its MINGYU:
god. i’ve never felt so heartbroken for a fictional character until i learnt about how he was when he first started dating Her. He had become so brainwashed by Her’s parents and the need to become some successful man for the future that he forgot what his past self truly wanted to achieve. the way Her described mingyu made my heart hurt, because when Wonwoo described Mingyu it was like he was a shell of the person he used to be. Going thru the motions to satisfy everyone but himself? maybe i’m just yapping but that’s how i saw him. He used to have his own aspirations, he used to be in love. HE WANTED TO BE AN ARCHITECT 😭 damn it i just felt like he lost so much of himself and so did Her, they both did. and in my head they become happier after their break up and Mingyu decided to do what he truly desires and is happy.
the plot:
honestly, i’m glad that i read this when the parts were posted once a week. it gave me time to reflect on everything that happened in the story. watching Wonwoo overcome his last relationship and also finding better ways to regulate his anxiety thru the help of Her just made me so happy for him. I really felt his emotions at the beginning almost as if I was the one really feeling that way, and it made me so upset. Seeing the way Wonwoo had changed for the better with Her in his life made my heart melt. you could see the obvious changes. and same with Her! they both had become better versions of themselves the more time they spent together. although i do think that the fight they had was very needed. it seemed like wonwoo had so much piled up inside him, and he needed to learn how to just let it all out, albeit yelling at Her probably wasn’t the best way, im glad he stopped bottling up his emotions. they’re honestly perfect for each other, and the way this was written is just so damn good. THEIR TENSION! especially the night she slept in his room and the first time they had sex. goddddd the smut scene was just so satisfying, cathartic almost after all that pent up TENSION!! i was so happy with how it went. they really match each others freak Aifkskhdskjdjfjek. anyways i loved how every character was written in this story but if i commented on everyone i would probably be typing in this google doc for about 5 hours. so i’ll end it here.
thank you choco, for writing this, for taking the time out of your days to write this masterpiece and post it on tumblr FOR FREE. you’ve really outdone yourself. all your stories are great and i will definitely be reading this one again. the way you described the characters feelings, their actions, everything. i’m in awe and as a writer i aspire to get become this poetic in telling a story. thank you for allowing everyone to be graced with your writing, i cannot describe how appreciative i am of your existence!!! 🫶 im so happy we’re mutuals btw :”)
p.s vernon was my fav character ever! i would’ve done an in depth analysis on him AND seokmin if it wasn’t almost 2am rn hhehe
HER | part one.
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✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.
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pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 23.5k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.
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(!) warnings: drug use (weed, coke, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.
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✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!
the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 
all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates
potentially triggering scenes within the fic are NOT MARKED in advance
the content is already quite mature, so pls heed the warnings!
bolded and italicized text implies characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!
the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts
everyone's patience and understanding has been endlessly appreciated! you have no idea ;_; i give you all shining stars 🌟
⇢ part two | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)
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—MARCH 19TH.
“I have a relatively big favour to ask of you.”
 No. Wonwoo didn’t want anything to do with favours.
The fact that Seokmin had actively picked out his presence in the coffee shop like he was some shiny contortion of plastic had actually offended Wonwoo. He came here for two things: to not be bothered, which his friend knew, and to work on the book he was halfway through typing and had been halfway through typing for the past six months. Call it writer’s block, or an inspiration drought, or an absolutely depressing lack of drive—it had been hanging over the writer with an annoying persistence and it seemed that no number of lemony scones or cold coffees were going to make it vanish.
“Uh, Wonwoo?”
“Sorry… what?” He forced his gaze to shift from the blank page on his laptop to Seokmin’s apologetic, softly expressional face, slightly flushed from his time outdoors in the chilled March weather.
“I was just wondering if you’d be up for a favour—a pretty big one—and I know this is your special creativity spot, but she’s been like, breathing down my neck about it and I can’t put it off again.”
“Whose been breathing down your neck?”
At first, Seokmin didn’t say a word, or even make a sound. His lips twitched for a moment, but then he pressed them together and his chest visibly sucked in with a breath. God, Wonwoo hated the suspense and he hated Seokmin for interrupting him when he had been so stupidly close to putting a sentence down that he probably would have back-spaced in frustration a minute later.  
“Y’know…” he trailed off, “Her.”
Her.
No, not her, you.
But most people—if not everyone—referred to you by an alias that had seemed to stick so well the majority believed it actually was your name. When people said her they meant Her, and so in a confusing mess of finger-pointing they really meant you. Come to think of it, Wonwoo had no idea where the nickname even came from or who gave it to you or what it even meant.
And he was perfectly fine with never knowing.
“What?” Wonwoo deadpanned. “What on earth could she want to do with me? She doesn’t even know me.” He slid down in his chair, fingers pulling at his circle-lensed glasses so they tilted uncomfortably across his nose bridge. “Or, is this a joke?”
“Oh—no! Absolutely not!” His friend was insistent on proclaiming, vigorously shaking his head. “I’m being serious.”
“Why don’t I believe you then?”
“Okay, well, if you let me explain everything, it’ll all make sense. I said I know someone who writes really well—”
“Meaning me?”
“Yes, meaning you. And the only reason that was even brought up is because she wants to write a book.”
Wonwoo couldn’t help it. He laughed a very short disbelieving laugh that flashed a transient smile to his face as he readjusted his crooked glasses. You were the last person he would ever envision wanting to write a book. He then navigated the trackpad on his laptop, deciding to close the document simply titled, 01, that harboured the fleet of pages to his own current work in progress.
“Yeah,” Wonwoo disregarded, “sounds like bullshit.”
“I’m telling you the truth!” Seokmin exclaimed, gripping onto the metal back of the café chair like he was squeezing someone’s taunt shoulders. “She won’t tell me about what, okay? Just that she’s been thinking the idea for a while now. It’s not like I didn’t try to get details. But she refused—said the only person who can know is whoever’s going to help her. Look, y’have to understand, she was pestering me about it nonstop. And you’re my only writer friend!”
“Well, you’re about to have none.” He answered, reaching for his coffee cup but stopping it just short of his lips. “How serious is she about this, anyway?” Wonwoo sighed. “Do you know how much fucking time you need to dedicate to writing a book?”
He stomached a slow, somewhat grimacing sip as he tasted the coffee’s coldness, meanwhile Seokmin swallowed heavily, and at last pulled out the chair he’d been white-knuckling to take a seat.
“Yes, I’m aware it takes time. I know that. And she is serious or else I wouldn’t be here, bothering you. She takes everything seriously.” The boy began unbuttoning his sleek black jacket. “Really, who knows what’ll happen? Maybe you’ll meet her once and she’ll decide she can’t stand you, and then you’re off the hook for life.”
“Yeah, well have you ever considered what might happen if I can’t stand her? Are my feelings even being considered? Minutely?”
“Minutely, they are being considered.”
“Liar.”
It wasn’t that Wonwoo disliked you.
In actuality, you scared him more than anything. But to be associated with you was to be drawn into your life and caught like a firefly in a glass jelly jar. The proof was right in front of him—to Wonwoo’s eyes, Seokmin was basically your little mailman that scrambled around in hectic nature to do your bidding, because most tasks apparently weren’t worth the time or effort.
“I can’t believe you’re trying to rope me into this. You know I can hardly write my own shit, right?” Wonwoo said bitterly, wishing it was the opposite, “my mind is a desolate, blank canvas of fuck-all and if she thinks I’m writing it then she needs a reality check.”
“No, no—of course you won’t write it!” Seokmin reassured him with his big, opalescent smile. “Really, you’re just giving tips, maybe guiding her process, helping with the planning… you know, this could be facilitated so much easier if you spoke to Her yourself!”
“So, my nightmare?” Wonwoo huffed, shaking his leg.
In an instant, Seokmin had whipped out his phone, tapping around the screen quickly using his thin pointer finger.
“I’m just going to pull up her schedule. It’s always pretty packed, but more into the summer break, it thins out a little. “
Wonwoo exhaled, staring off into the warm, afternoon sunlight that hailed in through the windows, striking all the shimmering flecks and pieces of dust afloat in the café air. When he breathed in again, he could smell the luxurious coffees brewing in their rich and distinctive notes. It was such a beautiful day—still chilly as the snow outdoors began to thaw—but pleasant nonetheless.
“This is such a fucking waste.”
And Wonwoo spent it being miserable.
“No, it’ll be useful. Trust.” Seokmin chirped.
“You’re trying to dip me in your optimism gloss again.”
His friend smiled affectionately, tilting his head.
“This will be good. You’ve been a hermit since I’ve known you.”
“Yeah,” Wonwoo scoffed, “so you think it’s a good idea to shove me with the person I relate to least on the entire planet?”
“Really? The least? So, what you’re saying is, you relate more to serial killers? Or animal abusers? Or like, literal fasc—”
“Stop.”
“You want to do this. I can see it in your eyes. I’ll set you up.”
A part of Wonwoo knew there might be no wriggling out of the situation, especially with Seokmin sitting across from him, characteristically eager and brightly pushy as always, like a goddamn salesman. For now, it could be easier to let himself get cuffed.
“Can I at least have some time to think it over?”
“Uh… well… the thing is… the thing with that is—”
“You’ve cornered me?”
“I wouldn’t word it like that.”
“… Okay.” Wonwoo removed his glasses, shoved his knuckles tender but deep into his eye sockets, massaging through flashes of white as he came to accept a fate he didn’t know even existed in his astrology. “Just, I don’t know—fuck—schedule me in wherever.”
“Ha! It doesn’t exactly work like that.”
“I really don’t give a damn how it works, Seokmin.”
“Right,” his friend laughed nervously, “I promise that I’ll get back to you pronto. Sorry for the disturbance. And, uh, good luck.”
 “With what part?” Wonwoo grumbled, fixing his spectacles back on to clarify Seokmin’s sympathetic face, the light bouncing off his head of brassy hair like a disco ball. “My incapability to write a goddamn thing or the fact I have to help your perfectionist friend who’s probably going to chew me up and spit me out?”
 “Both parts.” Seokmin grinned. “It can only go up from here.”
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Wonwoo had one very distinct memory of you: creative writing with Mr. T. It had been an elective class he took amongst all his compulsory maths, and at the time it was a much appreciated break when Wonwoo grew apathetically bored from looking at matrices and confidence intervals and equations that engulfed the length of his notebook. Professor T was late one day in the fall.
And that’s when Wonwoo remembered you walking in.
There was a sort of sharpness about your presence that pulled everyone’s spines straight. People tended to angle themselves away from you, though they did it subtly, feigning an adjustment in their seat or a plunge into their bookbag for something that wasn’t even there. Wonwoo lacked the words to describe you. To be honest, he most likely could if he put that infinitely expanding lexicon of his to work, but even then, he feared that everything would fall flat.
Some scruffy looking guy had made the mistake of sitting in your seat—someone who probably skipped most lectures and only happened to find himself near Gildan Hall purely by chance.
It was the seat squat in the middle of the small auditorium.
He remembered the hand propped on your hip as you sashayed up to him—you always sashayed places. Wonwoo found it funny, like there were paparazzi stuffed behind potted plants and vending machines waiting to spring out with their blinding flares, just to capture you picking up a half-empty bag of flavourless popcorn.
“Oh no. Oh no no no no no no no.”
“Hm?”
“Excuse me? Yes, hello. You—can you get up please?”
“Up...? Why?”
 “Who are you?”
  “I’m sorry… what’s this about?”
 “Are you a first-year or something? Never bothered going to class until now? All the moshing and beer pong and ending up in some random basement of a friend of a friend of a friend is done so you’re deciding to actually get your money’s worth? Well, let me tell you this—I’ve been showing up to class punctually, and this is my seat. I always sit here. It’s my unofficially-assigned-assigned seat, which seems to be a known fact to everyone in this room except for you. Everyone has one. Everyone knows you’re not supposed to sit in other people’s seats. I don't care who you are. You could be my own mother. You could be my best friend, even. President of the universe. That doesn't make it okay, 'cause it’s a respect thing. It's one of those assumed societal rules and you just fucking kicked dirt all over it.”
Whoever he was, he never came back to another lecture.
Since then, Wonwoo had dually made it his mission to never cross paths with you, look at you, or even so much as huff one single carbon-dioxide filled breath in your general direction, just in case that was some degree of unbeknownst personal law he might violate.
Seokmin had royally screwed it up for him.
What could you possibly want to write a book about, anyway?
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—MARCH 26TH.
Wonwoo didn’t know how he was expected to find you in this gigantic mall. As he brushed through the streamlines of people, bumping their shoulders and mumbling the driest, most insincere apologies, he couldn’t stop looking at his phone. Seokmin had given him your number with the instruction that he could find you, here, on a busy Saturday afternoon. So far, Wonwoo had sent you four texts, none prompting a response or the grey-dotted bubble, even. Fuck, why did he agree to this? He couldn’t stop thinking it.
Why did he agree to help you, whom he was beginning to not even like, or want to be aquatinted with, write a book, when he’d been struggling to fill the same page of his own story for months?
Squeezing the phone tighter in his fingers, Wonwoo’s broad shoulder then smacked into someone else while he was busy steeping in his misfortune. It earned him a wildly disgusted look.
“Maybe watch where you’re going," the stranger grumbled, some man with an engrained scowl and big, bewildered eyes.
But Wonwoo ignored him.
He didn’t fucking care, and he was sick of wandering through this mall. It made him feel overstimulated, like his clothes were sticking to his skin differently, like the back of his head was swelling, and like all the smells in his nose were somehow making him warmer.
The stranger just stared at Wonwoo as he walked away.
Ding!
A text, but not from you—Seokmin, instead. Apparently, you were in some clothing store on the second floor. Wonwoo stepped onto the escalator, pressing himself into the barrier to make room for the especially speedy people who couldn’t simply stand and wait. He felt a random touch on the back of his head. Scrunching up the glasses on his nose and turning around, Wonwoo stared at the downward escalator, locking eyes with a pretty dark-haired girl he’d never seen before. She wiggled her fingers at him with a flirtatious smile, the scent of her perfume still lingering. Fresh roses, he thought.
He blinked at her once, twice, then turned back around.
Never in a million years.
It was funny, though.
Once Wonwoo stopped outside the clothing store you were supposedly inside, he felt the myriad of distractions and scents and noises dampen behind him. The irritability he couldn’t shake was slowly transforming into nerves. He’d never met you before, unless half-glances controlled by fear from across the small, basement auditorium that hosted creative writing counted.
Focusing on one breath, and then another, followed by a deep, self-soothing inhale, Wonwoo attempted to convince himself that he was in control, not the emotions quivering at his fingertips.
He cracked his neck and walked in.
After a minute or two of confused isle-pacing, Wonwoo rounded a corner, his eyes immediately fixating on a girl who was picking through a neatly assorted dress rack, her head tilted elegantly and her lipstick glimmering under the sterileness of the lights—you.
He gulped. Just suck it up.
She can’t be that bad. You can’t be that bad.
“Uh, sorry to bother you. I’m Wonwoo. I know we have a mutual friend in Seokmin. Lee Seokmin. He’s in one of your seminar classes or something, and, uh…. anyway. I believe I’m supposed to help you with a book you’re interested in writing… that’s what I was told, at the very least. And… I know we’ve never met but… um… I guess…” he trailed off upon noting your lack of acknowledgement.
Suddenly, he was taking a step back, letting you progress further along the clothing rack, your fingers hopping between each hanger and your eyes scanning their corresponding fabrics.
Wonwoo jerked on the inside with panic. He hated the situation already, though he somehow found the resounding courage, or perhaps, humility, to address you again, even if he’d rather die.
“So, I’m not sure if you—”
“Can you move, please? Over here or something? I want this dress.”
He kept his mouth shut in order to avoid spilling out any obtuse nonsense, instead watching with a nervous, analyzing gaze as you removed the hanger and shook out the purple, wine-coloured fabric, its sparkles rippling when you stroked your hand along it.
“Woah. This is too pretty.”
Wonwoo cleared his throat, unsure if you were speaking to him directly. You already had a bundle of dresses tossed over your arm. Why would you meet up with him when you were clearly busy?
“Hey, what did you say your name was?”
“Me?” He found himself echoing.
“No, the mannequin wearing that hideous plaid mini skirt. Of course I’m talking to you. Should I get you a q-tip or something?”
“No... I don't need a q-tip. It’s Wonwoo.”
“Wonwoo?” You exercised the name slowly on your tongue.
“Yeah.”
“Okay, well, just so you’re aware, it’s 11:35. You were supposed to meet me outside the boutique at 11:30. I can see you’re not very punctual, so that’s noted…” for a moment, you stood back, and the searing line of your gaze judgmentally raked him from top to bottom. “Anyway… you’ll have to assist me with some things now, thanks to your big delay. I got all bored waiting for you, so I decided to do a little self-indulgent shopping."
It could have been wiser to continue biting his tongue, but even Wonwoo, who had practically vowed to avoid you for all eternity  due to his fear, felt compelled to challenge your unorthodox logic.
“Big delay? I don’t mean to be rude, but I did take the bus to get here, and their timing is never right. I feel like five minutes is a reasonable time to wait. Not that I’m saying you’re impatient.”
“Well, here’s the thing…” your back turned to him as you took a few slow steps down the clothing rack, probing between the different, pricy materials for anything exuberant you might have missed. “That is what you said, isn’t it? That I’m impatient? I mean—jeez—why bother dancing around it when you can just say it?”
He watched you face him again, except he was keeping perfectly silent, clutching his hand into an anxious, balled fist.
“Well, I suspect you lack urgency, making you apathetic, so therefore you have no sense of initiative. I’m sure you’re already aware, anyway. I can be slow, too, with certain things. Like, when I’m icing a cake. Or painting my nails. But I don’t walk slow, ever. That’s for unmotivated, pointless people who will probably go nowhere in life.”
“… Pardon?”
“Hold this, please.”
Suddenly, you draped the wine-coloured dress over Wonwoo’s shoulder. And he left it there for a second, still gobsmacked, chest shuddering from the pressure of his pumping heart, and wondered how you were even a real person. Once you began walking elsewhere in the store, Wonwoo questioned a very understandable escape toward the exit, though, for some reason, he snapped from his stupor and quickly paced after you, now folding the dress more straightly over his arm. He realized he was too afraid to surrender.
“I’m supposed to help you write a book,” he stated, feeling his lungs dig deep for air, “Seokmin said you needed help.”
“Okay, I’m tired of holding these two. Here—” you again blanketed the dresses into his arms, “—please keep this olive one in good shape, no crinkles. I have yet to find this colour anywhere else.”
Swinging back around, you began heading toward the change rooms, your uncomfortably tall looking heels clicking with each step. Wonwoo stuttered, and he couldn’t stop doing it—just, absolutely baffled by you and your consuming sense of worth. He didn’t know what to say, he could only follow, producing bits and pieces of sentences that you were either ignoring or genuinely hadn’t heard in comparison to the monologues in your own head.
“At what point will we discuss why I’m here?”
Finally, he spat out something coherent.
You paused, and for a fleeting moment, flicked your very intense eyes up and down in an examination of Wonwoo, who felt like he was being intrusively picked apart under a microscope.
 He swallowed tautly, “I’m just wondering… that’s all.”
You pressed your wallet against the top of his shoulder, guiding him to sit down on the white leather stool placed just outside the fitting rooms. He sat, too, fighting the urge to wipe his clammy palms on his jeans—even worse, the dresses you’d dumped on him.
“Let’s talk after I try these on, ‘kay?”
There was something different about your voice. It fell lower, sweeter, and he shivered with the thought that you had quite possibly just hypnotized him. He looked up at you, nodding his head.
“Good. Everyone calls me Her, by the way.”
“I know.”
He held his breath as you reached out to take a dress, the wine-coloured one, which was more like a dark, nightly amethyst now that Wonwoo was observing the fabric up close. So, what the hell was he supposed to do? Just sit there, twiddling his thumbs and shaking his knee while you busied yourself with fitting into all those wildly sumptuous dresses? There was a plethora of other things he’d rather be doing—too many to name, in fact. But he wasn’t going to bother slithering away now, chiefly because you petrified him too much and he wasn’t in the mood to be further guilt-tripped by Seokmin.  
Throwing his head back, he blew out a tired huff and looked at the ceiling. Why the fuck was he doing this? He just couldn’t stop thinking it. What on earth could he possibly gain from being terrorized by your weird authority.
“Hey, I’ve been there, for sure.”
Wonwoo noticed an older man waltzing past him, probably in his early thirties or so, who’d spoken in a sympathetic tone. He seemed very polished and clean-cut, made apparent by his sleek suit, and as a university student who was routinely on the verge of going broke after most rents, Wonwoo knew money when he saw it.
“Pardon?”
The man stopped and smiled.
“Waiting for your girlfriend, aren’t you?”
“Oh, no. I’m just—”
He was interrupted by the squeak of the change room door.
“Be honest. How does this look?”
You had stepped out to examine your silhouette in the large, full-body mirrors against the wall, taking advantage of the heavier lighting to scrutinize every divot and ruffle that textured the amethyst dress. Wonwoo wasn’t sure what to say in the moment, and the man he was explaining himself to had wandered off into another aisle to answer a phone call. He watched your fingers pick and pull at the material so it could be readjusted in certain places, your bottom lip pursed as you angled your hips and tensed a leg to make a pose.
There were at least three other dresses strewn in his lap, and you were most definitely going to make him sit there and judge each one. Now, he could be honest. The dress was glittery yet sophisticated, something like a gloaming, purple-stained sky and its first emergent stars encapsulated into fabric, though he wasn’t completely sold on it. But he also wanted to leave the mall as quick as time would allow, so rather than being verbose, he shaved it down.
“It’s pretty, not great. I don’t really know.”
“Hmm…” you mumbled, keeping your eyes fixated on the mirror, “not great? What’s not great about it? The frilly parts?”
“Yeah, the frilly parts.”
God, he wanted to go home so bad. Warm tea would be nice right now. There were crinkle-cut fries in his freezer.
“Ugh, but I love the colour. I’m getting conflicted. Maybe I’ll toss it aside and think about it again later. Yeah, I’ll do that... okay, let me get the white one next. It’s a little short but I can make it work.”
 Wonwoo carefully pulled out the white outfit from the bottom of the pile and handed it off to you. The skirt was notably cropped.
Again, you strode back into the change room and softly clicked the door shut behind you. Wonwoo pulled out his phone almost immediately, navigating to his texts with Seokmin. His thumbs blasted against the screen, tapping out literary warfare that expanded into a decent sized paragraph Seokmin would most likely respond to with an apologetic smiley face. It might take a day or two for Wonwoo to cool off, but he always forgave him. Mr. Sunshine.
When he heard the door rattle, Wonwoo quickly hid his phone back in his pants pocket; however, he severely regretted that decision because holy fuck—that vinyl white skirt was indeed short and tight and the winding, crossed straps of the top were just maintaining your cleavage. He needed something to help avert his eyes because Wonwoo felt them itch with the urge to stare at your body despite how uncomfortable he was. The floor tiles—count the floor tiles, or count the lights—something, anything to distract his brain.
“Okay, this is like—if I bend over, I’m flashing someone.”
He prayed you wouldn’t ask him his thoughts.
“But like—okay, I can make this work, right? This has potential. If I stand really straight, and proper, and, just… pull this down a bit here—okay, fuck, that was too much. Don’t look for a second… don’t look…. don’t look… m’kay, fixed it.”
Wonwoo wanted to cradle his head in his hands. And, right when he swore that the situation couldn’t sink much lower, the wealthy, black-suit man returned from his phone call. He paused the second he saw you in the mirror, watching intensely as you fiddled with the vinyl and attempted to adjust the x-shaped top a little higher over your cleavage. Except he wasn’t exactly modest about his gaze. It was drinking you in like some sort of insatiable alcohol.
“This is tough,” you huffed, pressing your hands against your chest, “the top is super sexy. I love how open the back is. But it’s such little fabric considering the price. It sucks that I look so hot in it.”
Horrendously, Wonwoo noticed a jewel bracelet slip off your wrist onto the tiled floor. Even more horrendously, he watched in the tensest position possible as you began to bend over and grab it.
No. No, no, no, no way.
The last two dresses spilled in a silk and cotton heap off his lap, nearly tripping him during his rush toward you. He managed to cover your backside in the most heart-hammering nick of time, his hands accidentally brushing in static sparks against yours to help you pull the tight fabric back down your hips. Knowing the man was still watching in the mirror, Wonwoo clasped onto your arm and dragged you back toward the fitting room, his cheeks turned to rubies.
“Fuck, you need to be more careful,” he rasped, “the skirt is too short for you to bending over like that, alright?”
“I’m not leaving a gifted two-hundred-dollar bracelet on the fucking ground. Should I have just kicked it into the change room?”
“Gosh…” Wonwoo rubbed along his neck with tire and lowered his voice. “Bending over in a skirt that short, especially when there’s a fucking weirdo watching you, is not the best procedure.”
“So, it’s my fault he’s a creep?”
“Okay—that wasn’t what I—um—”
“Do you even like this outfit?” You deadpanned.
Wonwoo chuckled in disbelief, “I’m not answering that.”
“This is useless." Your eyes agitatedly rolled. “I’m changing.”
“Great, whatever. Do that.”
He gently pushed you further into the change room and closed the door with a smooth, loud shutter. His heart was still racing.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t let my girlfriend wear that either.”
“She’s not my girlfriend.” Wonwoo didn’t care that his tone was snappish and clearly tired as he collapsed back onto the stool, making a point to ignore the perverted bastard until he left.
“Wonwoo!” You called his name after a few minutes of silence from the fitting room, “please bring me the green one!”
He wanted to utterly vanish, have the building collapse and crush him in a pile of dust plumes and rubble. Sliding the dress through the small gap in the changeroom door, Wonwoo found himself pausing.
“Why don’t I just hand all these to you?”
“Because, I’m using the hangers in here for my clothes.”
“Why can’t you just pu—”
“Thank you!”
Impatiently, you nabbed the dress and shut the door.
However, that dress was the last one you tried on, and Wonwoo couldn’t have been any more relieved. Talking to you seemed like it might give him heartburn or a hemorrhage.
He thought the shiny colour of olive green suited you best.
The dress was silken and long, slightly form-fitting, with a slit cut far up the right thigh and thin spaghetti straps at the shoulders.
You picked the first three dresses to take home, and left the last shimmery one on the rack.
“We’re leaving now?” Wonwoo asked, cracking his fingers.
“Yes, after I pay. Don’t seem so eager.”
“With all due respect, this place isn't really my scene.”
“Your attitude isn't really my scene.” You swiftly corrected him.
He stood next to you at the counter, observing as you zipped open your small black wallet to pull out a credit card. If you were shopping at a store like this, you must be making bank. But Wonwoo was somewhat nosey, and when you set the card on the countertop, he glanced at its embossed name. It definitely wasn’t your name.
Kim Mingyu.
It was your boyfriend’s.
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[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm ]: Goddammit Seokmin answer me
[ Wonwoo | 1:15 pm]: I’ve sent you at least ten texts
[ Wonwoo | 1:16 pm ]: Truly how do you do anything with this girl? I feel like she’s somewhat psychotic and you just fucking had to flash your sad mopey eyes at me in that café so I would break and help her write her book. I’m sitting here with dresses in my lap, pretty much acting as her unpaid personal assistant. Why the fuck is she asking me about dresses, anyway? Did you help her orchestrate this bullshit? I’m actually pissed at you. I want an entire paid lunch.
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He wasn’t all that surprised you made him carry the matte silver shopping bag (with these twine handles that he absolutely hated because of how they suffocated around his fingers), and by a certain point, Wonwoo just didn’t give a damn any more. What little social battery he’d maintained since leaving his apartment had officially depleted, for he could feel it weighing in the plaza air around him like an imperceptible mist. Unfortunately, you weren’t lying about being a fast walker. He’d never seen someone stalk with such vigor.
It was nearly an endurance test to keep at your swaying hip, and the few times he fell behind, you would pause and beckon for him.
But Wonwoo discovered that even you needed to stop, to eat and drink like a normal human rather than the disguised cyborg he fleetingly speculated you were. Your touch was so abrupt—a hand had curled around his bicep and suddenly Wonwoo found himself being jerked into a café on the bottom floor of the mall. Of course, you had to pick the most expensive place to buy food in the entire fucking vicinity, and since Wonwoo was penny pinching at the moment, he opted to stand back and let you order.
But then he saw you flick open your wallet, waving Mingyu’s sleek yet flashy credit card between your fingers with blatant enticement.
“I can pay for you.”
He shook his head, muttering a careless, “no thanks.”
“Don't BS me. What do you want to eat?”
Wonwoo couldn’t stop staring at the credit card.
“What’s the limit on that thing?”
“Enough.”
“You haven’t burned through it already?”
“These openly snide comments you’re making aren’t appreciated, you know. Now, please give me an answer before I break off the temples to your glasses so I can use them to stir my drink.”
“… What?” Wonwoo mumbled, completely lost.
“Pick something!”
“Okay, fuck. I’ll just get a coffee, then.”
He took a step forward to examine the menu boards that the employees were wildly scuttling around underneath, browsing down their chalk-written cold brews until he picked one at random.
That was all Wonwoo asked for.
You bought a lemonade and some sandwich he didn’t catch the name of, toasted on panini bread. It felt amazing to sit down. Wonwoo let the silver bag slide completely off his arm and hit the floor, to which he could sense your gaze stinging over him in disapproval. He should have gotten a sandwich himself, but Wonwoo still wasn’t sure how he felt about using the money on your boyfriend’s credit card.
Wonwoo relaxed in his chair, angling a glance down at his phone that he kept below the table, checking for any Seokmin texts.
None. He was supposed to be Wonwoo’s stupid life preserver in this situation with you, and so far, he’d been left for dead. Taking a lengthy sip from his drink was the only way he could stomach it.
“You should put your phone on the table. Screen down.”
“For what reason?” Wonwoo responded in a dull tone, quickly checking his social media with impatient swipes of his thumb.
“So we can have a conversation.”
At that, he almost gagged, slapping down the coffee cup he’d just picked up.
“Now?” Wonwoo laughed, his deep voice reverberating louder than he intended around the café, “you want to talk now?”
“Uh, yes,” you answered, picking up one half of your sandwich and readying it before your mouth, “why is that shocking?”
“Because—you—ah, whatever.”
“You seem crabby. Is that your normal shtick or are you just hangry? Are you sure you don’t want anything to eat?”
He was in a worse mood than usual, but that could be blamed entirely on the mall and how exhausted it made him feel—everything about its environment sucked out his soul. It was most likely the reason he was even daring to act so impatient. You took another bite as you waited for him to answer, and the delicious crackling sound of the toasted bread managed to fissure something inside him.
“Your eyes tell all. Here’s the other half.” You offered.
Finally, he’d experienced his first flares of contentment that day, though he wasn’t expecting it to be from a panini sandwich with what he could taste to be lettuce, mayonnaise, tomato, and different types of melted cheese.
“Thanks.”
“Well, I’ll at least give us time to finish eating.”
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[ Seokmin | 2:30pm ]: I can do one paid lunch :)
[ Seokmin | 2:30 pm ]: Her’s not psychotic she’s just uhh
[ Seokmin | 2:31 pm ]: She probs did it to mess with you 
[ Wonwoo | 2:37 pm ]: She thinks being 5 mins late warrants putting me through one of the worst experiences in my life.
[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Awwww
[ Seokmin | 2:37 pm ]: Who doesn’t like a little shopping??
[ Wonwoo | 2:39 pm ]: It wasn’t shopping it was torture. You owe me so much more than a fucking lunch.
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—MARCH 29TH.
Unfortunately, Wonwoo never got the opportunity to discuss your book that Saturday. In the middle of eating, your phone buzzed with a brief call that had interrupted your peculiarly passionate rant on the different cup sizes at the movie theatre (Wonwoo had listened without saying anything, mostly because he dreaded the circumstances that may come from peeping a word when you were so fixated on explaining that ‘the medium is too much but the small is too little and they’re both obnoxiously priced’).
He then watched cluelessly as you launched up from the table, collecting every little belonging between your fingers, babbling about some wax appointment that had escaped you.
It was just that simple—you were gone.
In the beginning moments of your absence, Wonwoo had sat there without much inclination of what to do next.
He’d worried it was another test, and that he was supposed to dutifully follow you to said wax appointment and continue bending to your every endeavour with no retaliation throughout the day. He had also found the silence across from him unsettling, in a way.
Nonetheless, if you weren’t there, then Wonwoo figured he didn’t need to be there either. So he left, taking the fifty-six back to his apartment, and you hadn’t contacted him since.
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Wonwoo actually knew his landlord quite well.
Her building was comprised of four apartments, which sat above her pottery shop on the ground floor. She wasn’t a very bothersome landlord and it was fairly easy to connect with her whenever something broke or caused problems.
When he first moved in three years ago, Wonwoo had ardently adored living there, constantly studying the shelves of shiny glazed vases in addition to the beautiful water colour paintings that were created by his landlord or her students. It had been an inspiration supernova in terms of his personal literature, and he was able to start writing his book. Though, at the time, Wonwoo hadn’t been living alone in his apartment, and it was an inescapable fact that the only reason he began writing his book was with the hope of eventually presenting it to his old girlfriend-slash-roommate.
Now, it was just him.
And as Wonwoo pushed up from his grave of rumpled bedsheets, feeling lethargic and empty, he tried concerningly hard to pinch those thoughts from his mind. It was nearly lunch. He knew damn well he shouldn’t have allowed himself to rot that long in bed, but the other half of himself, the self-sabotaging kind, just couldn’t be bothered to fucking care. Wonwoo reached for his glasses that lay half-opened on the nightstand, raking them onto his face while brushing the hair from his eyes. The first thing he properly saw was his tall, skinny, orange bottle of venlafaxine. No. He was ignoring it.
Wonwoo had been ignoring it for the past few months.
Whenever he got particularly sick of staring at the bottle, he’d shove it in his drawer, making sure to bury it deep under old, amply-scribbled notepads and inkless pens that he’d worn to the bone. At last getting up from the bed, Wonwoo experienced his entire body sway and he caught the room spinning at the distant edges of his peripheral. But he walked through it without a care in the world, utterly too used to the feeling of imminent nausea even without his medication. He decided on a shower, then dressing himself, one Poptart, a swig of water from the kitchen tap, and almost walked out the apartment door with the minty toothbrush still in his mouth.
After walking three blocks down from his apartment, Wonwoo stepped across the dead, spiky grass and into the lacklustre parking lot behind the bowling alley that always smelled like stale pizza.
He knew the vanilla Camry well enough to identify it—stalled smack and centre amongst the emptiness—the licence plate being chiselled into his head like his old locker combination from high school (16-12-24, because Wonwoo for some reason liked fixating on prehistoric details that were glaringly useless in his present).
Early two-thousands R&B was blasting from inside the outdated-looking car, though it was thankfully turned down once Wonwoo threw the door open and shimmied inside.
The odor permeated Wonwoo’s lungs in a heartbeat.
“I thought you were getting this dry-cleaned,” he sighed to his friend, Vernon, who was busy rifling through a backpack.
“Uh, didn’t happen. Didn’t wanna pay all that. M’gonna find someone else to do it that’s not taxin’ my ass. Air fresheners are all dried n’shit so you’re gonna have to deal. My bad, Glasses.”
Glasses. That nickname had always made Wonwoo huff a little half-chuckle, and almost instinctively, he pushed the glasses a bit higher back up his nose. He was introduced to Vernon at a New Year’s Eve party he was forced to attend back in December, though it had been difficult to speak with him because he was blitzed out of his fucking mind—not to mention the choking pain of ignoring the girl who had been sliding her hands along the divots of his shoulders and chest from behind, kissing at his neck.
But Vernon was branded in tattoos, and had all kinds of metal in his face, and was blessed with concupiscent, honey-burnish eyes magnetized every woman in the vicinity straight to him.
Somehow, Vernon had become Wonwoo’s plug in the mix.
“Now, what are you gettin’, Glasses? The usual quarter ounce, right?” Vernon’s tongue poked between his blistered lips as he dug a heavily-inked hand further into the backpack seated in his lap.
“Yeah, quarter ounce.”
“Oh, fuck yeah. Found it. This one.” Vernon exchanged the plastic-bagged ounces of weed with Wonwoo’s cash. “Gimme, gimme. I know it’s all here, but let me check… “ he flaked out the tinted bills with a satisfied head nod. “Prettier than a princess. You’re golden.”
“Did you just say princess?”
“Yeah. That’s what I said… what?”
“I’ve never heard that.”
“It’s not princess?”
“It’s picture, isn’t it? Prettier than a picture.”
“Really? Oh. That’s not how I remember—why the fuck are we even talkin’ about this? Doesn’t fuckin’ matter. Now, that’s gonna last you if you’re cute,” he said, throwing his notorious bag into the seat behind him, then tapping at his busted radio with a thick strip of tape across it, the next song rasping through the speakers, “don’t go crazy on it with your meds and shit. Do you still got enough papers?”
Wonwoo scoffed dryly at Vernon’s assumption while he hid the plastic bag within an inside pouch on his navy-blue jacket. A second later and his phone buzzed with a text message.
“Fuck the meds, honestly,” Wonwoo grunted, shifting his hips up in the seat to remove the phone from his back pocket.
Vernon itched his dark eyebrow. “Alright. Just askin’.”
Wonwoo opted to say nothing as he checked the text message without much expectation, and he was thankful that Vernon was the type to drop a subject easily. Instead his friend transitioned into a different conversation, something about another tattoo that he’d been debating, but in the kindest way possible, Wonwoo wasn’t listening to a goddamn word. You had texted him. Finally. For the first time. After three days of radio silence. And Wonwoo didn’t know why he’d suddenly exploded into such a fidgety, heart-pounding mess. You wanted to meet up again in order to discuss the book’s details.
“Who the fuck is that? Jesus Christ?”
“No,” Wonwoo laughed, clasping his right hand into an anxious fist, “um, I dunno. Just—Seokmin’s got me doing this thing with a friend of his. She’s trying to write a book and he kinda threw me into helping her. We’re supposed to meet up and talk about it.”
“Oh,” Vernon answered, leaning his elbow against the window and sweeping a hand through his black tresses, “do I know the chick?”
“Maybe?”
“She got any social media? An Instagram?”
“Yeah.”
“Ou, let me see.”
Wonwoo wasn’t following you. Then again, he was hardly following anyone. His Instagram had remained completely empty since his girlfriend left him, which had prompted Wonwoo to archive every single picture and delete all the ones that contained her, even the ones that captured mere traces of her in beaded bracelets and hair ties and white socks left on the carpet.
Wonwoo used Seokmin’s account to find you. Honestly, he hadn’t ever looked at your Instagram before. Without gleaning a single photo, Wonwoo thrust his phone at Vernon.
“Oh, yeah, I do know this chick,” Vernon chuckled, thumbing through your profile with a growing smirk, “Her, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Mm, yeah. Know her. Tried to fuck her. Didn’t work at all.”
Snapping his head to look at Vernon, Wonwoo gaped, “what?”
“Yeah, I mean—” Vernon adjusted himself in his seat, pulling up his knee to rest a tattoo-coated arm across it, “—ran into the chick at a party that some rich dude at your university threw. Sweet-talked her for a bit until I realized she had a stupid boyfriend. She told me a million different ways to kill myself. Yeah, she’s somethin’, for sure.”
“You’re lying.”
“Ha—a little. She didn’t tell me to kill myself,  just scolded me for about ten minutes. God, she was wired as fuck though. Her boyfriend—fuckin’, Mingyu, or whatever—he gets her coke. I’ve seen her take a line like it’s pixie dust, man. This was like, over a year ago, though. Dunno if she’s still that loopy. I don’t care. She’s pretty hot.”
Vernon then flashed him a picture from your account, a full body picture of you sprawled across sparkling white sand in a bikini, meanwhile Wonwoo could only stare at it with the blankest possible expression as his brain splattered with computing Vernon’s story.
“Is she still with him?” Vernon asked.
Wonwoo cleared his throat and sat with his spine rigid against the leather, nearly forgetting where he was and what he was doing.
“With who?”
“Lady Liberty. Mingyu.”
“Oh… yeah. They’re dating, still.”
“No fuckin’ way,” his friend lamented while he continuously plunged further into your pictures, thumb pressed to his chin, eyes glimmering, “you coulda flipped this book thing on its head and actually got some fuckin’ head, especially with that deep ass voice you got there. I know it’s gotta feel good. I mean, look at her lips—”
“You’re being gross as fuck,” Wonwoo groaned, swiping his phone back and stuffing it away, “get a girlfriend yourself, man.”
“I’m tryin’ to clean up my act a bit before I do that.”
“That’s definitely a work in progress, I’m assuming.”
“Asshole,” Vernon’s voice was gritty as he coughed into a fist, slipping his knee back under the steering wheel and proceeding to crank his stereo until the music was practically suffocating Wonwoo, “now get the fuck out. You’re not my only deal today. Sorry, Glasses.”
“Later.”
Wonwoo pushed open the door and stepped outside into the cold afternoon breeze. He sucked in a long, relieving breath. At times the fresh air disgusted him, especially when he cozied into one of his mental ruts and everything in the world seemed so grey it was soul-crushing, but Vernon’s car smelled like straight fucking cannabis.
Fresh air was heavenly.
“Don’t forget to text your girl!” Vernon laughed just before Wonwoo slammed the door shut to swallow up the melodic lyrics.
He wanted to make a snap comment before the boy drove off to his next endeavour, but he didn’t care enough to think of one.
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[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: hey wonwoo, it’s her. I think we should finally settle a date to talk about this book thing. let me attach a pic of my schedule and you can pick any open slots
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]: 145_348.JPG
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:35 pm ]:  seokmin isn’t going to be our communicator anymore, so u can stop complaining to him about it
[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm ]: Okay, thanks.
[ Wonwoo | 1:45 pm]: I’ll take a look soon.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:45 pm ]: I’m excited to see you again
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: no likewise?!
[ Wonwoo | 1:50 pm ]: Likewise.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 1:50 pm ]: ugh. thx
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—APRIL 1ST.
It was around six in the evening and Wonwoo was seated in the SRX building, the sky rolling with lambent, hazy-toned pastures of peach in the windows behind him. He had arrived about an hour ago, taking the staircase up to the third floor. It was much quieter there, making it easier for Wonwoo to endlessly stare with glazed, void eyes at his laptop screen and the cursed document he couldn’t finish. After tapping his fingernails in a bored, repetitious pattern against the shiny white table, he felt the urge to delete each and every paragraph as if he hadn’t poured months of earnest love into them.
You would be meeting him soon.
He could still remember looking at your schedule, pinching into the screen and examining all the different colour-coded blocks: dinner parties, SSA meetings, gym sessions, errands—how the fuck you managed to juggle those things and more left him marvelled yet terrified. You were pretty on point regarding your arrival time, to which Wonwoo could immediately identify you before even seeing your face due to the heel clicking and the sounds of tapping jewelry on your bag.
Emerging onto the floor with a very intense scowl and a notably crushing grip on your drink, you were to say the least, angry. Wonwoo gnawed slightly on his tongue as you sat down.
Your purse clunked like a cinderblock onto the table.
He watched you inhale a slow, shaky breath, raising your hand with the expansion of your chest in order to calm down.
 “I’m going to kill myself.”
Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, subtly trying to establish more distance between you. He flicked a glance at his laptop.
“Damn. Why is that?”
“Because of stupid, incompetent people.”
“Yeah?”
“I just—I don’t get it!” You laughed, though it wasn’t a particularly jovial sound and more than anything it seemed like you were going to start smashing glass. “I don’t get how people are unable to understand that we don’t do walk-ins unless one of the stylists are free—” you dug a hand into your purse, pulling out a straw, “—which in the salon’s case, is almost never! I tell them we can’t in my very sweet, established customer service voice: ‘I’m sorry, but the only way to receive a chair is to book online.'”
Wonwoo tilted his head, grinning a little.
“Blah, blah. I tell them the entire story in the kindest way I can, even though I want to grab them by their fucking neck and drag them over the counter to show them our website.” You slipped out your laptop next, accidentally dragging out a lanyard along with it that you agitatedly shoved back into the purse. “And then, they get all uptight and pissy when we can’t wriggle them in! Sorry, our makeup artists are busy! Working with people who made scheduled fucking appointments! The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you!”
You scraped the drink toward you, slamming the straw straight through the plastic film lid with such force that several people ended up turning their heads. After taking a long sip, you gulped and glared until they probably realized it was you and pretended not to care.
For a moment, Wonwoo didn’t know what to say, so he’d folded his arms instead. Considering that Wonwoo worked the late shift stocking shelves at the pharmacy department, your predicament sounded like an entirely new world to him.
“Ugh, I’m sorry to bring all this negativity with me,” you apologized, still exasperated, “I don’t need this fucking tea—I need straight vodka. I’m seriously frazzled.”
“Seriously frazzled?” Wonwoo repeated, finding your choice of words funny as he resumed leaning forward, arms still crossed.
“Very, seriously frazzled.”
“I’m sorry about your day.”
Again, you sighed deeply while removing your long, warm jacket to drape over the chair’s spine—it was a rather elegant reveal of the strapless pearl dress underneath, tinted by the evening light, peach-pink as it rained from the ceiling length windows and framed your body like you were some sort of resurrected angel. Tension at last started escaping your shoulders. Wonwoo quickly realized that he'd been staring, and his fingers curled into a nervous fist.
“You’re actually such a good listener.”
Wonwoo cleared his throat. “Um, thank you.”
“I like that you don’t interrupt me.”
Settling his elbows on the table and ruffling the back of his messy black locks, Wonwoo felt himself panic a little on the inside.
“Well,” he heaved in, “I wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I know," you chirped, posturing yourself confidently, “anyway, the book. We need to talk about it.”
“Table’s yours.”
Wonwoo’s knuckles pressed softly into his cheek while he waited for you to prepare your laptop. His own document was glowing at him, and he swore the emptiness of the page made the screen brighter (in the absolute worst, most mocking way).
“Okay, I’ve got my ideas and such pulled up.”
He expected you to continue and introduce the concept, but you had suddenly stopped, and Wonwoo thought you appeared almost smitten and somewhat timorous. It was strange, because from what he’d known and gauged so far, you were nothing akin to that.
“Well, promise that you won’t think it’s ridiculous.”
“I don’t even know what it is.”
“That’s why I want you to promise!”
Wonwoo pushed up his glasses and sighed, “I will need to be honest at some points you know, depending on what kind of help you want from me. Not that I’m going to be a straight-up dick.”
You scoured at him from over your laptop.
“Whatever.”
“I’ll promise if it makes you feel better.”
“Just—shut up." You wiggled your hand at him dismissively and proceeded to tug the laptop closer. “I don’t even care anymore.”
Once you spent a moment affirming the document to yourself, you looked up at him and smiled. “I’m going to write a book for Mingyu. Our fifth anniversary is coming up in the winter—it’s actually on Christmas Eve—the day he officially asked me to be his girlfriend. I just want to write him a little memoire thingy that tells our story. I want it to walk through the events of our lives, and how I remember them. First encounter, first date, first kiss, stuff like that. I’ve already collected some good memories to include. I have… somewhat of an outline? But my problem is the writing. I can spew nonsense from my mouth at a million miles an hour, but when I try to actually write? It’s crickets.”
You sat back, a hand poised thoughtfully at your cheek while one leg folded over the other. Wonwoo knew you were granting him the space to speak and at least offer a slice of his thoughts, yet, in that moment, he found himself to be drowning. He didn’t believe in fate or destiny or anything of the delusional like; however, hearing you explain the exact premise of a story that he had been successfully writing until a certain breakup—it had shaken him, and Wonwoo felt like the universe was smearing salt fresh into his unsewn wounds.
“So…” your head cocked to the side. “Can I at least an ‘okay’ or a head nod or some sign of life? Or are you just too disgusted?”
What could he say? What was he supposed to say?
Wonwoo was genuinely clueless on how to help you write a story that he’d been utterly failing at writing himself. And, sure, maybe Wonwoo should just give up completely. His ex-girlfriend had ripped out his heart without a single indication that it would happen, and then exited his life in the blink of an eye, disappearing so fucking abruptly that Wonwoo could have said she was a shadow that he imagined in pure lunacy. But he hadn’t dropped the story because there was this very stubborn, unwilling part of his being that could not move on from her—her, who had been his love, and breath, and bones.
He’d decided to finish the story as a manner of easing into closure. If that closure never came, then so be it.
“Are you seriously fucking ignoring me right now?”
His silence had promptly disturbed your peace, and now you were glaring at him with the beginning licks of fire and hell in your eyes.
“I don’t think I can help you.”
“What?” You pronounced sharply. “Are you kidding?”
“No, I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said while closing his laptop and sliding it back into his shoulder-sling bag, “I just—I’m not the right person to help you. I’m not, and you’ll have to take my word for it.”
“Seokmin told me you could write fucking anything. He made it out like you were some literature God with a golden quill. And—great, you’re just packing up fucking everything. Are you serious? Am I even allowed more of an explanation or are you gonna leave it at that? Wonwoo, you couldn’t have told me this at a worse time.”
“I didn’t plan for it to be like that.” He could hardly push the syllables up his diaphragm. “It can’t be me. I’m sorry.”
You didn’t lift a finger to stop him from leaving, though the wavelength of your incinerating stare was felt like a hot, melting scratch down his neck. This was terrible, he was terrible—Wonwoo already knew that about himself. He wanted to go home. He wanted to shut himself away in his room and sink straight through the sheets until he was swallowed. His anxiety was webbing around him. It was pulling him down into the soil and earth like he belonged there.
He truly hated this part of himself.
More than anything, he truly hated when other people saw it.
Especially people like you.
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—APRIL 8TH.
Wonwoo didn’t think you would ever speak to him again, in person or over text message. In retrospect, he was fine with it. You were rather overwhelming and especially tiring for someone like Wonwoo who would be perfectly fine never seeing another human in his lifetime. Not to mention he was freed from helping you with your book, which he learned was a technical love letter to your boyfriend in addition to a romance he wanted a nonexistent part in. Going down that path once was already excruciating enough, and given his anxiety attack that saw him locked in a cold washroom stall last week, it was best you just forget about him. He assumed you already had, anyway.
After he stocked the last red bottle of sinus medicine onto the shelf, Wonwoo used his boxcutter to break down the cardboard package and fold it flat with the others he’d opened. It was time for his break, and then he would only have one more hour until the pharmacy section closed for the night. Once it hit ten o’clock, the store was automatically still and hardly anyone came in—minus the few student couples whom Wonwoo had to point in the direction of pregnancy tests or plan b. But it was a Tuesday night. He was at the bare minimum appeased he didn’t have to console a sobbing, snotty-nosed eighteen-year-old girl imploring for a First Response.
When he collapsed down at his favourite seat in the breakroom, Wonwoo pulled out his phone. He had sent Seokmin a text yesterday evening about going studying at the SRX building for their upcoming math midterm, though Seokmin had yet to respond and Wonwoo couldn’t evade wondering if you were pulling some strings behind the curtain.
He opened his bottle of juice and spent the remainder of his fifteen listening to music and jittering his knee.
Wonwoo took his earbuds with him back onto the floor, sneaking the wires under his shirt to pull out his collar. There were only a few boxes left on his cart that required stocking, and whatever didn’t fit would have to be scanned into storage. That shouldn't take long. Wonwoo could almost taste the crisp atmosphere of the night air and feel the gentle chilliness soon to ghost against his face.
However, halfway into shelving the cough drops there had been a polite tap on his shoulder, and Wonwoo wanted to wither up and lose his head right there on the tiles like a sundried rose.
He didn’t know who to expect when he turned around, pulling out a single earbud while the other continued to blast his music.  
“Oh, shit—I didn’t know you worked here.”
Fuck. He wanted to kill himself.
“Yeah, started a couple months ago, actually.”
Mingyu.
It’s not that Wonwoo didn’t like speaking with him, because they had definitely exchanged cordial conversations in the past, particularly when they both took that Probability Poker elective last semester and Wonwoo learned that Mingyu was a pretty decent bluffer. Unfortunately, Mingyu’s belief that he was a great bluffer was actually the one indication that he was indeed bluffing. It showed in his overly confident eyes before a twitch of the lips or a subtly shifted foot, meanwhile Wonwoo was able to sit there the entire time like he was an Easter Island statue incarnate.
Put simply, Wonwoo had always preferred to avoid Mingyu because he was your boyfriend, and per routine, he attempted to slip around most people that were associated with you.
“Cool.” Mingyu smiled and the flashes of his pointed teeth caught the light. “Stuff’s got switched around in here again.”
“New mods came out last week,” Wonwoo answered, placing the last cough drop box onto the shelf and facing it straight.
“Well, don’t know what the fuck that means,” his tone was brassy as he laughed, “I just came to ask where the plan b is now.”
 “Two aisles down, check the endcap.”
“Appreciate it, thanks—oh, condoms?”
“Next aisle.”
“Got it.”
“Just come get me when you’re done,” Wonwoo said, grabbing his boxcutter and running the blade along the taped seam of the cardboard to satisfyingly slice it open, “I’m the only one in pharmacy right now, so I have to ring you up.”
As soon as Mingyu disappeared around the corner, Wonwoo tossed the flattened cardboard onto his cart with the loudest, most life-draining sigh that could be harboured. He wasn’t the kind of person to cultivate those racing, panicky thoughts that consumed his brain like a merciless hurricane, rather it was typically one single thought that was an eternal black space to swallow him. But Wonwoo had to admit that seeing Mingyu had triggered something of the latter, and now he was feeling sick with the fact you possibly told Mingyu about his episode at the SRX building last week. To Wonwoo it had been the shackles of his anxiety, though it probably came across as a very ill-mannered, abrupt rejection from your perspective.
Mingyu didn’t take long picking out his items. It was clearly a run of the mill routine for him at this point—a mere grab and go.
At the register, Wonwoo mentally questioned why Mingyu had grabbed such a plethora of condoms. He didn’t mean to be vulgar in his thinking, but how often were you getting fucking railed?
Either that, or Mingyu preferred being well stocked.
Vernon would be bruising his knuckles on his steering wheel right now, considering how devotedly he attempted to seduce you.
As payment, Mingyu pulled out that godforsaken credit card that you had borrowed during the dress shopping. Wonwoo felt nauseous just looking at the damn thing. He swiped all of the items into a small plastic bag which he then handed to Mingyu with a notable impatience, wanting to whisk the boy out as quick as possible.
“G’night, man. Thanks for the help.”
“Night,” he answered in a deep, tired sigh, watching Mingyu’s head of thick and bouncy black hair disappear toward the aglow exit.
Well, clearly you weren’t wasting anytime thinking about him despite the dramatics pertaining to the situation last week, not even in the most marginal fraction. Mingyu must rail it out of you every night—not that Wonwoo would be surprised to learn such a thing considering the tall boy’s physique and your openly lascivious nature.
Well, good luck to you both, he supposed.
At least it was closing time.
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Wonwoo had always suspected there was something ever so slightly off kilter about his body, especially in the way it reacted to certain situations and emotions. He knew it probably wasn’t the most mundane, ordinary act—locking himself in his aunt’s washroom the day of his sixteenth birthday, sliding down onto the cold, hard tiles, feeling his heart jolt, punch, and thump again his chest like a battering ram. There had been a pattern of rubber ducks on her eggshell blue shower curtain, and Wonwoo remembered counting them row by row, over and over, until his breath managed to steady.
Twenty-four ducks. He could still recall the number.
A doctor’s visit about three weeks later had granted him the diagnosis and a scribbled venlafaxine prescription. Wonwoo was already collecting his sweater off the tissue sheet bed, ready to leave.
In the beginning, he was strict about his medication. He organized them into pill cartridges and set alarms and always ate them with cooked, warm meals. Understandably, his habits dwindled every now and again, however, Wonwoo was quite pious to the routine for a good couple years. But then he met his most recent girlfriend in university. She was shy and reserved. All about the books.
Cute as buttons.
He fell in love.
And it was all such a rush of rose petals and sweet symphonies that Wonwoo became distracted from his healthy habits.
Of course, everything crashed and burned once she abandoned him. He capitulated in an instant, and the sight of the orange bottle made him paler than winter moonlight. It’s not like he wanted to suffer, or despise the way his body put him through a neural hell beyond his own control. The fact of the matter was that Wonwoo just couldn’t do it. He couldn’t take those stupid pills.
It was a mountain. Every. Single. Time.
And for the third time that week, Wonwoo found himself awake at an ungodly hour, rifling through the black lunchbox he kept in his closet with his glasses about to slip off the fine point of his nose.
He pulled out the baggie filled with the quarter-ounce, his silver grinder, and his rolling papers. Moving to his desk, Wonwoo clicked on the small overhead lamp to illuminate his space, in which he tapped some of the weed into his grinder and began twisting the lid until he was satisfied. He liked preparing joints to smoke on the roof. It wasn’t particularly hard to access, anyway. Right outside his bedroom window was a balcony with a short ladder attached to the brick, and once Wonwoo had discovered it, he made a habit of climbing up to spark his joints so that their pungent aroma could be carried away by the fresh winds usually stirred up at gloaming.
Honestly, it was the only thing he enjoyed.
Just before he slipped out the window, Wonwoo grabbed a pair of black jeans he’d worn earlier in the week, discovering the lighter he’d accidentally left in the back pocket.
The ladder shuddered slightly when Wonwoo gripped it, though if he were being candour, he didn’t care whatsoever if all the bolts suddenly loosened and he were to splatter against the sidewalk like an uncooked pancake. In fact, the fall probably wasn’t enough to kill him. Maybe a few broken bones and scrapes, some blood staining the street akin to little patterns of rain, bruises that signatured violets into his skin, but Wonwoo would still be painfully, vividly alive, enough to see the stars if the glasses didn’t snap off his face.
It was a colder night, so Wonwoo made sure to tuck on his beanie and huddle into his thicker-sized coat. He sat with one leg dangling over the building’s edge, feeling the wind whiplash against his back and crawl in these chilly, indecipherable whispers from his shoulders to his neck, almost tickling him, like it had missed him.
An orange flicker popped to life from the butane of his lighter, which he used to lightly singe the joint perched at his lips. Wonwoo then tilted his head back, blowing the cloud and its loose, airy curls straight into the sky’s deepest purples.
He loved being alone.
Even when his ex-girlfriend had moved in with him all those months ago, there was an unyielding part of him that hadn’t been ready to forfeit all his space and privacy.
But, over time, his love surmounted the sacrifice.
He would wake up to her sleeping face, and with thoughtful nudges, clear the hairs off her cheeks. He would spend an hour working on his homework or writing his story while waiting for her to stir so messily in the sheets that it became graceful. He would tease her with his cold hands as she boiled up tea in the kitchen, pinching at her hips with the utmost softness and giggling huskily into her neck when she would twist in the arms that bracketed her body against his chest. He would trap her between the counter, sunshine striking the room aglow in these nearly blinding seas of light, mouthing at her throat and tugging at her shorts and hitching his fingers so deep into her heat because all Wonwoo wanted to do was make her feel good.
Opening his eyes again, Wonwoo saw the stars rather than her face. The high was disseminating past his lungs and mingling with the pain that festered in his heart, concocting something that hurt so wonderfully, in all the right places, in all the right spots.
He was a fucking mess.
It wasn’t sustainable. But he didn’t care enough to fix himself.
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 —APRIL 15TH.
Why did Wonwoo keep coming back to that café? The number of times he’d sat down with conviction that today would be fruitful—today, the eloquence would flow from his fingertips like perfectly pitched music notes and the symphony would read as beautiful and mellifluous as it sounded in his mind. Today, he was going to write.
Except, he accomplished nothing of the sort.
Repeatedly tapping his index finger against the space bar, he waited for the right adjective or phrase to leap out—to grasp him in a headlock even—whatever it took, Wonwoo was willing to sit there all afternoon until one fucking word conjured in the infinite blankness that was his imagination. He reached for his drink, only to take a sip of dry air that smelled like his earlier cocoa. Wonwoo realized the cup was empty. Had he wasted this much time already?
It pricked similarly to a bee sting. His passions felt impossible. A sigh upheaved from his chest and fingers curled into his hair, musing up the already disarrayed strands and slowly warping himself to look more and more like a mad scientist. Wonwoo removed his glasses and slumped back in the chair, rubbing at the reddish prints left on his nose. Writing had soaked itself in agony and he was going to remain in the storm of it until the bitter, ungratifying end.
‘Till death do us part.
 And then, something struck.
Though it wasn’t what Wonwoo had hoped for.
Literally—it was your hand hitting the glass of the café window, which had jerked Wonwoo out from his self-pitying.
He scrambled to fix his glasses back on, your face clarifying in an instant. You smiled at him with your glossed lips, and he didn’t like the nuance of your countenance one bit. Watching you enter the café was jarring and uncomfortable and his fist immediately clenched, his index nail picking at the ruined cuticle of his thumb. Two weeks ago—that was the last time you had spoken. At the SRX building.
“Hey!” You sounded friendly. “Can I sit here?”
“Well, uh—”
“Great, thank you.”
You pulled out the chair across from him, then set your bag delicately on the windowsill. Wonwoo watched with nervous, fluttering eyes as you smoothed out your cropped skirt before sitting down, ensuring it was tucked under yourself appropriately.
“How are you?”
Gulp.
“Fine.”
“Good. That’s really good. I’m glad.” Your nails drummed once against the table. “I actually didn’t plan on coming here, but I saw you as I was crossing the street, and I thought, ‘I should stop by and check in on him’ because, y’know, we haven’t been talking.”
Wonwoo furrowed his brow. “Do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Slap your hand against windows to get people’s attention.”
You swept something off the table with your palm, and this sunshine-like laugh turned your entire face to sweetness, but it wasn’t entirely earnest, and Wonwoo bit into his lip because you fucking terrified him. He caught your sparkling eye and wanted to melt.
“Did I scare you? I’m so sorry.”
“No, you’re good.”
“What are you working on?”
“A paper.”
Obviously, he was going to lie. Whether or not you could pick up on his lie was beyond Wonwoo’s control at that point. He didn’t know what you wanted, or why you were interrupting the flow of your very organized scheduling system to seemingly toy with him.
You didn’t respond to his paper comment. There was a thick silence between you despite the distant clattering of dishes, bubbling coffee machines, and conversations that coalesced into one big buzz.
Wonwoo bit the bullet.
“Something you want from me, yeah?”
“Not… exactly… I mean, after you left me at the SRX building, I wanted to get very angry about the whole situation. My day was terrible, and you responding to my idea with that sickly look on your face didn’t help. But I thought about it. You said no. I can’t ask anything more of you, y’know? I have to respect what you said.”
“Oh.” Wonwoo unclenched his fist, stretched out his long legs a bit more. “Yeah, sure. I get it. Thanks for understanding.”
“I just didn’t think my idea was that bad.”
“Well… no. It’s not bad. It’s not bad at all.”
A twitch to your lip suggested you didn’t believe him. Wanting to clear the air a bit, Wonwoo stopped slouching. He sat straighter and lowered the lid of his laptop, inviting the space between you.
His mouth opened, and then closed.
Fuck, just breathe you idiot—he cursed at himself.
You did that little head tilt thing, half-smiling at him, looking radiant underneath the café sunlight and so oddly patient with his tied-tongue that Wonwoo was miraculously able to find his words.
“There is nothing wrong with your idea. I made it seem like there was. I’m sorry. I just don’t want to help you write a romance story, for personal reasons that would be useless explaining. But you seem very confident in everything you do. I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
“Hm, well, thank you for believing in me. Romance can be a touchy subject—I didn’t think of that, and I get it… I guess I felt more insecure about your reaction because writing is the one thing I can’t ace. I do need help with my story, even if I don’t want it. Well, it’s just the truth, isn’t it? There are some things I can’t do!”
You chuckled at yourself, and Wonwoo thought it to be actually endearing. All your hard edges softened in that moment.
“So, I haven’t made any progress in my story, which sucks because I’m operating by deadline—” reaching into your bag, you unveiled a small, compact mirror, using it to remove something invisible from your eyelash, “—do you have any writer friends that would help me?”
Wonwoo scratched his nose.
“Uh, with the book?”
“Yes.”
“None.”
“What?” The mirror snapped shut as you gagged at him. “How do you have no writer friends? Isn’t that your major? Literature? Do you even have friends that aren’t Seokmin?”
“I’m a math major for fucks sake.”
“You’re fucking joking, Wonwoo. Please, tell me it’s a joke.”
He leaned back, folding his arms and propping an ankle onto his knee. You were still gaping at him, and he wanted to smirk.
“What’s wrong with math?”
“Nothing. Math is… math,” you gritted, shoving the mirror back into your expensive-looking, gold-buckled bag, “but why math? Why straight math? I thought you wanted to be a writer.”
“Man, Seokmin really didn’t tell you fucking anything, did he?” Wonwoo chuckled. Or, maybe you had only heard the things you wanted to hear, which was what Wonwoo assumed.
“Like I have space in my brain to remember the multiverse of information that constantly comes out of his mouth.”
“So what is there space for then?”
“You're toeing a dangerous line.”
“Well, I like math and writing.”
"And what kind of papers would you be required to work on as a math major? Did you stumble across some quintessential theorem that nobody else really cares about except for you and all the other pocket-protector wearers out there? Or is this a Good Will Hunting scenario? Even better—are you waiting for someone to walk by behind you and see all that really complicated mumbo-jumbo on your screen and think to themselves, 'woah, this guy is really smart. He's working on a paper with numbers, and I only work on papers with words. Where did I go wrong in my life?' so you can develop some sort of alternative complex that writing just isn't giving you?"
Wonwoo cocked his head at you, perplexed.
“What the absolute fuck are you talking about?” He felt a laugh in his chest, but he pushed it down. Wonwoo had never met anyone like you before. “You made up everything you just said.”
“Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“I go on tangents. It’s just something I do.”
“Damn. I can tell.” Wonwoo rubbed at the corner of his eye and slipped the ankle off his knee, further spreading his legs. “You like hearing the sound of your own voice, yeah?”
He always hated when people bothered him at the café, especially when he was trying to write. Today, it was different.
“Well, that’s true.” You beamed at him so matter-of-factly, like it was obvious. “The most beautiful sound in the world, isn’t it?”
“Mm.”
“Thought so. Ugh, I just can’t believe you have no writer friends to hook me up with.” He watched you slouch forward, slapping your arms across the table. “I’ll have to go wait outside Gildan Hall and start ambushing all the smart-looking literature majors.”
Wonwoo found himself examining your perfect nail polish.
“Good luck with that.”
“Can you at least try to sound more sympathetic?”
“You don’t seem like a person who appreciates sympathy.”
“Pft. According to who? I like being comforted when the time is right, and you’re not being very comforting.” You groaned into the table.
“You like being comforted?” He scoffed.
Your head popped up, and you were pouting. “At certain times, yes. Most times, no. It’s a complicated system. No one’s really cared enough to learn it except for Mingyu, and that was by force, and I think even he hates it. But I’m not asking for the moon. Just a reasonably sized chunk of it. I have to be worth something, right?”
“What’s life without someone catering to your every whim at the drop of a hat, huh?” He couldn’t help but mutter with sarcasm.
“Yes, exactly! See—you read my mind.”
Wonwoo bit his tongue.
“Ugh, now where’s my stupid phone?”
It was in your purse. Immediately, your eyes lit up.
“Jesus Christ. I’m gonna be late to my electrolysis!”
Like a burst of lightning, you shot up from your seat and quickly fixed the cream-white purse back over your shoulder. It reminded him of that time at the mall. One second you were engrained into a tangent, and the next you were scrambling about, attempting to recover the lost time in your meticulous schedule.
“If you think of anyone, please text me!”
Wonwoo nodded his head.
Now, there was a vacant seat before him, left slightly tugged from the table due to your hectic departure. For a moment, he just sighed, feeling the breath emerge from somewhere so deep in his chest that it ached. That was the thing about you—in a confusing turmoil, you managed to fill him up when he felt empty, but then empty him once he felt full.
He didn’t know what kind of person you were.
But there was an odd thrill to it that Wonwoo couldn’t articulate.
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—APRIL 18TH.
Sat with Seokmin at the boy’s dining room table, Wonwoo popped a purple grape into his mouth while flipping a pencil between his fingers. The two had been staring plainly at their last problem from the math homework, but the question was horribly long, and his handwriting had morphed from legible penmanship to the most slurred hieroglyphics. Wonwoo wanted to dump a ramen packet into some boiling water and call it a night. He’d devoured a whole stem of grapes. His head was pounding and his stomach growled for a meal.
“Oh! You see—this is what gets me every time!” Seokmin exclaimed, leaned over his scattered papers, shoulders hunched with strain, “I mess up one multiplication in a matrix, and it screws me all up! Now I have to go over—uh! My fucking pencil just snapped.”
“Good,” Wonwoo mumbled, pressing a hand along the groove of his stiff neck, cracking it, “take it as a sign to give up.”
“We’re so close.”
Scooting the chair back to stretch his legs, Wonwoo then snatched his phone off the table. It was nearly ten at night.
“I’m hungry, and I don’t care anymore.”
Seokmin sighed, “are you going to eat now?”
“Yeah. Any ramen left?”
“It’s in the box sitting on top of the fridge. Soup broth is in the cupboard beside the microwave. I think there’s some eggs, too.”
Wonwoo easily grabbed the noodle packet off the fridge. He asked his friend if he wanted a bowl as well, and Seokmin agreed, abandoning their math homework after his defeating pencil-snapping incident. While they waited for the water to start bubbling over the stovetop, Seokmin had joined Wonwoo in the kitchen, though he leaned against the counter, holding his phone six inches or so from his face. Wonwoo had never seen anyone text that fast.
Gosh—he didn’t even need to ask who it was.
Noticing a few smudges on his glasses, Wonwoo lowered them down to the hem of shirt, beginning to massage the marks away.
“Our math final is the twenty-eighth, right?” Seokmin asked.
“Should be, yeah.”
“Thanks. If it’s on the twenty-eighth then I can definitely go.”
Wonwoo slid the glasses back onto his nose.
“Go to what?
Taptaptaptap—Seokmin’s fingers were practically electric.
“Uh, this thing that Her is having… at her parents’ house… like… a big dinner party… I’m helping her plan it… just need to make sure… I’m free those days… there! Okay, all settled.”
At last, Seokmin had clicked off his phone and slid the device back into the pocket on his sweatpants. Wonwoo folded his arms, staring at his friend with a deeply furrowed yet confused brow.
He sucked in a helpless breath.
“I don’t get you, Seokmin.”
“What—why?”
A few hot droplets of water had leapt from the pot, slightly scalding Wonwoo’s arm. He promptly ripped open the ramen packet and submerged the noodle brick, poking at it with chopsticks.
Wonwoo cleared his throat, “are you obsessed with her?”
Seokmin laughed, sounding astounded.
“No, I’m not obsessed. I’m just helping. We’re friends.”
“Right.”
“You don’t believe me?”
Setting the chopsticks beside the stove, Wonwoo turned around again, habitually crossing his arms low along the chest.
“I guess I don’t understand what you get out of that relationship.” He admitted. “Why can’t she do shit herself?”
“Ha!—That’s an interesting question.”
“You don’t want to talk about it?”
“No, it’s not that.” Seokmin lifted himself onto the kitchen counter, his head thumping back against the wooden cupboard. “I just wasn’t expecting you to ask that. And—I meant it’s interesting to see your interpretation of it. Like, my friendship with Her.”
Wonwoo nodded. He wasn’t going to coax anything out of his friend that he wasn’t already willing to say. In fact, Wonwoo had only begun talking to Seokmin back in the early, rainy days of September, since they ended up in the same discrete mathematics course and happened to choose seats right next to each other. Their bond had formed fairly quick, but they never really conversed about topics more intimate than school work and their own interests.
“I’m sorry,” Wonwoo said, “I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, don’t apologize. I mean, I totally get why you’re curious.”
Seokmin glanced down at his knees, scratched his chin.
“Uh—well, what did you say, anyway? Why can’t her do shit herself? I mean, her life is super busy. Her mom’s a writer and editor for that popular fashion and beauty magazine you always see at all those glamour stores—Stunning Monthly—something like that. Her’s dad is this business tycoon guy. He works with my dad, actually. I’ve known Her since high school. Our families are close, so naturally we’ve spent a lot of time together. Her family picked up all their stuff and moved into Hillcrest on account of her dad needing to relocate for work.”
Wonwoo remained silent at the revelation, even though he was urged by curiosity to badger Seokmin with questions.
“But, uh—without all my non-essential rambling—the relationship with her parents is tumultuous. Who doesn't have a shaky relationship with their parents, though? A few lucky souls, probably. But they've set things up for her quite well, in my opinion. Her mom got her a job at the Milestone—that fancy beauty place down Bank Street? She has a makeup chair from time to time and works reception. She’s definitely gonna graduate Cum Laude with some big fancy scholarship. Not to mention the little power couple thing she’s got going on with Mingyu. She just tends to be…” Seokmin winced, massaging his shoulder, “she’s just a bit unpredictable. It would be way too easy for things to start falling all over the place. She’s a busy girl so I figure it’s nice to help her out. Keep things organized.”
Wonwoo bobbed his head, thinking.
“I guess I’m curious about the book thing. I mean, if everything is so perfectly laid out for her, and she’s so busy all the time…. why write a book? That takes months, extreme dedication, planning out the ass… it’s loving everything you’ve written and then hating it so atrociously… I don’t know,” he sighed, shrugging with confusion, “if I were her, writing a book would be the last thing on my mind.”
Folding his arms, Seokmin leaned back against the cupboards and agreed. “I know. But sometimes she just lurches onto random things out of nowhere. One year she practically turned her entire living room into a freakin’ art studio and I slipped on an open tube of paint on the floor—nearly popped out my tail bone. To be fair, her passion projects never last long. She never has the time, as you said… I know you’re not helping her anymore. She’ll probably drop it without help.”
“Really? Just like that?”
“Yeah,” Seokmin answered, smiling, “just like that.”
For some reason, Wonwoo gritted his teeth. He would hate for you to discard the feat so readily, just because he couldn’t pitch in as initially planned. Yes, writing was not always a fruitful cherry blossom tree and sometimes chalking down one sentence was equivalent to a month of effort and squeezing out all the creative fibres in one’s brain, but there was so much worth and occulted beauty to it at the same time. It was the art of expression.
Wonwoo thought it was quite cruel to deprive oneself of the ability to express and articulate things as they coursed through the fragile skin and the warm veins, and chiefly, the heart.
“Anyway, maybe I didn’t really answer your question,” Seokmin laughed, “but, y’know, don’t worry too much about turning down the book. You’re right. She’s got more important things to focus on, as I was telling her over and over, and—oh! Fuck, the ramen’s bubbling!”
Wonwoo quickly twisted around as the water began spilling over the edge and sizzling like fried meat. He lifted the pot off the piping hot, orange element, to which Seokmin joined him, twisting the stove dial to a much lower heat. Blowing at the white froth, Wonwoo waited a precautionary minute before returning the pot.
Once dinner was ready, they gathered back at the dining table, entwining the noodles with their chopsticks and hardly allowing a second for the ramen to cool before they were shovelling in burning mouthful after mouthful. The bite in Wonwoo’s stomach was gradually appeased. He soon felt warm, and full, and less tempered.
“Seokmin.”
“Hm?” His friend glanced up from his phone.
“So…” Wonwoo leaned back in the chair, his fist clenched. “I guess what—from what I understand—if I don’t help Her, or if she doesn’t find someone who can, then the book just won’t happen ”
At his observation, Seokmin nodded, seeming unbothered.
“Uh, yeah. Pretty much.”
“That’s sad.”
“Hey, you two just aren’t destined for each other,” he replied, slurping his noodles, “you were right back at the café.”
Picking up the white and blue patterned bowl, Wonwoo prepared to drink the broth, feeling the delicious heat fan back against his face. Once he finished eating and helping Seokmin with the dishes, he planned to catch a late-night bus back to his apartment above the quaint pottery shop. He didn’t know if he would sleep or not.
Maybe, however, that would give him time to rethink some choices, even if he shouldn’t trust the musings his brain happened to curate past nine at night. Especially any musings concerning you.
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[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: Sorry to message you this late.
[ Wonwoo | 11:45 pm ]: I’ll keep it brief: I’ve given your book idea some thought, and if the offer still stands, I’d like to help you write it. Though, I understand if you want someone else’s help.
[ Wonwoo | 11:50 pm ]: Goodnight.
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[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: AHHHHHHHHHHH
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: good morninggg
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:35 am ]: no that’s so perfect
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: okay. OMG. there’s just so much we have to sort out. I’m trying not to overwhelm myself lol
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 6:37 am ]: thank u for giving it more thought. I’m excited to plan everything and see u again ofc :)
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[ Wonwoo | 12:55 pm ]: Likewise.
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—APRIL 24TH.
Since last November, Wonwoo hadn’t invited many guests to his apartment—not even his older brother, who had never stepped foot into the building after Wonwoo originally signed the lease. Seokmin visited once or twice, but everything was curt, and while there had been one time that Vernon slept overnight on the couch, it was hardly notable.
Knowing that you were going to be at his apartment in a few hours was a very daunting thought. Consequently, Wonwoo had done something he hadn’t properly completed in months: clean.
It wasn’t like he just threw out the garbage and wiped down the kitchen counter either. He legitimately cleaned, picking over his apartment with a fine-tooth comb, not allowing one coffee cup or coaster to seem even vaguely incongruous. He fluffed out the couch pillows and vacuumed the floors. He went through his entire room, tidying up piles of clothes on the floor and aligning every book on his shelf. For the first time in months, Wonwoo threw open his heavy curtains, pure sunlight engulfing the space in such a bright glare that his eyes stung and he hardly recognized his own bedroom. Most importantly, he remembered to hide the pill bottle in his nightstand.
After all the anxiety-driven cleaning was done, Wonwoo collapsed onto the couch and stared plainly at the ceiling, the reality of what he just accomplished beginning to sink into his pores.
What the fuck?
He doubted you would care even microscopically if his apartment wasn’t perfectly swept and polished and artistic like a photo from an interior design catalogue. But at the same time, it would have been impossible for him to leave it alone. The burst of productivity undoubtedly left Wonwoo rather hot and sweaty, so he opted to take a shower before you arrived. Standing beneath the cool water and taking slow, languid breaths helped ease his nerves.
And, for the first time in what he imaged to be—months, Wonwoo dried himself off with this feeling that everything was okay.
Not good. Definitely not great. But okay.
While he buttoned up a pair of blue jeans, Wonwoo heard his phone ding from his desk. Reaching over, he tapped the screen.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:05 pm ]: hi, I’m almost there
His chest fucking lurched.
Roughly jerking open his drawer, Wonwoo pulled out the first shirt he saw, tugging the white long-sleeve over his head before he wiggled his feet into a fresh pair of socks. Once Wonwoo found his glasses, he sat on the edge of his bed with his phone.
[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Okay.
[ Wonwoo | 12:08 pm ]: Would you like me to come down?
God—he felt like his stomach was going to collapse.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:08 pm ]: no that’s okay :)
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:09 pm ]: it’s really pretty down here
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm]: sorry I was looking at some of the pottery / painting stuff. it’s the staircase down the hall, right?
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:12 pm ]: unit 102?
[ Wonwoo | 12:12 pm ]: Yes.
He reminded himself to breathe. Calm and slow and lifting the pressure that dug so bluntly into his lungs. The webs began to burn away. It had been a narrow escape, but it was successful.
[ xxx-xxx-xxxx | 12:13 pm ]: heyy, I’m outside
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Wonwoo walked to the front door. His fingers brushed the knob in a flash of doubt, though his mind had already committed and now the door was pulled open and you were there, just as you said.
“Well, hello.”
He nodded at you, and then gestured for you to enter.
“Where should I take off my shoes?”
“There’s good,” Wonwoo answered, pointing to a textured mat in the corner that you proceeded to leave your simplistic heels on.
How absurd was this? Never in his life would Wonwoo imagine you at his apartment of all places—the one girl whom he adamantly tried to avoid because you were his gleaming opposite, and everything that you were, certain and in control, scared him. You were gazing around with your hands politely clasped together, ignited in the fulgurant sunlight, a small smile on your mouth.
“Wow, you’re very clean.”
Wonwoo stepped after you, maintaining a shy distance.
“It doesn’t normally look this neat,” he admitted, watching you readjust the strap of your tote bag, “I did clean for you.”
You turned to face him, and your laughter filled the space with a refreshing, long lost tone that made everything brighter. His fist clenched up anxiously and he knew his cheeks were pinkening.
“Um, cleaned or power-washed?”
He merely stared at you. Why couldn’t he fucking speak?
“Jeez, don’t look so afraid. I’m joking. And I obviously appreciate the effort.” You spun back around, continuing to walk past the coffee table and toward the kitchen. “It’s a lovely place, and it’s definitely got your personal touch. Oh—this is a cute mug.”
He breathed out, unfurling his hand and stretching his fingers until the air in his knuckles popped. You began wandering in the natural direction of the bedroom, and so Wonwoo followed, his eyes drifting up the jeans that hugged your legs and your sashaying hips, to back of your delicious-smelling hair. What was that scent, anyway?
Manuka honey?
But it was just a trivial glance, really.
Nothing meaningful.
“Is this your room?” You asked, stopping at the doorframe.
“It is.”
Biting your lip, you peaked inside and started to grin.
“Do you care if I go in?”
 “No.”
He tried not to crumble right there on the floor. Wonwoo’s room was his sanctuary, a fortress, something that barred out everyone but himself and granted him the freedom to do whatever he pleased (whether it was self-detrimental or not). The thought of others in his room was a gash in that perfect sanctuary, in which he could see the walls bleed out all their comfort and familiarity. His ex was the last person to be in his room, typically sprawled across the bed with a good novel in her hand.
It was a sour, sour reminder.
“Oh, and there’s the bookshelf,” you pointed out, “how fitting.” That penetrating gaze of yours roamed his desk and his bed and all his knickknacks in between. “Hey, why’s there a balcony outside?” You then asked, settling your hands onto the window frame and leaning out, the wind fluttering minimally through the layered curtains.
“Just a remodelling error,” Wonwoo explained, “it was supposed to be removed, I think. Never happened.”
Allured by curiosity, you leaned further out, examining the ladder that led up to the building’s roof. He looked at you again, specifically the arch in your back and the way your arms were planted so firm at the windowsill. He looked at the sunlight rippling on your cheek and your lips that appeared to sparkle, like you had kissed glitter.
“You definitely go up there, right?”
“Yeah.”
Half-shutting the window as to keep the breeze flowing, you chuckled. “I figured… so, I guess we should stop dawdling and get to the meat and potatoes. Is here a good spot? Or do you want to go back to the living room?”
“We’re in my room anyways,” Wonwoo commented, pulling out his desk chair and promptly sitting down, “so, why not.”
“Cool. Let me get my laptop.”
You slipped the tote bag off your arm and sat on the edge of his freshly made bed, being careful not to rumple the sheets.
“Okay!” Your hands echoed a series of soft claps. “I’m all ready now. I’ll try my best not to ramble—oh, and please, please don’t interrupt me until I’m done. I’m going to be very pissed if I lose my train of thought and I’d like this meeting to remain pleasant.”
Wonwoo nodded. “I know.”
You flashed him a brief smile.
“So, as you know, Mingyu and I’s fifth year anniversary is coming up in December. My gift to him is this so far nonexistent book. We’ve been through a lot as a couple, and as individuals, and I want the book to fully capture this journey we’ve been on and how much I… appreciate him. Also, I’m going to introduce a second, special element—” a hand plunged into your tote bag and suddenly a video camera was revealed, “—I want to record some of our brain sessions, and, like, our voyage of figuring this shit out. I like mementos. I hope that’s okay.”
“… Do I answer?”
“Yes.”
“Oh. Then, yeah. I’m okay with it.”
“Secondlyyy—” you lilted while scrolling a little ways down the notepad on your laptop, the video camera stuffed back into your flower-and-honeybee-patterned tote, “—there are a few places we’ll need to visit—not the actual places that Mingyu and I went to since we grew up nowhere near here—but places that more so have a strong resemblance to the ones in my memory. I feel like it will help me with visual aspects of the writing. I’m a very visual person. Y’know, setting up the scene and technical things like that. I like touching and feeling and seeing and breathing everything in. I want all my senses on fire, basically. Like… the way your lips feel after eating insanely hot noodles.”
“Yeah, that’s fine.”
Wonwoo didn’t really care. He just agreed.
“Lastly, I want to make a schedule for us. So, I’m kindly asking you to set up a schedule of your own—work shifts, doctor’s appointments, tests—the like, so I can incorporate them into my own hectic life and make us one colourful, super writing schedule.”
And then, with a big, winded sigh, you shut your laptop.
“That’s it. Done. Thoughts?”
Honestly, the entire premise didn’t sound all that terrible. He had braced himself for the worst, but you were unsurprisingly organized and had pinpointed all your desires quite clearly. Of course, he knew it was going to be sheer hell—flames up to his knees and desert sun beating on his skin like a hot skillet frying butter. You were structured and dedicated and Wonwoo was none of those things.
No doubt, Wonwoo would have to learn to deal with you.
You would either be his trigger or his pulse.
But, even worse, you would have to learn to deal with him.
“I’m just following your lead on this,” Wonwoo announced, lacklustre of much interest, resting his hands against his stomach while he rotated back and forth in the swivel chair, “whatever you want me to do, I’ll do it. How soon do you want the schedule thing?”
“Like, as soon as possible.”
“Okay.”
“Do you really have no questions?”
Wonwoo scratched the side of his head.
“Uh, have you got anything written down yet?”
“Yes,” you propped open your laptop again, “an intro.”
“Oh, really?”
“Don’t question me. It was already difficult enough to write it, and I agonized over it for hours.” You pouted, slumping slightly.
He shifted up straighter in the desk chair.
“I’m sorry. I was just wondering. It’s good you started.”
“Oh. Thank you.”
Wonwoo tilted his head at you. “Do I get to read it?”
Your feet crossed and twirled together. He didn’t think you had any nervous ticks, but that was something easy to pick up on.
“Um, not yet. Not until we officially start.”
“Okay.” He answered with a gentle voice, noticing your swaying feet still again and a bit of rigidity dissipate from your body.
Well, he didn’t really know what to do at this point. Wonwoo suspected you were constrained by more tasks for today and your time with him was limited. It’s not that you were sitting in an awkward, stifling silence, but he would rather occupy himself with something rather than nothing, because nothing left his heart to race.
“Are you hungry?” He asked.
Glancing up from the laptop, you shook your head. “I ate before I came here.”
“Are you going to be leaving soon?”
At that, your face crinkled with laughter. “Sick of me already?”
Wonwoo crossed his arms. “No. Just asking.”
“Well, I have a wax appointment soon. I’ll be leaving in ten minutes or so.” Finally, you looked up, and your eyes clicked with his in a way that made the fine hairs along his neck prickle coolly. “Does that answer your question?” A subtle grin pulled at your soft lips.
“It does, yes.”
“You don’t like having people in your room, do you?”
He huffed at the observation and delved a hand through his black hair, feeling the dampness slide against his fingers. “Not particularly.”
“You should have just said that.” Rising off his bed, you closed the laptop and shoved it back into the tote bag.
Wonwoo’s entire chest jerked. It felt like a ten-story drop.
“Are you leaving?”
“Mm, I don’t want to intrude.”
“You’re not intruding.”
Why did his throat close up just then? Why did his vocal cords abruptly feel so coarse and tight? Why was his heart hammering? He didn’t mean to project the wrong impression. He didn’t hate you in his room. It just felt misplaced, and new. Like picking up a puzzle piece from the box and attempting to jam it into a different puzzle.
“It’s fine. Seriously. I should be early, anyway.”
Wonwoo stood up, realizing he needed to breathe. “Um… would you like me to walk you down?”
You stopped on your way out, faced him with a pretty smile.
“That’s okay.”
But then you did something rather strange; your hand sank into his firm upper arm and suddenly you were leaning into him, so carelessly close that he could feel the fanning, light warmth of your breath against his neck. Wonwoo’s head started to spin, and he thought a cloud had enveloped the room because his vision fuzzed.
“Sorry,” you took a step back, removing your hand, “you just smell really good. Like an ocean or something. It reminds me of this beach in Puta Cana. But your hair’s all damp and fluffy so that’s probably why. That was weird. I’m sorry.” Again, you laughed.
Why the fuck did you do that? He was almost angry. But not at you. At himself. For reacting in such a giddy, stupid way. Your touch and breath had burned him and there was this sharp, cutting flare inside Wonwoo that didn’t want to let you leave.
“All good…” he mumbled, sounding groggy and slow.
“I’ll see myself out then. Bye!”
And with a final chirp, you left, the front door closing in the distance while he could only stand there, shuddering and strangely hot and beyond confused. Wonwoo moved to swing the heavy curtains shut, the entire room succumbing into its usual shadiness. He sat on the edge of his very neat bed, removed his glasses, and buckled over while rubbing his veiny, pale hands through his hair.
The feeling was so lost and suppressed to his memory.
Wonwoo didn’t even know what it was.
He was relieved you were gone, but he also wished that you were still there, leaning out his open window with the wind and sunshine in your face. It was a sight so sweet and equally intimate.
Who are you?
What are you doing in his meaningless life?
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—APRIL 28TH.
Wonwoo had finished his math final with half an hour to generously spare, and now, he was sitting, bored, sketching his pencil against the last page of the thick packet. The professor wouldn’t care.
Hopefully.
On one hand, Wonwoo knew he  should really just stand up and hand the damn thing in, but on the other hand, he hated—no, abhorred being the first person to return a test, especially an exam at that. Wonwoo was pretty smart. He knew that about himself and he never bothered to maintain the guise he wasn’t. Still, Wonwoo wasn’t pretentious. If he had to wait until the final fucking minute to hand the packet in, solely to avoid being the first student up, then so be it.
Besides, there wasn’t anything too pressing that required his immediate attention—minus the pertinent schedule he was supposed to make and have sent to you approximately three days ago. You had called him last night, to which the phone crackled with a loud, static bark of his name as you admonished him for his lateness.
“I told you three days ago I wanted the schedule! Three days! I can’t believe this. What’s so hard about making a schedule? Beep boop, you press some buttons on your laptop and it’s done. It would take ten minutes tops! Ugh, I’m so done with you, Wonwoo. In fact, don’t call me back—don’t even text me until you have the schedule!”
And then the line had collapsed, leaving Wonwoo to stare rather expressionlessly at his phone screen, the boy huffing out a breath of tendrilled smoke while he relaxed on the apartment roof. That had been his first experience sat on the receiving end of your seasoned quips, and it left him with this very profound emptiness, like his insides had been scooped out and the shell of his body was nothing but a wooden nesting doll. It had been such a long time since he genuinely cared about disappointing someone. Wonwoo had grown far too complacent with the feeling of disappointing himself.
That would never motivate him to do anything.
But you were different. In the sense that Wonwoo mostly remained proactive out of fear you might bite his head off.
From somewhere near the back of the room, Wonwoo heard chair legs scraping, and he eagerly flexed his fingers while observing a girl with the slickest ponytail he’d ever seen march past him to the professor’s desk. She set her packet down. He thanked her. She left.
Jesus Christ. Finally.
“All finished, Wonwoo?” His professor mumbled in a tone that hardly escaped his own lips, glancing up at the boy expectantly.
Pushing up his glasses, Wonwoo nodded.
“I suppose it’s harder for you to sit there and wait than it is to write the actual exam, isn’t it?” The professor noted with an almost undetectable smirk as he slid the test packet inside a tan-coloured folder, to which Wonwoo turned January cold.
“I don’t know.” Wonwoo shrugged, pretending to feel unbothered when in reality his skin was slithering like a snake pit at the thought of being even marginally perceived. “Maybe.”
“You have a good summer, alright?”
“Thanks. You too.”
Wonwoo swept a quick glance over the classroom right before he left, noticing that Seokmin was sat beside the wall, one hand tangled tight into his black, ruffled tresses as his pencil scribbled all over the paper like he was writing pure nonsense. He probably was.
And Wonwoo meant that in a nice-this isn’t really your sweet spot, but you’ll manage nonetheless-way. After leaving the classroom, Wonwoo thought he might go home and plunge head first into his oasis of bedsheets and flat, foam pillows that he loved so much, and permit himself to decay until it was physically impossible to lie down any longer. But he decided against it at the last minute, turning up at the café instead with his shoulder-strung book bag and the timely urge for a scone. He then sat down at his favourite table.
Pulled out his laptop.
Opened the document he was at incessant war with.
The last scene he’d written was breakfast.
“Uh, okay. Orange juice… or orange juice?”
“Did you say orange juice?”
“I did.”
“So… chocolate milk?”
“Ha! Funny... is there any sort of correlation between being a complete nerd and making such well-woven jokes?”
“Not sure. But I’ll get back to you when I find out… thanks. Your tea is sitting on the island, by the way.”
“Thank you, Won. Oh—you even put it in my Woodstock mug!”
“Yes, why are you so surprised that I remember?”
“Because it’s always hidden at the back of our cupboard, behind ten other mugs that we certainly don’t need and all our plates. I mean, I guess it’s my fault. Half of them are from my mom.”
“It’s sweet.”
“It takes up too much space. But I can’t tell her no.”
“That, you’ve got to work on.”
“The Christmas thing isn’t happening anymore, if that helps. I think the thought of having to cram all my family into our living room for a night was what motivated me the most. My mom said she’ll send us poinsettias instead. I think that’s way easier.”
“Oh yeah?”
“Yes. Believe it or not, I can assert myself. Sometimes.”
“No, no. I do believe you. I’m proud. Okay—bottoms up.”
“How’s the combination of venlafaxine and orange juice?”
“I don’t know. Juicy?”
“Better juicy than anxious?”
“You could say that.”
Right, back when Wonwoo actually had the willpower to make himself breakfast rather than slapping a mixed berry Poptart into the toaster or worse, nothing at all. Back when he could wake up before noon without feeling nauseous enough to curl into a ball and drape the sheets over his aching head. Back when he actually took his medicine. Her face beaming at him from across their table had always been like a glass of sunlight and citrus. She had been his own vitamin.
Wonwoo knew he wasn’t going to write. He was just going to stare and mope and ensnare himself in the pinwheel of memories that blew over him whenever he had the gall to reread his past literature.
The Woodstock mug. She’d taken that with her.  
He decided it was strange and sometimes irritating how love, broken or not, could suture itself into even the most mundane things. Orange juice was just that—juice—the carton he used to pick up and impetuously drop into his grocery cart every so often. Now, it wasn’t juice at all, but slow mornings, steaming tea kettles, and reading together on the couch with legs all tangled up until lunch time.
Now, Wonwoo couldn’t drink it at all.
Breaking the lemon raspberry scone in half, Wonwoo dropped a flaky piece into his mouth before it got too cold, and then proceeded to close the document. There was no way in hell he would write, and while he loved drowning in his own misery in order to snuff any glimpse of productivity more than the average individual, he thought it might be worthwhile to finally start that schedule.
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[ Wonwoo | 8:20 pm ]: schedule.pdf
[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: thanks
[ Her | 8:56 pm ]: don’t piss me off again
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—APRIL 30TH.
For an April morning, it was surprisingly bright. The sun was out in full and glistering warmth by the time Wonwoo stepped onto the sidewalk and began pacing down to the park, practically needing to squint the entire way. He almost hated it. Early mornings were not his friend, nor were the blades of light cutting across his glasses. But today was his first writing session with you and Wonwoo knew it was more than crucial that he was the furthest thing from tardy—it would be akin to willingly setting his hands inside a burning fire if not.
You agreed to meet at the park since it was roughly equal distance between Wonwoo’s apartment and some breakfast place you wanted to stop at. He thought it was uncharacteristically thoughtful of you to shoot him a text asking if he wanted anything, though Wonwoo declined nonetheless. It was damn near impossible for him to eat a bite of food until lunch time, hence his expression softening in confusion when he at last climbed into the passenger seat of your sleek silver car and was greeted by you passing him a cold tea.
“Am I… holding this for you?” He wondered, sitting still.
You shook your head. “No. It’s yours.”
“I didn’t ask for anything.”
“Yes, I realize that. I can read, thank you.”
Wonwoo wasn’t going to argue. He simply shut his mouth, clicked on his seatbelt, and set the tea into the cup holder. He then began looking around at your car’s interior. Everything was exceptionally clean and smelled sugary, like iced gingerbread.
The thing was, Wonwoo still wasn’t very sure how to talk to you, and most often there was the stiffest frog in his throat whenever he sat around you in silence for too long. Your thumbs were tapping against your phone at light speed. It reminded him of how Seokmin was texting you back at the boy’s apartment when they were studying for finals. Wonwoo couldn’t help but wonder if Seokmin was naturally more inclined to respond to you out of friendship or fear. Maybe even a pinch of both if that was possible. Another quiet minute passed by.
“Okay, fuck, sorry,” you suddenly spluttered at random, quickly slotting your phone into the GPS holder, “just some shit with my mom. Um, okay. Yeah. We can get going.”
“All good," Wonwoo answered.
“You know where we’re off to?”
“Vaguely. The track by Caldwell High School.”
He watched you flit him a smile. “That’s the place. I’ll explain more once we get there. And, by the way, I am expecting you to drink that tea. It’s not anything crazy. It’s oolong. Only a bit of caffeine.”
“I drink coffee, you know.”
“Yes, and it probably makes you jittery and insufferable.”
Wonwoo preferred not to comment.
The car ride wasn’t too long. Actually, Wonwoo did love a good car ride. He remembered the long trips he used to take with his family to the water park when he was a child, the sensation of the breeze blowing into his face and how different shades of green would scatter in through the windows as the sun hit the tree leaves like emeralds. There was something so limerent and sadly distant about the memory that Wonwoo felt his chest hurt. Even if he were to take that same road, and smell the same breeze, and see his skin glow with the same hues of the forest, he doubted it would feel the same.
His mouth had gone awfully dry. Wonwoo then reached for the cold tea sitting in the cup holder and took a sip, suddenly very appreciative that you had thought to get him something, anyway.
And while he couldn’t be too certain, Wonwoo wanted to think that maybe this would be a good memory, too.
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After the half-hour long car ride, Wonwoo made sure to stretch when he stepped out into the empty parking lot. It was cloudier now, a bit more of a breeze to help counteract the warmth that remained in the air. You came around to join him, twisting out a cramp in your leg while adjusting the purse over your shoulder.
The walk to the track field wasn’t long, no more than a few minutes, and Wonwoo obediently trailed at your side until he witnessed the bleachers slowly coming into view. It resurfaced memories from his own high school days in PE, which Wonwoo had actually been quite successful at despite his distaste for sports and their atmosphere in general. He remembered liking kickball the best.
You sighed in a wistful tone while staring across the marked asphalt and fresh April grass. “All high school tracks look the same, don’t they?” Then, you carefully set your purse onto the bleachers.
Wonwoo rolled his shoulders, taking a more observant look around. It wasn’t strikingly different from the track at his high school.
“Sure. I guess.”
“I mean, there are some differences. We had ditches by our track. Come to think of it, I honestly believe they put them there for kids to hurl in from heat stroke or over-exertion… that’s what I did, anyway. It was right before I had to do triple jump. I hated it because you had to really build up speed. I didn’t want to run. So, even if I hadn’t thrown up from heat stroke, I probably would’ve made myself throw up some other way. Straight to the nurse. She gave me a popsicle.”
He glanced at you sideways. “Seriously?”
“Mmhm.”
“You’d rather throw up than hop, like, three times?”
“I said it was the running part I didn’t like.”
Wonwoo couldn’t imagine purposefully making himself upchuck in order to get out of something. If his anxiety was terrible enough, then he wouldn’t even have to worry about it, really.
That was its own mechanism of disaster.
“Running is eighty-percent of Activity Days," Wonwoo said.
You clicked your tongue at him. “Exactly. And I’d do anything to never run. I tried to sit in one time with the seventh graders. They were in their art block and they were doing painting under the trees; birdhouses or something. But their teacher kicked me out. And she didn’t even let me take the fucking birdhouse that I was painting.”
“The nerve,” Wonwoo answered, scratching his temple.
He proceeded to take a seat on the metal bench, rubbing his hands together. He still didn’t know how Mingyu fit into everything.
“So… what’s your plan, here?”
You sat next to him, folding one leg over your thigh and proceeding to reveal a journal that you had stuffed inside your expensive bag. The tips of your fingers skimmed through a few fluttering pages, until you stopped on one in particular that was ink-abused with cursive scribbles. Wonwoo assumed you did most of your planning on a laptop, hence his surprise to learn that you actually used a journal. He had a journal himself, though it hadn’t been touched in months. It mostly contained small poetic excerpts.
Next, you pulled out a pen.
“This is how I first ran into Mingyu. At my school’s track field. He was new and good at all the activities. I swear, his name spread like wildfire. Anyways, I haven’t figured out all the bits and bobs. I want to really soak in the feeling of—oh!” Suddenly, you grasped the journal back onto your lap, the pen hitting the paper in a cursive ribbon that Wonwoo could hardly read. “I just thought of a great line. His eyes, I wanted to soak in them, like an oasis.”
You stabbed the paper again to make a period.
“Not bad,” Wonwoo commented.
“Okay, here it is!” A black case was pulled from your purse, and once you unzipped it, Wonwoo realized it was the video camera that you had initially shown him at his apartment. “Okay, I want you to film some stuff. The field, obviously. I need it from different perspectives. It will help me with setting the scene later on.”
“Why do I have to film it?”
“Because, Seokmin told me you’re quite handy with film equipment stuff, and I don’t want to drop it. So just do it, please?”
Accepting the video camera from your hand, Wonwoo sighed in agreement. Flipping open the side-screen of the camera, Wonwoo began clicking some buttons and adjusting the focus. Luckily, he was familiar with the particular camcorder thanks to a film education course he’d taken outside of school.
While you busied yourself at the bleachers with starting up your laptop, Wonwoo began collecting footage, slowly panning the camera across the vast length of the gravel track and the grassy soccer fields situated beyond. He kept a concentrated eye on the side-screen to ensure the lighting wouldn’t change too drastically. A wind had picked up from over the forest, and he could see how the clouds were consequently being pushed along like herded sheep in the sky.
Once he brushed back the floppy, black hair that kept tickling his face, Wonwoo lowered the camera and turned to you.
“So, where else should I film?”
You were typing something, and didn’t bother looking up.
“Go across the field. Film from the other side.”
“Seriously?”
“Yeah.”
“I have to go all the way over there?”
“Yes. Walk, crawl. Skip, hop. I don’t care. Just do it, please.”
“Jesus Christ,” he huffed out, feeling tired and yearning to go home, “I hate how seriously you’re taking this, y’know that?”
Your fingers continued blitzing against the keyboard.
“Nobody likes a complainer.”
Ironic, he thought, but obviously kept to himself.
There wasn’t a point in expecting any sympathy from you—that, he already knew—which engendered Wonwoo’s long, trudging walk from one side of the track to the other, the wind irritably blowing his grown-out locks over his glasses every time he attempted sweeping them back. Hoisting the camera back up, Wonwoo adjusted the side-screen and began his same ritual of steadily panning the camera along the landscape.
You appeared in the view, still sat on the bleachers, though nothing about your face or figure was too discernible. It felt like you were a background character in a painting, just a little glob of acrylic.
“All done?”
Finally, you had glanced up at him with a smile.
Wonwoo nodded. “Unless you need anything else filmed?”
“No, that should be enough. The track is most important.”
“Right.”
He tried giving back the camera.
“Actually, do you mind keeping it?”
“Um, okay. But how will you look at the footage?
“Dropbox. We’ll share one. Upload the clips there.”
Wonwoo plopped himself back down on the bench, fitting the camcorder into its black case. He pulled the zipper along the seam.
“How much longer do we need to be here?”
“Not that much. Just let me finish this paragraph.”
There was a dull pain throbbing at the front of his skull, edging down to his temples—across his nose bridge where his glasses pressed in more tightly than usual. He closed his eyes for a moment and inhaled a deep breath, trying to escape the feeling, the nausea, the chills that were beginning to seep up his neck as the wind blew turbulently against him. It would be embarrassing if this happened here, right in front of you. The hard lump had suddenly lurched forward in Wonwoo’s throat but he leaned his head down last minute and swallowed it despite the roughness. No, everything was okay.
“Hey, what’s wrong?”
Wonwoo opened his eyes, staring down at the trembling hands buried in his lap. Subtly, he pulled the sleeves of his cardigan over them. He assumed his face was reflecting a sheer, sickly opacity.
“Nothing.”
“Uh, sure. Now look me in the eyes and say that.”
Again, Wonwoo swallowed, but he managed nonetheless.
“Nothing’s wrong. I get headaches sometimes. That’s all.”
“… Oh. Well, I’m basically done here. I was gonna ask if you wanted to walk a lap around the track with me, but maybe we should just go home. I mean, how bad is it? Your headache?”
Yes, yes. Home. Wonwoo wanted to go home. He had only been away from his apartment for a solid two hours, and yet all his mind and body’s energy had completely drained. He felt dried out, withered, fragile as tempered glass. Going home sounded cosmic. 
“It’s getting better. I wouldn’t mind walking with you.”
“Oh! Cool. If it gets really bad, just tell me.” You then spent a minute collecting your belongings back into the cream purse.
Wonwoo immediately looked the other way, dragging a frustrated hand through his hair, mouthing a string of guttural curse words directed at his discombobulated head. Because what the hell was he doing? All his relief and peace had just suckled itself down an invisible drain. Why on earth did he agree? Why?
“I think this will help me, too," you said, having left the shiny bleachers behind, instead kicking the pebbles at your feet, “if we walk the entire track, then it’s like we did the four-hundred meter.”
“You’re supposed to run the four-hundred meter.”
“Well, I know that.”
“I’m surprised you hate running. I mean, you walk so fucking quickly sometimes.”
He heard you snort, clearly amused by his observation.
“It’s because I’ve mastered the art of sashaying. To have a perfect sashay, you can’t walk too slow, but you also can’t walk too fast. It’s like a strut. You need to have confidence while you do it. It lets people know that you’re serious and professional. I’m not dragging my feet, but I’m also not in a rush. It’s the perfect pace.”
Wonwoo sniffled and scrunched the glasses up his nose, continuing alongside you at a pace that was rather aimless.
“I didn’t realize there was a science behind sashaying.”
“Now you know,” you declared.
Wonwoo’s  upper lip quirked slightly, and a small grin appeared on his face, which was starting to dapple with colour.
“I don’t sashay, do I?”
At that, you laughed, “no, you amble.”
“Yeah, I’m an ambler… which basically means I’m an unmotivated, pointless person who will probably go nowhere in life.”
For a moment, you stopped walking, and you merely furrowed your brow at him while your forehead creased with thought. Wonwoo stopped as well. He raked back his fluttering, windswept hair and smirked, flashing his teeth. The behaviour was uncharacteristically snide and a bit of a dig at your bluntness, but he couldn’t help it.
“Don’t remember, huh?”
“No… but it sounds familiar.”
“You told me that, the day I met you—that people who walk slowly are unmotivated and pointless. Their life is a waste, basically.”
He noticed your eyes shift up toward the right, as though you were pulling the memory forward from the intricate files of your brain. And then you started to smile, and it made Wonwoo smile, too.
“Oh, I do believe I said that.” You started walking again, and he followed. “Ha! Wow, you’re right. I said that. I’m so funny. I mean, I was right. You only walk slow when you have nowhere to be.”
“I did have somewhere to be. I was going to meet you.”
“Well, then you just didn’t care.” He felt your elbow press shallowly into his rib. “See what I mean? Unmotivated and pointless. And, honestly, I would have taken your apathy as more of an insult if it wasn’t for the fact that you seem to treat most things like that.”
“So, I’m just supposed to accept that you’re calling me a loser? How do people normally react when you say things like that?”
“Things like what? They’re just my observations about the world. You are a person in this world. I was making an observation about you. Albeit, it came across strongly. But I don’t know. No one ever cared about being gentle or sugar-coating with me. Gives you tough skin, y’know? Metaphorically, of course! I always moisturize.”
 Wonwoo scoffed, smiling at your nonchalance. “The way you word things is honestly fascinating.”
“Psh. How do you even remember that?”
“I don’t know. Doesn’t seem that hard to remember. It was a pretty memorable, somewhat awful experience, to be fair.”
“Awful?” You retaliated in unprecedented disbelief, pushing into his arm until he allowed his tall frame to stumble. “Try again.”
“Interesting?” Wonwoo substituted, his heart thumping. 
Your eyes were narrowed at him, glimmering with a sharpness that made his fingers clench into anxious fists.
“… That’s a little better.”
He exhaled a soft breath of relief.
As you began nearing the full circle, Wonwoo realized his head had eased from its horrible aching and the chills dampening down his neck were gone. Everything didn’t feel as awful compared to before. He was still tired, and his energy was sputtering in tiny, dying sparks, but at least his desire to crawl under the earth and degrade to his bare bones had subsided into something less morose.
“I heard you were having a get together next week,” Wonwoo decided to ask, rounding the last bend in the track.
“Oh, the dinner party?”
“Yeah. Seokmin’s helping you plan it, right?”
“He is. Which I appreciate. My mom is usually the one in charge of everything, and she loathes it. But, I mean, when we try to help her, she just ends up fretting even more—says we’re basically getting in the way and ruining it. I don’t know. She’s such a snappy perfectionist. Seokmin can have fun dealing with that.”
Wonwoo almost made a thoughtless comment in response to your story—he’s probably had eons of practice with you—though the pieces connected just in time and his mouth sealed shut.
“Your dad can’t help either?” He questioned instead.
“Ha! No way. My dad helping is a recipe for fucking disaster if I’ve ever seen it. He’s painfully bad at decorating, can hardly be trusted to cook or invite anyone from the guest list. The most my mom allows him to do is set the table.” You then scoffed, shooting a pebble forward with the tip of your shoe. “I swear, he knows exactly how to push my mom’s buttons. The faster he does it, the quicker she kicks him out and he’s absolved of all chores. What a cheat, huh?”
“Hm, yeah… is Mingyu going?”
“Of course.” You smiled. “He always goes.”
At that point, you had circled back to the bleachers. Adjusting the bag strewn over your shoulder, you heaved out a longing sigh.
“Well, that’s four-hundred meters in the books.”
“Is it everything you hoped and dreamed it would be?”
You cackled, “not even close. I think I was right to avoid it.”
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—MAY 3RD.
Wonwoo slid his pharmacy badge through the time-machine until he heard the beep. After an eight-hour shift, he was hungry and tired, but Wonwoo also knew the second that he got home, his urge to eat and desire to sleep would be gone. Instead, he would spend his midnight staring up at the ceiling, thinking. About anything and everything, and nothing at all. When the first cracks of dawn light would spill in from under his curtain, then he would close his eyes.
It was all very typical.
He stood outside the store, phone in hand, waiting for Vernon to pick him up because Wonwoo hadn’t felt like walking home despite the softness of the nighttime wind and the alabaster moon’s shining ambiance. The mirage was pretty and he enjoyed it, but his feet were too sore to inch him another step. Luckily, Vernon didn’t take long.
Luckily, he was the only one of Wonwoo’s few friends with a sleep schedule just as horridly fucked up as his. It was eleven at night, but on a weekday? The dead, empty street testified for him.
“Heyy, Glasses,” Vernon sang in his throaty voice as Wonwoo climbed into the passenger seat, “you look like a prostitute standin’ there, waitin’ for me to come get your ass. But a sophisticated one.”
The interior didn’t smell heavily of weed, he noted. Thank fucking god, Vernon had finally paid someone to dry clean it. Either that, or he took the initiative into his own hands.
“I highly doubt you have ever seen a prostitute in your entire life. And the fact you think they’d be standing outside a pharmacy at one of the quietest parts on this block attests to that.”
“God, I hate when you get all technical n’ shit. Such a stiff.”
“I’m tired.”
“Yeah, well. You’re always tired. N’ for the record, I have seen a prostitute, outside Room 319. It was a week before Christmas; she had this huge coat on, walkin’ up to people in her pink heels and this crazy eyeshadow that made her eyes pop. I bet she’s a nice girl.”
“Mhm. I bet she was.”
“Oh, you’re a cunt, yeah? You don’t believe me.”
“Does it matter?”
“I’ll take you one day. Room 319’s got a table with your name on it. They’ve got this one shot, the Stabilizer— it’ll put you down like a fuckin’ sick dog but it gets you the best drunk of your life. Maybe we’ll even run into Pink Heels lady. She’s our Halley’s Comet.”
“Halley’s Comet only comes once every seventy-five years. “
“You know what the fuck I meant.”
“Not interested.”
Vernon blinked at him for a moment in the dull light, and then he sighed, forfeiting. He placed the tip of the key in the ignition, but he quickly removed it as though he remembered something.
“Wait, I’ve gotta ask—how’s it going with Her?”
Biting down on the inside of his cheek, Wonwoo reached for the seatbelt and pulled it slowly across his chest, debating how intelligent of an idea it would be to entertain Vernon’s curiosity. But he could also understand the allure. You were like this enigmatic myth that people craved to know about, even if it frightened them.
Wonwoo’s head collapsed back against the seat.
“It’s going well.”
Vernon spat out a boisterous laugh, a hand slapping down on his knee. “Jesus Christ. You’re so dry, man. That’s it?”
“I mean, it’s true. We’ve started the book. Or, she has.”
“Okay, and?” Vernon attempted to engage him further.
“And, what?”
“What’s she like, obviously? Is she actually a fuckin’ psychopath? Is she normal? Can she walk on her hands? I dunno!”
Wonwoo rubbed underneath his glasses. He didn’t really want to talk about you when you weren’t there. It felt like a Bloody Mary situation, where you’d magically conjure in the backseat to sinch your cold hands around his neck and wrangle him limp and lifeless. But then there were Vernon’s shimmeringly prying eyes that just wouldn’t stop burning Wonwoo no matter how hard he bit his tongue.
“I have nothing to say. She’s cool.”
“Oh my fuckin’ God.” Vernon slacked back into his seat, clutching at his steering wheel. “You just don’t wanna talk about it… oh! Shit. I just remembered. She’s having a dinner party tonight, isn’t she? In Hill Crest. Or as I like to call it, Rich People Neighbourhood.”
“Yeah, that’s where her parents live… how do you know that?”
“Shit!” Vernon immediately shuffled up in his seat and delivered a hard smack into Wonwoo’s shoulder. “We should drive down and check it out! Right fuckin’ now!” He was lit up with excitement, even though Wonwoo considered it a terrible idea.
“No. Absolutely not. And answer my question.”
“Was sittin’ behind Seokmin at Solar Pop, he talks really loud, happened to overhear some things—doesn’t matter. I think we should go! C’mon, allow some spontaneity into your life! Why not?”
“What the fuck do you mean, why? It’s a family party. With some close friends, which—in case you haven’t noticed—neither of us are. You can’t fucking crash a family dinner party. Who does that? Not to mention the fact that it's eleven at night. They're probably washing up. Sending people home. By the time we get there, it's lights out."
“Aren’t you her friend?”
“No. I’m just someone who’s doing her a favour.”
“Favours are from friends.”
“We’re. Not. Friends.”
“Okay—fuck, Glasses. Fine. We won’t crash the stupid dinner party. But don’t you wanna go for a drive or something? I’m tellin’ you, the houses are insane. Last time I went down there, it was for a big fuckin’ party some dude at your university threw. I think I ran this by you already, when I talked about tryin’ to chat up Her. I stopped by with my old friend—y’know, Dots, the guy that died from the overdose and everything. That party was crazy. It was in a mansion.”
“Vernon,” Wonwoo had just finished massaging the throbs at his warm temples, “we are not going to Hill Crest.”
His friend swung his head in disapproval, making a tsking sound with his teeth. “Such a fuckin’ stiff.” He started the car. “It’s the fact I know you have jack shit to do tonight, or tomorrow.”
“I’m not gonna do some stalker drive-by on her house.”
“You don’t wanna do Room 319. You don’t wanna judge a bunch of richies sittin’ up in their ivory towers. I mean, it’s not like we’re eggin’ them or spray painting fuckin’ curse words on their eight-door garages. What do you wanna do?”
Wonwoo rolled down the window and leaned his face toward the moonlight, to which he could feel the wind brush up against his skin in feathery strokes, as though it were caressing him. He knew that Vernon meant in a general sense rather than in the heat of the moment. But in a general sense, Wonwoo would rather not be anywhere at all. He would rather do nothing, or even exist.
“Can you just take me home? Please?”
Vernon exhaled a defeated gust of breath and began to angle his tires away from the curb, the pharmacy lights pulled behind them.
“Yeah, ‘course. Mr. Boring.”
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—01:49
Wonwoo hadn’t been able to fall asleep since Vernon dropped him off a couple hours ago. He’d anticipated that. Usually, Wonwoo wouldn’t do anything. He wouldn’t toss or turn, or pace circles around his bedroom, or count down from one-hundred, because even if he did, none of it would work. His mind would still be wide awake.
Hence Wonwoo’s decision to grab his phone. Staring at a lurid screen definitely wasn’t going to help, though he wasn’t trying to sleep, anyway. That conversation with Vernon was repeating in his head like a chattering bird, pushing him, pushing him, pushing him to find your Instagram and dig into your pictures because now Wonwoo was thinking of your dinner party and how vehemently you seemed to hate it. He saw that you had posted something quite recently, around the same time Wonwoo had left the pharmacy.
For a moment, his thumb hovered over the post.
He didn’t want to press it because he didn’t care.
Or, maybe he did.
There were multiple pictures in the set, and Wonwoo flicked through all of them. Some were of food, close-ups of your jewelry—you even included a picture with Seokmin. But then Wonwoo had settled on the last photo and something in his stomach convulsed.
He recognized the dress like a flash of light—the sapphire one with the glimmering detail that you had modelled for him at the expensive boutique in the mall. Of course, that arm hanging cheekily low around your hip belonged to your boyfriend, Mingyu. He had a champagne glass pressed to his lips, fitted in his black suit with his hair neatly combed and styled into place. The smugness in his face was stifling. Wonwoo rolled onto his stomach, his eyes refusing to drift from the picture for even an instant. He just kept staring.
Staring and thinking. Staring and thinking.
One minute spent staring at your smile.
The next minute at the low placement of Mingyu’s hand.
Another minute staring at your sparkling dress.
The next minute at Mingyu’s brutally cocky expression.
He would switch back and forth.
But Wonwoo didn’t really care. He was just bored.
And alone with his thoughts.
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—END OF PART PART ONE.
NOTE! while i truly cherish & adore all comments, pls refrain from remarks such as "pls post part x" "i need part x" "when are you posting part x" while i do understand the sentiment, i find these comments very dismissive & kinda disrespectful! i don't prefer to post series fics and so i don't receive these often, but pls note that if you comment this i will delete the comment!
the fic itself is completely done, so all i have to do is get the parts ready for posting. however, bc this is the first part, i don't have a set posting schedule just yet. i think it will depend on roughly how long those who read the fic take to finish it! but i will be sure to make a post about it or include the schedule in part two once i figure it out!
again, thank u so much your ur patience :3
much luv!! 💕
992 notes · View notes
aparticularbandit · 9 months ago
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i will say that i put in the notes on the most recent chapter on ao3 that even if the monday update poll is for something other than oaei i still plan to post a chapter on the following thursday, i still plan to update that weekly.
because if i stick to one chapter a week consistently, it still takes over half a year for the whole thing to be posted. (and that's not even taking into account the second book.) so i plan on having a weekly update of that until it's done.
that said.
i'm debating a couple of things re: posting chapters of that.
1) because the remnants chapters are so short, i'm debating whether, if they get posted as the monday update, i will also a chapter on thursday. kind of like when i posted the prologue and it was short so i posted the first chapter that thursday, too. (this will be really funny when we get to the one sentence chapter because that follows a remnants chapter, if i remember correctly.)
2) potentially posting the last two chapters and the epilogue in the same week. so m/w/f updates. because i wouldn't want to wait a week between those last two chapters. but i don't think i'll necessarily do this. (i will probably post the last chapter + epilogue as a monday/thursday update set if i don't do this, though.)
by the time oaei is posted, i should hopefully have a good chunk of the second fic done. because like. this one took me five weeks. pretty much exactly five weeks. and i've got thirty single chapter a week update weeks. even if i double up on remnants chapters and the epilogue, that's still twenty-three update weeks.
but i think i will still probably have a break between the two fics. like seasons.
it'll probably be finished posting sometime between the end of july and the beginning of september. i'd maybe give a month break?
so either the second book would start at the beginning of september (after a month break through august) or at the beginning of october/spooky season (after a month break through september).
i'm less certain of that. we'll see when we get there? i just. i like there being a time break between the two books that's longer than a normal weekly chapter update. even if it's already done? idk. we'll see.
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financialsecrets · 1 year ago
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15 Keywords for Making Money Online with a Blog
Hello Again it's GmaKelly with 15 Keywords for Making Money Online.
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15 keywords for Making Money Online with a Blog
I know that it get tedious hunting down keywords and phrases. So here I have found these 15 for you. Remember to stay relevant to your Niche. Include Pictures or Videos and complete the Meta information for SEO. (Don't forget the meta titles on your pics or videos). Here we go: Blog Monetization- Monetization means making money from your blog. To begin making money from your blog, there are several online business models: Ads, . Affiliate Marketing, Freelancing, Dropshipping, etc. You can sell classes or a case study, ebooks, it's truly never ending. Affiliate Marketing Affiliate marketing is where you, the affiliate, earns a commission for marketing another person's or a company's products or services. The affiliate simply searches for a product or service they enjoy, then promotes that product and earns a piece of the profit from each sale they make. Again the product or service should be inline with your Niche. Sponsored post- A sponsored post is a type of paid advertising that brands used to promote their products or services on social media, such as Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, etc Sponsored posts are social media posts in which an influencer or celebrity highlights a brand or product that they have been paid to promote. Ad networks
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Are Networks that sell ads for your site to appear on other sites. Such as: Facebook Ads, Googles Adsense, Pinterest Ads, etc. You get paid for items sold from ads on your site. I currently have Googles Adsense in place, you can determine where the ads are place and how many there are, even the subjects you want to advertise. Digital products Digital Products consist of Ebooks & Guides, Audio and Music, Software, Online Courses, etc Again you can create/write your own or sell someone else's product and still get paid. E-commerce Ecommerce is selling products or services online. You can sell your own products or someone else s's on an e-commerce site. Shopify and Amazon are the two better known stores but there are plenty others available depending on your Niche. Yes we are still building around your Niche. Online courses You can create an Online Course teaching about your Niche. "How to" courses are at the top of the food chain. People flock to these types of courses and articles. How to, Why, Should I, etc. will all be successful. Email marketing
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Email Marketing is kind of self-explanatory. Send out an email every week or 2x a week. Keep in touch with your readers. Place an op tin on your site, offer a bonus when they get to the next page. Collect the email addresses for weekly "update" emails, courses, tips, etc. Email is the most personal way you have to reach your readers. Reach out and let them know who you are. Freelancing There are several companies that offer freelance positions in just about any area. Content Creation is only a small part of the freelance work that is available. You can do almost anything under the "freelance" title. Check out a few sites: Fiverr, Upwork, Udemy, etc. Each on works a little differently but has a wide variety. Social media marketing For Socail Media Marketing I use a Plugin, Blog2Social. You can auto post to all of your social medial sites. It saves so much time. There are still some that take a little time, Pinterest makes you work a little hard, but it's a great market. Social Media is probably the most important piece of any Marketing Strategy. That is where you will find your people. Content creation Content Creation includes everything from a Blog, Video Content, Online Course, etc. Content Creation is the Body of the entire process. Create a Blog and talk about your newest gadget. Talk all about what it does to improve a person's life, show pictures or videos. Stay relevant to your Niche, but have fun with your content. SEO (Search Engine Optimization) Search Engine Optimization is how Search Engines (Google, Bing, Yahoo) "grades" your site. There are certain criteria they want to find on your site so that they can determine what it is about. I currently use AIO SEO (All In One SEO) and it measures the speed of my site, the number of visitors, pages viewed, what country, what kind of device, etc. It is only one of many SEO programs available to use. Google AdSense
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Google Adsense is part of the Monetization is listed above. Place a code in the header of your blog and Google will place ads on your site. When someone purchases thru one of those links your get paid a commission. It's pretty simple, I suggest adjusting the placement of the ads so there are none above the "fold". Brand collaborations Blogger collaboration can help businesses increase their online visibility, reach new audiences, and build relationships in their industry. You can work with businesses, and or other bloggers to build your Brand and theirs. This increases visibility and Brand awarenes Guest blogging Connect with other Bloggers/Experts in your Niche group. Ask them to write a guest blog. Reach and contact even some top names in your industry might agree to an interview or to write an article for you. Their followers then come to your site to see or read the guest contribution. Final Thoughts There are so many ways to Make Money Online. Thousands probably. Remember that even a business online requires a certain amount of time, work and effort. Perseverance is a must. When you don't feel good you still have to post something. You readers expect it. That is why I suggest what ever your Niche, always have 5 or 10 articles close to finished so on those "off" days you still have something to post without a lot of work. These are 15 suggestions. I hope that something caught your eye and you found something interesting and useful to you. If you have any further questions or comments please leave me a message below. I look forward to hearing from you. Thank you for sharing your time with me. GmaKelly Read the full article
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theemarsrover · 2 years ago
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I’ve been wanting to make this post for awhile but have been back and forth on it in fear that I’ll come across as a bitchy youtube comment or one of those people who are just “waiting for the death of RT/AH”.
I am neither of those.
I’ve been a part of this community, consistently, for the last 11 years. I’ve watched series, cast members, entire production teams, and offices come and go. I was here during the kickoff of the Project Freelancer arc in RvB. I started watching the same year Michael Jones was hired full time.
I know there’s a lot of opinions going around about the new editing style of YDYD and the whole ‘catering to the algorithm’ debacle. I’m not here to tell anybody what I think the right answer to this is because
1) I am not behind the scenes and I don’t have an extensive knowledge on how the algorithm works
And 2) I don’t think there is a right answer because of how often the algorithm changes
However, if Achievement Hunter is interested in feedback then I have some.
Way back in the day we had journals and forums on the Rooster Teeth website. I know a few of you remember them but for those who don’t: these journals were a way for RT to update the community about big things that were happening. Gavin and Barbara got their start in RT from being active on these forums in the company’s early days. And I stay active in this community, on this platform specifically, because it’s the closest thing to the camaraderie I felt in the old forums.
Once journals were becoming more obsolete, I transitioned into watching AHWU (and the RT Recap) weekly and got updates about what was happening in Achievement Hunter since that was the content I watched the most. AHWU gave us live action shenanigans, a tease of what videos we could expect, and other special announcements like Extra Life, live shows, new merch, livestreams, etc. etc. Then we had P.O. box openings and it really felt like those videos were a place the entire community could come together and everyone got something out of it. And, with a handful of exceptions, they were short form videos!
When life got busy for me, I knew that AHWU was the best starting off point because they told me about anything I missed, any videos that were already out, and I felt like I was still part of what was happening in the community as things were happening rather than weeks later, especially with time-sensitive announcements. AHWU was a tool I could use instead of relying on youtube’s algorithm to show me a video or having a twitter account to see announcements for a livestream.
Now with that being said, AHWU had a lot of valid reasons for ending. None of which I’m going to get into here because I don’t think bringing back AHWU as it was is the answer. What I’m highlighting here is that since the end of the series there has been a disconnect between the content/announcements that are coming out and the community not knowing they’re there or where to find them in the first place.
I listen to the Off Topic podcast where a lot of these things are announced. Sometimes it’s at the beginning of an episode, sometimes it’s not until we’re 45 minutes in. Something can be said about the fact that people aren’t watching this specifically to get AH news, people who don’t watch it probably don’t know things even get announced there, and also I don’t watch every single episode so I miss things. But I digress. This is not the only place announcements are being made. There’s announcements that happen in random twitter threads, reddit threads, instagram stories, and while that’s all well and good it’s too much to keep track of. I’ll make a post on here about a new series or a returning one and half the comments and tags are people saying they didn’t even know that series existed much less there being multiple episodes out already. Gifmakers will make a post from a video and their comments are a lot of the same.
I consider myself a fairly active member of the community, but it feels like now, if I get busy for even a week, there is so much I miss and I don’t know where to look for it because it could be anywhere or nowhere.
Like… We literally made a website to combat this issue.
I don’t know if I’m feeling this way because I’ve been a fan for so long. Am I standing on my digital lawn shaking my fist in the air at change? Maybe. But I don’t feel like I am.
Achievement Hunter is so important to me and has been for over a decade. I’m genuinely so proud of all of the things that they do, even the things they try that don’t work out. I want more people to engage in their content and be excited about what’s coming next! Unfortunately, that’s hard to do when we don’t know where to get the information in the first place.
I do not have all the answers. I only have what I can do, what I can say, and a community here that’s willing to keep the spirit alive as the seasons change.
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chacusha · 5 months ago
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I probably should give an update on the fic I'm working on, and might as well do it by reblogging this post. Basically, when I started giving my full focus to this particular fic in April, it had a bit over 6k words in it: the first two chapters, more or less complete, and then quite a few snippets from later in the fic already written up.
I'm writing this for an event (Unconventional Courtship) that has a vague June deadline (I have until 14 June to sign up for a posting date 1-30 June, and there's also amnesty posting on 1-7 July for people who signed up but missed their posting date).
I made a sketchy outline in order to estimate how many chapters this fic would require in total and came up with 12 chapters total at a bare minimum, assuming my chapter plan panned out.
I then counted how many weeks there were from the beginning of April to the end of May, the main work period before we started getting into scary Posting Territory, and I counted... 9 weeks. So even at a very ambitious (for me) "1 chapter per week" pace, I would still not be finished drafting by the beginning of June -- and I needed to budget quite a bit of time for editing too.
In any case, I decided to just go for that "1 chapter per week" goal and see how it went. Each of the chapters pretty consistently came out to about 2k words. So I could kind of make a secondary goal which was to write at least 2k words per week in case my chapter plans/lengths changed (which (spoiler alert) they did...) and tracking by chapter started to become messy.
The good news is that I... have largely kept to this schedule? I currently have 12 chapters finished, and 24k words written, which is slightly ahead of schedule in terms of chapters (+10 chapters in 9 weeks) and BANG on schedule in terms of words (+18k words in 9 weeks). This discrepancy is because some of those chapter are shorter (~1k) chapters that did not exist when I was making my outline. T_T
So yeah, the BAD news is that my chapter outline is currently sitting at an estimated 15.5 chapters (chapter 16 being a short coda) instead of 12 chapters. In terms of where I am in the story using my original chapter outline, I have just finished what used to be "chapter 8" was in my original outline. So still 3.5 (possibly more) more chapters to go and we are already in posting period land. <:D
But the good news is that those 3.5 chapters are exactly the ones I estimated would be the easiest for me to write (they are relationship drama, my favorite thing to write for Quodo, and a significant amount has already been written in the form of snippets). I was actually secretly hoping to hit the end of the (old) "chapter 8" by the end of May, because chapters 3-8 were the tricky ones where my idea of what would happen in them was "???" but I already know exactly what happens in the remaining chapters (old chapters 9-12; now chapters 13-16) and knew it would be a coast from this point. BUT BUT they DO still need to be written AND ALSO I still need to do editing! Serious editing!!
Also, during May, I actually fell behind significantly due to travel and getting sick, and so the last three weeks of May have featured me writing at a pace fast enough to hit my weekly goal and then a little more to make up the deficit. And as of this weekend, I am fully caught up, so yeah, that's been great.
So yeah, this writing experience has been really weird for me. It's hard for me to describe my progress because I am simultaneously slightly behind schedule, ahead of schedule, and also right on schedule. In order to achieve all this, I've basically been doing daily sprints all throughout April and May, which has been both hectic and extremely effective.
I did not have high hopes of finishing this project on time, but it was always a *possibility*, and after all the work I've done, I'm basically at the same place: it IS possible I can throw this together in time for a late June or early July posting date, but the jury is still out on that one. I don't have a clear "you have to throw the towel in" OR "yep, this is in the bag" signal, so I guess it's still an uncertain forward charge for me.
Anyway, since I have to make a final decision by 14 June, I think I am going to make one last writing push this week and if I have easily finished drafting by 14 June and am ready to start edits, then I will sign up.
Whew, that was really long, sorry!
Quo-do the Thing! - Check-in #1 (June 1-7)
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Here it is -- our first check-in! This check-in is optional, for people who need external accountability in order to get things done. If you fit this category, then it is required. ;) For everyone else, though, you can skip it without issue.
📋 Check-in form 📋
The check-in form is open from now until the end of June 7th (whenever that is for you). Also, sign-ups are still open if you would like to join the event! The AO3 collection is also open for posting, if you have already finished a work that fits this event.
Helpful links: Sign-up form | AO3 collection | Event info
Below the cut is a reminder of what you said you'd like to have done by June, for those who have signed up. If you marked that you are using Tumblr to follow this event, I have @'ed you -- I hope it's okay.
chacusha:
Quodo UCII: Goal: The whole thing, basically. Can I do 2-3 chapters in April, and 3+ chapters in May? Is that feasible??
colorcoded:
Smutty Quodo art: Goal: Rough digital sketch
@mossmx:
QuodoCook: Goal: figuring out the storytelling, finished gathering references in a PureRef file (characters+proportions, DS9 room, DS9 cooking accessories, DS9/Ferengi food), decided which "props" to have in the scene and finalizeing the poses.
@rulesofacquisition:
Doctor Odo and the No Good Very Bad Physical: Goal: 1200 words
Weaver:
Earring: Goal: Maybe 1 chapter
@yvanka:
Anniversary date: (No June check-in goals written.)
Quark bi bi bi vid: Goal: Adding all the footage to the file
Feel free to check in using the form or by replying to/reblogging this post or just wherever works for you. If you haven't gotten started or you're not quite where you wanted to be, feel free to get a little work in before checking in!
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diamondhex · 3 years ago
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◈◈◈◈ HAPPY NEW YEAR! ◈◈◈◈ May it be a magical and mystical year. As always a quick TL;DR: this game isn’t dead, I’ve just been busy but working hard. I hope I can have a bunch of fun surprises for you on 2022! If you are interested in knowing more details and my plans for the New Year, proceed along.
Hello, I’m AcHe and I’m the solo developer for Diamond◈Hex. It’s been a tumultuous couple of years for us all so I hope you are well and safe. My last development update for this game was in... July. Dang. Well, what happened was July was the beginning of one of the busiest times of my life. My mom’s birthday was coming up so I had to take on a bunch of freelancing for extra cash, and then a loooot of really cool projects came up and I couldn’t reject the opportunity to take them. I got to work on the new Digimon anime, and it was (and still) is one of the most fun experiences in my life, but it wasn’t an easy task to tackle, and by the end of September I was basically beyond exhausted, but things thankfully settled down, several projects were finished and I even got to participate in the Ludum Dare Game Jam! So that’s all fine and dandy, but where does that leave Diamond◈Hex? Well, it’s definitely still on development. I’ve continued to work on it consistently as my schedule and energy allow it. 
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Here’s a new enemy that I’ve quietly added to the game as proof. Their name is a Stomple, a distant relative of the Sweeples and one of the biggest arthropods in the Twisted Forest.  The big thing right now is that development updates are really easy to make when you first start making a game because every day massive progress is accomplished. One day you didn’t have jumping and the next you do. But the longer you spend on a project, the more minute and specific the development gets. It’s hard to make stuff like “I rearranged the way room data is stored” or “I adjusted the cooldowns of the dash by a couple of frames” seem interesting, even tho they are equally as important for development as the flashy stuff. So as time went on I either ran out of cool things to show, or didn’t want to spoil the few surprises still left in the game. So going forward, I think I have to find a compromise. Posting weekly seems doable but it really depends on me finding a good way to balance my job and work on this game, and I’ll be honest I’m not there yet. So for now my plan is to focus on things that I haven’t really done before. More behind the scenes type of things, and breakdowns of my process and tutorials, since those are things I’ve wanted to do for a long time, and I’ve stopped myself from doing it because well I’m new at this so there’s always a strong chance that my way of doing things is the worst way possible, but if it works for me, it might work for someone else and sometimes that’s reason enough.
So one final thing in this insanely long ramble. I had my first test of the game with a friend of mine, and it was illuminating. I want to have more of my friends test the demo I’ve been putting together so I can figure out what are the biggest sources of friction around, so I can release a full public demo for everyone to try! When will this demo be out? I’m planning on having it sometime before my birthday. When is my birthday? I won’t tell you, that way you won’t see it coming. That’s all from me, enjoy your New Year!!!
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wichols · 3 years ago
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Hello everyone! 2021 was absolutely wild! If you are new or have been here since the beginning of 2021 you should remember that I was doing monthly wrap ups (except for the later half of the year, we don’t talk about that.). But now that the year is complete it is time to do the yearly wrap up! If you don’t know what I am talking about, then buckle up! I started an excel spreadsheet so I could document everything that I had read in 2021, mostly because I had consumed so much fic in 2020 that I was having a hard time remembering what I had and hadn’t read. To all those who have stuck around even though I have fallen off the face of the earth. It was a year of trudging through the mental health hellscape. But the fun thing about all this information and charts is that I can chart when I was having really bad months and recognizing some months that actually weren’t all the bad. Thank you for however you have chosen to interact with this blog and over on my AO3. So if charts, graphs, and numbers aren’t your thing just stop here! But for those who would like to judge my taste and poke around my brain in the form of charts and graphs, keep reading! (Also I include some fic recs at the end of the post if you were curious about some of my favorites and longest read fics of 2021!)
Writing Stats:
Total Published Works: 6 (2 being tiny micro fictions) Total Published Word Count: 18,813
March was the most productive month for writing reaching 21,651 words in total.
Total Writing Word Count: 59,952 (Though I more than likely exceeded over 100k with the amount of Discord Rps I picked up at about the middle of the year.)
Reading Stats:
Total Read Word Count: 12,241,999 (This was mostly quantified by reading works through AO3, though again, I did pick up reading Twitter threads for fun in the last quarter of the year so I am actually estimating my word count to being closer to 12,275,000.)
So for my first time doing an excel spreadsheet for this sort of thing I decided to keep it simple, just so it didn’t feel like so much extra work to keep up with it. The spreadsheet was organized by title (but if it was incomplete I included chapters read in that sitting), rating, word count, ship, and a primary tag (this got super messy because I wasn’t so much worried about consistency which was a real issue when it came to making readable graphs). Also some portions of the graph are a little wonky because I was also keeping up with weekly chapter updates and reusing the same identifiers multiple times. So first up we have ratings. And to no one’s surprise Explicit was the biggest chunk. Some of this was because of being horny on main I suppose but a decent chunk was also explicit because of reading potential triggering or problematic content. 
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Next we have ships!
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You see that giant blue chunk? Victuuri...consumed my soul. But also I was just following some awesome authors that were posting banger after banger! How could I not follow along?? And if you were curious here is the entire list of ships I had read. Anyone else a multishipper? Cause same!
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Next we have tags! And honestly, judge if you want but I like what I like! 
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And lastly a nice little bar chart of fic word counts!
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You see those three highest bars? I just couldn’t help but include them in this post too!!
Let Me Fall For You by HuntressFirefall
Twitter: @HuntresFirefall (Victuuri, Canon Divergence, Explicit, 397,436)
Summary: Victor Nikiforov was on his way to becoming a Living Legend in the sport of figure skating. After hitting his stride and winning back-to-back World Championships, the sport's biggest star was the overwhelming favorite to win gold in his third Olympics on home ice in Sochi, Russia.
But when Yuri Katsuki pulls off the upset victory in Sochi at the young age of 21 and takes the gold, Victor begins to see his world and the people in it in a very different light -- and it turns out they see him differently as well.
No longer knowing who he can rely on and finding he didn't know those close to him as well as he thought, when his skating career falters Victor makes a shocking choice that turns his world upside down in ways he did -- and didn't -- expect.
Those Under the Same Stars by PerpetuallyPerturbed Twitter: @PerpetualPrturb (Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Omegaverse, Mature, 325,553)
Summary: When Katsuki Bakugo left Izuku Midoriya five years ago, he thought it was for forever. He put aside dreams and wishes of the omega to focus on his career. He was going to be the best hero, after all. He couldn't have an omega getting in his way. So when he's stopped on the streets one day by a pup begging for help for his mom, he isn't prepared to face what he gave up, and what the consequences of his actions were.
Now with a traumatized pup to take care of and the horrifying thought that he's going to watch Izuku die because he wasn't there to protect him, Katsuki knows he's going to have to do better. He's going to be the best alpha ever and protect and serve his family, as he should have done years ago. He just hopes it's not too late.
The Rules For Lovers by ADreamingSongbird
Twitter: @SongbirdRimi
Tumblr: @adreamingsongbird​
(Victuuri, Royalty, Mature, 323,342)
Summary: Prince Yuuri Katsuki has a duty to his country, above all else (his desires, his dreams, and his happiness included), and he knows this alliance will help to ensure the safety of his people. That’s the only reason he accepts Prince Nikiforov’s hand in marriage. The pleasant surprise, of course, is the part where they fall in love along the way. The unpleasant one, well…
That’s a long story.
 And as a little bonus this story also has a podfic in the works! 
Found Here By esbielle
Twitter: @esbielle
Tumblr: @esbielle​
Favorite Completed Works:
For He Had Eyes and Chose Me by theangryuniverse
(Victuuri, Omegaverse, Explicit, 100,110)
Twitter: twitter.com/myangryuniverse
Summary: Heavy is the head that wears the crown.
It is a truth that is universally acknowledged, and it is a burden that threatens to suffocate Victor every single day.
But as duty calls and traditions demand to be fulfilled, a young man named Yuuri comes into Victor’s life like a breathtaking force – and with him, the potential to shake the kingdom to its core.
Never has Victor played a more dangerous game.
Never has the price been so enchanting.
Presence by kakikaeru
(Victuuri, Dalai Lama AU, General, 24,934)
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Summary: Atop his platform the Kuninotokotachi smiled, raised hands that were white and clean. He spoke clearly and evenly in his own flowing language, giving benediction and reassurance to the camp of refugees that had been accumulating in this village in Calabria in the last four years. Victor didn't know Japanese, didn't understand what was spoken, but the soft voice washed over him like a river, seemed responsible for the gentle breeze that blew into the proceedings and disrupted the intentions of the merciless sun. A young man in blue under a white umbrella, with his eyes shining, and a smile in his words.
Christophe tugged on his elbow. "Did you hear me, Victor?"
"Mm?" Victor shook his head, trying to clear it.
"I asked if you were ready to meet him."
Victor Nikiforov, reporter for the New York Times, goes to Italy to interview a shinto priest in exile, and makes a friend.
The Noblest Form of Affection by lucycamui
(Victuuri, Victorian, Explicit, 38,143)
Tumblr: @lucycamui​
Summary: The duty of a valet appears deceptively simple on the surface: his sole job is to wait upon his master. Yuuri prides himself on his skills as a valet, but will the challenges and heartaches that come hand in hand with serving the lovely and eccentric Mister Nikiforov prove to be too great a hurdle?
A Ticket to the Ballet by Multiple_Universes
Tumblr: @witharthurkirkland​
(Victuuri, Ballet, Explicit, 104,460)
Summary: Victor grew up to think that he always had to deal with all his troubles on his own. He never asked himself why he was doing something and he never thought of himself as lonely, but one day there he was – wondering what was the point of it all. And along came Yuuri Katsuki – one of the best ballet dancers the world has ever seen.
Room for Cream by Shippeh
Twitter: @Shippehbitch!
Tumblr: @shippeh​
(Kirishima/Bakugou, Omegaverse, Explicit, 117,267)
Summary: Fated mates don't exist, but Bakugou doesn't have any other explanation for the way his heart twists when he sees him- Kirishima, a brilliant, vibrant Omega behind the coffeeshop counter, all bold smiles and sharp teeth, wearing a collar with glittering spines. Bakugou's quickly swept up in him, forced to figure out rituals he's never bothered with before and desperate to impress.
Kirishima's more than just a perfect barista, and Bakugou's in way over his head- but he's an Alpha ready to drown.
The Giver and The Given by ItaminoSakka
(TodoDeku, Royalty, Mature, 78,221)
Summary: “I’m the son of your enemy.”
“We don’t have any enemies,” Midoriya said, his sad green eyes on Shouto’s mismatched ones. “And even if we did, we wouldn’t treat them like this.” He stood, holding out a hand toward Shouto. “Come. Let’s rid your body of the signs of its journey.”
As Shouto looked up into Midoriya’s face, Bakugou could see the wonder and pain in his eyes, as if he were glancing up into the sun, both blinded by and in awe of its brightness. He smiled a little to himself; it was an appropriate response to the wonder that was King Midoriya.
In which Todoroki Enji does the only good thing he's ever done for his son, and sends him to the Bakugou-Midoriya kingdom as a prisoner.
Killshot by surveycorpsjean
Twitter: https://twitter.com/zanzimez
(EndHawks, Mafia, Explicit, 43,475)
Summary:
You hear a lot of names in the streets. If you’re smart, you remember them.
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augmentedampharos · 3 years ago
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Ei was never one to let go, and this held true when it came to love. So when it came to falling in love with a human, there was never any question as to whether or not that human would be granted eternity. After several reincarnations, that human has final taken on a new form as a kitsune. There is, finally, enough time.
Begins prior to the Cataclysm and will run up through current Genshin plot.
This is the fic I'm super proud of in that one post where I went off in the tags. So why not promo it. Very gay, Ei x OC and Sara x OC (will end up with a poly of all three but since we're not there yet I don't tag it as such), canon compliant more or less. Lots of fluff and angst. Gay. Very gay. I already said that. I'm saying it again.
Anyway, if you give it a read or even a try, thanks!!! ❤️ also proud of my consistently weekly updates so you can look forward to that too if you enjoyed it :)
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tryslora · 4 years ago
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If I'm lucky, all errors have been caught before posting this year, and I have properly accounted for all variations needed for removing a leap year. Man, leap years are killer to deal with in terms of tracking down tiny changes to formulas! BUT. I think I actually did better this year than last year. Can we not discuss the things I screwed up? Anyway. I really did doublecheck pretty much everything that goes back to the Wordcount sheet.
ANYWAY.
For those who have been waiting for this spreadsheet, here it is! Sorry to be so late. For those who haven't seen this before, please take a look, use if you'd like, and share if you want to. All I ask is that if you make changes and spread the changed sheet around, please credit me as the original inspiration and link back to the original as well.
2021 Word Tracking Spreadsheet
Instructions and explanation are behind a cut/read more to save your feed/dash. This spreadsheet was developed because I found that it helped me keep myself moving forward from year to year, and I've been using it since 2012. I've been sharing it after folks asked what I was using to track my words, and it has evolved over the years into the version below. The instructions include screenshots from the 2021 spreadsheet and have finally been updated because a few things have changed. So. I guess I should update the instructions!
This spreadsheet was designed to allow you to set monthly goals for your writing, and easily track your words on different projects each day. It totals up your words for the day, your words for the month, and your words for the year. As you carry it along year to year, you can even track trends in your writing habits (for example, I’ve learned that I really suck at writing in May/June/July).
I’m going to go through this tab by tab to show you what’s what, and how to set yourself up and work daily.
We are actually going to begin with the second tab: Monthly Totals. This is where your totals are tracked, and where you set your goals. You can either set all your goals ahead of time, or month by month.
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On this tab, you can fill in your pledges per month, and your goal for the year in the cells marked in grey. The monthly pledges (see column D) will transfer to other tabs as needed, and will be used to calculate a daily expected word count for each month. If you set an annual goal (you don’t have to!), you’ll be able to see how close you are to making that goal, and whether your pledges add up to the annual goal.
New: You can see your words to goal, and average needed per day to get to the goal.
You can see my usual pledges here. I've lowered my goals recently because I've found that around 500 words expected per day actually encourages me to make more, and doesn't make me feel bad if I make fewer.
The Actual column (B) is calculated automatically for you based on what you fill in on the Wordcount sheet, so let the spreadsheet do the work for you!
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The next tab we need to take a look at is the first one. This is where you’ll be doing your work, on the tab titled Wordcount.
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It may look complicated, but I swear it’s not! It calculates pretty much everything you need, as long as you just keep copying information from row to row.
It’s set up so it’ll work whether you start a brand new project of 0 words, or carry forward a WIP that had words before the new year started. All you have to do is put in the title, the purpose (fest, community, this is all just for your notes), and the due date, then put in your starting word count. When you add a new project, make sure to fill that starting word count (0 or otherwise) down through ALL the prior days so that your totals stay consistent. The way I do this in Excel is to select from the starting total down to the current date, then choose Fill Down. All rows MUST be filled in or else your words will go negative (see above, where the cell G6 has a value, even though the word count did not change that day).
When a day begins, it’s easy. Just copy down the prior day (except January 1st, just start with the one in place) by selecting from column F through the last column after your current WIP and then copy it down to the next row.
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For example, if I were ready to start Jan 3rd, I select from F6 through I6 (one after my last project) and copy those cells down (I do it by using the little square in the bottom right to drag it down, but you do what's best for you.
When you finish working on a project, enter its current word count.
Now, let's take a closer look at what's above.
I started two projects on Jan 1st: Title and Title2
Title started with 0 words
Title2 came in from last year with 20 words already written
On January 1st, I recorded 100 words for Title and 1200 for Title2, and the sheet calculated that I wrote 1280 words that day
On January 2nd I didn't do anything on Title, but Title2 inreased to 1300 TOTAL words (NOT new words), so I added 100 words that day.
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On January 3rd, I added Title3 with 0 words to start, and I made sure that every row in my new column showed those 0 words.
The sheet color codes for days where you are below target or above target in the Actual Words/Day column. It’ll be white on zero days. You can see at a glance your trends for writing.
It also marks projects that have been added to as green on that day in their column, which is nice if you do a weekly or monthly round up. Again, you can see at a glance which projects you've worked on, versus the ones still waiting.
When you finish a fic, simply hide the column (do not delete it). That’s why copying the entire row from F to after last down is important, so you copy the hidden columns too.
Some information about the other columns.
Target Total is where you hoped to be that year by that date. If you’re not there, don’t worry!! Zero days are OKAY and give yourself a chance to catch up another time. If you need to adjust your pledges, go do that on the Monthly Totals tab and everything will update.
The Daily Target is the total you are hoping to reach to stay on target toward the Monthly Pledge for that month–it’ll be different each month depending on what you pledge.
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Now let’s move on to some of the fun tracking pieces. Next up are Daily Graph and Monthly Graph, which are exactly what they sound like. I’ll show examples from my 2017 spreadsheet (note, the daily graph will look very up and down–that’s OKAY! Again, let yourself have zero days…).
Daily Graph
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Monthly Graph
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Please note that the monthly graph has changed slightly. The pledged words are a line, but the actual words are now an area graph so you'll be able to see that fill in, and see your pledge as a line over it. That will give something good to look back on at the end of the year, but I don't have a new example yet!
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There is a weird little blank tab for tracking AO3 stats, if you want to do so like I do. Feel free to modify as you need, based on your own person fandoms. I just carry data through from year to year so I can see how things change.
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The last two tabs are my favorite! The Annual Comparison tab becomes useful after you’ve been using the spreadsheet more than a year, because by keeping track of totals year to year, you can start to see what your writing tendencies are. This tab has changed this year!
In the main data, I have added a Range (difference between the current month and the average) and a Median. In both cases, it won't calculate (just like the average) until you're actually in that month. Prior calculations are against the prior year's data.
Just copy in your data from prior spreadsheets, then let the new column for this year calculate on its own. No work needed once you've put in the old data!
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Sample data included solely to be able to make it make sense. It won't be in the sheet you download.
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The chart has changed! The area chart is your average across all your data. The colored lines are all the years. The current year is in black, with markers, to make it really stand out. So you can see both how you are doing against your prior years and your typical average per month.
And the last tab helps you track your progress toward your pledges. This tab is why I created the spreadsheet in the first place. I did NaNo back in 2011 and realized that being able to see my progress helped keep me writing. I like visuals! It lets me see at a glance how I’m progressing toward my goal each month.
You don't need to fill in a thing on this sheet! It pulls in the pledge from where you set it on the Monthly Totals tab, and calculates your wordcount based on that sheet, and does everything for you. Just sit back and enjoy the charts. Red columns are the expected totals, and blue will be your actual progress. You can see whether you're ahead or behind (and DON'T WORRY if you're behind, it is OKAY).
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Yes, that’s my actual horrible progress December 2018. It was a rough month.
Anyway, that’s it! Hope you like it, and if you’ve used it before, thank you for coming back. Feel free to ask if you have any questions!
2021 Word Tracking Spreadsheet
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t-lostinworlds · 3 years ago
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helloooo T <333 i wanna make a series and am wondering if you have any tips?? I have like a vague idea of what I'm doing and have the title and a synopsis but not... much. secondly, (😭) I also wanna do what you've done where you write all of it down? like all the chapters? then post ! or maybe write half, then post probably weekly whilst I'm writing the rest kinda thing. much love if you help <333 wondering how you've gone about with your series too 💞💕💗
hello love! <3 and gosh i'll try to be as thorough as possible but my goodness series are a curse of mine bc 98% of the series i've done is either collecting dust in the my WIPs (ahem mob!tom i'm sorry i'll get back to you soon bby i promise laklkas) unfinished, not updated in years, or full stop discontinued so asdfghjkl anyhow i'm gonna put a cut bc i talk a lot and also! i'm gonna put Revenge Is Sweet as an example even though technically that was a bit easier bc its an smau but i basically planned them the same way so spoilers ahead if you haven't read the series asdfghjkl:
so first off, when it comes to series each writer is definitely different but me, i heavily. plan. everything. so i say get a scope of where you want the characters to go and what journey you want to take them. whether it's a start and a very rough middle and end. so long as you know where you're going even if it's not final yet. it's a rough draft. changes will be made in the process but at least you have an idea of the direction you're going so you don't get lost down the line.
most of the time i try and see roughly how many parts i want to make it into. and then as you go through and write, if you feel like you need more parts or need to add something in between some parts then add more parts. that's why for me, i can not do the write as we go thing where i post the first part here and then see where it will take me. bc i want to make each part as cohesive as possible so i need to have at least the basics written down, places, dates, years, events and i can only do that if i have most of the series already planned out from prologue to epilogue.
here's an example on how i basically roughly planned Revenge Is Sweet--
i'll start with the characters where i basically wrote down some personalities to make them different from each other:
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p.s. i didn't include oliver bc it basicaly says *asshole* alskaslk i'm kidding but not really. also ignore the asher name lmao that was suppose to be ashton's name but
and as for the parts, when i say vaguely write stuff down, i really mean vaguely write stuff down:
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so that's basically what i mean when i say at least get a scope of where you want to go. doesn’t matter if it’s vague, simple or not groundbreaking at all. because then you can come back to it later and tweak some stuff, change some scenes, add more scenes and even some dialogue and such. 
as for posting, that really depend on what you’re most comfortable with. if you’re comfortable with posting one part and then writing the next one after then go for it. bc at least now you have an idea on where you’re going so it wouldn’t be too hard as you write.
but for me personally:
i’d rather have at least 80% or like you said, half of the series written down. and by written down i really mean like it needs at least one or two more proof reads simply to polish things up. like Prologue to Part 6 of my mob!tom series are each at least 10k words already and ready to go. because sometimes when i write a series, some parts inspire ideas that are great for another part. for example, i’ll be well underway writing Part 6 but then i get an idea that would improve Part 2 or i’ll add a certain character tick which wouldn’t make sense if they only did it on one part but not at the start. but when i have that part already up and posted then...i can’t do anything to change it anymore. 
me as a writer, i am constantly changing and improving and tweaking so if i can hold onto all the parts to improve them as much as i can until i’m happy with it then i will. and i also want to add hints and foreshadowing and all little easter eggs may it be a little dialogue etc.
but also, as i’ve said at the beginning i haven’t finished a series ever. from way back when i was writing for one direction. yes, i’m that much of a fossil with writing alskalk. so for me, having at least most of the series done would guarantee that i have a consistent posting schedule. and i do agree with what you said, posting weekly while you write the other parts so the pressure wouldn’t be too hard on missing updates.
but gosh, i just gave you a full blown essay anon lakslaks but yeah! that’s much of all the tips i can give to you. but also, enjoy it really as cheesy as the sounds. write the series because you want to get lost in it first and foremost. like be in your own world and don’t think about outer circumstances. and then once you’ve had that journey relieve it again when you start posting.
and please! ask any questions you want, my inbox is always open. and i’ll answer them to the best of my abilities.
hope this helped!! <3
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allicekitty13 · 4 years ago
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Glitter On The Floor
Feeling guilty about not getting Alice anything for Christmas, Jasper comprises a plan to make it up to his girlfriend. (Part 4 of the Jalice through the holidays series.)
Read on Ao3
Read on FFN
They'd been at the mall for two hours when Jasper, Emmett, and Rosalie walked into yet another store. Jasper was beginning to tire from the walking and seemingly endless number of shops targeted toward teenage girls. He honestly wondered just how many variations of the same concept needed to be produced and just why his sister seemed to need so damn many. However, the teen did keep his mouth shut, very much aware of the hypocrisy of his thoughts. If Jasper had taken this trip with Alice he wouldn't have taken a single issue in watching as the girl skipped throughout the shopping center delighting in the wide variety of clothing, makeup, and accessories available to customers. Rosalie knew this was the case, and he preferred not to have that fact audibly pointed out by his twin. 
Rosalie had been planning the trip for a few days now, being the type of girl who changed interests weekly their parents had long ago decided it was better for all parties to gift her cash as Christmas and birthday gifts. Her brother's inclusion, however, had been a last-minute decision. While Jasper very much enjoyed his new video games, three days straight of playing was a little much even for him. 
Most of his friends were otherwise occupied that day. Peter and Riley working as their respective places of employment were taking advantage of the winter break. Edward had whisked Bella away for what he surely believed was a romantic outing- only time would tell if his long-suffering girlfriend would agree. Alice, who was sharing regular updates on the group Snapchat, was spending a few days in Seattle with her father and step-mother.
Apparently, after their run-in with Edgar on Black Friday, the man had started treating his daughter much better... at least, in public. Alice, however, felt the attention was insincere and hollow. More for show than anything else. The majority of her messages consisted of the girl lamenting about how she couldn't wait to return to Forks at the end of the week. 
So, with no other options available and desperately needing to socialize, Jasper had agreed to accompany Emmett and Rosalie on their trip to blow through the latter's Christmas cash. 
Currently, the trio were in Rue 21. Emmett was modeling an array of hats strutting up and down the aisle like a runway, likely providing some much-needed amusement to the unfortunate retail worker's suffering through a shift in the busy weeks post Christmas. Rosalie was pretending to find the antics bothersome, making an off-handed comment about her boyfriend's maturity level. Yet, even from across the shop, Jasper could see the smile she was trying to hide. 
As he turned away from his friend's shenanigans, a thin silver headband with faux gems adorning the surface caught Jasper's eye. The jewels glittered lightly under the harsh fluorescent lighting as he approached, almost as if in a trance. The hair accessory was the epitome of Alice, almost like it had been made exclusively for the girl. Jasper knew, nearly instinctually, that she needed to own this. So, he plucked the item from its place and eagerly made his way to the checkout counter. 
While he knew, logically, Alice had been sincere when she'd told him it was okay that he hadn't gotten her a physical gift for Christmas. That his willingness to partake in an activity she loved despite it being something that bored him had been gift enough. Logic, however, hadn't stopped him from feeling guilty for the past week. Jasper genuinely cared for the girl. He wasn't quite there yet, but he did know he was falling in love with her fast. Someone as special to him as Alice deserved better than a boyfriend who couldn't even get her a Christmas present. That being said, at this point, wrapping the headband and just handing it over to her didn't feel like enough. He needed a bigger gesture.
As the three friends left the store, Rosalie parted ways with the boys. She'd made an appointment at the mall salon to do something about her hair. The girl's locks were still stained silver from a dye mishap on Halloween. She'd gone along with the look for a while, leaning hard into the aesthetic. Her roots were beginning to grow out though, and the girl had made it clear she was ready to do something about it. Her brother was curious about her plans, and the way she dodged his questions had him mildly concerned. Rosalie loved theatrics. That being said, he wasn't invested enough in the saga of Rosalie's hair to put much effort into the mystery, accepting that her plans would be made clear in due time. So he and Emmett headed down to the food court to get some lunch while they waited for the girl.
"So," Emmett asked through a mouthful of fries as they sat down with their respective orders at one of the few empty tables in the food court. "What's in the bag?"
"I finally found a Christmas present for Alice," Jasper replied as he set down the soda he'd been sipping on the table in between the two friends. He handed the shopping bag to Emmett, who pulled out the slips of paper sprayed with perfume the cashier had placed inside the plastic sack. The boy sniffed them before making a comment about how they weren't really Jasper's scent as he tossed them into a nearby trash can. 
Finally, Emmett pulled the headband out of the bag; he turned it over in his hands examining it closely before placing it on his head, careful not to stretch it out. He leaned forward on one hand as he blinked at his friend in a flirty manner. "Whatcha' think, Jas? Does it match my eyes?" 
Jasper rolled his eyes in response as both boys laughed. "In all seriousness though," Emmet spoke, taking off the accessory and handing it back to his friend. "It's perfect for Alice. She's going to love it."
"I really hope your right..."
"Dude, I'm always right." The other boy laughed and threw a french fry at this friend. "So, when are you going to give it to her?"
One of the things Jasper liked about having Emmett as a friend was just how observant the guy was. Most of their classmates never really looked past the surface of his fun-loving, class clown persona. But the teen was also smart, caring, and a genuinely good friend to have on your side. So, as Jasper told the boy about his worries, guilt, and half-formed plans for a grand gesture, Emmett was more than happy to join in on the brainstorming. After all, even though his idea for Halloween hadn't gone quite as planned, it had still worked out in Jasper's favor. By the time Rosalie returned, they'd formed what Jasper thought was a pretty solid plan.
---
Rosalie had a yearly tradition of throwing a New Year's Eve party. What had started as a sleepover back when the twins were in middle school was now a huge bash the students of Forks High looked forward to every winter. Currently, the girl was standing in the foyer greeting her guests and basking in their compliments on her hair freshly dyed a light denim shade of blue. In the living room, Bella and Emmett were chatting with an overly tense Jasper. He sat on the new setee his parents bought during Black Friday, jumping slightly every time the doorbell rang in anticipation of his girlfriend's arrival.
When the doorbell chimed, indicating yet another guest had arrived, Jasper startled once again prompting Emmett to chide him good-naturedly. His heart began to race as Alice's voice carried into the room from the foyer. He could hear her excitedly awing over Rosalie's hair, rapidly detailing all the outfits that would compliment the look. As she excused herself by telling the blue-haired teen that they just had to go shopping soon, but she needed to find Jasper, the man in question figured he must have looked as though he'd seen a ghost judging by the way Bella looked at him in sympathy as she reassured that it was going to be Okay.
"Hey, you guys," Alice beamed as she entered the room. The teen gracefully took a seat next to Jasper on the couch, lifting one of his arms to drape around her shoulders. "Sorry I'm so late. Mom got called into the hospital last minute again. I actually wasn't going to come, but Esme insisted on watching Cynthia so I could be here."
"Well, we're sure glad you could make it," Emmett smirked, turning to look at his very pale friend. "Aren't we, Jasper." Afraid that were he to speak, he may throw up, the teen simply nodded in response as he gently squeezed his girlfriend's shoulder.
Alice looked between the two with a raised eyebrow, clearly suspicious of the pair. The hardest part of surprising the girl was just how intuitive she was, seeming to know everything before it happened. Jasper could practically see the gears turning in her head as Alice glanced back and forth between the boys. She had eventually either given up or settled on a conclusion as she settled into Jasper's side and picked up a conversation with Bella about She-Ra on Netflix.
Jasper tried to focus on his conversation with Emmett and now Peter, who joined their group in the living room. With Alice snuggled into his side, however, it was difficult to focus. His eyes kept drifting over to the old clock hanging on the wall watching as the hands moved slowly but surely, ticking closer and closer to midnight. A weight settled in his stomach as he began to overthink his plan. What if Alice thought it was too much. What if she didn't feel the same way about him? It was entirely possible his profound feelings weren't reciprocated.
By the time Charlotte peeked her head into the room, giving all the gathered teenagers a ten-minute warning that it was nearly time for the countdown, Jasper was absolutely second-guessing himself. Frozen in place, staring at the clock still ticking closer to the new year, he was vaguely aware of his friends standing up and heading over to the other side of the room where the TV where they gathered around the screen in anticipation. Emmett, on his way over to join the crowd, nudged him in the shoulder causing Jasper to look up. His friend gave him an expressive reassuring look, communicating that everything was going to be alright. 
With a deep breath, Jasper rose from his seat holding out a hand to Alice in feigned confidence as he asked the girl if she would care to join him on the patio. The concerned look she'd been giving him quickly morphed into one of curiosity as she gladly intertwined her fingers with his allowing him to lead her outside. 
 The patio had been decorated with fairy lights, and sitting on a white iron outdoor table sat the headband wrapped neatly in a slightly shimmery deep blue paper that sparkled subtly in the moonlight. The package had been decorated with a ribbon of the same shade tied into a bow. Jasper silently thanked his sister for her handiwork in wrapping the gift, fully aware he wouldn't have been able to make it look anywhere near as perfect. 
Jasper strode over to the table picking up the package and handing it to Alice as he spoke. "So, I uh... I saw this the other day when I was shopping with Rose. And, I thought of you and how much you'd love it. And you know... I feel like an asshole for not getting you anything for Christmas and..."
"Jas," She cut off his rambling speech, "Stop beating yourself up. I mean what I said on Christmas Eve."
"Just open it, Alice."
The girl shook her head as she proceeded to slide the bow off the package, placing it neatly onto the table next to her, doing the same with the paper. When she pulled the lid off of the cardboard box Rosalie had placed the accessory in, Alice gasped as she gazed down at the headband. "It's beautiful." She commented, prying her eyes away from the gift to stare at her boyfriend.
Jasper, feeling reassured by her reaction, stepped into her space, taking the accessory from her hands, and placed it gently on her head. "A queen deserves to wear a crown."
"How do I look?" She asked, staring up at him.
"Perfect." He looked back down at the girl, not backing away as he gazed into her blue eyes, trying to wordlessly communicate just how much he truly cared for the girl standing before him. 
From inside the house, the couple could hear their friends shouting as they began to count down from ten to one. Jasper had timed this out perfectly as everything was lining up according to plan. The count down reached five and he leaned down, asking her if this was okay. The action elicited a nervous smile from Alice, something he'd rarely ever seen on the confident girl. At two, she responded with a clear yes, and as their friends cheered out the number one from the living room, their lips met for the first time. 
Inside, their friends were excitedly ringing in the new year, but for the two outside time seemed to stop stuck in that split second between one year ending and another beginning. 
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4threset · 5 years ago
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Hey guys! If you’re reading this, chances are you’re here from my Tapas, Webtoon or you happened to see my post. 
This post is mainly to launch my Patreon again and to explain where my webcomic, The Witch’s Bakery will be going from here on out. 
The Witch’s Bakery is a comic that started out as an impulse decision based on two characters i drew in the ledgers of my sketchbook while I was studying in uni. I was going through intense depression, and every week, drawing a page and posting it was what kept me going. 
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I didn’t expect the story to gain any traction but today I’m still stunned and amazed that even with the sporadic and dying updates, people still ask me about the story. And honestly from the bottom of my heart, both the story of Dragon Snap and Scott Butter and the support they have gotten, means so much to me.
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Like the many times I’ve promised, The Witch’s Bakery will not end or stop unless I definitively say that I’ve dropped it. And today I want to keep this story alive and going, it’s very precious and meaningful to me and I hope one day that it will mean something greater to you as well. 
This patreon is one of the ways I’m hoping to do this and sustain it. I’ve reworked and rewritten the story of TWB to be more cohesive and consistent and I’ve written every single thing out from beginning to end. I know where it’s going and how to go about it now. 
What this means is that when TWB returns, it will be a reboot. Starting from the beginning and have a slightly different opening, but don’t worry, most of the story will be the same!
The Patreon will also have additional things I provided in the past like process gifs and .psd files of any miscellaneous illustrations and drawings I do. I’m still figuring things out, so feel free to talk to me and let me know what you would like to see as well!
If you decide to pledge, I can offer early access to pages and immediately looks at any completed pages instead of having to wait for weekly updates when the story launches! (this includes pages immediately done now before launch /winky face)
Regardless, TWB will still be back in February, I’m currently doing buffer pages and doing the best I can to plan and do better for it :)
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So thank you for reading this and supporting both me and The Witch’s Bakery. I really cannot express enough gratitude and how much it means to me that you’re still here.
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https://www.patreon.com/4threset
The Witch’s Bakery will relaunch on the 2nd of February 2020
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