#so. better maybe to quarantine myself to fantasy.

[lith-myathar]

.

[the-shiftshop]

With The Right Tools

Today is the day I, Calvin Gander, have finally gained my motivation to make art. I’ve been stranded in this quarantine for too long that I already did everything that I can think of in my house. I’ve been wanting to make sculptures again ever since I saw tons of available limestones in my garage, but I couldn’t find my old tools so I decided to buy online. I found came across these carving tools from a shop that sells a variety of products ranging from clothes to gadgets, and they even sell food online, although it seems like nobody had came across with this store yet and I couldn’t see any reviews. But anyway, I bought them and they just came in the mail today.

Without hesitation and in pure excitement, I ran to my art studio where I have already moved my limestones to. Removing the packaging, I was surprised to see that it came with its own toolbox, a wooden box generously detailed with fantasy-like carvings that are shaped like vines, dried land, and small silhouette of men. I opened the toolbox, pulled the tools out and immediately went to work.

I used the hammer and chisel to chip off the limestone to form a shape. I have already planned out what I will be making starting today. I wanted to challenge myself in making a detailed sculpture of a man.

Throughout the whole day, I formed the limestone to a specific pose. Surprisingly, it went much easier than I expected. The tools were good in making  specific grooves and curves. Although my project still looks rough, I was able to make the specific pose that I want. All I need now is to put on the details. Most of the time when I make sculptures, it would take me a week to finish, but doing this project has been somewhat easier, having that I haven’t done something this big before. I have done the pose in just one whole day. It’s probably my artistic side kicking in, or maybe because I was just super bored, but I guess I might need to rest for a bit as well.

I left the sculpture and called it a day, but I quickly went back to work immediately as soon as I woke up. I used the smaller tools to create noticeable and very accurate details on my sculpture. I gave my sculpture a ripped musculature. It’s privates were a tucked between its legs because of the pose, but I also focused on giving it very realistic features. On its face, I made it looks like he’s breathing in air though his nose with his eyes closed and his head falling back I added bulging lines on my sculpture to give his some realistic veins, then finally I smoothen the sculpture out and finally finished my project in just a day and a half.

I took a look at my creation. Satisfied. I felt so proud that I have created this masterpiece. I never had made art this detailed. The tools really is high quality. It almost seemed like the tools had a mind of their own. I might need to give the store a great review.

As soon as I turn around to get my phone, I heard a loud crack. I rushed back to my sculpture to check where it came from. I noticed a large crack forming on its cheeks.

“Oh no!” I rambled. I touched the crack in panic, only to cause it to spread.

A chip of limestone fell off and revealed a pale, flesh-like texture inside. Is that... skin?

The cracks grew bigger and they appeared in almost every part of the sculpture, on its legs, torso, and arms, before finally covering the whole thing. The limestone gave off and all fell out, but instead of my sculpture just disappearing into crumbs, like a skin of a snake, it revealed something else inside.

“Holy... shit...” I whispered under my breath. That’s a man. A real man inside my sculpture. I moved closer to it but with extreme caution. He’s breathing. I can see his chest move in every intake of air. Like my sculpture his eyes were closed, smiling as he bask under the light entering my open studio. I moved closer and his head moved forward to face me. His eyes opened and looked at me. He lowered his legs and sat on the podium properly. I got a glimpse of his flaccid shaft and hefty balls.

“Bath” He said, in a low but monotonous tone despite him smiling.

“Huh?” I stared in confusion.

He stood up in front of me, he was struggling to stand up so I took a hold of his body. He was heavy. He was also covered in powder which made my feel somewhat dry, but damn, have I never been this close to a naked man.

“Bath” He repeated as he try to take a step forward.

“Oh.” I guided him to the bathroom in my bedroom. I did all my best to not stare at his swinging package. When we arrived, I let him go in, but he didn’t budge.

“Come” He said, pulling me with him to the bathroom.

“N-No, I don’t..”

“Help.” He said, I sighed.

I went in the bathroom with him. I let him sat down on the toilet bowl for a while. I opened the shower and tested the water, but when I asked him to get in, he pointed on the bathtub. I once again sighed and turned the shower off. I started filling up the tub with water. The room was filled with nothing but the sound of gushing water on the tub. We were silent, but he was obviously staring at me. When I looked back, he pointed to me.

“Name?” He asked.

“Calvin.” I said, moving my eye away.

“Calvin...” He went quiet for a while, then he pointed at himself. “Name?” He asked again.

“You?” I asked.

“Yu?” He said, confused.

“No, you.” I explained, pointing at him, then went quiet when I realized that this was somewhat similar to that movie. “Oh. You want me to give you a name?”. He nodded.

“No. I’m not calling you Yu. I think Shawn is better.”

“Shawn...” He went quiet again.

The tub was finally full and he immediately stood up. I caught him in my arms before he accidentally take a fall, guided him to the tub and slowly help him sink into the water.

“Help” He said.

I lifted his head and help him position himself sitting on the tub. He wasn’t really moving that much in the bath. He was just staring at me, looking like he’s waiting for me to do something.

“Help” He repeated.

I stared at him in confusion, then I got what I meant.

“N-No! I’m not gonna bathe you-”

He grabbed my arm. He was strong, but after that strong grip, he carefully moved my hand into the water.

“Bathe” He said.

I had no choice. I poured out water on him with my hands, then rubbing the powder off his body. I was touching a stranger’s naked body. More importantly, I’m giving him a bath! I continued though, washing off powders off his head and shoulders. My hand went down to his thighs, carefully avoiding his shaft. Although submerged in water, I still had to rub off the powder on his skin. I also went in between his toes, then back to his upper body. I washed away the powder on his back, feeling his heavy breaths. I grabbed his hand and guided it to his crotch.

“You clean that.” I said, he followed.

After staring at him innocently rub his shaft and balls, I tried to get it off my system by patting  his shoulder.

“You’re done.” I said. He looked back at me.

“Done.” He followed.

I drained the water before helping him carefully stand up, making sure he wont slip. I helped him step out the tub and gave him a towel. Without letting him ask for help once more, I already started drying him off. I moved away and stared at his body.

Fuck, I’m getting a hard on just by looking at him. He was once just a lifeless sculpture, now he’s a real human, naked in my house, asked for me to bathe him, and now...

I walked out the bathroom. I need to calm down. I shouldn’t be overthinking these things. I might be dreaming right now. Come to think of it I just realized that maybe I was dreaming. This must be a dream for sure, but I really need to wake up by now.

Cutting me out of my thoughts, I felt two cold arms wrap around my hips then to my chest. 

“Thankful.” He whispered.

My cheeks are burning. My cock is hard. My heart is beating too fast and I don’t know what to do but to moan. His hug went tighter.

“Reward.” He said as I feel his hand move down to grab my hard on. He was licking my neck now. My legs almost gave up as I feel the extreme pleasure go through all parts of my body.

“Shawn- S-Stop.” I said.

He really did stop, he was stuck holding my bulge and his tongue out, touching my neck.

“Let me go!” I said.

He followed, standing straight behind my back. I moved away from him and stared at him from a short distance. He’s frowning like a kid, as if he did something bad to his parents. I popped my tongue and looked at him annoyed.

“Fine. Come here and touch me again.”

His eyes lit up and walked close to my once more. His hands moved inside my shirt with his tongue licking my neck once more.

“Wait!” I commanded. He moved away from me and looked at me. “Let’s take it slower, okay?” I said.

“Slower...” He processed, then went full slow-motion in moving his arms around my body.

I laughed. “No, not like that.” I made him stop again. “Let me do the moves, okay?”

“Okay” He said.

“First, let’s sit down on my bed.” I guided him on my bed. We sat down beside each other. “Look at me.” He followed.

I moved my face near his, still hesitating for a bit, but that didn’t last long as I dive in. I my left hand moved to the back of his head and I pulled him in for a kiss. He followed suit and opened his mouth for me and out tongues touched. My right hand moved up to meet his chest. Pinching his nipples time to time. He gave me satisfying moans whenever I do this. My right hand moved down and I felt his cock rising. I grabbed on it and started stroking him. I broke the kiss for a while and looked at his face as he moan.

“You might want to remove my clothes.” I said.

“Clothes.” He reached both of his hands to my shirt and removed them. I let go of his cock first to help him, then I went back to it. He started copying me. He touched my chest, massaging them well, then had his other hand down to my bulge. I removed my hands from him and undid my shorts, pulling them off both my legs.

I pulled him on top of me. Both of my hands on his butt, guiding him to grind his cock against mine through my underpants. He continued it by himself as I place both of my hands on his face to pull him in for a kiss once more. I removed my underpants and let my cock out. I guided his his butt above my waiting shaft, then finally I pushed in.

He didn’t flinch. Instead, he gave me a long satisfying moan. He broke our kiss and straightened his back. He pushed himself down to my cock and did the rest himself. I stroked his cock as he bounce up and down, teasing the tip of his cock with its own precum. He already had released a lot and its coating the head of his cock. We switched positions. He’s now lying on his back while I do the work on fucking his ass. I moved faster as I feel myself reach my climax.

“A-Ah, Shawn. I’m gonna cum!”

“Cum...”

I grunted and moaned as loud as I can and Shawn followed suit as we finally came together. He blew his huge load on his torso, then slowly it came to stop when it nearly coated all of it. I pulled out and lied down beside him.

“Thankful” He said.

“Me too.” I replied then went in for a kiss.

[brokenmimir]

I just finished reading Supernatural Affairs (again). It's probably my favorite work of fiction and I think it's an absolutely amazing work, and it served as my introduction to the lovecraftian genre. A few questions:

How do you get the idea for it? What inspired you to write a lovecraftian RWBY story?

Did you have problems keeping up motivation to write the story? If so, what did you do to counter them?

It's been a couple years since you've written anything (at least one AO3), would you consider writing more? Did something convince you to stop writing? (This isn't meant to be pressure to write, more curiosity)

I remember in some comment you saying that Supernatural Affairs is a retelling of RWBY (in some ways) in a lovecraftian setting. Did you ever feel a tension between sticking to the RWBY plot/canon and telling the story you wanted to tell? If so, how did that play out?

Did you know it was going to be as long as it turned out to be when you started?

Follow-up, did you write all 410k words in the year and two months that Supernatural Affairs was publishing?

What is your writing process like? How did you get ideas for Supernatural Affairs?

What advice would you give to writers who are wanting (or in the process of) to write something as grand as Supernatural Affairs?

Dust Trader was one of the first fanfics I ever read, and also one that I enjoyed immensely (and really shows off how amazing a writer you are). I don't want to make you choose between children (so to speak), but which story do you like better? How they differ in your mind? Did you have a different process for them?

Apologies for the long list of a 'few' questions. Love your stories and I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Thanks!

Wow, I'm happy that you love my story so much, and I'll try to answer your questions as best I can.

I love Urban Fantasy with Supernatural Police -- I've seen it a few times, but it's pretty rare. I decided if I wanted to read one I might as well write one, and after a little thought I decided against using Vampires and Werewolves since they're a little cliche. I've read all of Lovecraft, so I decided to use that as the starting point for my setting.

It was very hard at times -- around the 20k word mark I realized how big it was getting, but it got easier after that until I was in the last case, which was _hard_ to push through. I decided early on that I really wanted to tackle and complete this project, and I decided to use a Stephen King quote as the basis for my writing -- "Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration, the rest of us get up and go to work." Basically, even if I was feeling uninspired I forced myself to sit down and write 1000 words a day every day no matter what.

The Quarantine did a number on both my motivation and my writing process. I know I need to just start writing again, but... it's been hard to do anything the past couple years.

Not too many. When I started planning the story I came up with a list of about 15 or 20 cases that would be fun to write. I then laid out the major events of RWBY seasons 1-3 that I wanted to re-tell. Then I looked at my two main characters, and decided what character arc each was going to experience, as well as what the relationship arc was going to be like. I then set down those 3 arcs in order, added the RWBY plot points I wanted to hit, and then divided all of that up into 9 segments. Then I looked at my case ideas and picked the 9 that would most easily tie into those arc segments.

I knew it was going to be longish (I had an outline written in advance as part of my plotting) but I expected all of my cases to be about as long as the first case -- 4-6ish chapters each, so maybe 30-50 chapters max, or around 100-150k words. Obviously I underestimated how big things would get as I got more comfortable with the story.

I started publishing when I had about 60k words written, and I wrote 1000 or more words a day every day going forward. I finished Case 9 about halfway through posting Case 8, so not too far off. I think the final tally was 1 year, 1month all told.

I start by taking my overall story outline and writing a much more detailed case outline. In the morning just after breakfast I sit in a comfortable armchair with no one around and the house silent so I can really concentrate. It usually takes around an hour to write and edit 1000 words, and I won't stop for anything until I finish that much, though I'll keep going if I have time and am in the groove. Every chapter (which usually takes 3 days to write) I give a second edit when I finish it. After the whole case is done I give it a third edit all the way through, and before posting I edit each chapter one more time. I like to write in the morning because before I go to sleep at night I think about my story, and I try to daydream out how the whole next scenes would unfold. In the morning I can usually commit those ideas to paper pretty easily.

I think the two biggest things that helped me are (1) have a very thorough outline! I spent weeks writing my outline, and I had an even more thorough outline for each case just before I started it, but it was still barely enough to keep a giant story like this wrangled. Feel free to follow your muse on details as you go, but an outline is super important. And (2), I will reiterate that Stephen King quote I lived by -- "Amateurs sit and wait for inspiration, the rest of us get up and go to work." Writer's block is just an excuse. You can write something no matter what. Maybe it'll suck, but if you try it'll usually be better than you'd expect.

I used the same writing process for both. I think my favorite is probably Supernatural Affairs because I like Urban Fantasy more than Sci Fi, but I really enjoyed both. Dust Trader let me play with my own plot structure since I wasn't borrowing RWBY's, which was nice. Supernatural Affairs was my baby, though.

[divinetheatre]

(Different anon) You don't need to publish this but the fact someone came into your inbox with such horseshit is infuriating. Hannibal did not rape Alana and Bedelia. Yeah, Alana wouldn't have slept with him if she knew he was a murderer. But that's like saying the sex you had with your asshole ex was all rape be abuse you didn't know they were an asshole. He did care for her, and the sex they had was consensual. That act was mutual. Him lying about himself is different. And I don't think Hannibal would have killed Bedelia simply for not fucking him. If he wanted her dead, there is nothing she could do (or not do) to stop that and she knew that. She had an odd fascination with him as he did her. So no, he didn't rape Bedelia. Hannibal is not a rapist. The sex he had was consensual. If we want to argue rape, Margot raped Will because she lied and manipulated the sex itself. She lied about birth control. She changed the dynamics of their boundaries of sex without telling him. Hannibal did not do that. I'm not clever enough to dissect the would-be relationship between Will and Hannibal. But it's not going to be sexually abusive regardless of who tops. Sorry that person came into your inbox, and I hope quarantine is going as well as it can for you. Take care!

if u don’t want this up i’ll delete it but i agree with you 100%. i was going to say sm similar to the anon but then i thought that i wasn’t the one who needed to be explaining myself when they obviously can’t even understand the nuances of consent. or maybe they do and they’re just being reactionary bc they’re pissed off that i dragged their abusive little fantasies :/

also yay todays my last day of quarantine and i’m finally feeling better. thanks for the support <3

[ihearthes]

Quarantine Christmas Part 1

Author: @ihearthes Pairing: Harry x y/n Rating: Fluff/Smut (Smut in Part 2) Word Count: 2826 (Part 1) Fiction Chalenge via @caitlin‘s fiction party via @sweetcreatureinthedark

December 23, 2020

My head spins as I haul my suitcase from the trunk, using two hands due to the heft of the dirty clothes inside. Setting it on the ground, I yank on the handle before grappling with the two shopping bags filled with presents, reaching back for the decorated Christmas tin that is filled with homemade cookies, fudge, and other delicacies baked by my colleagues at Apple Music. 

Wrestling with my hands full, I close the trunk with an elbow, shivering in the chilly LA air. At the front door, I want to cry. Dammit. I could clearly remember that when Glenne had given me the code for the front door and the alarm, I placed them in my phone under her contact information. 

“FUCK!” The primal scream is released from my lungs, likely scaring the neighbors if any of them are outside enjoying Christmas lights or having family celebrations on this Christmas Eve Eve. Balancing the tin of cookies on top of the suitcase, I set down the shopping bags to reach for my phone. My purse slips off my shoulder, knocking the container of sweets, and in the scramble to rescue them, I nearly fall head over heels into the bushes. 

It isn’t until I punch in the numbers and drag my personal effects inside that it occurs to me that the alarm isn’t armed. Had Glenne and Jeffrey forgotten to punch in the code before they left for Palm Springs? Deciding I don’t care, I leave everything by the door as I drag my suitcase to the main floor laundry room, dumping everything in without regard to color or type of clothing. Since we’ve been working remotely the majority of the time for the last fucking nine months, “dressing up” encompasses blue jeans and the occasional blouse, but most of my clothing is sweatpants and t-shirts. Deciding washing the blue jeans and blouses with the sweatpants and t-shirts is the worst idea ever, I fish those out before pouring laundry detergent over the remaining garments and starting the washer. 

Glancing down at the clothing currently on my body, it seems completely reasonable to drop them into the washer too. Stripping the t-shirt from my body, I toss it into the swirling water before adding my bra, socks, and leggings to the murky mix. Wearing only panties in the cool house makes my nipples bead. 

Ha! I’m sure my nips are happy to get any action after almost a year with no dating of any sort because of the fucking pandemic. Which reminds me that I’ve forgotten my vibrator at home. Shit. Of all the things I don’t mind borrowing from Glenne, I do have a line I won’t cross. 

Placing the tin of Christmas yummies on the kitchen counter, I grasp the handles of the two bags of gifts. It might be silly to put them under the tree since I’m the only one in the house, but it will make me feel better. More like I’m at home with my family in Indiana. Less like I’m stuck in quarantine in an empty house for my favorite holiday. Sniffling, I swipe at my nose with the back of my hand as I pad down the two steps into the living room to the tree. 

Kneeling at the fake tree, I reach for the switch to turn on the lights. As the colors begin blinking, I carefully withdraw each present, reading the tag before gently placing the gift under the tree. Even my brother had sent a present through the mail which must mean he misses me his year. Right now, we should be challenging each other to the most ridiculous games to see who is the best. Inevitably, he would win some while I beat him at others until eventually we declare a tie. My mother would chastise us both with a grin on her face, implicitly encouraging us to continue our “reindeer games” as my father called them. 

From behind me, I hear a shuffling sound. Hadn’t they taken Myles with them? No matter. I could use the company a dog would provide. 

“Santa, you’ve changed!” a soft voice exclaims, and I jump, twisting around to find another human wearing sweatpants and a hoodie. 

“It’s you!” Both voices exclaim simultaneously. “What the fuck are you doing here?” We both pause, “Stop saying what I’m saying!” 

Out of breath, I stare at him. The Harry Styles. Fuck. 

His eyes roam over my body, and it finally dawns on me that I’m wearing nothing but my Victoria’s Secret lace panties. Shit. 

Pacing measuredly to the couch without openly cringing, I grasp a wool throw and wrap it around my chest regally like I’ve just exited the pool at some exotic locale near the equator. My shoulders straighten, and I face him openly. 

“Are you joining Glenne and Jeffrey in Palm Springs?” My back is a board, and my tone is barely restrained. 

“Nope.” His nonchalance combined with his truncated answer pisses me off, per usual.

“So you’re flying home, waiting here for your flight tonight?” The hopeful tone is obvious to me and probably to him as well.

“No.” Those green eyes of his rake over my nearly-naked body, and I shiver. From the cold of course. Jesus. Get your heads out of the gutter!

“Watering the plants prior to returning to the Soho?”

“Uh uh.”

Delayed dread begins to fill my stomach. “You mean --” I clear my throat -- “you’re staying here?”

“Yep.”

“Shit.” Running my hand through my hair, I ponder the impact and my next steps. 

“You?” He asks politely, even though I know he doesn’t feel solicitude at this moment.

“Glenne told me I could stay here for a few days. I made arrangements for my place to be fumigated while I was in Indiana for Christmas.”

His raised eyebrow mocks me. 

“I’m not going, though. Okay?” 

“Why not?”

“Seriously? Where the fuck have you been, Styles? In case you didn’t know, there’s a global fucking pandemic, and all of Los Angeles is locked down. So no -- I am not getting on a plane with a bunch of potentially infected and contagious --” Emotion overwhelms me, and I have to stop and catch my breath. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I turn away from him so he can’t see the tears that form in my eyes. 

“Whatever, Smith.”

“My name --” I draw myself up and gather my anger around me like a cloak -- “is not Smith.”

“Yeah, right. Which bedroom are you planning to sleep in?”

“Surely you’re not suggesting we both stay here?” Appalled, I stare at him with my mouth open. “I’ll get a hotel room.” When I realize my wardrobe is in the washing machine, I softly say, “As soon as my clothes are dry.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Smith. We’ll share the space. It’s only a couple of days.”

“Excuse me!?” Anger wells up. “Only the most important days in the entire year!” Superiority makes me stand up fully to him. “Besides, I’ve been quarantining for months. No way do I want to share germs with you!”

“Oh please! As if you’ve got a monopoly on quarantining! I’m perfectly safe. We get tested every morning before we film. When was the last time you were tested?” 

“Two days ago!” She’s at her boiling point. “Look, if we're both staying here together, then we’re just going to have to avoid each other. It’s a big house. We can do that.”

“Maybe once you put some clothes on,” Harry comments, smirking in that way he has where the left side of his mouth tilts up. 

Mortified, I glance down at myself. Briefly I consider scurrying for Glenne’s closet, but I pause. Why should I rush away? Because he’s male? Because he was here first? Because he’s sexy as fuck and my panties can’t take anymore? 

“Fine,” I respond as I brush past him like the Queen of England. “I’ll find something to wear, and then we can hash out the details.”

“Great plan. I’m ordering something for dinner.”

My stomach growls, and I suddenly feel an irrational hatred for that part of my body. How I long to state that I’ve already eaten or that I plan to cook something! But alas, I’ve brought no food with me, and I’ve no clue what’s in the kitchen. If Glenne and Jeffrey even left anything. 

“Does that mean you’d like some too?” He gloats, and as much as I would like to smack the grin off his face, I’ve not eaten since a quick bite for breakfast hours before. 

Knowing I’m going to have to grovel, I face him. “I’m capable of ordering for myself.”

“Yes, but that’s not necessarily good for the environment, is it? Sending two drivers to the same address from different restaurants?” Pausing, he appears to swallow whatever snarky comment was forthcoming. “Can we agree on this one small thing? I’m thinking poke.”

Shit. Fuck. Goddammit. That’s exactly what I would have ordered. Fuck. 

Casually, I shrug. “Yeah, whatever. I can choke down some poke.” As I saunter away, tucking the ends of the makeshift shroud under my armpits, I call back to him, “Spicy please.”

Quickly I make my way to Glenne’s closet, surveying the items there. Ripping down a pair of joggers and a Full Stop Management hoodie, I drop the covering I’ve been wearing and rapidly draw the clothes over my naked body. Nothing I can do about not having a bra, but the hoodie is roomy so I worry less. 

In the bathroom, I run my fingers through my hair, combing out the curls as best I can in this environment. In no way do I want it to appear that I’m trying to look amazing for Harry. Biting my lip, I admit to myself that the opposite is true. I absolutely want him to fall at my feet. 

Which isn’t going to happen, I remind myself. Give up the ghost of a fantasy. 

Making eye contact in the mirror, I provide a pep talk for myself. “Listen,” I remind my reflection, “this is just one more fucked up situation in 2020. You’ve gotten through worse. It’s truly a giant house, so there’s no reason -- wait. Why is he staying here anyway?” For whatever reason, I had allowed him to dodge that incredibly simple question. 

Tucking my hands into the hoodie’s front pocket, I amble to the kitchen where Harry is just disconnecting his phone. 

“Food will be here in 45 minutes,” he promises. 

“Why are you staying here again? I missed your answer earlier,” I prompt. 

I’m confident I see a flash of embarrassment crossing his face as he lowers his head. “Wine?” He asks, gesturing towards the extensive rack of reds and then the chiller of whites. 

Unsure as to whether I should allow the diversion or press, I examine him. His eyes look tired and sad. His clothes, while comfortable, aren’t upbeat. Nor is his current demeanor. Is he okay? 

Planting his hands in his hoodie in an unconscious mimic of my pose, he glances at me before his eyes stray to the side, examining the marble countertop. That look tells me more than I need to know, and my empath side emerges as I toss him a life preserver. 

“With poke? I think perhaps a Reisling.” 

He nods, bending to look through the wines in the cooler before he extracts one, holding it up for me to inspect the label. My eyes start to widen at the vineyard, assuming the extravagant cost, but I calm my features. “Perf!” I declare. 

Grasping the wine opener from a nearby drawer, Harry removes the cork as I snatch two wine glasses from the cabinet and place them near him. Carefully comparing the amount in each glass, he pours enough before recorking the bottle. Taking my glass, I move into the living room where I can view the tree. It’s Christmas Eve Eve after all, and I refuse to be deterred from watching the lights twinkle and celebrating the season. 

Harry apparently has a similar idea as he fiddles with the sound system before a crackle of ‘Jingle Bell Drunk’ by RaeLynn starts playing which causes me to giggle. 

I settle on one side of the sofa, and Harry plants himself on the other side. Separately, we each take a sip of the riesling. My tongue does a happy dance at the flavor on my tongue. “This sweetness will cut the spicy quite well. Excellent choice.”

“You made the selection,” Harry reminds me, and I cringe. 

“Oh. Yeah.”

Silence descends as the song proclaims “I’ve been naughty. I’ve been nice.” 

“If there was ever a year for this song, this is it.” I announce into the quiet. 

“Yeah. It’s been quite the year.”

Sharply, I glance at him. Perhaps I had missed something? “Excuse me? You’ve had one hell of a year, Styles. Grammy nominations aside, there were how many music videos released during this global disaster? Plus a movie!”

“Agreed.” He’s quiet, his jaw clenched, and suddenly his words burst forth as though a gate at a dam has been opened. “But no tour. And almost no family time.”

Wait. Was this superstar feeling some of my emotions? He’d had a stellar year in anyone’s estimation. Maybe I could be more sympathetic. 

“Yeah. I’m sorry about tour. I had tickets to Vegas and one of the LA shows.”

His head swivels to me more swiftly than an owl focusing on prey. “You had tickets?”

“HAVE.” I swallow. “Thanks for not canceling by the way. I cannot imagine the bloodbath for getting tickets in the future. You’ve become the ‘it celebrity’.”

A blush is followed by a sheepish smile. “You can always get tickets, Smith. Just ask.”

“I don’t do that.” My voice is filled with the prickles that I feel at his words. 

“Do what?” 

“Use my privilege to get tickets to shows.”

“Oh. I…” His words trailed off. 

Suddenly, I feel less uncomfortable around him. Reaching out, I shove at his shoulder. “You’re a giant star, and you have a ton of fans who want to see you. Me? I’m just happy to be a member of the audience.”

“Really?” Incredulous is what I sense in that one word. “Why?”

“Seriously?” I’m appalled. “Do you not know what an amazing entertainer you are, Styles? Fuck. If I hadn’t been able to see your Fine Line show at the Forum last December, I probably would have cried. You know exactly what your audience wants, and you deliver it. Consistently.”

“But --”

“Hush. Don’t you dare negate your talent!” Taking another sip of wine, I reveal unabashedly, “Maybe it’s the wine talking, but I really enjoy your shows.”

“Smith?” He inquires, and my hand stalls with my wine glass halfway to my mouth.

“Yeah?”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why do you like my shows?”

Stalling, I run a finger through my hair and empty my wine glass before holding it out to him. “More please?”

He rises, but I can read his reluctance. Within moments, Harry is back at my side, handing me a second glass of the riesling. I can’t help but notice that he’s topped his own off too. 

“Answer the question, Smith.”

“My name isn’t Smith. In fact, there’s not a single part of my name that’s related to Smith. Why do you call me that?”

“Tell me why you like my shows, and I’ll reveal the meaning behind the nickname.”

My head feels fuzzy from the wine and the headiness of being near Harry, and I watch the lights flashing on the tree for a few minutes while Meghan Patrick belts out her version of ‘I’ll Be Home for Christmas’ over the sound system. 

“You make your fans feel like they matter.”

“How?” His question comes rapidly, and I have to gather my thoughts. 

“You...talk to them. Listen to them. Watch them. Appreciate them. It’s rare, Harry. I mean, I’m in this business too, you know. Not every artist does what you do.”

“False.”

“I’m fucking serious, you asshole.” I gulp down more of the wine. “You make your audience feel like they’re your closest friends. I wish more artists did that. Specifically the ones I represent.”

“Oh.” His single utterance is enough, and we sit in pure tranquility for several minutes as the lights blink and Ava Max sings “Christmas Without You”. 

“Wanna watch the quintessential holiday movie?” I inquire, looking at him. 

“Which is?”

“Die Hard, of course,” is my response. “What were you thinking?”

“It’s a Wonderful Life.”

“Nope. It’s pretty good. In the top five for sure.”

“Wait. What are your top five?”

“Oh, that’s easy. ‘Die Hard’, ‘Home Alone’, ‘A Christmas Story’, ‘The Santa Clause’, and ‘It’s a Wonderful Life’.

“You’re serious?”

“Deadly?” I giggle at the joke since ‘Die Hard’ is full of death. 

“Fine. But we watch ‘Wonderful Life’ afterwards.”

“Deal.”

Part 2

[pterodactylterrace]

Happy Anniversary

Title: Happy Anniversary

Chapter: 1/1

Summary: It’s their anniversary, he would be expecting something special

Rating: 18+

Warnings: It’s porn. Also, poor descriptions of pole dancing, property damage, insinuation of overstimulation and dirty talk.

Edited to add a cut. My bad.

He's expecting me to do something for him. He's been hinting at it for weeks now. He was nice enough to set up the pole for me in the spare room so I had a place to practice during quarantine. Our anniversary is coming up. It would be the perfect time. There's just one problem.

I have yet to master anything resembling a sexy move on that pole. He would be expecting his own personal stripper that he gets to sleep with. That's a pretty normal fantasy to have. Surely I could come up with a routine that would at least give the illusion of knowing what I'm doing, right?

Maybe he should just lower his expectations. That seems like the easier route to go. Certainly easier than me admitting I hadn't been able to actually make much progress with the whole 'fitness stripping' thing I had tried. He always preaches about self discipline and just going and doing your fitness routine. Unfortunately, my routine had the habit of turning into me just watching pole dancers on YouTube and barely putting any effort into it myself. Turns out it takes a lot more upper body strength than I had first thought.

"Just a little something. Show me how much progress you've made."

"I haven't made too much 'progress' to be honest." I mumbled, chewing on my lower lip.

"Well, show me what you can do." Of course. Always so encouraging and supportive. Couldn't he be a jerk, scoff at me, roll his eyes and drop the subject just this once?

"It's really not much." I admitted, reluctantly grabbing the pole. I kicked my leg out and fell back, catching the pole with the back of my knee and spinning almost gracefully to the ground.

"See? You're doing great."

"Don't get too excited, that's the most interesting thing I can do."

"Don't say things like that. You're doing great."

Always so damn encouraging. He's going to give me the confidence I don't have the upper body strength to back up. Just a fun little pirouette then. No air time involved. Just hold the pole up high, spin under my arm and lean back against it. Flirty little wink for some flair.

"You know more than you're letting on." He hummed. Even from my place halfway across the room, I could see his pupils taking over his eyes. Ok, now I'm definitely getting over confident. I jumped up, catching the pole between my legs and going for a spin. In my head, I went around the pole flawlessly and landed delicately back on my feet. In reality my grip slipped and I ended up on my butt with chafed thighs halfway through my spin.

"Are you alright?" Henry asked around a suppressed laugh, crouching down to check on me, fighting back a smile.

"Turns out, that's a lot harder than it looks."

"You did really good?"

"I wasn't supposed to end up on my ass."

"I didn't think so. Care to try again?"

"No, I'm mad now." I pouted, crossing my arms like an overgrown toddler. I'm sure the booty shorts and sports bra complemented the look nicely.

"One more shot. I'm sure you can do it."

"It's harder than it looks!"

"You were so close."

"If you think it's so easy, you try it."

"I have no idea what I'm doing."

"What do you tell me about making excuses?" Oh yeah, that shut his argument right down.

"Tell me what to do then." I really wish I had my phone with me to record this. My giant of a boyfriend trying to spin around a pole.

"Fine then, Mr. Its-not-that-hard. Grab up high with one hand, Higher, almost at a full extension. Grab on with your other hand at chest level. Then jump, catch it between your knees and keep your momentum going counterclockwise. That's the way that pole rotates."

"Sounds easy enough." Henry mumbled, tilting his head and eying up the pole. He practiced the motion he wanted his legs to do few times before giving it a go. I'm honestly unsure if he did it. Once his weight hit the pole and it began to spin, the tension proved to be unsuitable for a man of his size and he ended up on his back with a nice new hole in the wall from the top of the pole.

"Are you ok?" I asked timidly, staring at the carnage that had been created. The ceiling would need repaired. So would the wall. Also, my boyfriend's ego.

"That's going to be a lot of work to fix." Henry groaned, pushing the pole off.

"May I interest you in a sexy nurse fantasy instead?"

"By all means."

"Does it hurt here?" I asked innocently, rubbing his ankles.

"Nope." Henry hummed, laying back and letting his eyes drift closed.

"What about here?" I continued, my hands running up his calves to his knees.

"Little sore." Henry admitted as I pushed his knees further apart, crawling up between them. I squeezed gently, careful to avoid the ticklish spot I knew was at the tops of his kneecaps.

"How about up here?" I questioned, my hands sliding up his thighs, fingertips brushing under his shorts.

"Definitely more tense." We should have tried the whole 'nurse' thing in the first place. I am much better at groping than I am at pole dancing. I slid my hands out of his shorts and grabbed them by the waistband, Henry was more than happy to lift his hips to let me pull them down.

"Oh, I think I see some swelling." I teased, ghosting my fingers up his rapidly stiffening cock.

"Maybe you should kiss it better." Henry suggested, raising that damn eyebrow at me. That wasn't fair. He knew that eyebrow had the power to make me do just about anything.

"Maybe a massage will help the swelling." I countered, actively restraining myself from licking my lips.

"By all means." Henry chuckled, his eyes sliding closed, content to just feel for the time being.

I gripped loosely at the base, slowly sliding up to the tip, my thumb brushing through the glistening drop that had collected there. Another slow stroke back down, grinning to myself at his groan. I knew it wasn't enough, it was too slow, too gentle. Henry liked it when I was more rough with him, though he was always sure to be gentle with me, terrified that his brute strength would be more than I could handle. Like my pussy wasn't meant to take a pounding. Not today. I already had him on his back.

With one clumsy hand I managed to wiggle free of my shorts and underwear while continuing my slow torture of his cock I threw my leg over his and shifted my weight to straddle his thick thighs in one quick motion.

"Having fun?" Henry chuckled, his hands gently taking my hips.

"Yes, I am." I giggled, releasing his cock and shifting up, dragging him through my swollen petals, moaning softly at the feel of him. Fuck going slow. I needed him now. I gripped him by the base, lining him up and sinking down in one quick, fluid motion, Henry bucking below me, his eyes opening wide.

"Fuck sake, woman." He gasped, gripping my hips firmly to keep me in place.

"Want it now." I whined, clenching around him to try and gain more sensation than just him stretching me wide open. No matter how many times he took me, he always stole my breath with his sheer size alone, forcing me to mould to him and take every inch he had to offer.

"You're gonna hurt yourself." Henry scolded, his voice strained by my squeezing.

"No I won't." I pouted, pushing his hands away. I knew he could have easily held on if he wanted to, but he bent to my wishes and allowed me to take control just this once. I was taking no mercy this time. I set a punishing pace, bouncing on him like my life depended on it, spurred on further by his litany of curses. He felt so good, stretching me out, filling me so completely, the head of his cock slamming against my cervix every time I fell down on him.

"Fuck, slow down." Henry groaned, grabbing my hips again. "You're so damn tight, give me a second."

"No." I whined, squirming unhappily in his grasp. "I was getting close!"

"Fuck, so was I." Henry growled, flipping us over all to easily, rising up onto his knees, his forearms going beneath my knees to hold me up where he wanted me. "You think it's easy fucking this tight little pussy? Fuck, every time I just want to pound into you as fast and as hard as I can. Feel so fucking good around me. Need to take care of you first. I'm not cumming alone. Now touch yourself. Let me watch you get yourself off, and maybe then I'll finish fucking you."

That was all the encouragement I needed for my hand to shoot down, pressing against my needy bundle of nerves, rubbing in tight, quick circles. My other hand drifted to my breast, pinching and pulling on my nipple just like I knew he would. I looked up, moaning loudly when I saw him watching me intently, licking his lips slowly.

I squeezed around him, hoping to spur him into motion, but he held firm. He didn't move an inch, refusing to give me the friction I wanted. That didn't stop me from reaching my high, my back arching and his name falling from my lips. He started slamming into me the second I came undone, pushing me further into my bliss.

"That's my girl." He praised, his hips snapping into me, the sounds of our panting and slapping skin filling the room. "Fuck, so tight. Always so tight." He slid his arms from beneath my legs, letting them wrap around his waist so he could lean in, pressing his lips to mine in a hungry kiss, his hips never stopping their punishing pace.

This man was going to kill me. There was no other explanation for what was happening. He was literally planning on fucking me to death. It felt like a fire was building in my belly from how quickly I was hurtling towards the edge again.

"Come on. One more. Don't make me finish alone." Henry encouraged, his hand sliding between us now for his thumb to rub hard, slow circles on my already over sensitized clit. That was all it took for me to finish again, my nails digging into his shoulders as I tried to pull him deeper into me, Henry all too happy to oblige as he found his own release.

"Happy anniversary." Henry whispered in my ear once our breathing had slowed almost back to normal.

"Happy anniversary."  

Tag List:

@Xxxkatxo @Weallhaveadestiny @lunedelorient

[nneogram]

think about it — part one. get laid!

pairing: jaehyun x reader (f)

genre: enemies to lovers!au, college!au, fluff

word count: 8.4k

warnings: language, mentions of sex but not really (oc keeps being told to get laid “emotionally” idk), jungwoo gets scolded about the importance of consent, jungwoo’s in a frat but not really but yes really, quick reminiscent phone call w/ bestie jungkook, oc has unhealthy studying habits but dw it gradually gets better from here

a/n: i’ll say it for all of us - FINALLY, an update on here. this is result of my own college shenanigans, stories from my friends, and far too many fantasies whilst in quarantine. jeni needs to lay off the k-dramas, sheesh. i’d also like to note that this is unedited! there may be a few grammar/spelling mistakes.

▸ playlist (to be linked later)

Your roommate claims that you need to, in the simplest terms, “Get laid.” You are vehemently against this proposal, despite her insistence and clarification.

“Emotionally. You need to get laid emotionally, Y/N,” Megan whines. That’s all she can do from where she is sitting, tucked safely away beneath the blankets on her bed. It’s cocoon-like, she’s explained to you before, “like being in the womb.” Safe. Secure. Warm. You think that if that was her cocoon, then Megan would emerge a butterfly. If you were in her place? You would emerge a moth.

“I don’t think any getting laid needs to be done, regardless of if it’s emotional or not.” You take another flashcard from your prepared deck. Strong Acids. HCl, HBr, HI… HClO4? A hiss leaves your lips when you flip the card over to see the answer. You were missing two more acids. You reluctantly place the card into the pile to review again, which sat next to a much smaller pile of correct cards. The goal for the morning was to move all the cards in the “wrong” pile to the “right” pile, but considering the size difference of the two stacks, that goal would not be achieved.

Megan’s sigh pulls you from your focus. “Dude. Do you see yourself right now? I don’t think I’ve seen you doing anything other than studying for the past two weeks. I’m going to ace this chem midterm and I’m not even in chem. I’m not even a STEM major.”

You frown. “Sorry. Was I being too loud? I can go-”

“No, don’t worry about me. This is about you. I’m concerned for you - you’ve been cooped up more these two weeks than you were in the entirety of fall quarter. Have you taken a break recently?”

“I slept for eight hours straight, I think that’s a good enough break?”

“No, like a real break. Away from studies and school and just doing something… I dunno, fun?”

You shake your head. The past few weeks had been nothing but relentless studying. In an effort to maintain your pristine GPA, you shoved aside what little downtime you allotted yourself in fall quarter to focus on school. It was the least you could do, considering that you were on track to apply to medical school at the end of your undergraduate career. You were only in your first year, so all of the other requirements for med school - clinic, shadowing, research, the works - were inapplicable for the time being. There wasn’t much to get you ahead other than your 4.0.

Megan knows this, but she also knows that you have little to no social life outside of the bare minimum. It’s an unspoken truth that the two of you being assigned as roommates was a blessing in disguise: your studious tendencies help motivate Megan to stay on task while Megan’s more laidback nature reminds you to take a breather sometimes. 

This was one of those times.

“I’m telling you,” Megan crawls over to the edge of her bed to get closer, “You should relax a bit. Just a teeny, tiny bit. Have some fun, live out your first year of college! Make some art, go to the gym, I dunno, step out of your comfort zone. Get laid!”

“You say that last one as if talking from experience,” you tease. 

What was the charge on sulfide again? Fuck, it was two minus. Another card goes into the “wrong” pile.

Megan scoffs. “Please. I’ve only ever had one boyfriend, and that was in middle school. The most we did was hold hands. Besides, we don’t need men… I just want one.” She mumbles this last part as an afterthought before returning her focus to you. “I think getting a boyfriend would be a great distraction for you.”

You gawk at your roommate, eyes flitting from her to your toppling stack of incorrectly answered cards and back to her. “Do you see this? I don’t need any distractions right now.”

“No, no, I - fuck. I got that all wrong, didn’t I.” Megan facepalms. “What I mean is maybe you should befriend some people, or find some kind of emotional outlet. As much as I pride myself on being your source of positivity, I’m not around all the time to tell you to take a break and relax. You tend to be hard on yourself, y’know?”

Your gaze once again travels to your flashcards, their amount of use prominent in the worn-down corners and smudged ink. “I guess…”

There’s a smile of satisfaction on Megan’s face. “Think about it,” she concludes, then crawls back to her cocoon of blankets to take a nap.

--

The gloom of the rainy weather hits most forcefully in January. With the merriment of the holiday season behind you, it seems there is nothing ahead but cold, and rain, and emptiness. Only so many mugs of hot chocolate could keep your heart warm, and it wasn’t even the good type of hot chocolate - it was the powdery stuff that you mixed in with your lukewarm water because the water kettle you brought with you to the dorm was buggy and never fully heated up a pot of water. 

Yeah, you could buy yourself a cup of cocoa from the coffee shop on campus, but as the college kid stereotype proved, you were broke. So you settle for your half-assed attempt at a comfort drink, taking extra effort to stir the dregs that tend to settle at the bottom of your styrofoam cup.

“So you need to get laid?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the phone.

You sigh. For getting into one of the most prestigious universities in the country, Jungkook lacked the ability to draw proper conclusions from given information. He clearly hadn’t paid attention to your five minute spiel on your deteriorating motivation for life and your roommate’s unusual suggestion. “No,” you begin slowly, because if you didn’t control yourself you were going to get annoyed quickly, “I do not need to get laid.”

It’s dusk, around that time of the evening where the world slows down as the sky is painted a myriad of pinks, purples, and oranges. Even in January the sunsets in your college town never failed to astonish you. However, it’s also the time of the day when loneliness hits you most, and for a fraction of a moment you get homesick and usually end up calling someone from home. In this case, you end up contacting a close friend - though you’re beginning to question Jungkook’s title as a close friend, considering he completely missed the point of your rant.

“Well it sure sounds like it,” Jungkook refutes. There’s a loud crunching noise on the other end of the call, and you have to bring the phone away from your ear as the crackling continues. You know for a fact that Jungkook has bitten into a chip, most likely the barbecue ones he always had on hand. The audacity to snack on junk food in the middle of a conversation about your existential crisis - you sometimes wonder how you and Jungkook became friends in high school. 

Then again, you were on the other end slurping the remnants of your hot cocoa. Maybe there was something going for the two of you.

“Think about it.” You’re reminded of that afternoon when Megan said the exact same thing. “You’re unmotivated. Why? Because you’re lonely. How do we fix that? You need to get laid-”

“-Emotionally. Emotionally laid-”

“-Yeah yeah, same difference. They go hand in hand,” Jungkook brushes off. “The point still stands. When was the last time you were in a relationship?”

You hesitate to answer. “I’ve never been in a relationship,” you mumble.

“I couldn’t hear you. What?”

“I said I’ve never been in a relationship,” you repeat with a sigh.

There’s a beat of silence. “You’re kidding.”

You shake your head, momentarily forgetting this is a phone call and not an in-person conversation where Jungkook can see you. Students begin to flood the sidewalks outside of the dorms, likely the last wave of students returning for their later classes. A girl - Megan, you realize after squinting - waves at you from across the street. You wave back, gesturing to her that you’re on a call. She nods and goes on her way to the dorm. 

You return your focus to the call. “No, not kidding.”

“I’m taking that lapse of silence as you actually having to think about it.” You roll your eyes, another gesture that Jungkook cannot see. “How? You’re telling me all four years of high school you never got with someone? Not even a fling? Not even that weird ‘talking’ phase kids do these days? What have you been doing all this time?”

Your mind immediately goes back to your high school graduation. “Valedictorian, weighted GPA of 4.8, Y/N Y/L/N, attending…” You remember the smile on your face as the principal handed you your diploma. You remember the smiles on your parents’ faces, the pride and joy in their eyes. That was when you knew it had all been worth it - no one but you, your parents, and your own pure ambition fueling your fire for the four years of high school.

Maybe the closest you got to any sort of romantic relationship was… with Jungkook.

You liked Jungkook before your brain could fully process it, denying it as platonic affection for the better half of three years as he took you under his wing your freshman year. It was comforting to have someone older than you help you navigate high school, but as much as you tried you could not view Jungkook as an older brother as he so claimed to be.

Of course, nothing was ever to happen. Jeon Jungkook was a boy entirely out of your league - star student, star athlete, poster child for all things good and right in the world - but most importantly, he was your closest friend. It was this label that helped set a boundary for your affections, and your crush became more of a pastime to delve into when you wanted a break from your studies. A fantasy that would never come true.

It wasn’t until he moved away for college your senior year that your crush subsided, hitting you like some sort of epiphany when he returned for his winter break. You had been beyond elated to reunite with your friend, but when you looked in his eyes it dawned on you that the weight of his words and actions no longer affected you as much as they did in the past.

That was your only stint with romance, and you were fine with it staying that way. Yeah, it was a fruitless endeavor, but look what you got out of it: a great friend! And only at the price of three years of unnecessary emotional turmoil and relentless unrequited pining. What a bargain.

“I’ve been busy with school, mainly.” It’s an insufficient summation of your high school experience, but it got the point across. Technically, it wasn’t a lie.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m proud of you and all - and I respect your decision to be single! Human rights and all that - but maybe it’s time for you to get into a relationship.”

You snap your fingers loudly enough to startle a group of guys walking past. You hope the grimace on your face is enough of an apology. “Oh my God, thanks Jungkook! Now that you mention it, let me just hit up one of the many young eligible bachelors pining over me, because there are so many right now.”

The feigned enthusiasm in your voice does not entertain Jungkook as much as you would have liked it to. “I’m sure there are, Y/N. There were plenty in high school.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” The playful smile you sport falls from your lips as he proceeds to dive into a list of names. 

“The one guy with the yellow hair… Yugyeom thought you were cute… Oh, Taehyung liked you too-”

“-Taehyung?” You gawk. “The Kim Taehyung. The guy two years older than you, editor of the yearbook and captain of the lacrosse team? The Kim Taehyung who was Prom King. Him?” It’s difficult to process a senior that you had regarded so highly had taken  interest in you in your lowly freshman year.

“Yeah, I know, right? I told him he was out of your league-”

“-Hey!”

“-But I said that out of jealousy. Heck, even I liked you at some point, Y/N. You’re quite a catch, just super oblivious.”

The reminder of your phone call with Jungkook consists of your disbelieving laughs and Jungkook’s reassurances that yes, that many people liked you in high school.

“I’m sure there’s plenty of people interested in you. You just have to see it for yourself first.” Oddly prophetic for someone who claims he could survive solely off of energy drinks and barbecue chips, but considering he was studying at an Ivy League, he had to have some credibility. You end the phone call possibly more confused than you had been before the conversation. Swirling the contents of your cup absentmindedly, you realize you’ve drunk all of your hot cocoa. All that is left at the bottom of your cup are the clumps of cocoa powder that hadn’t been properly stirred. The dregs. Of course.

You relay your findings to Megan the next day over a lunch of poorly cooked rice and under seasoned chicken. “Food crafted by the gods to remind us of our inferiority,” as Megan liked to call it.

She claps her hands like a seal. “So I was right!” She cheers over a mouthful of food. “You need to get laid!”

You’re a bit too late to cover her mouth, her ambiguous words now out in the open for others nearby to hear and assume the wrong thing. Glancing around, you’re relieved to find that no one seemed to notice, save for one boy at a nearby table surrounded by some of his friends. He gives you a look but you refrain from making eye contact.

“I feel like you and I heard different stories just now.” You keep your voice down. “Meg, I just found out my high school crush - debatably, my first love - liked me at some point when I liked him. Do you know how big that is?”

“Do you know how big that isn’t?” Megan shoots back. “Because nothing came out of it. You never acted on your feelings. And something tells me that even if this John Cook-”

“-His name is Jungkook, but okay-”

“-Even if he had acted on his feelings, you would never believe it.” Ouch. She really went for your lack of self-esteem right there, and that shit hurted. Regardless, she’s right, and you both know it.

“You know when we say this, we’re not trying to force you into anything you don’t want to do,” Megan clarifies. “I’m not saying you should get dicked down by the first guy who gives you attention, but wouldn’t it be nice to let someone - someone who genuinely cares for you - to let them into that dark and twisty mind of yours? God knows what’s going on up there.” She gestures to your forehead with her spoon.

Brushing aside Megan’s crude wording near the beginning, you’re at a loss for words. Unsure of how to respond, you mumble, “But there’s no one like that in my life. Other than you, that is.”

“Because you never let anyone close enough to truly know you. Just…” she pops another spoonful of rice into her mouth, “Just think about it.”

-- 

D-1 until your midterm. Nomenclature and ionic charges are now extremely familiar to you, having taken the spot from Megan as Number One Friend. And yet, you still haven’t successfully completed your flashcards.

Strong Acids. You suck in a deep breath, swerving in between groups of people as you make your way to the cafe. Walking quickly with your head down as the sure fire way of getting to any destination as quickly as possible. Okay Y/N, you got this… HCl, HBr, HI, HClO4… HNO3? You flip the card over and hiss. You were missing one more response. You truly hated it here.

The cafe is bustling with students on their laptops and scribbling away in notebooks, all likely studying for their respective exams. The scent of freshly ground coffee beans pervades the entirety of the interior, drawing you further inward until you’re standing at the cashier. 

“One tall vanilla latte, please.” You hand the girl behind the counter your money and stand aside to let the next person in line order. Once your order is called, you grab your drink - Ah, nothing like a fresh cup of capitalism to revitalize your motivation to study - and search for a place to sit. As if by the grace of God, someone leaves their seat at the barstools just as you turn around. Beautiful.

“Excuse me,” you tap the shoulder of one of the people next to the open seat. “Is this seat taken?” He shakes his head no, and you take that as your signal to sit.

You find yourself sandwiched between two young men, each immersed in their own studies. The one to your right, the one you had talked to briefly, appears to want no further interruptions, both earbuds in his ears. The one to your left never turned around to begin with, head down as he types away at his laptop. All you can make out are his broad shoulders in a brown leather jacket and a mop of strawberry blond hair. An interesting choice of hair color, but you weren’t one to judge. He’s nodding his head to some tune, and it’s only then you realize he has one earbud in. You wonder what kind of music a cute man like himself would listen to -

Get a hold of yourself, Y/N, you chastise yourself for showing sudden interest in a complete stranger. The day before your midterm at that - there was no space in your head for an unknown young man who was probably good looking, too - No! Focus. Flashcards. You fumble in your jacket pocket for your index cards.

Chemistry nomenclature, round fifty-six.

As you’re reviewing, you overhear the conversation proceeding next you with the cute guy and a girl. “Excuse me, is this seat taken?” The familiar words make you think of mere moments before when you were asking the same thing.

“It isn’t, but… you can’t sit there.”

Huh? 

“I’m sorry?” The girl seems to mirror your confusion.

“You can’t sit here. I’m sorry.”

“But someone else can?”

Your flashcards go ignored as you choose to eavesdrop on the full conversation. The man stalls, looking at the girl up and down. “... Yeah, maybe.”

Trying your best to not draw attention to yourself, you turn your head in slow, languid movements to look around. Was anyone else seeing this? Hearing this? Were you the next unsuspecting victim on an episode of What Would You Do? You were half expecting a game show host to step out and introduce himself at any moment. Y/N, you’ve just been Punk’d! 

Unfortunately (or fortunately, you couldn’t decide which scenario was better), no game show host steps out from behind a curtain, and it sinks in that this guy wasn’t joking. He was intent on not letting this girl sit next to him.

“Look,” the girl runs a hand through her hair, a habit of frustration, maybe. “I really need a place to sit and work on things, and this seat is open. That, and it’s a public space. So if you’ll excuse me-”

The young man easily lifts his backpack from his chair with one hand and places it in the open seat. “There. It’s taken now. Sorry.”

The girl’s eyes widen, and you can only imagine what your face looks like right now. You’re in just as much shock as she is. 

You scoff, and this time you don’t care if he hears. And he does: the stranger finally turns around in his seat to reveal an extremely attractive face. Chiseled jawline, deep brooding eyes, dimples even when he was scowling. You freeze and your breath hitches in your throat. It’s a shame he had to go and open his mouth.

“Excuse me,” you cut in sweetly, making a point to only make eye contact with the girl. “You can sit here. I’m about to leave.”

The girl’s eyes go wide at the addition of a third party. “Oh, no, you don’t have to! Thank you so much though.”

You shove your flashcards into your backpack and stand up from the seat. “No no, I insist, it’s fine. Besides, I didn’t want to sit there anymore.” Only then do you shoot a glare at the young man. “I couldn’t focus.”

Judging by the way the girl eyes the strawberry blond next to you, you think she doesn’t want to sit there anymore, either. Nevertheless, a seat was a seat. She thanks you profusely and you head out the doors and down the path to return to the dorms. 

Naturally your mind drifts back to the stranger. Who was he to have so much pride as to deny a seat to someone he didn’t know? A seat that wasn’t his, either? The thought that people like him exist irks you.

He was so good-looking, too, your subconscious proceeds to remind you. 

But alas, a jerk was a jerk, and at the end of the day you had far more important things to worry about than an indecent stranger whom you doubt you would see again. More important things such as -

Your phone rings with an alarm notifying you of your next scheduled event: Final Review B4 Exam! You sigh. Looks like it was back to the books (and flashcards) for you for the rest of the night.

It doesn’t hit you until you crash land into your desk chair: in your anger-fueled exit from the cafe, you had completely forgotten your barely touched vanilla latte sitting at the barstool counter. At this point you’re ready to tear your hair out at the roots. You’re five dollars and one fresh cup of caffeinated capitalism short for the night’s study session. You really hated it here.

If Megan were here, she would whip you into shape real fast, shouting at you that you’re a “Bad Bitch!” or some other expletive motivation that would comfort you. Except Megan isn’t here, attending some kind of club meeting, leaving you alone in the dorm. Another sigh escapes your lips and you tilt your head back to stare at the ceiling. 

Maybe, just maybe, you needed to follow through on this whole “getting emotionally laid” thing.

--

The midterm you had so diligently studied for was a success. Inorganic Chemistry A5 didn’t know what was coming when you rolled up with your beloved flashcards - all successfully completed, mind you - ready to fight. Needless to say you were able to enter the weekend with no qualms. You now had much needed time to recuperate and as Megan had said before, to “take a break” (among other things you were not going to address anytime soon). 

Some students recovered from the trauma of frequent exams via partying, deciding it was better to be under the influence in order to get over their academic standing. Some would meet up with their friends, maybe gossip about the latest episode of the hottest reality TV show. In your case, you decide to binge watch as many k-dramas as humanly possible. While you preferably do so in the comfort of your bed, tonight Megan has taken authoritative control over the dorm room. Meaning, she had a psychology midterm the following Monday and needed to be able to focus on nothing but the role of the amygdala without the OST of whatever drama you were watching in the background. You know for a fact if you were in the room minding your own business Megan would ultimately get distracted and join you in your k-drama marathon. Thus you are thrown to the streets with nothing but the clothes on your back and your belongings stuffed into your backpack.

You take extra care to avoid the puddles forming on the sidewalks, the result of on and off rain throughout the day. There are noticeably less people outside, and you have a feeling that any building you choose to house yourself in will be quite the opposite, likely packed with students. 

After milling about campus for a few minutes, you finally settle down in the Student Community Center - a fancy name for yet another building on campus where students could lounge about and study slash socialize. As predicted, there are significantly more people crowded in the lobby area of the two-story building. Your boots squeak against the tiled floor as you make your way down an inconspicuous hallway. Tile turns to carpeting when you step into an almost empty study room. Only a handful of people are present in the room, scattered across the tables and couches. No one ever bothered to check the rooms at the very ends of the hallways - only those more dedicated to being unbothered ever made it that far - and you were grateful for this as you settled down at one of the open couches.

Hotel Del Luna is the show of choice for the evening, and you cuddle up to the armrest of the couch as you press Play. You had watched this one before, having been forced to do so with Jungkook at its release. Curse him and his admiration for IU - some of the ghost scenes kept you up at night the weeks after watching. You much preferred the more lighthearted slice-of-life k-dramas, but following your phone call with Jungkook you were drawn to the darker show. Call it nostalgia, call it an attempt to relive the happy memories of the past, call it denial of reality, whatever.

You’re two hours into your binge watch when you notice an unfamiliar presence at your side. A boy, and a breathtaking one at that. When he had joined you, you’re not sure, but you catch him glancing at your laptop screen every so often. He doesn’t stick out too much, black hair hidden beneath a black baseball cap and similarly monotone attire with a black hoodie that was definitely way too big for him. Yet no amount of nondescript clothing could cover up his impeccable bone structure. This man had a jawline and a nose bridge that were to die for, and although you haven’t made eye contact with the stranger you’re already feeling self-conscious. There’s no way in hell you’re initiating any sort of interaction with him.

But there’s no need to worry, because the stranger does it for you.

You’re on episode three when there’s a gasp from beside you. “Lee Jun-Ki!” You crane your neck to see the stranger leaning over to watch your laptop screen. The work in front of him - whatever that mess of hieroglyphs and symbols was - is completely forgotten as he scoots closer. 

It’s not until you lean a bit away from him that he realizes his actions. “Oh, sorry. I kinda needed a break from studying or else I was gonna lose it.” His ears turn a bright pink as he explains himself. “Is it okay if I watch with you?”

“Uh…” Now that your full attention is on him, you give the stranger a proper glance-over. He was indeed studying, some sort of language of shapes and numbers that was foreign to you sprawled across his notebook in a variety of colors. Other than the all black attire (which was reasonable for college - wasn’t everyone attending their own funeral during exams season?), he didn’t look too shady… “Sure.”

“Sweet.” He extends a hand to you, pulling back the ginormous sleeve that threatens to hang over his fingers. “My name’s Jungwoo.”

You tentatively take his hand. “Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you Y/N. Are you a first year?”

You nod your head, and Jungwoo smiles. “Cool. Me too.” He moves back to his side of the couch, but quickly scoots back to sit directly beside you after he has shoved all of his work into his backpack. He settles beside you on the couch, slouching down similarly to you. “Alright, let’s do this.”

You crack a smile at the boy’s unabashed boldness. He immerses himself in the episode alongside you, clear adoration in his eyes whenever IU makes an appearance on screen. “You like IU, I take it?”

Jungwoo shakes his head. “Not half as much as one of my friends. He idolizes her. I just... look at her very respectfully.”

“Me too, actually,” you confess. “My friend forced me to watch with him. I usually watch happier things. My favorite is Weightlifting Fairy.”

Jungwoo’s eyes go wide. “I love Weightlifting Fairy!” His theatrical gasp attracts the attention of the few students nearby. This newfound information seems to make something click in Jungwoo’s head, because he wiggles all the more closer to you. “You’re quickly becoming my best friend, Y/N.”

“I’m a friend?” 

“Duh. This was established when you didn’t run away from me in fear when I was quite literally looking over your shoulder. And that’s happened before with other people. Twice.” He seems to feel the need to add in the last few details, much to your amusement. “Now shush. Lemme admire IU in peace.”

--

That interaction with Jungwoo is only the first of many, many more. While you’re the type to keep to yourself and not approach others, Jungwoo was the opposite. You’re only a bit surprised when he yells out your name from across the street a few days later, sprinting towards you with unbridled excitement on his face. The last time someone was that happy to see you was when your dog greeted you after returning home for the holidays.

“Good morning, Y/N! Where you headed? I have Material Sciences in an hour. I got time, so I’ll walk with you wherever you’re going!”

Much like your first encounter, you agree with some hesitance. Jungwoo seemed to not have a bad bone in his body, no ill intentions whatsoever. It was refreshing to be in the presence of someone who wasn’t already jaded by the world. 

As promised, Jungwoo walks with you to your destination, the coffeeshop, even waiting with you in the insufferably long line. You find out that Jungwoo is the same age as you, a Mechanical Engineering major, and is a part of some sort of club that allowed him to connect with upperclassmen of different majors but with similar interests.

“It’s called Nu Kappa Tau, everyone there’s really nice! I’ll bring you with me to the next social event.”

“Nu Kappa Tau?” You test out the syllables on your tongue. “Greek? Are you in... a fraternity?”

Your tone of voice insinuates something bad, and the way Jungwoo reacts quickly tells you he has a similar stance on the Greek life in college. That similar stance being that frat boys were vermin. “No, no no no no. It’s Greek, yes, but we are definitely not a fraternity. It’s more like… a social, cultural, and academic club?”

“Jungwoo. That’s exactly what a fraternity would say to make it seem like it’s not a fraternity.”

“Okay, but in this case we’re actually not a fraternity, I promise.” He tugs on your shirt sleeve and looks at you with pleading eyes. “You should come with me to the next event. It’ll be fun, and I’ll prove to you it’s not a fraternity. Please?”

You remain silent, eyes turning to the coffeshop’s menu. Even when your gaze is somewhere else you can sense the way Jungwoo is staring you down with those puppy dog eyes of his. This was what, the second time you were talking to him, and already he wanted to go to a social event with you? “I don’t know. You’re nice and all, but I’m not the type to warm up to people easily. I’ll have to hang out with you more first. No offense.”

Most people cower at your denials, retreat to more comfortable territory where there’s no fear of rejection. Jungwoo, however, beams at you. “None taken, Miss Y/N. You know why?” He pauses for dramatic effect, quirking an eyebrow in mischief. “Because that wasn’t a no.”

A few people in line crane their necks to peer at the two of you as a resonant smack rings out in the coffeeshop. 

“Ow - Y/N - Ow!” Jungwoo rubs at his upper arm. You know you didn’t hit him hard enough to elicit this sort of dramatic reaction, but it’s what he deserves. 

“You can’t use that logic, Jungwoo,” you scold, bag poised in the air ready for another attack. “The only means of consent is a yes. Say it with me. The only means of consent is a-”

“-Yes, yes, okay! I got it, I’m sorry. I sincerely apologize.”

--

Fast forward two weeks later, and you know Jungwoo a bit too well for your liking. Following your rejection of his offer, Jungwoo goes ahead and makes it a point to see you for at least an hour a day, weekends included, in order for you to “warm up to him.” Some days, it’s lunch shared in the cafeteria between classes. Other days it’s hours upon hours of studying together in the back of the library, you and Jungwoo taking shifts napping while the other crams for their classes. 

He forces - “heavily insists” - you to share your location with him on your phones, so it’s of no surprise to you when he starts showing up outside of your lecture halls after class. It’s when he’s walking you back from your last class of the day that you find that he lives a floor above you in the same building. Of course.

Dare you say it, it’s easy having Jungwoo in your life. He walks with you everywhere, always initiates conversation, and eats as many meals as possible with you - or as many as Megan allows. 

“Hey Y/N,” your roommate greets you with a warm smile which quickly turns into a steely glare when he acknowledges the young man standing by your side. “Ahem. Jungwoo.” 

If Jungwoo was a legitimate candidate for your mission of “getting laid,” Megan would be ecstatic. However, you explain to her that Jungwoo is nothing more than a friend, and suddenly Megan thinks he’s out to take her spot as Y/N’s Best Friend (insert trademark emoji here). 

“Megan, always a pleasure,” Jungwoo croons. If he’s perturbed by your roommate’s aloof greeting, he doesn’t show it, a smile growing on his face. Jungwoo turns to you. “See you at nine?”

You nod. “See you at nine. Bye.”

“Bye.” Jungwoo waves then walks down the hallway to the stairs. You wait until he’s out of sight to turn back to Megan, who has one eyebrow raised.

“What’s going on at nine?” She questions.

A defeated grin makes its way onto your lips. As much as you had been dreading what was to come, you couldn’t deny the excitement building up within you at the thought of something… new, for once in your life. “I’m going to my first party.”

--

Jungwoo, as promised, picks you up from your dorm room later that evening. He texts you an ominous message of i’m outside ur dorm lol for you to find him in the driver’s seat of a car far too expensive for any broke college student to own.

Hesitantly, you hop into the passenger seat and gingerly close the door. You’re not sure who he borrowed this from - or maybe it was a rental? - but you wanted to make sure you took no part in any damage fees he’d pay later. “I thought first years couldn’t have cars on campus.”

“I know. I’m a rule breaker, Y/N. I can’t be stopped… And maybe I borrowed it from a friend.”

Jungwoo insists on manning the aux, which you oblige to as you don’t trust your music taste to be liked by others. Something about the artist name Sergio Rachmaninov didn’t always hit well with the young folk these days. The queue starts up as he pulls out of the parking lot, a bass-boosted R&B song filling the expanse of the lush interior. 

“I’m going to warn you, this music queue is all over the place.” All over the place is correct, because after the R&B song finishes a ballad comes on, followed promptly by the song “Good Time” by Owl City. It’s a good song, a tolerable one, but after the second run, and third run, and even a fourth run you can’t help but wonder if the queue is glitching.

“Jungwoo.” He grunts in response. “Did you mean to put this song on loop?”

He shrugs. “What can I say? It helps me focus.”

You’re really questioning the sanity of the man behind the wheel.

Four and a half plays of “Good Time” (or fifteen minutes) later, you and Jungwoo arrive at your destination.

You audibly gulp. “Jungwoo. You are so in a frat.”

“No I’m not!” The man whines. “I swear!”

You and Jungwoo must not be looking at the same house, because the one you’re looking at is nothing less than a mansion: two stories, covering a wide expanse of vivid green lawn, with pillars on either side of the double-door front entry. Windows line the top and bottom floors, and hedges line the cobblestone walkway in the front. It looks like something out of a Southern period drama with the Victorian, colonial style architecture.

“You sure?” You can’t break your gaze away from the three enormous Greek letters placed above the entryway. “‘Cause no normal house emblazons the symbols of their group name across the front like that.”

As soon as you step foot in the door, you regret your decision to come. “Kim, I think I left something in the car-” 

You’re rudely interrupted by Jungwoo swinging an arm over your shoulder a bit too harshly. 

“Relax,” he reassures you. “My friends don’t bite. Only I do that.” You’re given no time to question that statement before he leads you further into the house.

If there’s one thing you can count on with Jungwoo, it’s his ability to socialize. It seems he knows everyone in the house, proven to you by the way he either nods his head or does a handshake with every individual present. He leads you to the kitchen where two guys are conversing, one looking like an overgrown man child and the other looking like… well, an actual child.

“Hey, look who finally decided to show up,” the much taller boy croons. “And he brought a friend.”

“Johnny, this is Y/N. Y/N, Johnny. He’s in his fourth year.” You shake hands with Johnny, who grins at you. He seems nice, other than the fact that he continues to stare at you through the duration of the handshake. Perplexed, you refuse to break his gaze.

Johnny is the first to look away, turning immediately to Jungwoo. “Oh, I like her. No one has yet to win my staring contest this year, other than you, Y/N. Congratulations.”

You force a laugh. “Thanks?”

Jungwoo steers you to the second boy, this one noticeably shorter - or was he still tall? Anyone standing next to Johnny seemed to be dwarfed in his presence - with dyed blond hair. He has a cap over his head and circle glasses, and you can’t help but think he looks awfully young to be at a frat-but-not-really house party.

“And this is Mark. He’s a fellow first year, but he’s our baby.” Jungwoo coos the last word, making Mark huff. Lowering his voice to a stage whisper, Jungwoo explains, “He was born in 1999, so we have a good year on him.”

You click your tongue. Ah, that explains why he looks so young. You deem Mark to be far more approachable than Johnny and shake the young boy’s hand eagerly.

“Where’s Peaches?” Jungwoo asks Johnny. The older boy shrugs. 

“I dunno. Not my problem.”

“Oh, I don’t think Jaehyun’s coming,” Mark cuts in. “Texted me saying something came up. Something about a paper due. Wait. Didn’t you take his car?” He points to Jungwoo, who shrugs with a look of Whoops, sorry on his face.

Johnny groans. “Oh, shoot. That’s right. We have a paper due tomorrow morning.” As quickly as the realization hits him, the worry is gone. “Eh. It’ll be fine.”

The three boys converse a bit longer, exchanging pleasantries and whatnot, before you and Jungwoo make your departure. The most that comes out of your mouth are feeble courtesy laughs and the occasional sarcastic quip to keep Jungwoo’s chaotic energy at bay. You wait until Jungwoo’s led you away to voice your thoughts. “What kind of name is Peaches?” You repeat.

“Right. One of the upperclassmen got the nickname because he smelled like them his first day of recruitment. Apparently he lives near a peach tree orchard or something. Therefore, he’s Peach Boy.”

You make a mental note of the phrase recruitment your friend uses. One day, you’ll compile a long enough list of evidence proving Nu Kappa Tau was a frat, and the word recruitment was one of them. “So what’s your nickname then?”

“Me? I’m not technically initiated yet,” - did this man use the word initiated? Yet another piece of evidence for the fraternity agenda - “but if I had to choose…” Jungwoo pauses and drums his fingers against his chin. “I’m Cheese Boy.”

You pause, letting his name sink in. The laughter bubbles up within you, threatening to spill out in a snort. It instead comes out as a strong exhale through your nose.

“Whatever, Cheese Boy,” you tease. “How much longer until I can go home?”

--

The next time you see the boys of Nu Kappa Tau is when Jungwoo drags you to yet another one of their events but a few days later. “This one’s right up your alley,” he insists. He also bribes you with the promise of buying your lunch, and the kabob food truck was on campus today, meaning you were eating well this afternoon. Making an appearance at his frat was but a small price to pay for your beloved meal of choice.

Jungwoo’s right - this event is up your alley, because you recognize the route he takes across campus. “The library?”

He nods. “NKT Study Hall.”

As you enter the building Jungwoo pulls you down an unfamiliar corridor then up a flight of stairs. An unspoken farewell is bid to your usual study spot by the second floor window as you continue up, up, up, until finally stopping at the fifth floor where no more stairs remain. You didn’t realize the library went up that high, and you probably frequented the building more than all of the boys combined - not that you knew any of the Kappa Tau boys yet.

Though they do look extremely threatening now that you’re standing in front of them.

Jungwoo brings you to stand in front of him. “Men and Mark Lee-” (“Hey!” Mark complains,) “-I introduce to you my partner in crime, Y/N.”

You give a feeble smile to the young men surrounding the table. You recognize a few of them from the party, Johnny and Mark being the only ones you can put a name to. The two wave to you and you feel a little more welcomed. Aside from the duo, everyone else is unfamiliar, giving you emotionless head nods and scowls.

“Y/N, you know Johnny and Mark, over there’s Lucas, and that’s Sicheng.” You nod at the two of them, who seem nice enough. The latter actually gives you a soft smile, so you consider that a win in your book. “And over at that table is Doyoung, Ten… You know what? I’ll just introduce you to everyone later. Have a seat.”

You trust your friend to guide you to the safest open seat, directly across from another empty chair at one end of the long table. Immediately you pull out your biology notebook and pens, hunkering down and getting to work without further notice. If you couldn’t feel welcomed by the boys at the table, you could at least get some decent studying done. You felt far more familiar with the speciation concepts in front of you than the actual human beings next to you. You allow your head to burrow itself closer to your notebook, dwelling in this small comfort in an environment of unfamiliarities.

The moment of peace doesn’t last long.

“Peaches!” Johnny’s bellowing voice makes you jump in your seat, your beloved biology notes neglected.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” Huh. You’ve heard that voice before. You can’t place where you know it from, but it causes a sneer to form on your face. Glancing up from your notes you can’t help the strangled gasp that leaves your lips.

It’s him. You’d recognize that faded pink hair and smugly complacent upturn of lips anywhere. That, and he’s holding a coffee cup that violently catapults you back to the incident from a few weeks ago in the coffee shop. You left your perfectly good vanilla latte behind because he made you mad, that jerk.

“Oh, Jaehyun.” Jungwoo leads the man to the open seat across from you. Pointing to you, he says, “This is Peaches - I mean, Jaehyun. Jaehyun, this is-”

“-Y/N, right?” Jaehyun interrupts with a grin. You lower your eyes at the dimple that forms when he smiles. “I believe we’ve met before.”

Jungwoo looks from your displeased state to Jaehyun’s smug smirk. “Uh, okay. Cool. Well then. I’m gonna go ahead and grab lunch, I’ll be right back.” You watch as Jungwoo beckons Johnny and Mark to join him, the only three familiar faces present at the table now leaving.

Jaehyun leans back in his chair, arms moving to rest behind his head. “Looks like it’s just the two of us.”

You weigh your options. You could recognize that the two of you have indeed met before, and try to get past your differences. Or, you could refuse to acknowledge Jaehyun’s presence a mere few feet across from you at the table and try your best to study until Jungwoo returned with your food, at which point you would then flee the scene as fast as your non-athlete self could. Only one of these outcomes enticed you, and it wasn’t the one that involved talking. 

“So, Y/N,” Jaehyun leans forward. The width of the table is enough to keep him at a safe distance from you, yet he’s still close enough to invade your personal space somehow. It’s suffocating, how whatever musky cologne he’s wearing wafts over to you - he smells nothing like peaches. “How’s your day been?”

“Fine.” You keep your eyes glued to your biology notes. Allopatric Speciation occurs when two populations of the same species become isolated from one another due to-

“Aw, just fine? That’s it?” His voice is low. With Jungwoo, Johnny, and Mark out getting food, you’ve been isolated at one end of the table with Jaehyun. Lucas and Sicheng are present as well, but both seem to be deeply immersed in their own studies. It’s just the two of you.

“Yep.” Allopatric Speciation occurs when two populations of the same species-

“C’mon, I’m sure someone like you has had at least one interesting thing happen today.”

Allopatric Speciation occurs when - Someone like you? What was that supposed to mean? You sigh, but refuse to look up from your notes. Allopatric Speciation-

“Are you a first year? I took that class last year. If you ever want notes or something-” Jaehyun jumps a little when you slam the notebook shut. Good. Serves him right.

“I don’t like you, Jaehyun.”

Jaehyun tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the end of his lips. “You don’t even know me.”

“I know enough.”

He leans in by resting his forearms on the table, leveling his gaze with yours. “I don’t think you do.”

“You know what I think? I think you’re distracting me.”

Jungwoo comes back at the most opportune time, wielding a kabob skewer in each hand - one untouched and the other halfway eaten. “One chicken kabob for Y/N.”

Deeming the conversation with Jaehyun at its end, you stand up from your seat and grab your backpack from the table. Jaehyun fixes you with an intense gaze but remains silent. Whether he was sizing you up or not you didn’t care.

The tension is palpable at the table, and Jungwoo clears his throat. “Did I interrupt something?” 

“No,” you respond quickly. Grabbing your food from Jungwoo, you give him an apologetic smile. “Something came up. I gotta go. Sorry, Kim. See you tomorrow?”

You despise this man. You don’t even know Jaehyun - he is nothing but a familiar stranger - but you despise him. Him and his ethereal appearance. Why were the terrible ones always the ones blessed with above average looks? Why’d he have to open his mouth?

“Wait.” You do not, in fact, wait, but instead continue marching forward. It’s not until the figure stands right in front of you do you stop. It’s Jaehyun. Holding your biology notebook in the air. “Don’t want to leave anything behind. Like last time, right?”

The last few words out of his mouth have your blood boiling and your fists clenching at your sides. That explained the foreign lightness of the bag on your shoulder.

“Oh, right, the vanilla latte.” You fake a cordial laugh. “You mean the time I was so desperate to get away from your insufferable presence that I left behind a perfectly good coffee? The time when you treated that girl as if she wasn’t a human being? That time you couldn’t be a decent enough human being that you were that disrespectful to someone you didn’t even know?” 

Jaehyun stands before you with an astonished smile and a hand frozen in the air. You pluck the notebook out of his grasp and stride away before he has a chance to respond.

“I’ll see you around, Y/N,” Jaehyun calls.

“I’ll see you around my ass,” you mutter under your breath. You’re willing to go out of your way to avoid interactions with Jaehyun, no matter what it takes.

a/n 2: hope you enjoyed part one of this series! it’s been a while since i last posted a fic on here so i apologize for my rusty writing skills. part 2 is projected to be posted in one week from now, but that’s tentative. we’ll see where life takes me and if i have the capacity to post in a week from now. in the meantime: stay safe! 💕

[tropiyas]

now that it's valentine's day, it's time for me to spend 30 minutes writing down my thoughts on love because it's not like i have anyone to spend this time with LOLMAO

how i feel right now? physically: a little unsatisfied with my body/health right now -- which i normally NEVER am. but then again I never let myself go as much as during the initial quarantine/lockdown. + also I just ate so much fried and cheesy food with my roommates yesterday during the superbowl so I feel like shit

BESIDES THAT i am actually feeling pretty okay in terms of my feelings or state of mind compared to how I felt on Valentine's Day 2 years ago:

I watched the Sonic Movie by myself (fun watch ofc) so I came back to my dorm feeling REALLY lonely because I didn't even have friends to invite to see it lol. And so I think I misattribued that to wanting a gf/bf and got tinder/bumble (was on it for a few months, with a tiny amount of likes and even fewer matches) but eventually decided it just wasn't for me. Went on net 2 dates from 2020-2022 and both of them were alright (friendly and polite but nothing really came of them)

BUT ALL THAT TO SAY I didn't/don't really want a partner right now I think I was just lonely as fuck in early college, and now I'm not because I have friends to hang out and spend time with! also I'm working on mingling and socializing more just to meet new people -- this is corny and romantic but I recently realized that i just do like meeting new ppl in general!

what I'm still trying to figure out is whether that's ^ just an inherent life approach I have where being friendly to people makes me feel better abt the world, or if it's subconsciously some sociopathic optimization i'm trying to do like "if i know more people, i'll increase the odds of me finding someone who i love & loves me" which seems selfish and ingenuine so I try not to think about it too much :/

last bit, focusing more on my thoughts on "love" (beyond friend/familial love, I'm fortunate enough to have that in my life)

3 bullets to discuss, on 1) not really feeling Loved/Wanted 2) my reaction to that and 3) how I feel abt loving other people

- growing up I had a decent sense that everyone liked me but nobody LIKE liked me or was interested in me beyond being a friend/acquaintance. i never made any enemies and most people were super nice to me bc I'm polite to them, BUT no one's ever had a crush on me or asked me out and that felt (still feels) kind of abnormal of me looking around at my peers/friends. I guess i'm not conventionally attractive, or something about my personality is just that uninteresting 😔. so somewhere down the line of late high school (after having told 3 ppl i liked them and getting a no each time) I basically came to the conclusion "i'm just nobody's type, I'm fine with being single forever as long as I got friends/family" and I definitely still hold that mentality which is lame and stupid, now that I'm re-reading what i just typed

- despite no one loving me, i've never felt entitled to it and I still don't get how guys get redpilled about it (shoutouts to having a decent family/high school friend group that kept me grounded)

- it's kind of unpredictable when I fall for someone it's happened like 2-3 times BUT despite that i LOVE loving people. Literally when i have a crush on someone, food tastes better, days seem brighter, and everything seems better when I'm around them or thinking abt them and it's honestly a really cool and fun way to enjoy life. it's been a minute since i've last felt that way, maybe the next time it happens in my life it actually lines up and the feelings are mutual (fantasy land)

In conclusion: happy valentine's day to me (i will always love myself) and also everyone who decides to read this (parasocial thank you for taking the time out of your day to read this). maybe next year i'll have someone to give flowers to :P

[elucere]

Sad Late August Quarantine Thoughts 2.0

Last year, I wrote this. Basically my thoughts on how I felt in my life up to that point and what quarantine had illuminated. It felt cathartic then, so hopefully it’ll feel cathartic now. A part of that probably had to do with the fact that the last part was complete bullshit, but we’ll get into that later.

At nearly the slightest inconvenience now, I’ll say “I’m at my limit”. Technically, that isn’t really true because if I was really at my limit, at the next inconvenience I would completely lose it. But no, I’m just simply reminding myself that while I’m constantly met with a series of unfortunate events, I haven’t broken down yet. I might feel like I’m there, but I’m not. I’m just at my limit. Things are bad, but they aren’t the worst they could be yet. So keep in mind, I am very much at my limit as I’m writing this.

Last year I talked about my struggles with my job. Yeah, I got fired in February. It was not pretty either. I knew I wasn’t doing well performance wise, and they invited me into a zoom call that they said was a project meeting a week before my year anniversary and fired me. My supervisor (or I guess, ex-supervisor) cried on call. I didn’t cry until afterwards. It was an entire year of me trying to get better, him promising that it’ll come with time, and then getting sacked because “we didn’t see improvements”. Really, really fucking sucked. And it messed with me for a long time because I kept replaying those last few weeks, trying to decipher what I could’ve done differently to prove my worth and keep my position. There was a lot. I felt really guilty.

I think the worst part is that I got a performance warning in December and realized at that point I’d become so apathetic about my job that I needed professional help. I’d been trying to go to therapy for a long time, but it never panned out. My mom forbade it when I was in high school, it was practically impossible to get an appointment at my college’s mental health facility unless you were considered a threat to yourself and others (which I most certainly did not want on my record), and after school life happened so fast with the pandemic and the fact that I live in a 2 bedroom apartment with my mom and my brother with very little privacy. Even now that I’ve convinced my mom that therapy is okay, actually, she still highly disproves and sees it as some sort of psychological failing on my part. Which is. Sure. Whatever. Why not.The reason I did not enroll in therapy that December is actually because my dad lost his job and with it, his health insurance, and with that, my health insurance. That means I had to enroll in a health plan through my employment, which became an unanticipatedly long process. I actually got my new-but-useless health insurance card in the mail a few days after I got fired. They actually fired me on the last day of the month, so my benefits wouldn’t extend beyond that month. That’s a bit of fun irony.

To quite a few of my friends, this story solidified the idea that insurance=therapy. As soon as I got insurance again, I’d be able to finally get some help. This was a couple of people’s first response to me when I got hired again (yay, I know I don’t have to worry about that anymore but I’m also afraid that I’ll just inevitably be fired again so I don’t let myself have the victory). I know my friends only want the best for me, and I can’t expect them be able to emotionally support me like a professional, but I’m afraid that they think that therapy will  be some sort of magical fix of sorts. I don’t mean in the sense of just getting better mentally, but I think being a tolerable person. I know that sounds like I’m just being self-depreciating, but let me explain.

A few years ago I was at dinner with one of my friends. I don’t remember exactly what we were talking about, but she goes “name three things you actually like” because I was probably being negative or something. I said a few things and whatever, but that comment stuck with me for a long time. I thought it was especially poignant or something. Am I so unhappy all the time because I fixate on things I don’t like? It could be connected to the attitude of social media to be outwardly negative. Casual wisdom, you know.

Well, that was the fact until I was out with that same friend and we visited Barnes and Noble. I’ve been doing quite a bit of reading this year and got more involved in the book community, so I have many Opinions. Some are good, some are bad, some are just me being annoying. After an hour of browsing the shelves, we drive home. I start talking about a series I really like in the car and she goes “It’s nice to hear you talk about a book you actually like.” Which kind of stunned me because I had just did a lot of talking about books I liked. How happy I was that kids were still reading Rangers Apprentice, going out of my way to see how many Brandon Sanderson books I could find in the Adult Fantasy section, and more reminiscing in the Young Adult section about books I liked recently or as a teen. The truth is, I talk about stuff I like all the time to people who will listen. Ask me about my favorite books! My favorite movies! My favorite musicals! I promise I will not shut up. It’s one of the few things I have that lift my spirits when I talk about it, I just don’t get the opportunity to much because it’s hard to find people who want to listen.

The thing is, I’m naturally a critical person, I think. I love tearing things apart, in good and bad ways. I also love gossip. I’m an okay gossip, but I know at this point that I’m a good critic. I’m really good at identifying faults and commenting them on an insightful or constructive way. I edit a lot of my friends’ writings for this reason. I don’t find that to be anything negative, it’s just something that’s interesting to me. Basically what I’m saying is, what if it’s not mental illness and I’m just annoying and I’ll not be able to meet the expectations of other people’s idea of progress for me and I’ll be a disappointment. I’m kind of tearing up while typing that out while listening bopping to Disturbia by Rihanna but this is the third time I’ve been on the verge of crying today so yaknow maybe it is just mental illness.At this point, I can either talk about criticism in relation to the particular way I dish it, or I could talk about how I want to receive it. I think the former will take less time to elaborate, so I’ll start with that.

I mention last year how I got an unpaid gig as a critic for DiscussingFilm. Embarrassing at times, I joke with my friends that “DiscussingFilm Writer” is a slur, but it’s cool at times as well. I got a press pass to go to Sundance and gorged on an entire family sized bag of peanut M&Ms while I watched like 14 movies in one weekend. I’m trying to say positive things about this until I start ragging to prove that I’m not an overwhelmingly negative person, but I don’t think that’s working well. Whatever. The point is, if I didn’t like it I would quit, but if I did quit it wouldn’t be because I didn’t like it. It would because there was an…event. I had quite a falling out with one of the higher-ups that run the site and in response my work has taken a hit. I won’t go into too much detail, but I don’t get assigned anticipated releases anymore. My work is often delayed going out and, in turn, I feel less motivated to turn in my work on time. And then on top of that, it’s rarely promoted. I have examples on top of examples, but this stupid thing is getting long enough. To summarize the DiscussingFilm situation, I feel like shit. I have one of the lowest view counts on the site. I’m told that my work is good and it’s valued, but not enough to get reposted, I guess! Why bother. And also because the person I do not work well with is quite up in the food chain, I’ll never see a promotion. I wanted to become an editor so bad (I do editing on the side for my friends and enjoy it), but now it will never ever happen. I don’t have the opportunity to prove myself, it’s just completely off the table by nature of leadership. Ass. Complete ass. I’m doing quite a bit of work for DiscussingFilm including creating the standard for the Instagram, making graphics for the Instagram, performing interviews and writing reviews for the site, and co-hosting a DiscussingFilm branded podcast, and I will never see neither a dime for my work or recognition in any meaningful or significant way. I don’t have a say in anything, and I feel like an insignificant cog whose opinion does not mean much.

I still get insecure with my reviews, but not as much anyways. Sure, I can’t compare to the great writers at trades who do this for a living and have been doing so for years. But, I am better than a lot of writers at my level. Sometimes I try pitching to other publications, but so far I’ve only been met with rejection. It kinda stings to know that my work is not worth enough to be paid for, but I’m kinda over it. I still pitch. I try my best. That’s the thing about me, I just keep going. Rejection hurts like a bitch, but whatever. I don’t want to quit just yet, so I guess I won’t. There isn’t anyone in my corner who’s actively spurring me to keep going, I’ve just decided that I’ll get paid for my work one day and so now I will.This connects with the criticism I want to receive which unfortunately very much is not of the nonfiction variety. Ew I fucking hate talking about this but I need to get it off my chest.

After I got fired, I was slipping into quite a bit of a depression. I started a podcast at this time with my friend to try and prevent that, but I knew that I probably needed another project. I wasn’t watching movies anymore, DiscussingFilm was not publishing my shit, and all I was doing all day was reading (which I don’t anymore, I’m in a slump and it’s definitely connected to the idea I have in the next sentence). So I had the brilliant idea of “hey, I could do that. I could write a book. I should do it to do it.”You see, this has not been my only attempt at writing a proper book. I tried when I was 13, I tried when I was 15 and into online literate roleplay, I tried when I was 18 by doing NaNoWriMo in college (also, I was actually more depressed then). I also tried to get into a short story class in college that you had to submit a story to get into and didn’t even make it on the waitlist. Nothing stuck. But hey, I was unemployed and I came up with a funny premise that I wasn’t too attached to, so why not?

The book is not funny. It was supposed to, but it’s changed a lot. I’m very comfortable writing in camp. It’s difficult because I know sometimes I have my moments, but often I don’t. I also chose to write it in a genre I’m not super familiar with (Young Adult contemporary, I read Young Adult and Adult fiction primarily). I didn’t expect it to be easy, but the things I thought would come easily did not come easily. I have a lot of male friends, so I could certainly write the male characters as real people, right? Right? I’m funny, so the humor would come across well, right? Did I anticipate that after years of pretty much only analyzing films critically I’d subconsciously structure my story using dialogue-driven storytelling similar to a screenplay? No! Not at all, actually! This journey of self-discovery has been ass at every corner!

I recognize that first drafts are shit and authors hate their writing, but also I’m built different, your honor. By 15k words in, I realized I needed an outside perspective. I hated my own writing and I was afraid none of the characters were coming off right. I needed feedback, and I still do. But I hate being perceived. As long as no one reads my writing, they think that I know what I’m talking about and value my opinion on their writing, but once they figure out I’m just an Imposter then it’s game over. They’ll lose respect for me. Logically, I know this isn’t how this works, but I feel physically nauseous whenever someone reads my writing.

Anyways, back to my much-needed criticism. To make a long story short involving several English teacher that caused me to quit pursuing writing altogether in my formative years and decide to switch to a STEM track, I have very little tangible self-awareness of my own writing and how to improve it. I need the outside feedback, or at least I did. I’m 60k words into my first draft now and I’m cripplingly self aware of all my errors, but it feels too little too late. 60k words are a lot of words, and it feels not great knowing that most of them are trash. I really needed this kind of feedback earlier in the process so I could make tweaks early on. I know that writing is like a muscle and you need to work it out and practice to get stronger, but fuck man, FUCK. 60k words is a LOT of words. And I still need people to read it and give me feedback and I’m literally willingly asking people to read shit. It’s so humiliating. I guess I’m just at a point where I wish I could look at it and find something of value in what I’ve written.

I see other authors and I get so jealous. At their confidence, at their lyricism, their mastery of the art, their enthusiasm for their story, their love of their characters. I don’t have that. I’m not even talking about imposter’s syndrome. I know what that feels like. This is something else. I just wish I was the kind of person who could openly be creative without wanting to die. I’m 100% sure if I could be enthusiastic about the story I want to tell, the entire thing would be better. It’s crazy how I noticed that I’m not writing any metaphors into realizing that’s directly connected with my inability to be vulnerable and that I’m detaching myself from my work. That, and the fact that I’m fucking shite at writing metaphors apparently.

It also doesn’t help that I don’t have a writer group of friends and very little people to talk about this with, none of which are like… enthusiastic. It’s not their fault. I attract people into my life who are very much like me. They’re supportive and wonderful but I need someone who’d be excited to talk to me about it. I just feel like such a huge burden all the time. Everytime I bring it up I feel terrible, but it’s occupying so much of my brain space and I have no outlet. But also, getting that group of friends would require me to be vulnerable online and be willing to share what I have so far which I might actually throw up.I think it’s very fun that “crying and throwing up” has become a saying on Twitter considering that I’ve counted a countless amount of times this year and thrown up from stress four times since last November. It might also be connected to coffee consumption, but if that’s true I’m ready to off myself because coffee is one of my few joys. Honestly, it’s probably a mix of both. I’m very healthy, very much okay.

I don’t know. Last year, I ended my little essay on a hopeful note. Here’s the thing, this may seem like very much just stream of consciousness bullshit but there is quite a bit of structuring I do and omissions I make. I didn’t talk about my struggles reconnecting with people and subsequently taking their irregular replies, because there’s a lot to get into there. There’s a lot I could’ve talked about, but no room. There’s a very specific flow, and I feel like any story, it needs a conclusion. So last year, through tears, I wrote a hopeful ending. It was as much for me as it was to the people reading it. Unfortunately, I don’t have it in it for me to conclude in the same fashion this time around.

The truth is, I need to feel okay. I need to feel like I’m good at something, anything, and be recognized for it.

Life is suffering and I’m just constantly going through the motions. I promise you, this stupid thing is 3k words and the second I’m done I’ll go back to working on my b**k even though today I literally started crying thinking about how shit it is. I’m just a tenacious individual. I persist. I don’t feel good about it, and I’m done with being genuinely hopeful, but there’s nothing to do but keep moving. I don’t know if my writing will get better or if I’ll ever get published or if this story is worth it. I don’t fucking know anything and I feel like shit. But what else am I going to do? I’ve been holding onto this hope that I’ll feel better about things for just so long and it hasn’t happened. But I’m not giving up lmao I’m just working with what I have. I am at my limit.

[richincolor]

SomeThoughts about Netflix's Shadow & Bone

This past Friday, the highly anticipated Shadow and Bone series premiered on Netflix and fans of the Grishaverse all over the world logged in to watch their favs come to life. There was much discussion of the inclusion of numerous characters from throughout the Grishaverse and that diversity was a focus in the casting of the show, especially Jessie Mei Li who is biracial, therefore changing the main character’s ethnicity to biracial Shu Han. Unfortunately, that decision didn’t pay off to well due to the showrunner’s handling of Alina’s ethnicity. Twitter blew up as people shared their hurt and warned others about what to expect.

I had planned to watch the show and happened to see one such warning before I watched the series so I was prepared. I watched a couple of episodes, then called it a night. The next morning I was unsettled and reached out to my fellow contributors here on Rich in Color. No one had seen it yet, but Jessica said she was planning to as well. As we chatted, I felt that our conversation should be shared with our readers, so Jessica and I decided to write our thoughts down and have a conversation after she watched a few episodes herself.

Oh, and spoilers abound!

First off, before we dive into this conversation: Have you read the Grishaverse series? How much did you know about the story going in?

K. Imani: As everyone knows I love fantasy so I’m open to reading all sorts of fantasy books. I read the Shadow & Bone series a few years ago and enjoyed it. When the Six of Crows duology came out I read those too and actually enjoyed those better than the original series. Why - more diversity? It also expanded the world and the different perspectives of “Grisha” like folk from other cultures. It was very clear from the writing that Bardugo realized her first series was very lacking in diversity and worked hard to change it. I actually re-read both series during quarantine, so I had a fair idea of what the Netflix series would be about.

Jessica: I’ve actually never read a single Grishaverse book! I know, shocking. I only knew two things about the series going into the show: 1) Six of Crows is a heist book? 2) Ben Barnes is a person who exists.

The cast announcement for any show is always so exciting, and Shadow and Bone was no different. How did you feel about the casting -- before and after you watched the show? What did you think was done well, and what did you think could be improved?

K. Imani: Before watching the show I was actually a bit confused about some of the casting choices. I didn’t understand why 3 of the main Six of Crows characters were in the show and I honestly did not make the connection to Alina and Mal being biracial. Knowing that the Grishaverse is “Russian-based” and knowing that some ethnic Mongolians are considered Russian I just found it cool that the show cast a person who didn’t fit a Russian stereotype. Oh boy was I way off! Overall I was pleased with the casting and think all the actors did a great job. I liked the few changes they did make with casting actors of colors for other roles to round out the diversity of the world.

Bringing it back to Mal, I was confused as to if he was supposed to be coded as biracial. I missed the reference in the show, but I did read somewhere that he was supposed to be as well and that is what bonded him to Alina. If that’s the case, then how come Alina was the only person to experience racism? That thought continues to sit on my heart because it shows that the writers did not really think through how they wanted to express racism and included it for the wrong reasons.

Jessica: My reaction was basically, “I’m happy that other people seem happy!” since again, I had no context for the show. Casting on Netflix shows often seems to be a case of “cool, this is some exciting casting… but definitely could be better and even more intentional.”

K. Imani: “More intentional” That is the word right there! Making a story more diverse is wonderful and fully reflects the world we live in, however if you just randomly do it without thinking it through it comes off as insensitive. I know Leigh Bardugo used this show as an opportunity to make her story better (and I do not begrudge her of that fact) but when one doesn’t think it through, the criticism that is being expressed is a direct result.

Jessica: Sidenote -- I ended up watching a booktube video titled “Darker Jesper, Fat Nina, Shadow and Bone Casting Thoughts” on booktube channel Chronicles of Noria about the casting. Highly recommend checking it out. I also recommend this profile on Jessie Mei Li, who talks about being gender nonconforming.

Did any changes in the Netflix adaptation stick out to you? Were there changes you liked or disliked?

K. Imani: My favorite part of the adaptation is how well the show runners included the Six of Crows characters into the narrative. The storyline completely worked for me and connected the two stories together. I really enjoyed the Arken storyline (and the character tbh) as it was used to flesh out the world of the Grishaverse, which made the series much more interesting. I also liked the change of making Ivan and Fedyor a couple instead of just Darkling’s henchmen as it humanized them and actually made me like Ivan because they were so cute together. Though how that will come into play after the events of Episode 8 will be interesting. I’m a sucker for the Enemies to Lover trope so I loved that Nina’s & Matthia’s story of how they came together was included here. In either Six of Crows or Crooked Kingdom (I don’t remember), it was told as a flashback, but I loved that it was moved here as their “origin story”, so to speak, and how it connects to the events of the Alina timeline.

What I didn’t like...the casual racism. It really bothered me and left me sad the next morning. For example, a certain poster shown in the first episode had me physically cringe and I was upset that 1)  the production designers even created it and 2) no one, at no point, said that was a bad idea? Come on! It was horrible to see and I can imagine the hurt an AAPI would experience seeing that. And then, it got worse. Racial slurs thrown around a couple of times in the first couple of episodes to show that Alina is an outsider. They were jarring and took me out of the narrative. Having read the books I knew there was tension between the Ravkans and Shu Han, so I could understand what the show runners were trying to do, but it was actually never explained in show, hence making the racism feel random and just there for shock value.

Jessica: I saw tweets going around alluding to the racism Alina (and other characters to a less frequent extent) faced, so I braced myself for it. I’m only a few episodes in, and the instances so far were brief… but it just didn’t feel right. The foundation for this portrayal of racism wasn’t laid properly. And if the work of laying the foundation and really digging into what it means for the overall worldbuilding doesn’t happen… then why include it at all? Especially if it might be painful for certain viewers? I’m sure harm wasn’t the intent, but that’s the impact. Why not leave it out and let the show be escapism?

K. Imani: Jessica, the eyes comment took me out, not gonna lie. I audibly screamed. Anyone who has experienced a racist comment based on their looks felt that in their gut which is horrible when watching a show for escapism.

Jessica: Yeah, the eyes and rice-eater comments were especially frustrating. On top of it being a reminder of the racism Asians experience daily… it doesn’t make much sense. Like, canonically, do people in Ravka not eat rice? An American’s conception of racism isn’t necessarily going to make sense in a (Imperial Russia-inspired) fantasy world. But maybe I’m missing something since I didn’t read the original books.

And the eyes comment… whoof. When I was a kid, other kids would make fun of my eyes and ask me to, like, count seagulls because surely, I couldn’t see out of my eyes… And the other kids were also Asian! Internalized racism is so real. It’s disappointing that Shadow and Bone would include this experience as, I don’t know, discrimination flavor text. Surely there were better ways to portray discrimination that made sense within the Grishaverse…

Ellen Oh really said it so well: “If a writer is going to show racism against Asians, it's important to balance it with the beauty of all that makes us Asian also.” Where is the balance? Where is the nuance? Even if Alina’s Shu Han mother isn’t alive, couldn’t Alina have had a treasured Shu Han pendant? Just spitballing here. There were so many possibilities.

K. Imani: Exactly. I agree with Ellen and unfortunately there is no balance. That’s what makes it so hurtful. The focus is on how bad it is that she’s biracial and how bad the Shu Hans are for no specific reason. Because Alina is an orphan and grew up in Ravka, she unfortunately has no connection to Shu Han culture (or at least what is shown on screen) so all that she identifies as is Ravkan who just happens to look like a Shu Han person, but she doesn’t exhibit any pride in being Shu Han. Her ethnicity is just another obstacle to overcome which is all the more cringeworthy and why having Alina be biracial just to be biracial without thinking it through ended up being so problematic. Having her be biracial and using casual racism as an “obstacle” that she has to overcome is such a shallow interpretation of racism and shows the writers didn’t do the work to really think about the why the racism exists.

In addition to talking about what was done well and what went wrong or felt off about certain representation, it’s important to look at the “how.” How did this happen?

Jessica: I read on Twitter that one of the show writers is Korean and biracial -- which is awesome! I was really heartened to hear that. But at the same time, this highlights how important it is to have multiple marginalized voices in the room who can speak with some level of expertise. I don’t know the decision-making process that went into including this sort of surface-level, simplistic version of real world racism, but I wonder if anyone, at any point, said “is there a more nuanced and original way to portray this?” or “how will this affect Asian viewers?” Did someone bring it up, and they were overruled? What happened?

This absolutely isn’t a judgment on the Asian writers or staff on the show. When I’ve done collaborative writing, there were times I caught an issue and said “we need to be more sensitive about this” -- and there were other times when my teammates pointed out something I didn’t notice. It happens! That’s why it’s so important to have multiple marginalized perspectives when creating something -- especially when it’s a work as impactful and far-reaching as a Netflix show. Placing the burden of complex, nuanced representation on one, or a scant handful, of marginalized creators is just not going to work… and it’s not fair to the creators, either.

Frankly, this is a problem in so many industries -- film, publishing, games... there are so many “diverse” shows, games, etc with all-white or majority white teams. Good, nuanced representation can only happen when BIPOC / marginalized creators are the majority and have power behind-the-scenes. (This is why I’m really excited to watch the show Rutherford Falls -- half the writers room are Indigenous writers, as is the co-creator!)

K. Imani: Exactly! It’s great that one of the writers is biracial and Korean, but if she’s the only one how much input did she really have? I’m by no means knocking her experience but, say for example, that particular poster in the first episode. No one else behind the scenes found it problematic? There are many steps to a production process and that poster, if there had been more diverse voices present on the production staff instead of just 1 writer, would have been flagged as a huge problem and redone. The poster was supposed to be a “short cut” to show Ravkan/Shu Han tension but instead it came off as so profoundly racist and unnecessary. There are many other non-racist ways to explore the tensions between the two countries that could have been explored instead of just jumping to racism. And...as someone on Twitter pointed out, we never see the tension between the Ravkans and the Shu Han, but we openly see fighting between the Ravkans and the Fjierdans, so why were they not vilified to the same extent?

Jessica: Right. I’m definitely not saying racism can’t be portrayed in fantasy ever. But if you’re going to do it, make it make sense within the world. Don’t just use it as shorthand for “this character is Other.” I mean, experiencing racism isn’t what makes me Asian…

K. Imani: Boom! I’m going to repeat that for the people in the back...experiencing racism is not what makes a person Asian or Black, and if you are going to have racism in a work of art, be sure to provide balance to show all the other aspects of a person of color’s life.

Since we’re talking creators behind-the-scenes… which YA fantasy books by Asian authors do you think would make great Netflix shows or movies?

Jessica: I’ve got a list about a mile long, but I’ve cut it down to my top four:

These Violent Delights by Chloe Gong

Forest of a Thousand Lanterns by Julie C. Dao

The Tiger at Midnight by Swati Teerdhala

The Epic Crush of Genie Lo by F.C. Yee

You’re welcome, Netflix execs who are totally reading this blog. Hop to it!

K. Imani: I second the Tiger at Midnight series! I loved the first two books and can’t wait for the conclusion in June. While not YA, the City of Brass series would make an excellent Netflix series. Anything Maurene Goo writes would be fun rom-coms (because we need those too!).

Jessica: I mean, with To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before complete… Netflix clearly needs to start adapting Maurene Goo’s books.

K. Imani: Yes, the people demand it! I don’t care which book, just grab one of them and get the production started.

On a final note, I do want to say that despite the criticism the show rightly deserves, there was much about the show that was enjoyable. The storytelling was strong and moved at a good pace, the costuming was on point, special effects worked seamlessly into the narrative, and even small touches such as how the Grishas used their small science was visually interesting. Book adaptations are always hard to pull off well and the Shadow and Bone production team did a good job overall. Their intention towards adding more diversity is a step in the right direction, but just didn’t do enough. Let’s hope they learn from their mistakes and improve for season 2.

[newobsessionweekly]

Quarantine games🌿

a/n: someone asked for this, I hope I didn’t let you down. I honestly don’t know where that came from. I have a strange mind and even stranger imagination. So, enjoy! 🌿

warning: maybe language and some explicit stuff. word count: 2.305

Arón Piper x reader 🌿

There are so many things going on in the world right now that you can’t even keep the step up with them. First, Italy confronts with this virus-thing and then you heard numbers too big for you to understand. More than nine hundred of deaths in one day in Italy, those news gave you goosebumps. Then you heard the news about Spain having a bad situation as well. You’ve been carefully every time, but this couldn’t keep you inside for more than four days, otherwise you’d go nuts. So when your best friend, Miguel, called and said that he and some friends wanted a gathering to watch together the new season of Élite, you accepted immediately. Inside Jorge’s apartament in Madrid were nine people and a cat, and the place was almost overcrowded. Two episodes and thirteen songs later, the news about a total lockdown and Spain being closed, gathered you in front of the TV. You are not allowed to leave the house , except for emergencies so even if you tried, you couldn’t reached your apartament, is like in the opposite side of Madrid.

“It’s not a big deal, right? We can get over this together.” Jorge told you and it was an subtle invitation to stay over. And you did stayed. The truth is, you were afraid of this situation and you didn’t want to get through this alone. You weren’t the only one thinking like that so you decided to manage this situation together. Danna was supposed to fly back in Mexic to be with her family, but the flight was cancelled. 

 Though you knew this people before, staying so many days together, you got to know them even better, for example how are they in their private space. A few days later, you finished the last season of Élite and all the food in the apartament. Day five of quarantine bring a bore bigger than the Empire State Building. You slept almost all day and ate, ghosting here and there. Danna let you borrow some clothes from her luggage but today you only could find dresses and fancy clothes. 

“Can somebody borrow me a t-shirt or something?” Ester just washed the laundry and now you need to wait them to dry. You weren’t the only one who wasn’t prepared for so many days away from home, you packed, just in case, for three days. Miguel, Omar and Álvaro weren’t prepared as well, but gladely they could count on Jorge and Arón. The latter was supposed to go visit his father’s family in Germany, but his flight was cancelled as well so he got stuck with you.

“I think I still have some clean ones in my baggage. You can look and take anything you like.” Arón responded from the window frame. He smokes too much when he is bored. And drinks. It’s already the third beer and the night just started. But you don’t want to say anything because it’s none of your business. You must addmit he is the one that caught your attention since the day one. You stalked him on Instagram a few days ago, trying to find something about him, maybe some pictures with a girlfriend or anything, but it´s nothing much. He keeps his life privately and that’s a thing you admire most at him. 

Surprisingly, he has an ordonate luggage and you find rapidly a t-shirt. He had many from expensive brands. You loved one shirt from Monclair, and said “why not?”, he said you could take anything you like. You screamed “Gracias, Arón!” and went for a shower.          

----------

After a warm shower, the anxiety started to spread from your body. When you dressed Arón’s t-shirt, a strage feeling attacked you and made you stare at the image in the mirror. You are wearing a shirt that isn’t yours, is a hot boy’s shirt, which fits you strangely perfect. And this smell... the smell of his cologne haunted you these days, but now is closer than ever and you can enjoy it without raising question marks from anyone. However you wished you could smell it from Arón while he is hugging you. “Nonsense, I am getting nuts!” you thought. But this handsome man would help your fantasies only growing day by day. You shooked your head and walked out of the bathroom, just to found everyone sitting round the coffee table.   

“Finally, we thought you died inside and we were just tossing a coin to see who had to rescue you.”  Miguel laughed and made some space for you to sit next to him.

“Good choice, that one is my favourite!” Arón winked at you and took a sip from a cocktail. 

“Ah, lo siento, I didn’t knew! I can change it if you want.” you said quickly, panicked. He smiled at you and waved his hand as in “keep it”.

“So, the rules are simple. Truth or dare. You don’t make any of them, you receive a punishment, alright?” they decided to play this game to animate a little this flat. All day you almost ignored each other and it wasn’t a wise movement. The depression started to fill in and Jorge, because it was his idea to keep all of you there, was feeling responsable for you bad mood. You played Poker three nights in a row, then “Uno” and even “Activity”. You won at Poker and made Arón kinda mad, but unfortunately lost at the other ones. You and Miguel are not a good pair for games. Jorge spinned the empty beer bottle which pointed Álvaro.

“Aye, amigo, truth or dare?” Jorge smiled wickedly.

“Truth.” Álvaro’s response came and everyone mumbled “chicken” at him. He rolled his eyes and waited for a question.

“What scene did you like filming the most?”

“That sex scene in the pool with you and Georgina.” the answer came and the laughs didn’t waited to burst. Then Álvaro had to dare Mina. “Drink that beer from one sip.” And Mina didn’t think twice before she grabbed the bottle.

“Easy with the beers, alright? There are not many left!” Arón attentioned all of you.

“Sure, we ran out of food and you are worried about the beers.” you like very much to provoke him. Arón looked at you menacing. When Mina spinned, Omar picked the truth.

“What is the funniest memory you have from the set?”

“From season 3?” he asked and Mina approved. “Maybe the one when I was supposed to mime a blowjob and he couldn’t stop laughing. I was bouncing my head up and down for a damn take until I’ve literally got dizzy.” he pointed at Arón and laughed while accepted the middle finger. You tought for a minute, that middle finger is like a signature for him, is one of the many specific things for him. 

“You blame me for laughing but you made some funny sucking noises!” Arón defended himself and you laughed even louder. Despite the noises, Omar could hear Miguel when he chose dare and it wasn’t a great idea.

“Mime a sex scene with anyone in this room.” Omar spoken out the final verdict. Miguel picked you up, despite the fact that you refused to do that with him. You wear some kind of short jeans, but they looked more like underwear, so when Miguel made you bend on one of the countertops, you looked like you were naked. He put his hands on your waist and mimed the “in and out” move behind your back.

“Come on, (y/n), you have to moan to make it credible!” Miguel pinched your arm and that made you sceam. “Well, that wasn’t really a moan, but it was better than nothing!” you could hear everyone laughing behind your back. When the torture finally ended, you faced Miguel with anger.

“I hate you for this!” you said, but he just laughed and passed you so he can also spin the bottle. Arón had a strange look on his face. You didn’t know if it was embarrassment or anger or any other feeling, but something bothered him. The bottle stopped in front of Arón and he choses truth. “What are your top three turn-ons?” Miguel looked at you after he spoke and winked. “Puta mierda!” you thought. Now everyone would know something is going on with you. The truth is you have a crush on Arón and Miguel kinda figured it out. The way he smiles, the way he moves, the way he smokes, everything is so perfect at him. Beside the amazing look, he have a good heart too, he’s a funny one and you find yourself some things in common with him.

“Wearing matching lingerie, playing with my hair and maybe the smell of food cooking.” he answered and it heard some of them whistling while and you almost turned red like a tomato. You are a shy one and dirty stuff made you turn red like a tomato every time.

When the bottle pointed you, almost frozed. Someone out there hates you for some reason, you thought. Arón is the last person you would have wanted to ask you. He smiled wickedly at you, licked his lips and made you pick truth or dare. You choose truth, obviously. “Who here would you most like to make out with?” he asked. ¡Joder!, he’s good at it.

“Pure curiosity or you have something in mind?” you challenged him, smiling like a devil.

“Are you gonna answer that or you want to let me find the answer by myself?” he’s not yielding either.

“I’ll wait to see how long would it take you to find out.”

“Fine, dare. Let two people give you a wet willy at the same time.” you crossed the nose.

“¡Joder!, that is gross! No, absolutely not!” you shooked your head.

“Then you need a punishment, (y/n).” someone finally interrupted the stare contest you and Arón unknowingly held. You found out it was Jorge.

“A punishment given by whom?” you hoped from the bottom of your heart not to hear Arón’s name. Not this time.

“Arón. And you are not allowed to reject this one.” ¡Joder!, it was like the game was against you.

“Siete minutos en el cielo con mi.” the others watched you and Arón as you were a fascinating movie, no one came between you. You had to take some time to understand what he said. Seven minutes in heaven. Seriously? You are not sixteen anymore and you are not trying to have your first kiss. You rolled your eyes. You were convinced that he doesn’t stand you a bit, and now he’s asking you to lockup with him seven minutes to what? Maybe he wanted to tell you to go home. You haven’t really talked to him much and you didn’t know him, but you can say, watching him from distance, he is a great man. And that “bad ass” face and attitude he always shows up, it’s just a mask. You thought he is the sweetest person inside there, because he let you somehow see a little of that side. But you had so many question marks. For something you were sure, you had his attention like he got yours. You couldn’t get him off of your head and that drives you crazy.

“Fine, seven minutes in hell. Ah, perdona me, I wanted to say heaven.” you played pretend because you didn’t had any clue what the hell he have in that beautiful head and just at the thought about staying seven minutes only with him, in a small place, made your stomach hurt in a way it never did before. You followed him into the bathroom and then he locked the door behind you. You wasn’t expecting the bathroom to be this small, but him with his big worked out body, occupies a lot of space. Your mouth was dry and you literally couldn’t help but stare at his lips. If you were uncertain about the answer to that question he asked you, now you are a hundred percent sure he’s the one that turns you on.

“You know, I think I found the answer to that question.” maybe he figured out on his own, because maybe you didn’t know how to play pretend, or maybe around him you can’t control yourself.

“Oh yeah, what’s the answer then?” you looked him bravely in his beautiful brown eyes.

“I am the answer.” he approached and you could smell his cologne, or maybe it was just the t-shirt you’re wearing. “And if I’m right, and I’m pretty sure I’m right.” he leans towards you and whisperes in your ear: “Then maybe you wanna know the real answer to Miguel’s question”

“Why would I?”

“Because it’s you. For months you are the first one on my top three turn-ons list. And I think I’m not the only one here who feels this way.” as an answer to his unspoken question, you closed the distance between you with a kiss full of desire. He doesn’t waste any time and responded with as many passion as you put in that kiss. He grabbed you waist and pulled as close as possible. It was a slow one, like nothing outside didn’t matter anymore. Just the two of you, creating a new world. You pulled away from that kiss when you heard a knock on the door and Jorge’s voice.

“You know, I can even offer you my room if you want to, but don’t take away the bathroom, please!” you heard laughing coming from behind that door and felt your cheeks turning red. You looked at the man in front of you and tried to memorise all his beautiful features. He really admitted somehow he likes you, and you couldn’t stop that stupid smile spreading on your face.

[heloisedaphnebrightmore]

thanks for the kind answer 🥺 i’m such a mood reader too (and weirdly organized also hahah i bet your excel file is so cute)!! i’ll buy something on amazon and be so excited to read it but until it arrives my excitement already faded and im picking up something else u got harbored. i try to keep a monthly order of what i’m gonna read but i don’t always follow haha sometimes a book calls me and i’ve GOT to read it. and i try to alternate genders too like i became obsessed with historical romances during quarantine but so i don’t become creepily invested i shift to some fantasy or my latest: murder mysteries

i have another question though. you’re a writer and i don’t know precisely how seriously you take it other than a hobby but do you ever compare yourself with published authors? like you read something and you think to yourself “i’ll never be that good” (it’s been happening to me a lot)

Hahah yeah my excel file is actually quite messy in the sense that I can't, for the life of me, identify book genres when they are not obvious or when they are rather complex xD But it certainly is helpful to have an excel file :D

I could never follow a monthly order. I literally just pick up whatever feels right :D I've actually heard that a lot of people switch genres too, but honestly, I do it when I feel like it. 5 days ago I was reading Jennifer L. Armentrout's Harbinger series and then I went onto Julia Quinn's Bridgerton series. But before that I was reading fantasy for months and a bit of contemporary romance here and there. I don't really focus on genres. Rather tropes if that makes sense. I mostly check what tropes certain books have and then read according to those. If my mood wants some enemies to lovers, then it gets enemies to lovers :D

To answer your question, Yes and No.

You see, when I read a book, I don't ever focus on "could I ever be that good?", "will I ever be on their level" and the likes of those. I rather focus on things I could use in my writing. Things that could improve me. There are lines that inspire me, there are grammatical concepts that I didn't use and should have when I wrote something. There are scenes that I like in books, but I feel like I could do better, so they give me ideas. Rather than comparing myself, I try to look at things that could help me improve myself such as frequency of dialogues, description of worlds, using appropriate wording and the like.

That is not to say I have never compared myself to authors. Of course, I have. Who haven't?! But I rather do it in a generalised manner. Could I be as good as best selling authors? Possibly no. Only because I prefer the business side of publishing rather than writing. Writing is more of a hobby to me. However, I have also read books that were advertised as these amazing, life-changing fictions and they actually disappointed me. Those made me think that I could do as much or better actually.

So, I'd say that comparing yourself is not really a good thing and not because they are better or not, but simply because writing isn't just about the plot, but also understanding your own characters, building a world, using the right words, editing properly, formatting maybe in unique ways, paying attention to grammar at all times, using tropes that you like not only for the sole purpose of providing what readers want to see and also advertisement. Oh, how many books I've seen advertised to be these brilliant books only to be let down by not even the story line, but the terrible grammar. And English isn't even my first language, so I can't even imagine how it might bother those who's first language is English.

As you can see, there's so much to writing, therefore I don't think it's good to compare yourself. You can, of course, it's inevitable, but rather than looking at it in a negative manner, try (key word, try!) to pick up what you could improve on so that one day you might be indeed as good as those how are now popular published authors.

“Reading is my therapy” masterlist

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

Could You Be My Little Quarantine?

AU: Mercedes has no excuse to not be zooming with Kurt right now and Blaine has the wrong Zoom ID.

AO3

A/N: This is a product of my late-night story ideas. I could see more from this 'verse developing but I'd need some ideas for what to write. If you have prompts please send them my way. I hope you all enjoy it!

Part 2 Part 3

***

2020

It wasn’t that Kurt isn’t happy for Mercedes. In all the years they’ve been best friends, they've always been supportive of one another. So, it was no surprise to Kurt that she was enjoying her two-week quarantine with her boyfriend. She didn’t flaunt her relationship around Kurt and she made just as much time for him as she always did and Kurt really appreciated it. It meant so much to see her occasionally pushing plans with her boyfriend in favor of talking to Kurt be it Zoom or a regular phone call. Sometimes, she’d cancel because of her recording schedule, which Kurt understood. When he had been rehearsing for a Broadway production of Moulin Rouge!, his schedule was ever-changing.

Tonight was different though because Mercedes had no excuse to cancel on Kurt. She was literally ordered to stay in her apartment. There were no recording sessions, no producers to meet with, and her boyfriend was basically living with her so Kurt’s a little frustrated to be left waiting on Zoom. He’ll give her 15 minutes before texting her. He's still using the college 15-minute rule. As in if the professor doesn’t show after 15 minutes, the class is free to leave. Except, in this case, Kurt was planning to text his friend until she responded.

Kurt did what he usually did while waiting. Played a new word in Scrabble against Carole and went through his recently saved photos (deleting the ones automatically saved from his Instagram Stories) before ultimately opening his fashion Twitter account and scrolling endlessly. He’ll periodically look at the time and note only a minute has passed since he last looked. Until someone who is definitely not Mercedes joins his Zoom meeting room and says hello.

“Hello,” Kurt says, putting his phone down.

“Um hi,” the other man replies. “You’re not Cooper.”

“And you’re not Mercedes.”

“No, I’m not. This is awkward.” He runs his hand through his black curls. “I’m so sorry. I should probably hop off and yell at my brother for giving me the wrong Zoom ID.”

“It’s no problem, my friend’s likely ditching me for her boyfriend. This was a nice surprise.”

“Is it?” he asks. “Cause I feel pretty embarrassed right now. What are the odds I typed an actual Zoom ID in?”

“Well, you were looking for your brother,” Kurt says. “I imagine it’s similar odds to dialing the wrong phone number.”

The man laughs. “You’re probably right. I’m Blaine by the way.”

“Kurt.”

“Wait, you aren’t…” Blaine trails off and leans closer to the camera like he’s trying to get a better look at Kurt. “You are,” he concludes. “Kurt Hummel?”

“Um yes?” Kurt winces at his voice cracking.

“I saw you twice on Broadway last year. You were outstanding as Christian. Moulin Rouge! is one of my favorite movies so when I heard it was going to Broadway, I knew I had to get tickets. Then, after I saw it the first time I didn’t shut up about how incredible it was so Coop brought me tickets again for my birthday, which ended up being much better seats than I could afford.”

“Oh, well thank you. It’s one of my favorite movies too. That’s why I auditioned in the first place but I was shocked to get the lead. I was told so often that a voice like mine didn’t get the romantic roles of the stage.”

“Are you kidding? They couldn’t have cast a better Christian! I saw you in Peter Pan too. Stunning performance.”

“You saw Peter Pan?” Kurt questions. “I performed that for a charity event at a nursing house like five years ago.”

“At my grandmother’s nursing home to be exact.” Kurt thought Blaine was turning a little red but maybe it was the lighting. “I’ve been following your career ever since. I hope Moulin Rogue! won’t be your last performance. It’d be a waste of talent.”

Kurt smiles. “I appreciate your support. I don’t intend to make it my last but I’m taking a short break from performing to get back into student mode. I’m finishing up my last semester of grad school at NYU.”

“I did my undergrad at NYU. Great professors,” Blaine comments. “I was actually supposed to be making my debut on the stage this summer but alas COVID-19 has shut us down for a bit.”

“Debut in what? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“David Mamet’s American Buffalo.”

“Let me guess, Bobby?”

“Yeah,” Blaine replies grinning.

“I’m sure it’ll be back up and running soon. I assume you still live in the city then?”

“I do. New York’s my real home. I always felt out of place in California. My mom moved us there after her divorce and Cooper got his first gig so we stuck around.”

“Gig? Like a band?” Kurt asks, wondering if Cooper ran in similar circles as his college friend, Elliott.

“No, like acting actually. Sorry, poor word choice on my part. He did credit-score commercials for a while but now he primarily does soap operas.”

“Wait, you mean your brother is Cooper Anderson?”

“Um yeah, he is,” Blaine admits.

“Now, it’s my turn to be embarrassed.” Kurt feels his face warm up. “I might’ve had the jingle to that credit-score commercials as my ringtone back in high school.”

“No, you did not!” Blaine exclaims, laughing a little.

“I’m afraid so,” Kurt tells him. “No offense but Cooper was every young gay teen’s fantasy in Ohio. And by every young gay teen, I mean myself because there was only one gay teen in Lima.”

“Kurt, I promise to never tell Cooper of this because his ego is already too large to handle however I will be holding this secret near and dear to my heart only to remember it fondly when I need a good laugh.”

“Oh hush.” Kurt bats his hand at the camera.

“So, what are you studying at NYU?”

This question led the two down a rabbit hole of their favorite classes and professors. Similar experiences they had during vocal performances and various laughter-inducing stories of their off-campus activities. Kurt’s friends’ weekly karaoke nights, Blaine’s goal to try every coffee shop in Greenwich Village, Kurt’s dream role to play Peter Allen in The Boy From Oz, and Blaine’s secret identity Nightbird, who made yearly appearances in October when Blaine went to sing-a-longs at local children’s hospitals.

“Sam learned the hard way that Gatorade hurts more coming out of your nose than chocolate milk does,” Blaine chuckles.

Kurt is about to jump in with another story but a third box shows up on their screens. It’s Mercedes.

“Kurt, I am so so sorry,” she says. “Oh, hello.”

“Hi,” Blaine waves. “Mercedes, I presume?”

“That’s me.”

The call goes silent for a moment.

“Mercedes, this is Blaine.” Blaine smiles. “You were apologizing…”

“Right,” she says, ignoring Blaine’s presence for a minute while she explains.

Meanwhile, Kurt is typing a chat to Blaine so Mercedes won’t see it.

Kurt: Lovely chatting with you tonight. I’d love to meet up again sometime.

Blaine: Me too. Text me.

Kurt quickly entered the number into his phone and nodded confirming that he was both listening to Mercedes and was agreeing to text Blaine.

“Apology accepted,” Kurt tells Mercedes once she’s finished.

She grins.

“Well, I don’t want to interrupt. Lovely to meet you both but I think I’ll try and call my brother now as I had originally planned.”

Blaine does a two-handed wave before leaving the meeting.

“You have a lotta explainin’ to do, mister,” Mercedes says. “Who was that cutie?”

Kurt sighs dreamily. “If all goes my way, a potential boyfriend.”

Mercedes claps excitedly and proceeds to pull all the information Kurt’s willing to divulge about Blaine Anderson.

[sillyrabbit81]

Her Heavy Cross

Summary: Three years after tragedy hits, Lana she decides to start dating again. She meets Will through a dating app and they begin an online romance. After months of constant requests, Lana relents and agrees to meet and go on an irl date with Will. But is Will who he says he is? Lana is quickly pulled into an intense relationship forcing her to confront her tragic past. Will Lana face it or will she close her heart forever?

Pairing: OMC x OFC

Word Count: approx 2.7k

Warnings: swearing, angst, drunk, motion of death

Authors Note: The story started as a Henry Cavill fanfiction but I changed it to be an original character, but shades of Henry are still there. Hope you enjoy the story and thanks for reading.

Part 2 Part 4

Part 3

In less than ten minutes, we had pulled up to Liam's house. Liam paid for the taxi too. I kind of argued this time, but he pointed out he asked me to his house. I didn't get too stubborn about it.

Liam was living in a four-story terrace house, recently renovated by the looks of it. It was painted white with black wrought iron lacework, and it was beautiful. The front door and windows were painted black. It appeared to be the twin of the house that shared its wall.

We entered through the dining room, and I realised it was actually the two houses renovated together. The inside was modern with original heritage touches. The floors were light timber, and the walls were white. The ceilings had plaster and cornice so beautifully ornate that restoration must have taken ages. The room had an imposing black marble fireplace and a deep brown, almost black wooden dining table set on a grey shag rug in the room's centre. A huge abstract painting of bright pinks, greens and grey hung on the wall.

"Wow, this must have cost a mint!" I quickly covered my mouth. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me."

"It's ok. I was pleasantly surprised by the house too. The studio got the house for me I...." Liam was interrupted by a massive dog bounding into the room.

Liam got down and roughhoused with the dog for a bit. Wow, he was a monster! I'd seen a picture of Cole before that "Will" had sent me, but I wasn't quite prepared for how big he was. He was almost completely black with some brown above his eyes and ears. His paws were brown too, and his belly was grey. He wasn't any particular breed, apparently a rescue dog. I thought of my bull terrier cross cattle dog at home. This dog would eat him for breakfast, and Perrin wasn't small.

Cole's pink tongue lolled, and he panted as Liam moved from side to side. Cole imitated Liam's actions jumping about. He barked a couple of times as he got excited by the play. The noise reverberated through the quiet house.

"Shhh, Cole, people are sleeping." Liam softly admonished. Then his voice became stern. "Sit," he ordered before patting him. Liam looked at me and said, "Lana, this is Cole. Cole, Lana."

"Hi, Cole. You're much bigger in person." I could hear the slight tremor in my voice. Liam must have sensed I was nervous and came over to stand near me. Cole padded over and sniffed at me. Gingerly, I put my hand by my side and let him approach me. Cole nuzzled my hand, and I gave him a pat on the side of his neck. I let out a sigh of relief.

"I was worried he wouldn't like me. I love dogs but always get nervous around new ones." Liam put his head to the side, asking a silent question. "I had a dingo go me one time, and I've never really gotten over it." I squatted down and gave Cole more pats. "I think this guy is ok, though."

"Yeah, he's a good boy. How is Perrin, by the way?"

"He's ok." I sighed, "he's just old. The poor little guy can't get onto my bed anymore and sleeps in my lounge room now. I kinda miss it, but I have slept a bit better."

Liam gave Cole some more pats and told him to go sit. "Come on. I'll make you a tea or coffee if you'd like." I agreed a coffee would be perfect right now. I needed something to sober me up.

I sat at the kitchen bench while Liam made coffees. Cole sat by my stool, and I patted his head while watching Liam. Liam had kicked off his shoes and was walking around in his bare feet. It was amazing to see him so much more relaxed here than while we were out. He really did appear to enjoy being at home.

As Liam made our coffee, he moved with a grace that surprised me. His movements seemed economical and rigid but hinted at the power beneath them. He seemed coiled and ready to explode at any moment. It was like he was dancing the pasodoble, his body moving to an invisible beat. Images of Strictly Ballroom came into my mind, and I found myself humming Love is in the Air. I was drunker than I thought.

When Liam was done, he led me over to his large L shaped lounge, and I sat. Liam flopped down next to me, casually laying back and popped his feet up on the coffee table. Cole sat on a mat that was clearly his.

I sipped my coffee, not knowing what else to do. Suddenly the quiet between Liam and I felt awkward.

Liam and I spoke at the same time, "What.." "So..."

We both laughed. Liam indicated I should proceed. "Well, I was going to ask what brought you out to Sydney, for real, not the Will answer."

"A new project. I'm going to be filming a television show." Liam proceeded to tell me about his project, working with some people from Netflix on a fantasy/sci-fi series adaptation. He was so animated when telling me that it was obvious that he loved his job.

It would be his first television series and was to be more romance heavy than anything he had done in years. Liam explained that he is filming here because the story was written and developed in Australia. "If it works out, I'll probably be based out of Australia for the next few years. I'll go home to England for a few months during breaks, maybe do some small film roles. It's hard with Cole, though, because every trip into Australia means 10 days quarantine for him."

"Oh yeah, and you don't want a Pistol and Boo situation." Liam looked confused, and I explained about Amber Heard and Johnny Depp smuggling their dogs into Australia.

"I thought you said you don't follow celebrity gossip."

"I don't, but that was big news, hilarious really. It was on every bit of media in Australia, and then they had to make this cringe video apology. I almost felt bad for them." Then I yawned, suddenly all the alcohol had lost its buzz, and I was just tired. "The coffee doesn't seem to be doing its job. What time is it?"

Liam looked at his watch, "11.30."

"Yeah, it's late. I should get home. I don't want to turn into a pumpkin." I cringed. Fuck.

"You don't have to go. You could stay here." I raised my eyebrows. "I do have more than one bed if that's what you want." Liam leaned over to me and placed a hand on my cheek, rubbing his thumb against my skin.

I looked at my nearly empty coffee mug. I swirled the dregs around the bottom as if it were tea leaves, and they would tell me what to do. "I don't want to go home yet, but I don't want to go too fast, either."

"That's ok."

I didn't move. I wanted to stay. Ten years ago, I would have stayed, but Andy's face flashed into my thoughts. I knew it was ridiculous. Andy had been gone for over three years now. But every time I even contemplated being with someone, I couldn't stop thinking about him.

Liam was waiting for an answer, but I didn't know what to tell him. 'It's not you, it's me' is such a tired cliche, but sometimes it's true.

"Lana, it's ok. If you want to go home, that's absolutely fine. I'll even call you an Uber."

I felt my eyes sting, and I looked away from Liam. My bloody traitorous tear ducts giving me away. I shouldn't have drunk so much. Alcohol always makes me emotional.

"Fuck." I swore under my breath. I angrily wiped at my eyes, thankful I had used waterproof mascara. My eyeliner was a different story, though, and black streaked my fingers. I asked Liam where his bathroom was, and I got up, only half listening to his directions. I found it quickly. It was only through the doorway into a little enclave with a powder room, stairs and a lift. What kind of bloody house has a lift?

I closed the door and sat on the toilet seat. I knew enough not to try to stop the tears, so I just let them go. Bloody hell, Andy. Why did he fucking have to leave me? Why the fuck did you have to fucking die. Goddammit. Why do I do this to myself? Why do I do this to Andy? I wanted to scream, to punch something, to throw something. I needed another cigarette. Fuck you, Andy. Fuck you. Fuck me. Fuck Liam.

As I always did when I thought of Andy, I remembered the last time I saw him. His sweet face looked down at me as he kissed me goodbye. His deep brown hair fell like a curtain around us, hiding our kiss from the world. Cheekily I had slipped my tongue into his mouth, and he had groaned as he pulled away. He told me to save it for when he got back and would be as quick as he could be. I had thanked him for filling in for me. He winked and said to thank him later. Then he left.

When I was able to, I started to take deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. I could feel the tightness in my chest slowly ease. Breathing became more comfortable, and the tears stopped. I looked at my hands, and I was able to release the fists I was making. My nails hadn't broken the skin this time, but small red crescents remained etched into my palms.

I waited a few minutes longer to make sure the moment had passed. It wasn't Andy's fault he died, and I knew that. It's also not my fault that I wanted someone to love again. Sleeping with someone other than Andy felt like crossing the Rubicon, no going back.

The fact was there is no going back, no Andy to go back to, even if I wanted. In my head, it still felt like a betrayal. But it wasn't. And Liam wasn't just anybody. He was a guy I had spent weeks talking to, getting to know, and although he looks different, he is still acting as I had expected. I saw a potential future here. Did I really want to let my past ruin it?

I cleared my throat and stood up, preparing myself to see the horror that looked back at me. Ugh, it wasn't great. My eyeliner had given me panda eyes, and the tears had created streaks down my cheeks.

Getting a tissue and blew my nose, and decided there was nothing else for it, I washed my makeup off my face. I avoided washing my eye makeup off though, that was a mess I just didn't have the products for, so I just wiped under my eyes and cleaned it up. I binned my tissues, washed my hands, took a few more deep breaths and prepared myself to face Liam.

I opened the door and walked straight into something solid that made me bounce back into the bathroom like a tennis ball. Hands caught me before I hit the floor, and I found myself in Liam's arms.

"I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" He asked.

"No," I was flustered again. I spent all that time calming down to just be in a state two seconds later. "I just didn't expect you to be outside the door. Jesus, you're like a brick shit house."

Liam didn't laugh. "I was worried about you."

"I'm fine," I lied.

Liam didn't look convinced. He let me go and ran a hand through his hair. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"Not right now."

Liam nodded. "I'll get you that Uber." He pulled his phone out.

That's it then. All in all, it wasn't the worst date I'd been on since Andy died. Actually, it was probably the best. Liam, at least, was a guy I was attracted to and didn't appear to be a man child. He seemed to like me, even when I cried over another man. Although I doubt Liam knew that's why I was crying. I had told him I was married before and he had died, but that was only once and a long time ago, and we hadn't discussed it again.

The tears had done their job, and a calmness came over me now. I had said goodbye to Andy, and I was ready to take that last step to move on. That was why I started to date again; to open my heart, I was ready.

I put my hand on Liam's wrist, "if you still want me to, I'd like to stay."

"Are you sure? I probably shouldn't have asked in the first place. I let my other head think for me." Though I laughed at his candid admission, Liam's face was serious. "I'm not joking. I want you, and I didn't think about how you must be feeling. The whole fake profile thing must still be weighing on your mind. And all of the other problems that go along with being with me. You should have more time to think about it."

And my dead husband, let's not forget that. I didn't say that out loud, thank God. "I will have time to think about it. But right now, I want..." Shit. I've gone shy again. Just fucking tell him you want him too! "I mean, can't we just have a bit of a cuddle and a snog?"

Liam's lips twitched as he tried to suppress a smile, "a cuddle and a snog?"

I nodded.

Smiling, Liam put his phone back in his pocket. "I think I can arrange that."

Without further warning, Liam grabbed my wrists in one hand and pinned them to the wall above my head. His other hand snaked around my waist, holding me to him, his hips rolling into mine. His eyes were fierce and focused on mine. I  closed my eyes, the sensations too much, and my breath quickened.

I heard Liam say through gritted teeth, "It's taken everything I had not to do this to you since I saw you at the bar. I wanted to take you then and there." His voice seemed to ease, the words coming easier for him. "You don't know how much I've wanted to touch you. To know you are real." Then he whispered, "and you are. Real. You're as beautiful tonight as you were in your pictures."

I opened my eyes and found Liam staring at me, and his intensity was nearly frightening. He pulled me tighter against himself, his fingertips digging into me while he crushed me against his body. I felt his hardness against my hip, and I couldn't stop myself from rubbing against it. This time Liam closed his eyes, and I felt the rush of blood to my centre.

Liam opened his eyes, desire naked on his face, "Kiss me," he said.

I met his soft and warm lips. I felt Liam's groan rumble in his vast chest, and kissing him again, my lips scraped against his whiskers. Liam kissed me back now. His tongue pushed past my lips, and found mine. His tongue playfully danced in my mouth. Liam's hand left my arse and started to feel my hips, my waist and then my breasts. He cupped them and gently squeezed. My breath caught as his hand skimmed past my nipple. His palm created friction against the lace of my bra, and tingles radiated through my body.

His lips left mine and went to my neck. He kissed and sucked at me, moving down to the top of my breasts. I heard him take a deep breath into my chest as his cheeks rubbed against my skin. His kisses became harder against my chest and moved back up to my neck, his teeth nipping at me as he went. Even though he had me captured, I wriggled against him, my hips moved uncontrollably, my breath uneven and weak.

Liam pulled away, still firmly gripping one of my hands. "Come with me." Liam led me to the lift.

"Where are we going?"

"To my bedroom." I pulled against him, forcing him to stop. "Sweetheart, I promise I won't fuck you until you ask."

My legs turned to jelly. I wanted to fall to my knees and beg despite my reservations. I nodded and followed Liam into the lift.

Part 4

[itswildwinters]

Ask for writers

Thank you @theisolatedlily and @soldouthaz for tagging me, I really appreciate it! This lovely tag was created by @soldouthaz, which I think is brilliant to get to know other writers!! I love it, so thank you Sarah!

This is quite long, but I still hope it’s entertaining!

1. describe how you first started writing and when you first posted: I’ve always wanted to write. I know that I only began publishing this year (January 2020) but years back, I always would open up a blank document and just... write. Lack of confidence and language barriers (I wanted to write in English, but it isn’t my first language and I only became fluent three years ago) have made it so that I would never finish a story. I think we all had our wattpad moment but even on there I would never really publish because the platform just wasn’t right. But then I discovered ao3, where I’d read fics and also improve my English. Then I found out about fests, and I decided to participate in one last year (2019 BLFF) and my first fic then came out! 

And ever since, I’ve been able to write and finish what I start. It’s as if the lock that had been put to block my creativity had been destroyed; posting my first completed fic has acted as a turning point. I was extremely nervous when I first posted, still am, but now I have this need to write and I love sharing what I write and ever since I became a writer, my life’s been a lot better!

2. which of your characters do you typically resonate most closely with? do you base any characters off of yourself?: I switch between Louis’ POV, or Harry’s POV depending on the story; I tend to sprinkle a bit of myself in the characters I write, but then again they’re also completely different from me! I’ve never based a character completely on myself, which I find quite boring (haha); sometime unconsciously, I’d write a character based on someone I knew. I think some examples on how my characters can look a bit like me, is Hamlet in a sea of mist which has gotten his clear-headedness from me; or in my Murder Mystery fic, the way I describe Louis’ fear is heavily based on how I feel whenever I’m faced with something that makes me uncomfortable.

3. where do you often find inspiration?: art (paintings, music), books, quotes, poems and movies!

4. has quarantine helped or hindered your writing process?: having so much free time on my hands has definitely helped; I would seek refuge within my stories, to spice up quarantine!

5. do you listen to music/noise while you write or do you prefer silence? I love love love playing classical music (Chopin, Saint-Saens, Debussy, Yiruma, Einaudi, Faulkner, Schumann, Tchaikovsky, Mozart to name a few) while writing. I can’t write when it’s anything else. But I can also write when there’s nothing; hearing the rhythmic clicking sound of the keyboard as I press over its keys can be relaxing to me.

6. what is your biggest writing pet peeve in your writing or in general?: hm in my writing I guess I tend to write very long sentences, and also I still do grammar mistakes. I hope to work on those points. I also find the way I space my fics very annoying (which is why I’ve begun making outlines!).

7. describe your ideal writing setup: in a couch or a bed with several pillows piled up behind my back, classical music in my ears and a steaming cup of tea next to me.

8. favorite time of day to write?: I love writing when it’s very early, usually after I’ve woken up and freshened up. I don’t like writing when it’s too late because I’m not a night owl; rather an early bird. I especially love when I write and it’s still dark outside, then slowly dawn breaks in and the sky becomes tainted in warm hues of orange, yellow and sometimes even purple and pink.

9. favorite genre to write + one you’d like to try writing in the future?: I love writing fantasy, horror, suspense, action, thrillers. Especially angst and hurt/comfort, as well as slow burn. I’d like in the future to explore sci-fi and magical realism!

10. do you struggle with writer’s block? how do you typically overcome it? I haven’t suffered from writer block so far, which I’m glad!!

11. what is the easiest part of your writing process and the most difficult? writing is the easiest, but outlining (as in, coming up with plot ideas) is quite difficult for me. Also dialogues can be a bit of a problem to me.

12. how do you come up with original characters? (if applicable): I just make them up in my mind, and create them when they’re necessary to the story, giving them personality traits that will help the story develop.

13. what is your favorite and least favorite word? it’s hard to choose cause I have several but favourite: petrichor and least favourite: big

14. what is one thing about your writing that you’re really proud of and one thing you hope to continue working at?: I am proud of the way I describe, which allows me to really settle the story in its verse. I love describing, giving importance to the ordinary. Also feelings; I love describing them and exploring how I can translate them into words, so that the reader can feel them. But I have to work on my dialogues methinks.

15. what work of yours has your favorite ‘verse/world building? how did you come up with it?: those who from the Pit of Hell, roam to seek their prey on earth. I’ve always wanted to begin writing thrillers/Murder mystery fics and with that one I think I managed to? I had read an article on forensic medicine back in the 19th century and it sparked this fic’s plot!

16. what font and size do you write in? single spaced or double?: Arial, 11pt, single spaced

17. what is a typo(s) you find yourself making consistently?: I don’t know if this can be considered as a typo but I tend to repeat, within a paragraph, A LOT my character’s name instead of using pronouns. This is because I’m afraid of confusion when another character arrives in the scene.

18. (if applicable) do you separate fic writing from fandom?: I don’t know if I understood the question properly, but yes? When I use Louis or Harry in my fics, they’re completely different from real-Louis or real-Harry; they’re my characters, they only have the same names, but their personality reflects in nothing real-life Harry and Louis. 

I think to answer this better: I do separate fic writing from fandom, but I still think that fanfics are important to a fandom; I haven’t heard of a fandom without fanfics! Fanfics spice up fandoms, I reckon, they’re important to bring people together.

19. what emotion is your favorite to write? which is the most difficult?: Angst is my favourite thing to write, as well as fear. And I struggle with writing humour, I’m not a funny person to be honest

20. what is one thing you hope readers always take away from your works?: I always hope they like my writing and the plot, also the way I portray my characters. I want my readers to feel the writing, and the story in general. I just want my readers to truly enjoy what they read from me <3

21. what is the best and worst writing advice you’ve ever received?: I was told to always write very specifically and to fit my writing into a mould — don’t write ‘he’s’ but ‘he is’, or write shorter sentences, or stop describing so much. But in the end, there isn’t one way of writing — write the way you want.

22. which one of your works would you most want to see turned into a film/television show?: only one? ahhh this is hard! But I’d love to see those who from the Pit of Hell, roam to seek their prey on earth be turned into a movie. There are also a couple of wips that I could see on-screen but I’ll stick to that!

23. do you write scenes chronologically or out of order?: chronologically. Haven’t explored anachronies (analepsis/prolepsis) at all, but I might soon!

24. how do you handle criticism?: really well!! As long as they’re constructive and not mean, I love hearing what people think. Criticism is the best way for me, a person whose first person is not English, to improve!

25. what is the advice you would give to someone who is looking to start writing?: DO IT!! Honestly, don’t tell yourself, ‘I’m not good enough’. Just do it. Open a blank document and write your heart away, even if it’s not a story; just begin it. Explore your writing style, then maybe try to mould it into a plot. Writing is not limited to a certain category of people; it’s not just for those who can write. Writing is for everyone, and like most things, one must begin before improving (practice makes perfect!!) <3

26. what kind of feedback on your work always makes your day?: anything!!! Just the fact someone clicked on my story, read it, and took time to leave a comment — just that is enough to make my heart bursts with joy. I am so so grateful to every single person who’s ever read something from me.

27. which fic ‘verse of your own would you most like to exist in? which fic’s characters would you most like to befriend?: The verse I’m talking about is still a wip, but the siren/mermaid one that I’m currently building! I’d love to live in it.

28. what do you always enjoy getting asks about/wish people would ask about more?: Anything, really, my inbox is open to anyone and for everything! I love discussing books, movies and poetry as well as quotes, and maybe I wish people would come forth to ask me more about my fics or my wips, if they have any inquiries! Or I’d love to write drabbles! 

29. what has writing added to your life? how has it changed you?: It has made my life so, so much better. Writing has stitched up a gaping hole in my chest. It’s permitted me to improve in English, has made me more confident and has allowed my creativity to flow. I just... I love writing so much. It has also allowed me to meet some incredible people on tumblr, which I’m very grateful for!!

30. why do you write?: for many reasons; to spice up my life, to help me develop my creativity, and because I love it. I’ve always wanted to be a writer.

boost yourself + tags!

1a. share the last sentence you wrote:

The words echo around his head and collide with his temples like truncheon blows.

2a. describe the wip you’re most excited about:

I’m excited for all of them, but I’ll go with my third BLFF fic. It’s very angsty, post-war, ABO, exes to lovers. It tackles heavy topics, it’s such an emotional fic. I’m so so excited for her (she comes out in January).

3a. share the piece of dialogue from one of your works you’re most proud of: 

This is hard. But I’ll go with one from in a sea of mist cause the way Louis answers Harry... I love it:

“I feel like you want to kill me,” he pants out, using his right arm to hold himself up while his other hand comes up to rub at his burning cheek and nose, where Louis had hit him with the sole of his shoe.

“Before our date? No, never,” Louis blinks sweetly, chuckling and climbing up as Harry smiles to himself.

4a. share the best first and last lines from your work(s): I will do only those that are already published:

best first lines are from the hope that warbles in my fluttering breast: There, against the window, was stuck millions of snowflakes, their see-through quality no more as they huddled together, pushed against hard surfaces by the merciless wind. 

best last lines are from in a sea of mist: It takes a while for Harry to go to sleep, elation pumping through his veins so fast that the previous tiredness he felt has flown out of the window. But when he finally focuses on Louis’ heavened out breathing, and when he breathes in Louis’ natural perfume that always acts as an ambrosia over him, he manages to close his eyes, and for the first time in a while, he dreams of a future that’s devoid of any darkness.

5a. link the last fic you read: currently reading sweet like honey by @falsegoodnight and Spoonful of Sugar by @zanniscaramouche and they’re absolutely amazing!

6a. link the last work you published: in a sea of mist

7a. link to your ao3 (if applicable): tomlinvelvet

8a. someone that inspires you: Louis <3 his music and just his personality overall leaves so much scope for the imagination. There are also so many writers (both non-fanfic writers and fanfic writers) that inspire me daily.

9a. a comfort fic/work that you’ve been grateful for this year: even the best laid plans and just a flicker in the dark both by @falsegoodnight as well as eyes off you by @soldouthaz ... these fics are just so amazing, everything about them is top tier

10a. other writers that you’d like to tag! @falsegoodnight @scrunchyharry @hadestyles @mercurial-madhouse @youreyesonlarry @raspberryoatss @jacaranda-bloom @soldouthaz @behisoneandonly @vintageumbroshirt @so-why-let-your-voice-be-tamed @lougendarey @quelquesetoiles <3 no pressure ofc!

[dafukdidiwatch]

2021 Housekeeping

Hey guys. Sorry for this blog being like, dead for all of December. A lot of holiday stuff happened and I just got sidetracked with all of that. That aside, I figured since this is the start of a new year I should go over some of the stuff I did throughout 2020. This is strictly dealing with things that I personally did for this blog. I want to keep this a safe-space and not deal with the crap that went on this year, for both you guys and me.

It’s all under the “Keep Reading” because this post is long as hell

Dafuking Films:

For a first attempt I think this went pretty well. 32/52 isn’t that bad, given how I have a real bad habit of just dropping things and never returning to them. Plus with the actual quarantine going on, watching a bunch of different movies people suggested to me was a lot of fun. Some were fantastic and enjoyable. Some people just really wanted me to suffer. But still, good times were had by all. I still have the list of movies that people suggested to me from last year, so I’m still gonna try to go through them all. Maybe twice a month instead of weekly so I won’t burn myself out like before. Regardless, I had fun, so I’m going to continue this.

Website:

Just to get this out of the way. Website was a valiant attempt. Didn’t really give a shit nor cared about the uptake. I Tried. I got tired updating it. If I was going to use it 100% then I would just move from Tumblr to There, which I won’t since all of my good shit is here. So I’m gonna move on.

Newvember:

This was a great idea. I had so much fun doing Newvember. No worries, no commitment. Just reading random shit with no pressure to maybe add them to my already overflowing list of blogs. It also helped me figure out what works and what doesn’t in terms of blogging.

Comic strips comics don’t really work well for me. I mean, the only good things to blog is just the last 2 panels, so I’m sort of only blogging the punchline which ruins the joke if people want to read it themselves. So stuff like Dominic Deegan and Sluggy Freelance probably won’t fly unless they somehow turn into page-format in the future.

Novels and Webnovels are flipping hard for me to figure out on just the logistics on how to blog. Do I give like a page summary on what I read like with The Wandering Inn? Or just do screenshots of the lines to react to like with Detective Pony and A Practical Guide To Evil? I am still working that out so I might not do much written stuff until I find a groove I like.

Interactive Comics get a toss up. I think Homestuck sort of spoiled me a bit here. I’m so used to how Homestuck works that I’m instinctively comparing other interactive comics to it even though I very read an Interactive comic while it was actually interactive. Stuff like Ruby and Awful Hospital unfortunately already has a high bar to jump over just because I like/used to the Homestuck format.

For the liveblogs themselves now that I have time away from them:Dark Science got a cool Cyberpunk vibe to it with a mix of magic-maybe. So it would be cool to read, but probably won’t continue it until the longer blogs like Girl Genius and Order of the Stick get caught up/finished first. Poppy O’Possum is just cute and honestly refreshing to have the main character be a hard-working mom. How to Be a Werewolf is a slowburn of how werewolves work, which I am always a sucker for how lore works. But I don’t really remember too much else from it so I might not revisit it given how I’m not too invested in it. Granted the same can be said for the prologue of Girl Genius and we saw how THAT went. Dominic Deegan is 90s fantasy slice of life, but with like some way old comedy jokes that I can just hear the ba-dum-tsst every punchline. So, yeah that one’s gonna drop. Practical Guide to Evil is a really cool read and I always like fantasy rpg style settings. I like the idea of Titles giving power and having the protagonists be the necessary evil. But again, I have to figure out how to webnovels. Awful Hospital has interesting art, but it isn’t really clicking with me too much so I’m probably gonna drop it. Sluggy Freelance is just wild. Part of it is the random plot things like having asshole rabbits and sci-fi references. Other part is me just saying random shit like how Dirk Strider is living his offshoot life in this comic. Fun read, but I don’t think the strip comics are good liveblog stuff. So will probably drop.  A Better Place ABSOLUTELY Slaps. I was down with that since the first comic. Will 100% continue with that (when I get enough space). Blindsprings has an interesting 1800s steampunk magic vibe and I do like the theme of idealization vs reality. Check Please is cute. I’m A Spider is a fun isakai with a cool twist of being reborn as a monster. Not Drunk Enough is just terrifying. Both with the horror and alcohol poisoning.

Basically: A Better Place will definitely be revisited. Poppy, Check Please, Blindsprings, and I’m a Spider will probably be revisited for just short quick sessions. Not Drunk Enough and Dark Science might come back if/when I am finished with longer series.

Either way, I like doing Newvember. So I am going to initiate Ju-New-ne to be the next New-Blog month. So this WILL happen again.

Schedule:

Yeah I believe my time of doing daily blogging sessions is over. It worked well for 2019, but that time is basically over. I probably will try to go for twice a week if I can. It sounds fair enough for content.

Videos:

I am NOT giving up on my Undertale videos. There is more coming. I just got stalled because I lost my art stylus for drawing the thumbnails. I swear to Jegus I am going to Post the entire thing!!! I Shan’t Give Up!!!

Homestuck:

So early 2020 is the time, where after 2 full years I finished reading Homestuck. It was, honestly, a wild ride and wild time. My literal presence on this blog was shaped because of Homestuck from the asks to videos to discord. It was just, good. Nice. Like looking back through a memory book with warm feelings. Having it end the way it did was good, especially with when it ended. I might make posts on how I view the characters overall, maybe make a Final Epilogue Troll Rank/Fav Rank. I will work on that.

And from that, I think that a year is probably long enough for me to revisit Homestuck again. Pesterquest, Epilogue, HS’2, whatever is the next sequel. Hell maybe Problem Sleuth and see what the hell all those references were about. The goal is to be caught up in a bunch of other comics first. Like, gonna gun for 3-5. Once I get caught up (or close to it) then I will return into Hussie’s orange arms once again.

Anyway, that’s a surprise for anyone who actually bothers to read to the end of this. Happy New Year everyone.