#there is more to this. i have blocked out his entire dialogue paragraph

[chachacharlieco]

I wanted to try and animate Pen. It's been so fun so far. I really love how his VA made him so animated.

[01-05-2001]

how are you so good at writing??? genuine question tho like what is your writing process or do you have any advice for someone trying to get more into/better at writing fiction?

hi anon!! thank you, this is so so sweet :3 i wouldn’t consider myself like. an authority on writing and i definitely think i have a lot to improve on, but here’s some advice i can offer up!

my general process for my oneshots is maybe unconventional? but it works for me.

a basic premise. eg, “oh, i want to write a caldre vibrator fic. how the hell is that going to work?” and figuring out how to get from point A to point B.

this is random, but it helps me keep track. at the top of all of my fics, i write this:

TITLE:

DESCRIPTION:

TAGS:

NOTES:

the title is usually left blank for a while. but the description is an incredibly short summary of the fic’s contents. tags helps me plan in advance for posting. the notes is just anything additional about their dynamic that i want to remind myself of. i find this really helpful to check back on every now and then.

bullet pointing key scenes of the fic. helps to have a writing buddy who can help you troubleshoot or bounce ideas off of!

under each bullet point, i write the scene out like a script, adding in notes about body language or general actions. i also copy paste in any little excerpts that come to me!

i find this the biggest step in avoiding writers block: blocking the entire scene helps keep the flow uninterrupted, helps me establish a pace, and helps to establish a strong tone in dialogue that i can then follow through in action and description. worst case scenario, i can just jump into the next line of dialogue and come back to fill in the gaps.

working top-down, i follow my script and fill in the gaps with action and description! this is obviously the hardest and lengthiest part, but that’s just the truth of it. i stick on some music or a video essay in the background and get to writing!

i usually end up working the start around, restructuring paragraphs until i find a flow.

Some general advice:

write what you enjoy. nothing will burn you out faster than trying to please everyone. it doesn’t matter if it’s cringe, or ooc, or whatever you think. write it if it makes you happy.

READ MORE - and REAL BOOKS (and poetry!). seriously. i notice the fastest improvement in my writing when i’m reading regularly. look at books you enjoy and ask: why do i like this? is it the themes, the characters? is it the writing style - the rhythm, dialogue, pacing? connecting with literature and developing analytical skills will seriously help so much. look at what you like and mirror it.

back to basics. especially with longer form stuff - use classic structures like three acts, freytag’s pyramid, etc. they are classics for a reason! learn the rules so you can know how to effectively break them. consider metaphors, flow, phonetics.

also, basic grammar and structure is non negotiable - walls of text or lack of punctuation will turn anyone off no matter how good the content is. i understand english isn’t everyone’s native language, but even a basic run through a spell or grammar checker online can make a world of difference.

on a more technical level:

variety is KEY. vary sentence length to keep a tight control over pacing, to control flow. read your sentences out loud to find the rhythm. try to keep from using the same structures or starters. sometimes i have to pull up another book to remind myself of different ways to open sentences when i’ve been staring at my writing for too long, lol

balancing description with succinctness is trial and error. IMO it’s better to be sparing than excessive. “purple prose” is hard to keep track of, and can feel like padding to a story. pacing is always, always key. remember, you CAN part with things: copy and paste little excerpts into a spare document. learn to delete!

understand the impact of intentional word choice. i love punchy verbs over wordy adverbials! but i also prefer to use descriptive phrases over niche words that readers won’t know. it’s about balance: complex language has its place, but using it intentionally is key. get a feel for a word’s nuance, otherwise your work can feel like Baby’s First Thesaurus. also, NEVER underestimate the impact of PHONETICS!!!

[hannie-dul-set]

Hi I love your writing so so so much. You have such a beautiful way of making your stories immersive. When I’m reading them, I just get sucked into your writing.

I just saw your most recent post about the writing tips, and was wondering if you could share what your writing process is like? I love writing but rlly struggle going from an idea, to an outline(ish), and then to an actual fic. Love your writing (and your tips are so helpful and really interesting)!

ahh....i really don't think i have a helpful answer for this one but i will try my best 😭. all these steps come after the idea demon has already possessed my brain in the dead of night, in the shower, in the commute back home, etc. HAHHAHA anyway, let's go!

PLANNING -> this consists of just very very rough lines/notes about each scene that's gonna go down. most of the time, i don't have the entire fic planned from the get go HAHAHHA if i like an idea, i just start with it even though there's no clear ending (but when i do, i jot it down ofc and block out the scenes that will lead to it!)

OUTLINING -> i do my plans and outlines in the same document! these are purely bulletpoints that consist mostly of dialogue, but when i have a specific idea on how i'd like the narration to go, i insert those as well. same with planning, i don't necessarily finish the outline of the fic 100% before starting the actual writing. this part is not really strict. my outlines are a mix of english, hiligaynon, and tagalog, swear words and reactions everywhere, "HAHAHAHHA"s sprinkled around HAHAHHAHA but i think it's important to have the dialogue down pat before the actual writing because it makes things a lot more efficient!

WRITING -> wow okay here we go. the actual word vomit moment HAHAHHA. again, i don't usually finish planning and outlining before i finally start the fic, HOWEVER i do follow one golden rule: stop writing before you run out of bullet points in your outline. this is to prevent writers blocks because if you'd still have ready to go ideas for your next writing session! e.g. if i'm writing a fic and i see that i only have one scene left fully outlined but there's still a bunch of scenes left i have to plan out, i stop writing and start planning/outlining again.

PROOFREADING -> just the usual reading through the whole thing again to fix errors, reformat some paragraphs to see what reads better etc. etc.

this is usually my process when writing full length fics by the way!! (10k+) for shorter ones, i usually just go with the flow and don't keep a separate doc for my outline and actual fic. not sure just how helpful this is tho bcs this process is barely a process 😭😭😭

[allthefoolishdreams]

hi! i hope you're well! for the ask game - 1, 10, 15, 18, 19, 21, 26 and 30? <33

(this is jeonghoneyss btw, i'm not sure if i mentioned before haha)

hi!! thank you, i am doing well, i hope you are as well!! <3

What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

Something new I tried this year was non-linear narrative (in my minchan divorce fic), I've always loved non linear narratives since its an interesting way to tell a story. I think so far its turning out well! although it is based on a story so that did help make it easier. Either way, I would absolutely love to write more non linear narratives if I come up with an idea that it'll work best with

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

Honestly? I don't know! Out of the ones posted this year, I think maybe the superchan fic might have been my happiest to work on. I do know working on you are strange always makes me pretty happy as well (when i'm not hit with writer's block)

15. Rec a fic you wrote or posted in 2023

I have only posted 4 fics this year and I know you have read 2 of them, so I'll just rec the other two: chansung fic (which is angsty and about commitment issues and complex feelings regarding relationships but i enjoyed writing) and this minchan fic (which is a bob's burgers au and just overall a silly and fun time)

18. What was the hardest fic to title?

without a doubt it was my spidey minlix fic, I just didn't know what to call it even when I had the first chapter completed already which is unusual for me because by the time ive written that much I have title ideas already. I'm not sure if you read the author's note but i did almost title it "spider-boy (king of thieves)" which is a taylor swift lyric because it fits far too perfectly but i decided to search it on ao3 and saw that a lot of the fics using that as a title were spider-man aus which made me scrap the idea so fast. I ended up scrolling through Black Cat and Spider-Man panels + looking up Black Cat quotes for inspiration and decided that i really liked the line ""You are strange, my love. I guess that's why I find you so irresistible." and shortened it because I thought the quote would be such a fitting line for minlix considering they are both strange (affectionate) <3

19. Share your favorite opening line

if I keep it to fics I posted this year, I think my favorite would be from my chansung fic: At a young age, Jisung learns just how easy it is to pack up your life and leave it all behind.

I feel like it fully captures the main vibe of the fic

Also, here's one for fics I've written this year and not posted. I'm cheating here by giving several lines but here's the opening for my jilix songwriting fic because I really like the opening paragraph:

The first time Jisung meets Felix, he’s struck by how gentle and kind he is.  He’s mesmerized by his voice, like everyone else is; the deep, smooth tone and accent. The clumsy way he stumbles over his Korean in a way that makes it obvious he’s still learning. And he’s especially mesmerized when he starts to show off his vocal abilities, the range he’s capable of. It’s something else entirely. Perhaps, more importantly, he’s mesmerized by his bright grin despite how prickly Jisung is towards him, which isn’t necessarily anything personal, he’s prickly towards everyone. Unlike the others though, Felix brushes it off and continues to ask questions like he doesn’t genuinely mind how closed off Jisung is; he's never annoyed or scared of him. All while offering him bright smiles each time they interact. And it’s a beautiful smile.

21. Share your favorite piece of dialogue

I can't think of any off the top of my head. I do think a lot of my favorite dialogue I've written is from you are strange, especially the minho and felix conversations when they're bantering in their respective alter egos, it's always so fun for me to write. Their dialogue in their civilian life is very good to me too, but I don't think I can choose a favorite. I also remember enjoying the group discussion from chapter one when they're discussing Spider-Man since it was so fun to write

26. If you had to choose one, what was THE most satisfying writing moment of your year?

I don't think I have any specific satisfying writing moment, but I guess seeing my word count on ao3 go up so much just within the year was pretty satisfying to me especially since like i mentioned i only posted 4 new fics

30. What’s something that you want to write in 2024?

I'm not gonna lie, my goal is just to finish all of my wips. But I do want to write the batman!chan fic thats been brewing, I havent started since I know it'll become a monster of a fic and I'm trying to prioritize finishing my current superhero aus before starting a new one lol. which reminds me, I have Thoughts on other superchan side stories, other than the felix one so thats also on the list, so far nobody has pointed out the Minho (or Hyunjin) name drops in chapter one of superchan which goes along with my thoughts regarding the au. Another thing I want to write is that seunglix christmas fic I mentioned before, I'm thinking of writing it out in advance for next december

Also, not going to lie, all the descendants talk makes me want to dabble into fic for it but im not sure yet. We shall see!

(thanks for the ask <3)

[stopthatfool]

3, 77 :333

YAAAAA FENTOMY ILYYY

77. Do you have a favourite scene you've written from Your jeep. Your teeth. The coffee that you bought me.?

omg ummmmmm... i think it's this scene from chapter 3 about Mav's mom (whom I made up, she is not 'canon') idk i was just really proud of like.. the imagery? i think that's the word. I was also proud of how much this short scene tells you about Flo Mitchell as a character and as Mav's mom.

Pete had watched as his mother parked haphazardly, crooked, and partially on the dead grass on their front lawn. He watched her fling open the car door and slam it shut, clearly on some mission toward the front door. The flag next to the door hung static and still, like a dead animal strung up on a line waiting to be slashed and skinned, waiting to be picked apart and eaten, waiting for its entire life to come full circle and rot in some hunters stomach, waiting for its own bones to be thrown out and picked apart by the maggots. The flag hung dead, unsentient, while Pete’s mother– she was anything but. She walked up to the flag, shoes clacking on the cracked pavement, her arms swaying at her sides. She unhooked the flag from its stand, her hair billowing in the sudden wind. It turned alive as soon as she touched it, flowy and slippery, squirming and wriggling through her fingers. Flo balled up her fists in the fabric to stop the movement, the life that erupted from it transferring from her to the flag. As she walked back to the car, the flag slithered and moved with the waves created by Flo Mitchell. Then Pete watched as she opened the back door and threw the flag into the back seat. It lay there, dead and unmoving once again, sprawled out against the leather, the stripes overlapping and the stars crumpled and muddled. Flo picked up Pete from the passenger seat and cradled him against her side as they walked up to their new house. Pete yawned, “Why did you do that–? To the flag?” His mother only steered her head forward, eyes serious and focused, “That flag keeps your daddy away from me– from us–” She looked up to the setting sun, the sky all orange and yellow, “Why should I fly the thing that keeps him away– that puts him in danger?”

Flo Mitchell supremacy!! Anti-war queen and Tammy Wynette fan! She's just like me....

3. Describe the creative process of writing a chapter/fic.

i thought you'd never ask (this is going to be long sorry (im saying this as if it's not already long))!!

i cannot, for the life of me, work directly from the computer. I am a "traditional artist" (whatever that even means) at heart, meaning that I have to do everything on paper </3. So for the first idea of Your jeep. Your teeth. The coffee that you bought me. i mapped it out very loosely in my silly little notebook.

(i blocked out spoilers (maybe) for future chapters...) check out my terrible handwriting! and check out how different the plot was! What was i thinking? "Mav bumps into Ice with Bradley after visiting Carole" yeah... sure. But once i had that loose idea i started writing in that same notebook and things kind of went from there.

And then i realized that i should probably plan out the chapters on paper so there's some consistency. so that leads to the little list-like mind maps that i make--

This is from before i learned TOP GUN moved to Nevada (sigh). In these list-like mind maps is where i come up with some of the important dialogue that needs to happen between characters ("I don't need to see a fucking shrink, Kazansky") and it was in these that the plot really began to change from that first mind map. I've made these mind maps for every chapter that needs to happen for the story.

Then after the mind map, I actually begin to write all the scenes out. after i physically write them out, i type it all up in google docs (sigh). AND THEN i copy and paste it all paragraph by paragraph into Grammarly (free edition i am not paying for that) and edit it all. And then i do it again. and then one more time. and then i post it. im crazy.

Thank u for putting in the ask!!! ily fentomy!!! i love talking about my fanfic (as you have so kindly suffered through these past weeks, thank you.) <333

[toon-rp-finder]

⭐️ Hi! 24F here!

So this is probably a long shot, but I thought I'd try anyway. I'm looking for a Disney roleplay! Specifically I’m hoping to play Cassandra from Tangled the Series/Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure! I’m desperate to do an f/f romance with her, and while my preference would be to pair her against Rapunzel, I’m honestly happy to try pairing her against other ladies from the show/other Disney ladies in general. I’m also not against trying out doing Unknighted Dream— though I’ve got no desire to wind up maining Eugene constantly. I'm not interested in playing against OC’s!

Don’t have a set point in canon I’d prefer or anything— I’m just as happy to do something pre-canon as I am to do road trip stuff set during season two, or something angsty with moonstone Cass, or something fix-it set post canon, as long as we have an interesting plot worked out! I can honestly take or leave smut, but if we are going to include it I really don’t want that to become the entire roleplay.

I tend to write in third person past tense, going anywhere from short paragraphs, to 2-4 paragraph responses depending on the scene in play. Obviously sometimes trying to eek out longer responses can get a bit tortured especially in dialogue heavy scenes, but I’d rather not be getting 1-2 line responses consistently? I’m generally a quick replier (and I’ll let you know in advance if for some reason I won’t be able to check for a few days), and would prefer to match with someone who’s decently consistent, but I get that life happens and writers block can be the worst so please don’t feel like I’m going to be harassing you to reply all the time.

I’m GMT but I work odd hours so I can’t make any promises you won’t get responses from me in the middle of the night/the early hours. Oh, and if the plot is going well there’s a good chance you’ll have to put up with me sending you moodboards and playlists and stuff, sorry!

If you interact with this post I’ll message you on here, but I’d rather move to discord once we’ve talked things through a little!

Oh, and a quick thanks to the brilliant mod for posting— apologises this was so long!

The more info the merrier 😉👍

[prince-liest]

hello! Your fics are incredible, the imagery in them is stunning and the pacing flawless. Do you have any steps/advice for writers on how to more effectively write prose and any resources that helped you to improve your writing?

Haa, thank you so much, that's incredibly lovely of you to say! I don't have any specific resources - my writing is entirely self-taught via the "oh, the way this person does that looks neat, I'm stealing that" method, hahaha, as well as figuring out what works for me and what I want to see in fiction.

That said, I do have some personal tips! Two main/favorite ones, really:

What I like to shoot for in my writing is being able to write the visceral experience of the POV character. This is my version of "show, don't tell." It's often more impactful to describe the sensation of fear rather than saying "XYZ was scared." And in turn, that lets you use telling over showing when it would hit harder, too - for me, that's as part of a character's internal narration, which I go into more in this post. Even for describing locations, I refer to how a character experiences seeing something. One of my favorite examples of this is Murderbot (from Martha Wells's Murderbot Diaries), who gives so few shits about the minute biological functions of human beings that it describes one of its crewmates as drinking from a mug filled with "a liquid." Like, that's the only degree of specificity it cares to go into. We don't even get a color. I think that's hilarious and says a lot about Murderbot. In comparison, I write Meng Yao as perpetually judging his surroundings and regularly falling into overthinking spirals filled with tangents of all the things he's constantly worrying about, because that's the kind of person he is. This can add a lot of color and entertainment into imagery that is otherwise commonly used, and also builds a lot of characterization!

I just write what I consider to be the interesting bits of a story. This helps with both reader interest and my own writing motivation. Generally-speaking, I don't really have problems with the nebulous "writer's block" - if I'm not writing, it's either because I'm too tired/busy irl, or because I'm not interested in the writing. If I happen to be in the middle of writing a story and I suddenly feel like it's a slog, it's probably because I'm in the middle of some boring exposition that I don't actually care about. Once I realized that, I started just... skipping that stuff. There are a shocking amount of things that can and should be condensed into 2-3 sentence transitions or communicated through context and actions of the characters instead of getting paragraphs and paragraphs of exposition. This is also why I like starting with cold opens pretty often! A lot of fics open without a proper hook and cause me to just scroll down 8-10 paragraphs until I find the first dialogue, because chances are those 8-10 paragraphs are stage-setting that did not add anything to the story (and frankly are often deeply unnecessary in fanfiction especially since we all know the setting already) that I'm not going to be able to figure out from reading the following conversation. (Note: Boring exposition not to be confused with a character's internal narration, which is often quite fun to read.) You just have to find your balance of how to minimize the filler and integrate it into action/dialogue/narration!

I also have a few posts in my writing advice tag, most of which are my own replies to similar questions to this! ^_^ Some of them are a little old, but I think they're mostly still good!

I hope this helped, anon! Thanks again for your kind words! I genuinely really appreciate them. <3

[petermorwood]

Breaking up sentence length is good, not just for dialogue but for writing in general. Quite apart from ease of reading, there's more visual appeal as well. Few things are more off-putting to a modern reader* than a solid paragraph of unbroken text.

(* "Modern" includes me at Uni in the late 1970s, confronted by the blocks of text in Classic Novels like "Tristram Shandy" and "Tom Jones" - and my eyes were a lot better then than now...)

Regarding dialogue tags: "said" is NOT dead, and never was.

What it is, is almost invisible, and my usual metaphor is this:

Dialogue is a picture on the wall, the dialogue tag is its hook. Which one should attract most attention?

The more extravagant and obvious the hook, the more it distracts from the picture. Using an extravagant hook should happen only rarely and enhance the dialogue in the process.

@sparrow-and-seed-scrawls shows how well-thought-out dialogue can proceed effectively and coherently for quite a distance without even needing "said".

As long as the readers are aware of who's speaking there's no need for "said-Jack-said-Rose-said-Jack-said-Rose" to remind them, and as those examples demonstrate, character actions and emotions can intensify the exchange even more.

Don't ignore dialogue tags entirely, though. Just don't get carried away because, if you can stand another metaphor:

Dialogue tags are seasoning, completely unseasoned food is bland, but over-seasoned food is overwhelming and hard to swallow, yet can also be monotonous.

That's because over-use of over-elaborate dialogue tags can be like writing in CAPS LOCK. When everything's already loud and emphatic, what's left to show emphasis? CAPS ITALIC? CAPS BOLD? CAPS ITALIC BOLD?

Don't assume something is a good tag just because it's in a "said is dead" list like this one.

Think about your alternative tag. Can you hear its effect on the dialogue? If not, or if you have to work at it, then maybe that's not such a good choice after all.

What does, for instance, "rejoiced" as a way of speaking actually SOUND like?

Wouldn't the character rejoice a bit more obviously by leaving off any dialogue tag and describing their expression, body language and reason for rejoicing instead? If the result's too long,it can always be cut, but description shows, while an awkward dialogue tag can only tell - and sometimes it can't do even that.

"She is rather wonderful," Sinclair owned. "I have heard her described as one of the most efficient women in the whole of London." "The Moorcroft Manor Mystery", © 1935, Ralph Trevor

Owned?

"Agreed", "admitted" or "conceded" at least suggest something about what the character thinks of his subject, but "owned" almost certainly came off an "alternatives-to-said" list, or maybe even a wheel like one of these.

Nowadays they're teaching aids. Back then they were "writers' helpers", sold from small newspaper ads, all yours for a stamped self-addressed envelope and a one-shilling postal order.

Side-note: there were / are also plot wheels, with Exciting Events or Complications. Here's a modern one.

Erle Stanley Gardner (supposedly) used at least four during the course of writing 119 "Perry Mason" novels. Those known are:

Wheel Of Hostile Minor Characters Whose Function Is Making Complications For The Hero.

Wheel Of Complicating Circumstances.

Wheel of Blind Trails By Which The Hero Is Misled or Confused.

Wheel of Solution.

I could only find a photo of (3), and his handwriting is not of the best...

...but the site where I found it also had the transcribed entries from each one.

That, however, is for another post.

ETA: It's Here.

The British version was (again, supposedly) created by famous thriller writer Edgar Wallace, who churned out books at such a rate that it's claimed he once dictated an entire novel over a weekend. Another apocryphal story says that an acquaintance phoned him, was told "Edgar's writing a novel" and replied, "All right, I'll hold till he's done."

Like most of his contemporaries Wallace is almost forgotten now, but in his day he was famous (and prolific) enough to prompt this cartoon.

*****

"Something not mentioned," he added humorously, "is the dialogue adverb."

That's an -ly word tacked onto the end of a dialogue tag in hopes it will do the work not actually done by the dialogue itself. There was nothing funny about that sentence, and the adverb didn't make it so. The same applies to far too many adverbs in dialogue - either they're not needed because the dialogue is clear enough, or they're a waste of space because they're having no effect.

No amount of "said humorously" will make an unfunny piece of dialogue funny, but it will definitely point out where the lazy writer who should have written funny dialogue decided that sticking on a misleading label would suffice.

Where such adverbs work rather better is as contrast.

If an action already has a built-in meaning - "laughed" suggests happiness - then adding "happily" is unnecessary. However "sadly" or "grimly" or some other opposite immediately prompts the question "why?", which in turn prompts further reading to learn the answer.

And further reading is just what writers want readers to do. :->

How to Write Strong Dialogue

(from a writer of ten years)

So you’re back in the writing trenches. You’re staring at your computer, or your phone, or your tablet, or your journal, and trying not to lose your mind. Because what comes after the first quotation mark? Nothing feels good.

Don’t worry, friend. I’m your friendly tumblr writing guide and I’m here to help you climb out of the pit of writing despair.

I’ve created a character specifically for this exercise. His name is Amos Alejandro III, but for now we’ll just call him Amos. He’s a thirty-something construction worker with a cat who hates him, and he’s just found out he has to go on a quest across the world to save his mother’s diner.

1.) Consider the Attitude and Characteristics of Your Character

One of the biggest struggles writers face when writing dialogue is keeping characters’ dialogue “in-character”.

You’re probably thinking, “but Sparrow, I’m the creator! None of the dialogue I write can be out of character because they’re my original characters!”

WRONG. (I’m hitting the very loud ‘incorrect’ buzzer in your head right now).

Yes, you created your characters. But you created them with specific characteristics and attitudes. For example, Amos lives alone, doesn’t enjoy talking too much, and isn’t a very scholarly person. So he’s probably not going to say something like “I suggest that we pursue the path of least resistance for this upcoming quest.” He’d most likely say, “I mean, I think the easiest route is pretty self-explanatory.”

Another example is a six-year-old girl saying, “Hi, Mr. Ice Cream Man, do you have chocolate sundaes?” instead of “Hewwo, Ice Cweam Man— Chocowate Sundaes?”

Please don’t put ‘w’s in the middle of your dialogue unless you have a very good and very specific reason. I will cry.

Yes, the girl is young, but she’s not going to talk like that. Most children know how to ask questions correctly, and the ‘w’ sound, while sometimes found in a young child’s speech, does not need to be written out. Children are human.

So, consider the attitude, characteristics, and age of your character when writing dialogue!

2.) Break Up Dialogue Length

If I’m reading a novel and I see an entire page of dialogue without any breaks, I’m sobbing. You’re not a 17th century author with endless punctuation. You’re in the 21st century and people don’t read in the same way they used to.

Break up your dialogue. Use long sentences. Use one word. Use commas, use paragraph breaks. Show a character throwing a chair out a window in between sentences.

For example:

“So, you’re telling me the only way to save my Ma’s diner is to travel across five different continents, find the only remaining secret receipt card, and bring it back before she goes out of business? She didn’t have any other copies? Do I have to leave my cat behind?”

vs.

Amos ran a hand over his face. “So, you’re telling me the only way to save my Ma’s diner is to travel across five different continents, find the only remaining secret recipe card, and bring it back before she goes out of business?”

He couldn’t believe his luck. That was sarcastic, of course. This was ironically horrible.

“She didn’t have any other copies?” He leaned forward over the table and frowned. “Do I have to leave my cat behind?”

The second version is easier to digest, and I got to add some fun description of thought and action into the scene! Readers get a taste of Amos’ character in the second scene, whereas in the first scene they only got what felt like a million words of dialogue.

3.) Don’t Overuse Dialogue Tags.

DON’T OVERUSE DIALOGUE TAGS. DON’T. DON’T DON’T DON’T.

If you don’t know what a dialogue tag is, it’s a word after a sentence of dialogue that attributes that dialogue to a specific character.

For example:

“Orange juice and chicken ramen are good,” he said.

‘Said’ functions as the dialogue tag in this sentence.

Dialogue tags are good. You don’t want to completely avoid them. (I used to pride myself on how I could write stories without any dialogue tags. Don’t do that.) Readers need to know who’s speaking. But overusing them, or overusing weird or unique tags, should be avoided.

Examples:

“I’m gonna have to close my diner,” Amos’ mother said.

“Why?” Amos growled. “It’s been in the family forever.”

“I’ve lost the secret recipe card, and I can’t keep the diner open without it!” she cried.

“The Bacon Burger Extreme recipe card?” Amos questioned.

“Yes!” Amos’ mother screamed.

“Well, that’s not good,” Amos complained.

vs.

“I’m gonna have to close my diner,” Amos’ mother said, taking her son’s hand and leading him over to one of the old, grease-stained tabletops with the ripped-fabric booths.

Amos simply stared at her as they moved. “Why? It’s been in the family forever.”

“I’ve—” she looked away for a moment, then took in a breath. “I’ve lost the secret recipe card. And I can’t keep the diner open without it.”

“The Bacon Burger Extreme recipe card?”

“Yes!” She still wouldn’t meet his eyes, and her shoulders were shaking. “Yes.”

Amos sat down heavily in the booth. “Well, that’s not good.”

The first scene only gives character names and dialogue tags. There are no actions and no descriptions. The second scene, however, gives these things. It gives the reader descriptions of the diner, the characters’ actions, and attitudes. Overusing dialogue tags gets boring fast, so add interest into your writing!

So! When you’re writing, consider the attitude of your character, vary dialogue length, and don’t overuse dialogue tags.

Now climb out of the pit of writing despair. Pick up your pen or computer. And write some good dialogue!

Best,

Sparrow

[ddejavvu]

hii, i wouls love to starrt writing stuff but idk how, do you have any tips for me? thank you very much <3

i hope these help!!

read your dialogue out loud! often times authors have trouble with dialogue in the beginning, and it sounds weak, rushed, or forced. just make sure it sounds natural, like something a real human being would actually say, and you're good :D

similarly, imagine or act out your character's movements! their human behavior needs to seem like human behavior, not like they're an alien trying to pretend to be human.

try to nail down characterization. would the grumpy, surly, tough guy call his partner cupcake or gummy bear? or would he stick to more traditional, sophisticated terms of endearment like babe, baby, sweetheart, etc. if you can't imagine them saying it, then neither can we.

details details details!! describe the colors of things, the sizes, the smells, the textures, give us detail enough that we can picture what you're describing, make us feel like we're there.

do not make your characters yell with caps lock. that is one of my biggest pet peeves, it takes me completely out of the story. your characters can be angry and shout without needing their dialogue in caps lock!! it seems more advanced and professional when you are able to describe someone shouting without breaking the rhythm of the piece by startling readers with the look of all capitals. instead, add an exclamation mark at the end of the sentence, and add dialogue tags like 'he shouted,' 'she cried,' 'they screamed,' etc etc etc

make sure your tenses match!! i'm super super guilty of this, i often read and write at kinda the same time, or on alternating intervals, so if i read something in present tense and then i try to write in past tense, i get mixed up. just try to remember to proofread before you post/finish, and make sure you've got one single tense throughout the entire story!

^^ same with POV!! if you're writing in the second person and all of a sudden you're writing 'he led me to my door', something got a lil wonky

split up paragrahps, please. your blocks of text should not be overwhelming, your reader shouldn't get lost in them. if you see any really really big chunks, try to separate them at least once or twice! and remember, new speaker, new paragraph/line.

[mousegard]

As one fic writer to another: what's your approach to revising/editing previous chapters?

Once I'm finished with my current fic, I'm planning on absolutely churning through the first half of it to better match how my style evolved over previous portions (paragraph blocking, dialogue clarity, characterization, character thoughts vs. third-person limited narrative, splitting up longer chapters, etc. etc.). When you edit, do you go for a hammer when revising to "published" chapters, or for a scalpel? Do you ever feel like an "original" version of the work should be left as it is as if it's a physically published bit of fiction, or could/should/can it be modified with impunity by an author given that it's a digital work?

when it comes to revising things, i prefer not to change things up too much. but that's because the fics i write are so goddamn long that even if i wanted to go back and totally rewrite the beginning parts my stamina would give out. the biggest after-the-fact edit i made to an eagle among lions was in changing edelgard's nickname for dimitri from the fandom-created "dima" to the canonical "dee" after the latter was revealed in a datamine leak of three hopes prior to its release. other edits included updating the names of minor characters who weren't named until three hopes came out, such as count bergliez and count varley. i also completely rewrote all of monica's dialogue to better match her characterization in three hopes, but given that she had like less than half a dozen lines across two scenes in the entire fic that was very easy (sorry monica). a few chapters also got renamed here and there, and a handful of continuity errors got fixed and minor plot holes got plugged

i don't think it's useful to get hung up on comparing digital media to physical media when it comes to whether a work "should" be edited because physically published media gets modified after the fact too. anime tv series get touch-ups for the blu-ray release, as will serially published manga chapters when they're collected into tankobon volumes. novels get touched up between editions as well; jrr tolkein went back and revised the part of the hobbit where bilbo meets gollum well after its initial publication to make it fit into the continuity of the lord of the rings. so physical works can be and are modified by their authors with impunity after publication, it's just not as easy as updating a webpage XP

if you have the stomach for it, i think it's a great idea to go back to earlier chapters and edit them to be more consistent with how your writing style has evolved since then. however personally i don't mind seeing somebody's style evolve throughout the story they're telling. for example in jojo's bizarre adventure araki's artstyle shifts midway through part four; in the middle of a chapter even iirc, and it's a little jarring when it happens but being able to see araki's development as an artist as he refines his style adds to the overall charm. and there are plenty of webcomics where you can see the artist's style evolve over time in a similar manner, such as, um, pretty much all of them

[batmansymbol]

Hello there!

I'm curious: how was your experience writing Disappearances? Did you discover anything about yourself as a writer, or as a person? Lol, getting deep

hi, dear anon!

the disappearances writing process was weird and not entirely healthy. the bulk of it was early pandemic, and i was waiting on an edit letter, and i was frightened by everything, so the process was wake up, draft, sleep, repeat.

it was nice to discover that i could still draft at speed, though. i've slowed way down over the years when writing my own books, and there were single days when i wrote 10,000 words of disappearances. so that was reassuring, even if it came at the expense of like, nutrition.

prior to writing it, i also would have described myself as "bad at plot." i no longer think of myself that way.

i also discovered some troublesome writing tendencies, though. sometime in the last five years i've become enamored of dialogue tags, apparently. i had to strip out hundreds of meaningless gestural and behavioral details from Alone Out Here (nodding, sighing, pointing, looking and looking and looking), and if it's not a weakness that i developed while writing disappearances, it's definitely something that i noticed along the road.

i also realized that i have a tendency to overexplain. i get itchy fingers when i leave questions unanswered, which is terrible, because fiction is most exciting when the author plants seeds and grows them slowly over the course of a novel, rather than trying to slam you in the face with a tree trunk immediately. i'm trying to be more intentional about parceling out a sentence of information and not immediately spiraling into three paragraphs of explanation or emotional implication.

in terms of learning anything about myself as a person, i think this last point has helped me realize that i need to work on existing without justification. not every email to my job needs to be prefaced by four disclaimers. not every text message needs to include blocks of explanation for my mindset. i need to practice stepping back and trusting people to take things the right way; i need to relinquish some control.

this is difficult for me. i think spending time on the internet at a formative age teaches you that there is always someone who will take your words in bad faith. it's tough not to look at that and see the breakdown of both empathy and communication, if not the total breakdown of language. i don't want to spend my whole life asking, what did you mean? did you understand me? did i take it the wrong way? did you take it the wrong way? and writing novels is to a degree trusting that they will take it the way you meant it. maybe someday i'll learn that kind of trust.

[sardonic-sprite]

For funsies Imma just answer all the questions 😝 Also, Q, I'll get to your asks as soon as I can!

Don't exactly get the phrasing of this question, but I guess what I'm proud of with my writing would be that I've been able to overcome blocks more often lately

Not quite "outlining" but improving my direction. Having a sense of where I'm gonna take a story rather than hang on for dear life as it drags me around.

I assume this means new chapter on a fic that was a one shot? Basically I figure out what makes having it a one-shot dissatisfying and then decide what openings were left in the story to fix that

Every time I open the doc, I read the fic through from the beginning (or beginning of the chunk/scene I'm going to continue) and flag or change things as I see them. Rinse and repeat.

Alfred. He's fucking hard. Jason's easy though. Like, frighteningly so. Damian is also pretty easy, but I don't naturally choose him very often.

So often this happens when I've written a line or an exchange that I find really funny or powerful, but just can't figure out where to go next. I try to cling to everything on the page and it messes me up, because while it might be fun, it doesn't actually work practically in the story.

I consider if I can move those lines to another place in the story or to another story entirely. Then I consider, regardless of where I could put them, can I delete them from right here? Usually I can, and I go back up a few paragraphs from the gap and start over.

So I took a deep dive into novel advice for my manuscript which I NEED to get back to but it's just so nebulous and daunting... 😭 Anyway, what's really stuck with me is character over plot. I can have the coolest series of events, but it will be meaningless unless my characters (or DC's but whatever) grow and change (or stay true to themselves despite strain).

Dialogue, no question. It is the single most common compliment I receive, and it's also just super fun!

Hmmmm. Maybe how sporadic it is. I'll obsess over a work for some short period of time then drop it completely for like 3 months while I attend to other works. I feel like, if I'd started the prose, it makes the work disjointed. But alas, I've tried to force myself to complete one work before moving on, but it just gets me frustrated and stuck.

So until like, eh, a month ago, I didn't. Now what I seem to do with short fics is take my idea and just start writing a ways, until I get to a point where I'm halfway stuck. Then I scribble notes about what WILL happen, as a guideline for me to go in later and turn those lines into actual prose. For long fics it's very similar... actually it might be the same.

So my current story is like, 10 simultaneously. The ones I'm cowriting are inspired by my cowriters. Another one was inspired by my own stress and yet another by "bane" bc I needed the fluff. My inspiration comes from all sorts of places

Fight scenes lmao. It's really difficult for me to picture people and spaces let alone actions. I have to stop and try to run blocky mental animation to know what people are doing, then translate it to words, then go reassure myself that the words aren't too clunky and don't disrupt the pacing of a fight. Also, some concepts I come up with. Young, Innocent, and Righteous is one, and the last June of Doom fic is another. I know that things I do in them either aren't MY usual or aren't a general taste, so I worry sometimes about how they'll be received.

Hmmm. I mean specific lines in specific stories sometimes, but it's not as though there's a thematic Thing I always do that I want people to notice.

Hmmmmmm. My word choice I think is most often influenced by my narrator. Damian uses bigger or older words, because he wants to seem more mature, and was raised to be highly formal. Bruce uses adult words too, but not to the level of Damian, because his sophistication is natural, not for show. Jason gets big words sometimes, but he also gets slang and cusses, because he's a literarure-loving Alley brat (affectionate). Examples below 😊

Yes. I've finally broken through a wall on the ages-old requested fics, but I'm also spazzing because June is almost over and I spent so long finishing the challenge I don't have much else prepared. I'm proud of finishing the challenge, but also overloaded because I have SO MANY ideas and not as much time as I thought to write them. And then there's the manuscript looming over me that I poke at with a stick then run away from

So I go through moods of reading and writing, and when I'm doing one frequently, I'm hardly touching the other. However, if I'm writing and get stuck or hesitant, but what I'm working on matches the vibe of something I've read, I run and find that fic to springboard off of it

Hmmm. I don't pay that much attention to this, honestly. Someone told me recently that she was surprised and proud of how I took really ugly emotions like guilt and regret and grief and actually explored them in "big brother" because humans generally don't want to deal with those feelings. But I didn't think I was doing that conciously while I wrote

I've been an envysparkler fangirl for a long time. Her Jason and Tim works really got me hooked on the batfam, and give me lots of feels and inspiration. But I also admire the people I write with now, for their passion and love for the characters and stories

The absolute randomest times I swear. I'll be in the middle of something and get an idea and be like Oh shit theres another one now 😂

Narrator/word choice examples:

Here's bruce in "bane": (cw for referenced sexual assault)

Thirty seconds of silence followed Tim’s explanation. A massive portion of Bruce’s terror corroded into disgust and horror as he imagined – tried not to imagine – a faceless, eons-old woman forcing herself on his teenage son.

Words like "portion" "corroded" "eons" and the phrase "forcing herself on" aren't what the general population would use, but neither are they words that make general audiences pull out a dictionary. Bruce isn't forcing his education in your face, but it is noticeable

Here's Damian in a WIP:

The goal of the contest was to win ten consecutive victories, and thereby freedom for your party. Damian understood that the Ghavka-La, their extraterrestrial captors, thought that desperation to save loved ones' lives would make their competitors fight more brutally – more entertaingly – but in his observance, it just froze them stiff and made them easy prey for the trained champions.

Words like "consecutive" "thereby" "extraterrestrial" "observance" you might not actually need a dictionary for, but they don’t flow like typical thoughts. They're older and have more syllables. Damian's grammar is also more formal and complex. He wants you to think he's sophisticated, and you can't help but notice.

And finally, here's an upscale Jason in the last June fic:

And on he went, cobbling together the most hobbit-hole-like picture he could for them all: warm, cozy, and full of good things. Whatever he had memorized of Tolkien's words, he used, and filled in other lore with as good a mimicry of the prose as he could manage, making gentle references to the kids and things they knew of, trying to welcome them into a world where Dark things were fated to have a final end

"Cobbling' "mimicry" "prose" are pretty rare words, and the grammar and flow are highly prosaic as well. Not to mention the actual literature references, so Jason's very much lining up with bruce and damian here. Right now he wants to be seen as comforting, so he takes on a friendly storyteller vibe, informed by the stories HE loves.

But now here's the contrast, which is also 100% all-natural jason todd: (cw for referenced harm to a minor)

Jason wanted to cry. Or vomit. Or scream, or most of all rip the bars apart, get his hands on a weapon and finish the goddamn job he’d started (failed, hissed his mind) and kill everyone who could hurt a tiny four-year-old with a goddamn bow on her shirt so badly that the sight of any adult caused her to panic.

"Goddamn" twice in one sentence lol, accompanied by violent thoughts. This is someone who's seen ugly things and doesn't much care to mince his words. Worth noting that my jason swears much more when he's angry or emotionally charged, and usually for emphasis. He wants to unleash his anger ao there's the words. However, the very next paragraph...:

But he forced down that rage, because he knew even his most righteous anger was violent, and violence was not going to help him reassure these kids that the last thing he’d ever do was hurt them

The cussing is gone. We've gone from "rip" and "kill" to just vague and higher brow "violence" and while we aren't storytelling, we're in a pretty normal-sounding range of expression.

So basically, Bruce sounds like an educated adult in any circumstance and doesn't pay attention to that, Damian sounds like an English-language overacheiver in any circumstance and likes that, and Jason is a linguistic chameleon, changing vocabulary and syntax based on what's around him.

Since this has been a hella long tangent anyway, here's a fun fact: when I was younger I was Damian and I had to actually work on toning it down with a speech therapist (among other things) and now I'm Jason 😁

WRITER ASKS

Thanks for the tag @liiilyevans! I do love an ask game.

What are you most proud of your writing right now?

Is there something you're specifically working on to improve your writing?

What is your process for going about writing a new chapter?

Describe your editing process.

Is there a character's voice that you struggle with? What about one you find easy to write?

Where you do find yourself "hung up" while writing?

What methods do you use to get out of "hang ups" while writing?

What piece of advice did you hear/read recently that's been helping you to improve your writing?

What do you feel that you are naturally talented with in terms of creative writing?

Do you have any personal pet peeves about your writing that you're working to change?

How do you plan out your story writing process? For chapters and/or the entire story?

Who/what is your greatest inspiration for your current story?

Do you have anything you are self-conscious about in your writing?

Is there something you wish readers would pick up on more in your stories?

Talk to me about how you go about word choice. Do you have an example of your writing that you're particularly proud of clever word choice?

Where are you currently at in your writing mindset? Frustrated? Excited? Focused? Other?

How do you use reading material to help you with your own writing?

Are there emotions that come to you easily while writing? Or ones that are difficult for you to describe?

Who is another author (fanfic or otherwise) that you admire? Why?

When do you get most of your ideas and inspiration for writing?

(Never pressure) tags: @merlinsbbeard @charmsandtealeaves @kay-elle-cee @athenasparrow @quotidian-oblivion @jfleamont @itsjamespotter

[mariusroyale]

i physically cannot read a fic with first person pov. the way i retch n gag at it.. like. no.

yknow what while we’re at it ill talk abt my list of fanfic icks (fanficks) i get. i used to tolerate this stuff freely in like 2015-16 (when i had no taste smh) now i have zero patience lmao

- shit grammar: i cannot. like i can’t read fics with poor grammar and punctuation, it immediately renders the story unreadable (some exceptions are if im desperate and it’s like the only fic in this v obscure tag n fandom).

- no spacing in paragraphs: SEPARATE UR PARAGRAPHS PEOPLEEEE. tiptop!!! if you create an entire block of text it’s now INCOMPREHENSIBLE and you’ve wasted ur time writing it bc who’s going to read that????

- this also goes for not spacing dialogue properly like this,

“What do you mean?” He tilts his head while asking. She answers absentmindedly, “Like this. Marius can’t read if it’s formatted like this cos it’s supposed to be a new line when it’s a new person speaking.” He pauses in thought, recognising how unappealing it looked. “Oh.”

i can’t bruh it’ll make me stop reading- I MEAN LOOK AT IT. sometimes it’s fucking impossible to tell who’s speaking when! PLS. if a new character is speaking!!! ADD A NEW PARAGRAPH

- if it’s just. Out of character- like shit characterisation: people pls, most characters have dimensions to them! give them better dialogue and actions for the love my ass, you know DAMN well this character would never do that shit in canon

- first person pov (had to talk abt this one again i can’t describe how much it makes me BLEH) like!!! it’s so!! very rarely can i ever enjoy a story written in first person anyway! i don’t care what you think?? lmao?? no human would ever write their daily routine

“I noticed my [insert hair colour] hair possessed a sheen today, which meant I hadn’t washed it in a while.” like? no!

even then if u wrote it like a normal human

“My hair was way too greasy this morning. It’d been awhile since I washed it.”

i still hate it- like if i want details, i want it from an omnipotent, otherworldly being that doesn’t exist outside of narrating

frankly idk why i chose that as an example but you know what i mean: having details is great in third person but so meh in first

- shitty pacing within a brief interaction

i no longer have the patience anymore dude. had i read this in 2015, when i didn’t read well written fics, you’d have me hooked but

i don’t want to read a fic that takes forever to get through and by this i mean: the way you write paragraphs and insert dialogue in between

if there’s an important scene happening, i want to see it. wanna feel it.

if i see a wall of text in between the dialogue which shows Character A’s thoughts im leaving

like you can tell the author kinda just forgot what their original point was and started waffling? like u know??

i once read a fic in 2015-16 (im so sorry it was phan) where the fucking chunks of texts between dialogues were literal PARAGRAPHS. by that point i had forgotten what they were saying cos it was just

“Hey… are you alright?”

A looked at B worriedly. B didn’t know what to say. A had a lot on their plate already. Maybe it was best to not say anything for now. (Like here? This is a good place to stop and continue what B would say. But author just kept going.) B knew how A would react, he wasn’t good with emotions. After all, A had never been truly open with his emotions with people, how could B expect him to do it with him, of all people? He faintly recalled the time he saw A quietly sniffle during a movie and asked if he was alright, only to be met with a brief dismissal. A wouldn’t understand. (AND IT WOULD BE A BIGGER PARAGRAPH THAN THIS!! AND THERE WOULD BE TWO MORE AFTER IT!)

“I-I’m okay.”

Neither of them missed the way B stuttered, but-

AND IT JUST KEPT FUCKING GOING. THIS INTERACTION IN REAL LIFE WOULD HAPPEN IN TEN SECONDS. CANT THIS INTROSPECTION HAPPEN AFTER??? DO I ACTUALLY NEED TO KNOW EVERY DETAILED THOUGHT THAT HAPPENS IN THEIR HEAD IN THE TWO SECONDS THEY PAUSE TO THINK OF A RESPONSE???????

(to clarify, do this introspection in between dialogue, sure. but if you’re gonna make it huge and waffled and unnecessary stOPPP. MAKE IT SHORT. OR JUST PUT IT AFTER THEIR INTERACTION IDFK)

- when the summary has me at the edge of my seat and the first few words of the fic has me vomiting

like DAMMIT. you HAD ME

i was SO EXCITED for this premise it’s intriguing and i was gonna read and!!!

your grammar is shit!! DAMMIT

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings pt. 2, (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Creeping closer.

Notes: can you tell how much im geeking out on the pyramid section of this. can you. now i want you to guess how long i researched it for a scene that was only supposed to be a few paragraphs and some dialogue. WC: 8.9k (sorry)

+

The way back to your house was a slow crawl, but a necessary evil. After the incident in which your clothes were ruined, Ahkmen offered to clean your clothes for you, a task you knew little about and usually didn't have to do in the first place. You accepted, though there was an issue––you didn't own any other clothes.

Rushlights in your tiny bedroom dimly reflected off the hanging silks and shawls, bathing the room and your skin in deep purples and reds darkened by both the evening and the smoke of incense.

Cloth rustled in the other room, making your shoulders seize up. The funny little Egyptian man who had taken up most of your evening with laughter was not someone you could fully trust, but few were, and you could still enjoy his companionship for the remaining minutes of the evening. He would leave soon––with your clothes––and you would not be able to leave your home until he returned with them. Nudity was fine in Egypt, but you weren't Egyptian. It was an uncommon practice to you.

You could physically feel your face flush with embarrassment, your chest tightening when he said your name in a soft voice. Unable to respond, you continued to strip yourself of the muddy garments, setting them carefully in a pile on a part of the floor that didn't have any carpet.

"Yogi?" He asked again. You whipped around to the curtain separating you from him, but found it vacant as always.

"Give me time," you said, your voice trembling slightly as you attempted to pull your pants off your hopping feet. "Taking off mud is hard."

"Oh, I know," he said, suddenly much closer to you, but still not breaching the curtain. "I'm a little less drunk right now so I wanted to try and pronounce your name, so... what was it again? Sorry."

"It is okay," you chuckled. "My name is Yogasundari.”

"Ah, right. Yogatsundera?"

"Yoga-soon-dahry."

"Yogasundari?"

"There you go," you said with a smile, happy to hear your full name from someone else after a long while of dealing with a horrid nickname.

With that, you pulled off the last of your clothes, removing the jewelry that had belonged to your family. Those you placed on your desk, but the clothes you folded best you could before timidly approaching the curtain leading to the funny Egyptian man. You couldn't quite remember his name, making your next actions all the more embarrassing, reaching forward to pull away the fabric.

"I finish this," you said, poking your head out, your extended hand beneath you.

Ahk moved to grab the pile, but stopped when he noticed your silhouette, now clear against the rushlight behind you. His breathing halted, caught in his chest. When he met your eye, he remembered himself, keeping his gaze above your shoulders as he took the clothes.

"You do return quick, yes?" You asked pointedly.

"I'll be back here tomorrow."

"Good. I have a work in the morning."

He held the clothes away from his body, but a giddiness ran through him that brought him to a quiet carelessness. His feet worked faster, an intrinsic smile on his face, and his home, the palace, fast approaching.

The whole of the evening accompanied him as he walked. In less than 12 hours he'd gotten the necklace back, 'beat' Panya in a drinking contest, flirted (albeit drunkenly) with an incredibly pretty brewer, and possibly even made friends with someone with entirely different life experiences from himself. The only drawback was that you were clearly not a fan of the royal family despite your liking of Egypt.

What had been his cover name?

Ak'anpu, if he recalled correctly through his drunken haze of a night. His name, and then Anubis', as Piye had called him.

Oh, Piye's gonna fucking love this, he thought as a grin spread across his face, his speed hastening as he approached the palace steps.

By morning the servants had finished washing your clothes, leaving them to hang in the laundry room till they were picked up. Ahkmen didn't notice it, as he was awakened by his servant Naguib, and his first waking thoughts were of unpleasantries against the bright morning sun.

Naguib pulled open the drapes shielding Ahk's room from the outside, leaving the long, intricate arches to cast the sun's glow directly onto Ahkmen's bed. He groaned, flipping over onto his stomach as he twisted in his sheets.

"Good morning, my Prince. You have school at Osiris' temple today, but nothing else. The Pharaoh instructed me to tell you that he is having dinner with the emissaries from Ebla when they arrive within the week. He wants you to attend," Naguib said as he opened Ahkmen's closet, pulling out the Prince's usual daily clothes.

"Is it optional?"

"Ask your father."

Once Ahkmen was safe and back in his clothes, he ran down to the laundry rooms, fetching your clothes and stopping by the kitchens for a tiger roll. He barely stopped to talk to any of the servants, moving on his way at a fast pace that sent him skipping down the stone pathways of Memphis. Ahkmen wasn't small by any means, but he had a way of moving about crowds, slinking through groups and keeping quick on his feet.

Piye managed to find him a couple turns before the temple, grabbing the crook of his arm and interrupting the Prince's stride.

"Ahk," they said as they turned him round.

"Piye!"

"How did it go last night?" They asked, picking back up into a walk.

"Wonderful. I think I remember most of it, too! I got my mother's necklace back, so I'll be gifting her that this evening, and I got to acquaint myself with that friend of yours, Yogi," he said with an animated expression, bright eyes and all smiles. "They're quite interesting."

"I see you have their clothes, too," Piye said, their eyes falling to the folded cloth in Ahkmen's hands. "What the hell did you two do last night?"

"Oh. Oh, no, I – they slipped in the mud and they don't really have access to good cleaning materials, and since it was technically my fault, I offered to have them cleaned," he explained.

"Awful nice of you."

"It's only right."

With help from his friend, Ahkmen made it over the boxes marking the entrance to your home without dirtying your clothes. Piye followed soon after, and the both of them entered your little tent, searching for a hard surface to knock on.

"Yogasundari?" Ahkmen called, feeling his face flush as he prayed he pronounced it right. "I've got your clothes."

"You have my cloths??" You said from behind one of the walls that Ahkmen remembered seeing you through.

"Right here," he said, reaching through the curtain to hand you the stack.

Weight was lifted off his hand and he withdrew, waiting a moment as you eagerly dressed yourself.

"Thank you many times!" You said, appearing with a wide smile that crinkled the flushed skin of your cheeks.

"Of course. We have to go now. I'll stop by soon!" He said as he turned to leave.

"Thank you," you said with a bow.

This time, he and Piye entered the temple through the correct door, walking through the long courtyard and observing the workers. They had been working on the garden for a while now, planting rows of seeds every day that would be fertilized with water, the Nile's silt, and of course, feces at times. At least the flowers everywhere blocked out the scent.

In the trees that towered above even the temple, birds cawed and sung at one another, pecking at the dates that fell on unfortunate people's heads. Piye managed to miss most of them, but Ahkmen was assaulted by one landing on his shoulder.

"Come now, can't be late two days in a row," Piye said, rushing Ahkmen along as the bell began to toll.

"And in the beginning of the year," Ahkmen added shakily as he began to run, coerced by Piye's long strides.

The two burst through the vacant doorframe before the eighth note, rushing to sit on the floor with the other two students. The priest entered moments later, eyeing both of them suspiciously, but remaining silent on the subject. Ahkmen let out a breath he didn't know he was hiding, reaching for the limestone tablets the class would be practicing on today.

Several minutes in he was already staring out the open door, watching the birds that pecked on the dried fruits littering the garden, fallen from the tops of trees and the undergrowth of bushes. However, it wasn't until several hours in that he caught sight of something that actually earned his attention.

You were near unrecognizable without your striking clothes, without the dim lighting he had already gotten so used to seeing you in. Reds, golds, and purples were replaced with the common warm white of servant skirts, allowing him to see the whole of your stomach and chest, as well as your legs that no longer hid within pants. Ahkmen hardly understood your insistence on wearing such warm clothes in Egyptian weather, and his ideas on the matter were only enforced when he felt blood rushing to his cheeks in a fiery blush.

For a long while you didn't notice him, and since consequences weren't part of the equation, Ahkmen stared free of guilt. You were positioned on your knees, rags and sponges in hand as you scrubbed the perfect marble floor of the outer temple halls. His jaw began to fall open, his eyes enraptured in the sunlight that shone off your dark skin, and was only dragged away by Piye manually shutting his mouth.

"Stop drooling. They won't come over just to clean your spit off the floor," Piye whispered in his ear as the priest's backs were turned.

"What?" Ahk whispered back, but went silent as his teachers turned back to the class.

"Now, what are the ways our Pharaoh's names written and how does the type of name change with the way it's written?"

"The Horus name is written in the box with the falcon on the edge?" One of the younger boys asked, his hand raised hesitantly in the air.

"No," said the priest with a tut.

An hour or so later he and his classmates were released for the midday break, rushing out of the enclosed classroom and into the long, stretching gardens of the temple's courtyard. Though the days were growing steadily cooler, flowers still bloomed with abandon in their ponds and bushes.

Piye began to part from Ahk as they approached the kitchens, causing Ahkmen to halt and grab their arm.

"Where are you going?"

"My father wants me to study runes in bones and teeth, so... I won't be back for the rest of the day. Tonight, though, I might have something planned for us," they said, shaking off his grip with a teasing wink.

Ahkmen watched as they jogged out of the temple, disappearing down the more common streets of Memphis. He frowned. Most of the other students his age were either too scared of him or didn't like him based purely off his status and his father's rule. It was things like that that had Ahk swearing up and down he would not be like his father––he would not be the reason his children couldn't make friends.

After gathering more food than he actually needed, he snuck out of the kitchens, speed-walking around as his eyes searched for the familiar stature of his new 'friend,' if he could call you that. How perfect it was that you worked here as well, and that he discovered that fact on a day of Piye's absence.

He searched the entirety of the temple's courtyard, classrooms, and worker rooms and couldn't find you. There was much of the temple left––about half unexplored––but those areas were blocked off. It was then he recalled you weren't from Memphis, and you might not understand the rules of priest-ly areas and citizen areas. He paused mid step, dread dropping his heart into his feet. Priests and oracles were not kind to those who disobeyed their direct rules of the holy.

Even with his royal status, he had to adhere to the same rules when it came to Gods. Sometimes even the Pharaoh was given such commands. But respect had never looked his way, and his desire to see you overcame his reluctance, stewing ideas in his head.

For a good few minutes he waited outside the entrance to the God's gardens, watching to see if anyone would try to stop him. In that time he pretended to eat, and after earning no strange looks, he ducked into the long hallway that would soon lead to the home of Osiris. Today, the massive oak doors were shut tight.

On either side of the hallway were gardens––to his left, a water garden, rife with lotus and reeds. To his right, a garden of date trees, lentils, lettuce, grapes, and pomegranates. The tall arches allowed him to easily see in, and the absence of a roof had sunlight raining down on the golden and green plants. What little light made it through the arches fell on his tanned skin, warming up the cool temple air, that had in times left him shivering.

Unfortunately, you weren't in either garden. He checked for a while, too, worried that he might've overlooked you behind tall plants or thick brush, but to no avail. All that remained was Osiris' home––the inner temple.

He had been in there before––rather recently, as well––but that did not mean he didn't fear it. He was quite clearly not where he was supposed to be, and his break wouldn't last much longer, as he'd spent much of the time making sure he wouldn't be caught. However, if he didn't find you, then it would be for nothing, and with that thought he continued forward.

To his surprise, when he just barely cracked open the doors, no one was inside. Not even the High Priest. The towering statue of Osiris stared blankly forward, the softest of smiles pulling at his perfect lips. Entirely still and cold.

He shut the doors slowly as he left, returning down the thin hallway with a furrowed brow. Perhaps you had left?

As he made to reenter the hall of gardens, a quiet hum reached his ears. He perked up almost immediately, eyes widening as he turned, staring at the temple's door as though it had spoke. He didn't dare move, but the song continued.

With steps of the utmost carefulness, he returned down the hall to the door. Pressing his ear against the wood, he heard nothing, and stood with yet another frown.

The voice had to be coming from somewhere. Further towards the courtyard it grew quieter, so it originated from within the holy ground, but where?

Ahkmen closed his eyes, breathing deeply as he listened attentively to the hum. Centering in on it, he began to follow, paying close attention to the volume. He reached with his hands as he walked blind, and came to a doorway he had never seen before when he opened his eyes. It was barely more than a crack in the meticulously painted wall, but large enough for a person to walk through. How he'd never noticed it before escaped him.

Echoes filled the massive room, entirely unlit with a stone roof above it. Ahkmen had to take a moment to let his eyes adjust, but when they did, he jumped back.

The room had to be larger than the whole of the courtyard, with walls that stretched too far to see the end of them. Pillars of a massive size filled the room, positioned with a graphed precision revered by other nations, each one too large for even Piye to wrap their arms around. And without fail, every single one of them was painted in hieroglyphs small as his fingernails paired to scenes of gory victory.

Music reverberated in his bones, painting the empty air that now thrummed with a thousand voices singing one after the other, yet still faint enough for Ahkmen to be unable to make out the words.

Without being able to track the volume of the humming, finding you would be much harder. This was, undoubtedly, you––your voice, speaking in words you knew well instead of the jargon of Egyptian. He tried his best, and in the end he found you scrubbing the floor mindlessly, staring up at the paintings above you as you murmured songs to yourself.

Hunger of cannibals...

those black-eyed pigs.

"Yogasundari?" Ahkmen said quietly from behind, hoping he wouldn't startle you.

You did jump a little, but you turned around with expectant, not fearful, eyes. Upon recognizing him, you smiled.

"Aganu!"

He thought to correct you, but realized it meant little considering it wasn't his real name anyway.

"Good to see you, as well," he chuckled. "What are you doing in here?"

"They ask me to clean, I clean, and it is quiet, this room. I like it here," you said, leaning back on your haunches as you returned to staring at the high pillar in front of you.

"They let you in here?"

"It is not hard to get in. You got in."

"No, I mean –" he took a moment to think of his words, "– they usually have one of the priests clean the holy places. They let a citizen clean in here?"

You paused, glancing away. "I did not ask," you admitted.

Ahkmen's eyes widened, reaching for you and pulling you to your feet.

"Then we need to get out of here before they punish both of us," he said, not pausing to let you gather your cleaning things before pulling you along.

"My cleans!"

He didn't stop running till he found the crack of an entrance, sneaking himself and you through to the slightly-less-illegal area of the holy gardens. Bright sunlight blinded him, and he squinted his eyes, shying away from the sudden stimulation. He kept the both of you moving though, till you reached the entrance of the hallway to the courtyard.

"You cannot go in such places," he said once he felt as though he had the peace of mind to address your stupidity. "I don't know what you've been taught, but when a priest tells you to do something, you do it. No questions asked."

"That is not a good thing," you said, frowning.

"It doesn't matter if it's good or bad. That's just how it is, and you and I are powerless to stop that. It's easiest to just listen," he said, growing softer as he noted your confusion.

"I..." you trailed off without ever having started.

"I'm sorry. I wish it could be different," he murmured, tucking stray hairs behind your ear.

"Why make all that beautiful if no one can see it?"

"It's for the Gods."

"I saw no Gods in that."

Ahkmen sighed.

"Just – do you understand me?" He asked, resting his hands on your shoulders to force you to look him in the eye.

"I think so," you said quietly.

"Thank you," he said in a rush of relief. "What were you singing in there?"

"A song," you said with a shrug, eyes falling to the ground. "My mother had sing to me. And.. one I heard, in the market."

"You have a very nice voice," he said, carefully watching for your reaction.

"Yes, she was nice," you nodded.

"That's not... never-mind. Here, I brought some food for you," he said as he handed you one of the sweetbreads.

Instantly your face lit up, a toothy grin matching your bright eyes.

"Thank you!" You said, taking and eagerly biting into it. "You are very good."

He chuckled, mumbling a thank-you through his own small smile.

"You know, you didn't tell me you work here. I go to school here," he said, pointing behind his shoulder to the classroom he would soon be returning to.

"That is funny," you said through a mouthful of food.

Your hunger reminded him of his own, and he returned to his own loaf.

"I'm glad you're here. Usually I only talk to Piye, and they can get rather busy sometimes. Do you come every day?"

"Most days. There are days they tell me not to work, no one is here but priests. But I am told to leave at a 'midday'. So I will leave soon, I think," you said, already finishing up your bread. "I go to my house and do my work."

"Your beers and such?"

"Yes!" You said. "My brews, they give me food like the priest. But from market adults."

"Do you –"

Ahkmen had begun to say something, but was interrupted by the tolling of a bell that called him back to class. He sighed, his shoulders falling as responsibility once more came to the forefront of his mind.

"I must go. Can I come visit later today?" He asked, already beginning to walk away.

"Of course! Come buy lots of beer!" You called with a singing laugh.

By eveningtime, Ahkmen's fantasies of you had reached an all-time high, daydreaming about how you would react if he had no qualms of anxiety holding him back. What you would do if he had the courage to pull you into him and kiss you, dipping you as your songs echoed in the silent, might halls of pillars reaching for the clouds.

Nothing the priests said was retained by his fog-heavy mind. The bell rang, startling the Prince, making him move for the first time in hours. He shoved his materials away haphazardly, leaving before any of his classmates and heading straight for your alley.

The sun was at its' low height above the western mountains, casting the shadows of tall graves past the river and onto the shore of the living. Red and gold bathed the land, painted his skin into a bronze, which deepened with a blush as he scaled the wooden crates. Already your hidden home had turned to a sort of oasis, entirely separate from his city.

Myrrh, which was the priest's incense of choice during the midday ceremonies, once again met his senses, swirling round his head as he entered the tent.

"Yogasundari?"

"Wait a bit, I am there in a bit of time," you said from behind one of the walls.

Clattering followed by two voices then came, but Ahkmen recalled that this was your business, and left you to it for the time being.

A few minutes later, you called him into the backroom without coming to see him.

"... are you sure?" He asked. To his knowledge, your customers hadn't left.

"Yes, it is good," you said, failing to elaborate further.

Ahk bit the inside of his cheek, reaching forward to pull away the cloth walls. Warm light came from a wall further on down, and when he pulled it away, the yellow light of fire burst in the tent, safe in an entirely-stone enclosing. A clearly handmade mechanism allowed you to hang four pots over the fire, two of which you tended to at the current moment.

Beside you, two familiar faces stood against one of the walls, quietly discussing with one another. His stare caught Unas' attention, who motioned to Panya that Ahkmen was behind her. She turned, scowling when she saw him.

"Why are you here?" She asked with crossed arms.

"I could ask you the same thing," he said, his mood suddenly soured.

"We're here for expertise on an ore I found in the junkyard," Unas explained with a small smile.

He and Unas weren't exactly friends, but they'd always held respect for each other. Ahkmen admired his ingenuity. Junkyards, however, were not the Prince's scene.

"Fun. I'm just here to get drunk," Ahk chuckled, sitting down on the dirt floor with his back pressed against the stone wall.

The number of colorful fabrics in this room were contained to only the entrance, and from the voices surrounding him, he correctly assumed that the 'walls' that made up this room were simply the closely-built walls of many homes all facing away from the one center point. A makeshift wooden roof had been placed above him, mostly blocking out the dying sun's light.

"I work with many rocks," you murmured, concentrated entirely on the stone in your hand, "but this is not rock. It is too pure. You found this in a.. a... what did you name it?"

"Junkyard?"

"Yes, that," you said, snapping your fingers. "This is very different. Others can come looking for it."

"So it's worth something?"

"I do not know. It is just pure, and that is not normal," you said as you handed it back to them. "I can try hard to name it, but it could be long of time."

"Hmm," Unas said, looking to Panya to communicate with her silently.

"Keep it," Panya said. "If we need it, we'll come back for it, but just concentrate on figuring out what it is."

"I will find it," you assured them with a small bow.

Panya and Unas left a few minutes later after having been served an older batch of beer that had sat to ferment. The boiling pots of beer hung over the fire were not yet ready, even if they smelled good, so Ahkmen settled on one of your specialties; a more alcoholic, sweeter beer.

Most of the beer Ahkmen had in his lifetime was for simple nutrition, thick and quite clearly tasting of sweetbread. At rare times, the Pharaoh would bring in more alcoholic beer, an event saved mainly for festivals where beer was cheaper than distributing wine.

Your brew, though––the sweet flavor of wine, an alcoholic content higher than both, for the price of a regular mug of beer. Ahkmen returned to one of the carpeted rooms, finding himself more comfortable surrounded by your purple silks, pillows and blankets cast beneath his feet. There he sat at your table, content to sip at his drink.

A moment or two later you returned to him, straightening out your long clothes before taking a seat across from him. You folded your hands neatly on the table.

"How long have you been working at Osiris' temple?" Ahkmen asked, setting his cup down on the table.

"I found it not long ago. My work is not much known, so I get little money, little food. So more work lets me eat, keep safe in the city," you explained, eyes cast to the side as you thought through your translations.

"Do you like working there?"

"I do not like the clothes they give me," you said, lips twisting into a pout. "They are not enough."

Ahkmen chuckled, though he hadn't meant to, and sighed to calm the delight in his chest.

"As long as you listen to the priests, you'll be alright," he said as he took another swallow from his cup.

"Have you something eaten today?" You asked, moving to stand.

"Yes. Haven't had dinner, if that's relevant," he said.

"I have slow night this night. Come and make food with me," you said as you offered your hand.

He glanced to his cup, and then to your outstretched hand. There was no option.

Ahkmen found himself in your kitchen, where he had been several minutes earlier, except now the brews of the day had been set to cool in their jars, leaving the fire open for other uses. Your choice ingredients weren't unfamiliar to him, but your method of cooking them was.

In most kitchens Ahkmen visited, pans of vegetables were fried over smaller flames, different oils and spices flavoring them. Slabs or slices of meat were cooked in a similar fashion. Your style consisted mainly of throwing every ingredient into your largest pot and letting it cook in its' own stew. You poured a sort of gravy over it, mixing the vegetables, meats, and other such things.

"You like bread in soup?" You asked, pulling a large knife out of its' storage on your counter.

"Sounds good," he said with a shrug. He'd never tried, but it couldn't be that different from beer.

You took a loaf out from underneath a white square of cloth, setting it on a board as you began to cut into it.

"May I help?" He asked upon realizing this was a task he actually could complete.

"Uh," you looked to him, then back to the bread and knife, "okay. Make in small, good?"

"Of course," he said, taking the knife and positioning it.

He did his very best, concentrating far more than was actually necessary, which you giggled from. You tried to hide it, and though he did spot it he appreciated the effort.

You went to chopping more vegetables, cutting lettuce in long slices that acted like noodles as you poured them in from your cutting board. When Ahk's board got overcrowded with cubes of bread, he set the loaf to the side, sliding the pieces in. He looked to you, stared at you as you worked diligently. The slip-up nearly cost his left middle finger.

His hands shook when he realized his mistake, but he couldn't stop smiling. Not till the both of you finished, and you returned to your spot in front of the fire, slowly mixing the concoction.

"You must do this a lot," Ahkmen said as he sat down on the cold floor.

"What do you say?"

"You do this a lot. Mixing pots over fire."

"Oh. Yes, I... I do. My potions, my beer, and my food can all be in this pot," you said, clanking the edge of it with your spoon. "I think... it is good. I like this moving. I can get tired, but it is one thing I know. We eat now."

It took a moment for his brain to process what you'd said, but he soon jumped to his feet, bringing down two bowls from a higher shelf. You thanked him quietly, asking him to hold them as you filled them up. The warm steam of stew drifted up towards his face, causing his mouth to water before he could even eat.

The two of you returned to the carpeted rooms, seating yourselves on the floor near to one another.

"Have you given mother your necklace?" You asked as you waited for the soup to cool to a bearable temperature.

"Not yet. I said I'd do it this evening, so I'll do it once I leave," he said, attempting to sip at his bowl, only to be burned.

"You eat fast then! You were very drunk for her," you laughed, rocking backwards in your seat.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Ahk said, grinning pleased when you giggle in response.

"I see you that night, Aganu. You were sick drunk."

"If I acted strangely it was only because you're incredibly pretty," he said, blowing on the bowl of stew before sipping it this time. It helped, however minute.

"I get you drunk again, put you out on streets to walk alone," you threatened with a raised brow. "You still be strangely."

"Don't forget stupid."

"Haha," you leaned forward, pinching his cheek, "funny Egyptian man."

The sun disappeared earlier than usual, as was customary for the cooler months, and the darkness that followed left Ahkmen enraptured in your games. Thought of his mother, of Piye, and of his father faded into you, paying close attention as you described the rules of your drinking games, with which you had unwittingly kept Ahkmen in your home.

His vision had already started to go hazy, blurred by what beer he had drank for fun hours ago. Through that fuzz he saw two large cups and two smaller ones, the smaller filled with beer, and the larger empty. Two thin sticks were balanced in a row on each large cup.

"Now – now put cup on – on cup," you said, your hands swaying as you went to grab the smaller glass. "Veerryyyyy... kavanyamehka."

Ahkmen did his best to copy, and with great concentration, succeeded.

"We do this talk," you said as you curled your fingers into fists, setting them on the edge of the table. "Do this bang-bang. And.. then, it falls, in big cup. We do again and again an' again and... again. Good?"

"Okay," said Ahkmen, who had a very weak grasp on what you just explained.

He copied your fists, and when you spoke, he followed in loud mumbles, caught in the adrenaline you'd suddenly built. In time with your garbled speech, you banged your fists against the table, and the cups began to tremble on the two twigs.

"Enka kapo ai'il kuttika ventu nam, muta'lilvila matten'atai, en tontaiyl uravem en tanllyial entovuetem, nan 'rrakemen viri naiuta ventaum!"

The louder you got, the more incomprehensible you grew, till Ahkmen was assured you weren't even speaking coherently in your home language. Ever dutiful, he matched your energy till his heart pounded and his cup fell into the larger cup. You then let out a shout, throwing your hands into the air.

"You fail!" You laughed. "Funny man."

"We," he reached into his cup and pulled the smaller cup out, "are doing – going again. I actually understand it this time! So you are finished."

You went a second time, speaking in tongues and yelling raucously when you lost, your own laugh fading into the background as Ahkmen spoke.

"I told you!" He snorted, falling back in his cushioned seat.

Three more rounds, in which there were varied successes and losses, and you paused for the best part––drinking the strange mix of different types of beers and alcohols made from the fallen cups. You linked arms, shooting back your drinks as quick as you could.

The flavors you created for your beers mixed wonderfully together, but Ahkmen was too far gone to notice any of his senses except the ones that related to you. His sight, never leaving you, the sound of your voice, the sensation of your uncommon touch. His heart pounded furiously even without him shouting.

There were few people he could legitimately claim he enjoyed getting drunk with, which made his fondness for you all the more special. Already he knew you would be a fantastic drinking buddy.

Hours that felt like minutes passed, and with both of you hidden away from the sky, you had no way of knowing it was far past midnight by the time exhaustion trickled into your body. Before you knew it, you were lying down on your back next to Ahkmen, staring silently at the detailed ceiling, your hands folded neatly on your stomach.

"I think I have not made me better because I am scared I will become a person who is not the person that my parents knew," you said in a voice that croaked.

"There will always be a part of you that is that person who knew your parents," Ahkmen said softly, turning to face you as you stared up. "And you'll always have them with you in your memories."

"But I change, and if my parents are in me, they change too? Then, they are not my parents. They are changed to someone else. I changed them."

"Everything changes. If they were alive, they would have changed over the years eventually. That's one of life's simple natures," he said.

You fell silent.

"I miss them."

Your cat meowed softly as it jumped up to your seats, walking up over your chest to face you directly. You raised a tired hand, petting the hairless skin, still staring at the ceiling.

"How long have they been gone?"

"Years," you said as you raised up your fingers to indicate 'two'. "I do not know they are dead... but I see no words from them."

This time Ahkmen went quiet.

"Do you like learning about things?" He asked when an idea popped into his head.

"Why have you ask this?"

"I like learning about things. It's a distraction, of sorts," he said, fidgeting with his fingers.

"... alright. Better than sitting," you said, grunting as you attempted to rise to your feet.

Ahkmen stood before you did, chuckling as he noted you quietly trying to convince your cat to get off you.

"You do not sleeping forever," you cooed, bopping her nose gently with your fingertip. "I will come back."

Eventually, the warm lights of your home made way for the evening chill, bathing you in darkness halted only by the presence of a half-full moon. This late into the night––or early in the morning––near no one was awake, and if they were, they were contained mainly to their bedrooms within the walls of their homes. It left the streets and walkways vacant as you wandered aimlessly at Ahkmen's side.

Though most everywhere was quiet and unoccupied, there were houses in which lights had been lit, visible through windows that allowed it to pour out onto the ground outside. Those little spots of light illuminated your path, allowing you to skip over rocks that you would've otherwise tripped over.

"Are you religious, Yogasundari?" Ahkmen asked, his hands folded behind his back as he strolled with you.

"A what?"

"Do you believe in Gods, in a life after death," he clarified.

"My family is," you said, kicking a pebble. "They talk to this god, Shiva Pashupati. I am – my name, it is from the Bandha, which – it is to sit in a way as He makes."

"Shiva..."

"Pashupati."

"Right. What do you ask of him? If you do ask anything," he said, glancing between you and the path ahead.

"Food, no danger, you know," you said with a shrug. "I do not know a lot. My parents did not speak about my home a lot. I know... there is more Gods, but I know no names."

"We have many Gods as well. They lead us into a happy afterlife. Has anyone ever told you about who we worship?"

"No, but I want to know."

"For starters, that temple you work at––it's the home of Osiris, who is the ruler of the underworld, where we go when we die. He is a God of power, righteousness, and death. People here are allowed to choose which Gods they want to worship at any given time, but many choose favorites. For example, I am a devotee of Khonsu and Ptah."

The river before you grew nearer till you stood at the bank's edge, the edge of your toes just barely touching the water. You hardly noticed where the both of you were walking, but you recognized this spot, and identified it as the place Ahkmen had washed up the other day.

"Khonsu... and Ptah," you said in deep concentration as Ahkmen pulled you up onto the wooden docks. "What do they do?"

"Khonsu is a God of the moon, of time, and can extend or shorten the lifespans of anyone he meets. Ptah is a creator-god, so he creates many things, like you do," he said, his hand falling from yours as he stopped at the edge of the dock. "He is a blacksmith of sorts."

Ahkmen bent down, kneeling with one knee on the wood and the other raised to his chest. From there he pulled at the rope keeping a canoe in place, reaching forward to steady the boat when it came loose, now slave to the soft currents of the river.

No words were exchanged as he once more took your hand, helping you into the canoe. You grabbed the oars so as to balance yourself, even though it didn't help in the slightest, and took your seat on the bow of the small boat. Ahkmen soon followed, sitting down across from you. He took the oars and began to row slowly away from the shore.

"The Nile is a beautiful thing that brings to us life through the power of the God Hapi, who controls the floods that entail both death and revitalization. But, if you sail straight across, we find our earthly version of the underworld," he said, and the few words you could understand seemed to only confuse you.

"I am not sure I –"

"The Eastern bank is for the living," he said, gesturing to the city behind him. "The Western is where the dead lie forever. It is where the sun casts its' final rays before dying."

"Ohhh," you said with a wide jaw, looking out over his shoulder to the banks ahead of you.

You had, for a time, wondered why the other shore seemed deserted while the one you occupied was so lively. You had also wondered why there were massive pyramids shining a stark white against the warm sand and blossoming trees, their heights a monument of human achievement, jutting out of the desert to remind all who watched that there was greater power than they will ever behold.

"The pyramids out there," Ahk paused to look behind him before returning to you and rowing, "they're tombs. Resting places of great Pharaohs who came before us."

"Those are for one person?!" You asked with wide, shocked eyes.

"Each one is built for one person, yes," he chuckled. "Generally we're not allowed to go here unless it is for prayer, but I don't think anyone will ask questions this late at night."

Crickets and frogs croaked from the safety of bog-like swarms of lilypads, welcoming you loudly to the land of the dead within the land of the living. Ahkmen jumped out of the boat, sullying his sandals and skirt in muddy water as he traipsed through the undergrowth, bringing the stern of the ship to rest fully on the unmoving shore.

Once he finished that, he took your hand, helping you out of the canoe and onto dry land. You thanked him quietly, and in turn led him out of the water.

The distant pyramids had been a wonder to you, but you never gave them much thought. You didn't know what they were used for, if anything, and you had no idea why, or even how, they were built. Now the alabaster pikes remained shadows against a star-lit sky, a painting of a million stars illuminating nothing more than a silhouette of the once glittering pyramids. Your breath caught in your throat as you stared up. They were much taller than you'd originally thought.

"A good long while ago, there was a Pharaoh by the name of Djoser, and he was the first to build any sort of pyramid. Before him, the graves of Pharaohs remained simple mastabas. I look up to Djoser quite a lot... him and his vizier, of course. Imhotep. He was the one who did the most work," Ahkmen rambled as the two of you continued forward, nearing the monuments.

"... how did you.. make these?" You asked in an awestruck voice, murmuring in the presence of great beasts.

"Many years," he said, continuing on. "And much devotion."

Ahkmen went on to explain in great detail what the pyramids contained––their history, their wealth in both understanding the ancestors, as well as the wealth of treasure hidden beneath what seemed like miles of stone. He told you of the different rooms within, where offerings were still placed to this day.

Given the overwhelming size of the pyramids, it took longer than you imagined to get to the end of the long line, where the step pyramid sat. Ahkmen began to approach the tomb, but halted when he noticed you weren't at his side. Turning round, he found you stuck in place, your hands raised anxiously to your chest as you stared at the pyramid.

"Yogi?"

Nothing.

"Yogasundari, are you alright?" He tried, this time returning to you and gently pulling your hands apart, hoping to stop your straining fidgets.

"This is... a King," you said in a quiet voice, the glaze in your eyes slowly disappearing as you came to focus on him.

"Well, yes," he said with a frown. "We do have those, you know."

"Sorry, I... sorry," you murmured, and as Ahk's grip on you fell, you walked on past him towards the tomb.

"Wait," he reached for your wrist, turning you around, "are you alright?"

He had not asked you to apologize for any behavior––he had asked you if you felt okay, and that was the answer he sought.

"I am good," you assured him with a chuckle. "I am thinking on Kings and my family. I do not want to... make dirty of your Kings, but it is hard to think of Kings and to not think of family."

"Oh, don't worry about that," he said, taking your hands once more. "We're actually going to be desecrating holy ground so it's alright to say fuck you to some Kings."

Out of the two options he gave you, you decided to enter the tomb, opposed to scaling the sheen surface of polished limestone. Moonlight from a half-moon reflected off that clear stone, a light that faded away as Ahkmen led you into the earth.

Staircases upon hallways upon staircases led deep into the ground, lined with stray dust and paintings of stories Ahkmen hardly understood, let alone you. The darkness soon came to a high, leaving you in a pitch-black darkness too thick to even see each other. You stumbled forward, bumping your head on Ahk's shoulder, and letting out a small cry.

"You alright?" He said, offering his hand before remembering you would not be able to see.

"I am okay," you said, dirt and sand shuffling as you made your way back to your feet. "We need light."

"We'll find a torch soon, we can take that," Ahkmen said.

As predicted, a few steps forward with his hand running along the wall, and he found the end of a burnt out torch. At the next crossroads there would be a vat of oil, with which he could relight it.

"When the Pharaoh, Djoser, built this place," Ahkmen said as he lit the torch, holding it up to see the hieroglyphs above your heads, "he built it with temples outside, courtyards... gardens and houses. It was a city all for his death. And none of it was used until he died. All his life he built this pyramid, and never reaped the benefits."

"Why?" You asked, looking up from Djoser to him.

"It's a purpose in life. At least, that's how I see it," he said, his voice growing quieter. "I think that it is our purpose to leave this world better than when we came into it. This was simply his way of doing it."

"How will you doing it?"

"... I don't know," he murmured after a moment of silence.

His eyes fell to you, meeting your gaze as you simultaneously looked up with a special sort of adoration in the reflection of your eyes. Time paused; his heartbeat, his breath, the flame in his hand. You still waited expectantly.

"I will find my purpose someday," he said. "I'm still young."

"You will say that to the day you die."

The long hallways were much more entertaining with your sight returning, allowing you to scan and absorb the art painted on every surface. It was hard to tell who was who, but those in power were always clearly marked, and those below them would always tremble by their might. You bit the inside of your cheek, tearing your eyes away from the gory scene and following Ahkmen onwards.

"Here we reach the blue chambers," Ahkmen said, his echoing voice calling your attention away from the dark hallway walls.

You looked ahead to him, past him, to the blue strokes of paint shrouding the ceiling in midnight and stars. Your mouth fell open as you looked straight up.

A woman's body was stretched across the center plane of the room, her toes at the door and hands at the opposite end. Her skin was a deep blue, peppered with yellow, five-pointed stars. Massive jars and pots neatly filled the corners of the room, half-buried in dust, the paint still remaining on the surface. Besides that, the room remained empty, cobwebs filling the space, and dissipating wherever Ahkmen held his torch.

From here, there were two directions to choose from; left and right. Painted reeds lined the entrances, captioned by the hieroglyphs far above your head.

"Down that way is the burial vault," Ahkmen said, pointing down to the left, "and down that way is the King's apartment."

"Why would you need a apartment in a death home?"

Ahk snorted, "a tomb, you mean. It's to be used in death. Everything you are buried with comes with you in the afterlife, so those with great riches build homes they want, treasures they want to carry forever. It's a portable home."

"Hmm," you said in a detached tone, wide eyes turning back to the painted walls. "There is so much turns. I do not know how we get out."

"Ah, the layout of the pyramids remains a mystery to all but me," he said with a wide, cocky grin, throwing his arm over your shoulders. "I will lead us safely onwards."

You giggled, covering your mouth as you did. It disappointed him slightly not to see your smile, but he kept to his word, and led you down to the Pharaoh's 'apartments'. He rehearsed the correct path to the living areas, and by the time he came to the split path he recalled which turn to take.

He moved to continue quickly on, but you paused, his arm falling from your shoulders as you stood in place. That quickly caught his attention, and he returned to you.

You were staring at the wall with a furrowed brow, eyes searching the large blue tiles.

"Faience," he told you, sneaking up from behind. You jumped slightly, relaxing when you realized it was him.

"It is beautiful."

"It's meant to look like the palace," he said, easily recalling much of his studies on Imhotep's pyramid. "Mimicks the reed mats and such."

Several passageways and long, detailed hallways later, the two of you arrived in a room stacked with dark, elegant cabinets filled with everything from clothes to chairs. Red and reed carpets covered the floor, broken after their long-lived lives. As with many of the rooms and halls you'd already seen, the room was filled with vases and jars of all sizes, containing everything from honey to bits of unprocessed stone.

Being a home of sorts for the royal family from years ago, it contained a number of comfortable chairs, as well as detailed carpets both hung and set on the ground. Spiderwebs had grown over the edges, crowding the corners of the room with dusty string.

"As long as you know the paths of the pyramids, they can be a good place to find solitude. Sometimes I enjoy studying here," he said, craning his neck to look at the hieroglyphs carved onto the ceiling.

"You do work a lot, I think," you said, your shuffling feet slowly moving to the end of the room.

"Perhaps so. But you cannot claim that without acknowledging you work quite a lot, as well," he said with a smile. His amusement grew when you just nodded, pretending to understand what he had just said.

For the remainder of the evening, Ahkmen set to what he had been planning all along––distracting you from your dissipating drunken haze, as well as from the thought of your parents. Studying and researching had always done well to keep his own mind off things, so he offered the same opportunity for you.

A chart of the night sky hung above the frame of a bed, numerous blankets and pillows cast haphazardly aside upon it. You were reluctant to put any more weight on it, but Ahkmen assured you it would be fine, and pushed you to lie down, staring up at the ceiling.

"Do you see the brightest star?" He asked, climbing over you to sit on your hips, his hands on your waist.

"To that way?" You asked in return, gesturing to the right with your chin.

"Mhm. Her name is Sopdet. When she rises in the night sky in the summer, she brings with her the floods of the Nile," he said softly, creeping closer still, "and the fertility of the land. She is married to Sah, who holds yet another place in the sky. When Pharaohs die... that is where they go."

"What does Sah do?"

"He is one of the largest constellations," he said, a grin forming across his face. Ahkmen began to creep up your body, using his fingers like claws as he gripped you. "He is eaten in the morning and spit out at night––and he rises into the sky to protect his wife."

You giggled, blushing from the intense overacting of the man pinning you to the old bed.

"He is a God who sails the skies. He navigates the stars in a papyrus skiff, and the old Pharaoh's souls go with him. It is a death I yearn for," Ahkmen said, his energy suddenly cooling, his hands less grasping you and more holding you.

"I like to see the stars now. You show where they are, yes?" You asked, searching his eyes as you looked up.

Behind the faint halo of his face, the soft skin reflecting the dying light of the torch, stars painted in gold on a midnight canvas surrounded him. It was him, the life in his eyes against the eternity of the sky––distant, and far enough to only be found in the heart.

"Of course," he said with a smile, crinkling and blushing around his grey eyes.

[izzabeean]

Chapter 12 : Uncertainty

SUMMARY

A new situation presents itself that causes you to rethink a couple of things.

pairing : ushjima x f!reader / oikawa x f!reader / iwaizumi x f!reader

genre : angst + fluff

word count : 3,299

content : profanity, slightly suggestive nsfw

tags :  alternate universe - college/university, post-break up, friends to lovers, pining, slow burn

a/n : another late chapter because it's been a bit difficult to sit myself down and write this one, it's a bit of a long one. I know no one is meant to address weaknesses but the dialogue is so hard for me to write! but anyway please enjoy xx

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Alone, at last.

The serene silence of the apartment fills you with relief as Oikawa left you by yourself to go out for a jog. Seeing as you haven’t had much time to yourself since moving in with him, you weren't extremely grateful to be able to sit back, relax and watch your favorite show for what seems like the zillionth time.

But this surge of anxiety rumbles from within while your mind seems to spiral wondering where Iwaizumi could be. He still hasn’t come back from his outing, hasn’t even updated when he will be back. And your attempt to distract yourself isn’t remotely engaging as you continue to check your phone for messages. 

Maybe there’s a personal reason why he is taking so long. 

Yes, he’s with friends, yet the word ‘friend’ could be defined so inconsistently on your tongue. For instance, a friend could be the beginning of a possible more-than-friends scenario or the description of a secret relationship. Perhaps a girl he didn’t want to tell anyone about or perhaps even a promised fuck-buddy agreement for when he visits. 

You grind your teeth wishing you could stop the worry festering. And because you’ve started to rummage in what if delusions, you decide that the only cure is to light a smoke.

Oikawa hasn’t been out for long and told you he’d be gone for an hour or so. So, you take the chance to keep your secret still a secret, by looking for the cartridge stashed in your jacket. 

Weird, you think sifting through the pocket to which you find nothing. Even when searching the rest of your things, other pockets, and bags, you can’t seem to locate the pack. It’s been a while since your last smoke and try to trace your tracks to where it could possibly have gone to. Obviously, it wouldn’t get up and leave... 

Usually, it wouldn’t aggravate you this much to find something, often you were used to misplacing things and having them show up eventually. However, this down-right pissed you off. You eye up your jacket persuading yourself you have enough time to go out to the corner store and grab a pack. The nearest shop is a couple of blocks away and you can have it out there instead of at the apartment where Oikawa can definitely catch you. 

But in your head, the plan seems too risky trying to play it out. And instead, you let out a yawn grabbing a textbook off your desk remembering that you should probably be a good student instead of pursuing bad habits.

Walking into the living room, you lower the television volume to create some background noise so the place isn’t totally quiet making you vulnerable to the slightest floor creek. The apartment sounds aren’t what you’re used to and you most definitely predict your paranoia will obliterate your concentration. 

That’s not all that does though. 

The warm cozy lighting in the room starts to relax your mind a bit more while you start to take notes. It could be the fact you’re reading a piece of text from one of your most boring classes or due to another long day, but you find yourself reading the same paragraph over again, and over again, and over again trying to absorb the content on the pages. You pinch yourself to stay awake whilst your vision starts to blur and slowly your eyes slowly close… 

------

You’re in your apartment bathroom. 

It’s not quite the same sleek compact room you’re used to-- the walls are covered in water damage, with the paint slowly peeling off some parts and the floor is torn up exposing the old floorboards. 

The new decor doesn't phase you though as you lean in towards the mirror touching up your lashes with a thin coat of mascara. Once you back up to take a look at your reflection checking for any flaws, you notice a sense of familiarity in this inspection. Like you've lived this all before. A part of you chuckles thinking you're just paranoid, but an unexpected knock echoes the room causing you to jump.

You freeze, listening closely as you try to quiet your breathing wondering if you were just hearing things. You must be.

Analyzing your reflection more, you notice you're dressed up in the same clothes you were going to wear that night you and Ushijima were supposed to celebrate your final year at university together. The same night he broke up with you.

Curiosity mixed with fear causes your eyes to glaze over not wanting to relive that moment again. 

Another knock sounds.

Before you could persuade yourself to stop, you walk out into the hallway to answer the door. The anguish in your chest grows stronger and stronger while the suspense heightens upon getting closer and closer. All you ever wanted was to be happy with someone who accepts you for who you are. Someone that would be there for you through thick and thin. And here you are once again reliving the thing that haunts you the most. You don’t know if you can take the rejection again, but your body can't stop. It wants to see Ushijima.

Reaching for the cold knob you turn the handle slowly opening the door that emanates Ushijima's daunting aura. Horror that once filled your eyes almost instantly vanishes though because instead, you face Iwaizumi.

“What are you doing here?” you breathe. “I’m supposed to--”

You're cut off by an aggressive push from Iwaizumi into your apartment. You don't flinch as your entire body freezes in shock from him pressing you up against a wall. It’s dangerous how close he is, you can see his pupils dilate as he pulls in closer, bending down to nuzzle his face into your neck. You feel a rush of electricity that tingles from the top of your head to your toes.

“You’ve been wanting this for a while now,” Iwaizumi hums. “Haven’t you?”

His teeth graze against your neck as he forces his knee between your legs and slides it upward. You let your body melt into it with a soft gasp as your nerves excite.

He pulls back and you’re dying to see the look he has on his face, but notice you are no longer looking at Iwaizumi… No, now you’re looking at Oikawa. 

Your eyes widen as his face dips down towards you, but you dodge and push him in an attempt to free yourself. He doesn’t budge leaning in closer tilting your chin up with his hands so he can look you in the eyes. His touch is gentle, not threatening but his eyes are drunk with lust.

“I thought it was me you wanted,” he purrs, eyes searching in yours for an answer.

But your throat squeezes shut restricting you from forming the words you wish to and his face inches closer closing in the space between you. You thought you’d be more reluctant for this to stop, but the thrill igniting inside you pushes you further as you slowly slide your hand into Oikawa’s hair. Closing your eyes waiting to be entangled in each other, but the kiss doesn’t connect.

When you open your eyes, you’re in your room sitting on your bed next to Ushijima. Everything feels lighter contrasting to the enticing atmosphere from before. 

He pushes the hair out of your face, tucking it behind your ear. You can’t look away seeing as this is the closest you’ve been to him since you were together. 

It feels like home. It feels right.

He runs his thumb over your lips as he leans in sealing his lips over yours. 

No, we shouldn’t, your brain screams, but you let yourself indulge in his warm soft kiss as he holds you close.

------

The act instantly jolts you awake.

You blink still feeling the essence of Ushijima’s kiss linger on your lips and the traces of his hands holding you close. But it looks like you’re not alone as you find yourself facing Iwaizumi who’s holding up a blanket.

“D--did I wake you?” he asks, straightening himself up, startled by your sudden rouse.

“No, no,” you say, before sitting up. Your heart almost skips a beat as you immediately envision Iwaizumi pressing up against you. And, as if on cue, your ears start to burn up unable to actually look at him before rubbing your eyes hoping to hide from the sheer embarrassment plastered all over your face. 

“How did it go… With your friends?” you express, in an attempt to change the subject to leave behind your suggestive dream.

“It was good,” he sighs, taking a seat beside you on the couch. “Had a lot to catch up on. You should meet them actually, I feel like you’d all get along.”

“That’d be cool,” you smile.

Then it occurs to you this is the first time you’ve been alone together since the kiss. Your options could be to completely avoid the topic as if it never happened, but a little voice inside keeps reminding you to say something. But how can you when even speaking about your actions is deeply embarrassing? Why didn’t you just think before you act? Then perhaps, this awkward conversation you’re about to have wouldn’t have to happen.

“But maybe warn them, if you plan to kiss them,” he teases.

“Um…” you feel your face grow hot at his words wondering if Iwaizumi can read your thoughts. “About that…”

“Hm?” Iwaizumi blinks.

“I’m sorry if it came out of nowhere, there was just a lot going on in such a and I just -- It was uncalled for… I didn’t mean--”

Iwaizumi lets out a laugh causing you to pause.

“What?” You suddenly feel stupid for bringing this up, thinking you’ve missed the reason as to what’s so funny.

“Sorry,” he shrugs. “You were just trying to make your ex jealous, right?”

Yes, you were, but there was more to it than that.

“Mm,” you reply, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t you think Oikawa would have been a better contender to piss Ushijima off?”

“I mean… I think it was more than that,” you begin, but lose your courage to confess anymore as Iwaizumi gazes at you with an unreadable expression. “Cause you know, you’re new and he’s never seen you before and so it’s more…  Mysterious?”

It sounded more like a question as if you were trying to convince yourself too, but Iwaizumi doesn’t ask further.

“Of course,” he replies so a matter of factly, you feel stupid. Like you’re self-sabotaging yourself. 

“I guess it did sort of work seeing as he punched Oikawa,” he adds.

Your face softens at Iwaizumi’s remark in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“I mean, if it really worked he would’ve punched you,” you joke. “Oikawa persuaded Ushijima all on his own.” 

You both laugh and you know, now, that it wasn’t such a bad idea to talk about it.

“Well if you ever need to get Ushijima off your back, I can pretend to be your boyfriend.”

Huh?

You weren’t quite sure if you heard that correctly, seeing how nonchalant he is. And when you don’t reply and continue to gaze at Iwaizumi wide-eyed, he’s quick to reply.

“I mean, if you need one,” he continues.

You laugh nervously. At this point, you’re definitely not sure what he’s thinking about, but the fact he so blatantly offered such an outlandish task, makes you wonder if he’s on the same page as you. Is it so obvious to him, that you think he’s hot, that you enjoy spending time with him?

“I’ll hold you to that,” you say, as calmly as you can, trying to suppress the excitement bursting inside. “When’s your last day?”

“Next week.”

“That sucks,” you spit out. “I mean! It’s cool you get to go to school in California, but just sucks you’re going to be leaving”

“We can still keep in touch,” he replies softly.

“You better,” you tease. “I’m jealous you have it all figured out.”

“You will too.” 

“Doubtful,” you groan. “But I’m trying to stay optimistic.”

“You’ve got lots of time,” he sighs.

Silence encompasses the space between the two of your time limit with Iwaizumi worries you more. You’re happy he gets to pursue his dream, but you wonder if there's more to why you got to see him again. It feels wrong for wishing him to not leave, the essence of selfishness rolls through you as your conscience nags for you to stop.

"I hope so."

------ 

It’s the beginning of a new week and you’ve finished your morning class.

But it's very hard to forget the conversation you had with Iwaizumi about the kiss, about him leaving. As much as you’d like him not to leave, to see where things could go, you know it isn’t your best interest to start dating someone new so. You’re not like Ushijima. You’d much rather die than ever admit that you are the same as him. Luckily, you are not. You have morals and you’re a much, much better person than him. 

Your name rings down the hall as you stroll towards the exit and turn to see Sara trying to catch up to you. You haven’t seen her since the evening Oikawa swung at Ushijima and honestly had been avoiding her since. Though you did know, you’d have to face her eventually, you preferred it being during class where you can gently brush her off.

“How are you, I haven’t seen you since the other night,” she breathes, trying to catch her breath from basically booking it down the hall.

“I’m fine,” you grunt, unapologetic to how cold it sounds, yet Sara pays no mind to it as she continues to beam with excitement.

“I just wanted to apologize.”

“For?” 

“For inviting Ushijima,” she replies, her voice unwavering. “I didn’t find out until later that he’s your ex.”

“Did he tell you?”

“Well, he did that night,” she chuckles, then clears her throat when you raise your eyebrows at her in displeasure. “I was mortified that he didn’t even tell me. I told him who would be there and he didn’t say anything.”

You're quiet, trying to make sense of Sara's explanation. Why is she even telling you this? Is it because you're in a group together? She could have just pretended nothing ever happened and keep things strictly school-related. If this were you, you'd be: 1) pissed your significant other didn't tell you about an ex and 2) would avoid the ex like a plague. Yet here she is, standing in front of you, apologizing. Nothing seemed to add up.

“And you didn’t get mad?” you ask, unable to comprehend Sara's reasons for confronting you.

“Oh my god no, why would I be mad?” she laughs again. 

“I thought you were close?” 

“Close? I guess, but he’s just been showing me around.”

"Huh?" you blink.

“He’s part of a program here, to help new students.”

You blink again.

“Y/N? You there?”

“Yeah…  I just-- you were-- I thought… What’s the program?”

“Um, he's assigned to a new student to help settle in for the first week on campus...”

Your mind flashes back to the other day when Ushijima showed up at your apartment wanting to tell you something, then to the time he tried to chat with you at the restaurant. Was that it? That it's just been a misconception all this time. 

"... One time he showed me around the city, but that's about it," she continues, forcing you out of your thoughts. The keyword showed me around the city rings setting an alarm to when you first saw them together. That day, it felt like your heart got ripped out and thrown on the ground with your entire body submerged in an unfathomable sense of agony. You were destroyed.

“So... you normally just hang out with him at school?” 

“Yeah. He's the only person I know on campus,” she snorts. "That's why I invited him, as thanks. Regardless I feel like a complete idiot. I’m so sorry I invited him, I totally didn’t mean to put you in an awkward situation.”

You feel perplexed and look away, trying to figure out how to take the information. 

Nothing and everything makes sense at once. As if you had stepped into a dream world and your body is separately itself from reality as you trying to mull the information you've just absorbed.  

“Forget it," you say, forcing a smile. "I-- I have to get to class.” 

“Oh, of course. I’ll talk to you later?”

“Yeah,” you smile, walking in the opposite direction. "I'll see you around."

You sigh realizing you misjudged Ushijima entirely. No wonder he wanted to speak to you and all you've been doing is giving him a cold shoulder. Maybe, guilt can describe the feelings swimming in the pit of your stomach, completely blinded by wrath. You had to tell Oikawa-- 

Buzz!

Scooping out your phone from your pocket you check down to see a text from said guy. It says: just finished class. you on campus?

You quickly send a reply then your eyes flicker up to a familiar figure walking towards you.

Iwaizumi.

“What are you doing here?” you say.

“Came to drop off Shittykawa’s books," he replies. "He forgot them for his next class.”

“I can take it to him, I was just headed to meet up with him,” you smile.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, rubbing the back of his neck.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I was kind of hoping to run into you….” 

------

I’ll be in the courtyard.

Oikawa reads a text from you and gives a small smile walking in the direction of the destination. Your company is always something he admires especially to kill time between classes. But it was never killing time with you. Instead, it seemed to always go by too fast, like he never had enough of you. His heart starts to race as he nears the courtyard and he doesn’t know why but he’s feeling extra giddy today. Perhaps he woke up in a good mood or perhaps it feels like for once he’s getting somewhere with you by the fact you’ve opened up to him and have been a lot friendlier than usual. 

Then he sees you. You’re easy to spot. And he starts to talk a tad quicker, but as you become more in view, he sees you talking to Iwaizumi. His entire body freezes.

------

“I was hoping to spend my last day… With you,” Iwaizumi mumbles. “Oikawa has class during the day and I wanted to see if I could snag you.”

Oh. 

Your eyes widen with surprise and excitement as the words echo in your head.

“If you’re available that is,” Iwaizumi quickly adds.

You grin at him. “Yeah, of course. I’d like that!”

“Awesome, I look forward to it,” he says casually before turning around to leave. 

“Iwaizumi…”

He stops and turns back to you.

“The books?” 

“Oh right, I totally--”

He rushes back over to hand them over, yet the books gently graze your finger and fall to the ground. Both of you react by swooping down to pick them up and from your eagerness accidentally bumps your forehead into Iwaizumi, making loud bonk.

“Oh my god are you ok?” you ask while holding your forehead from the surprise collision.

“Yes, are you ok?” he chuckles while rendering a small smile.

“Yeah,” you giggle. “Sorry I got excited.”

Your face feels hot from how close he is and his contagious laugh. It’s nice and feels... exhilarating. Unlike anything, you’ve felt before from someone. 

Suddenly your moment is interrupted by the sound of your phone going off. 

It’s your mom.

[soundsaboutrighttumblr]

WBL meta ep 4.

On lucky ones and fools for love, of which there might be not one, but two, each, on broken means of communication and bridges, hierarchies and equal footings in relationships. Started out as typing along each scene, but then one scene stole all the paragraphs, so I cut it a bit short in the end. So yes, kinda my stream of consciousness again.

 -          We are reminded: Shi De’s mails have always been unanswered, his messages, after 1 year approximately, stay even unread. Communication and its multitude of possible errors will be touched on… good.

-          We are told: Little baby Oscar is Shi De’s brother. Ashley probably his step sister that helped take care of Oscar while Shi De’s mom recovered. Shi De stayed, because of his mother’s health and problems in the company, to help out the people he loves, because they are his family, too. Besides Shu Yi. That made two months into two years.

The scene that stole all the paragraphs:

-          Moving light on concrete walls, bowls and symbols of present and enduring care and nourishment, a fresh morning, fresh eyes, new awakenings. Man, that scene is everything, not only because it is the scene where Shu Yi will realize imo that this man before him did not cheat on him, without anyone explicitly  having to address it. I love this scene already. Will there be fic? Possibly. First, watch me type through it like this, if you want:

-          They turn towards each other, like really facing each other. At eye level. Do I make myself clear, lol? They are both sober and rested and calm and are looking right at each other, in a safe space, with morning fresh eyes, eyes open once more after their night TM, a period of darkness, that might have stretched longer than this actual night. Yeah, I am feeling dramatic alright.

Boy do I love that Shi De just starts to speak. Apologizes sincerely, and for the thing that shows that successful communication actually can happen between those two, when they are together, that Shi De actually has listened to Shu Yi and his side and considered it and is aware of where his fault lies, to a degree.

He admits that he realized he didn’t believe in Shu Yi’s forever.

I understand the following lines as carrying the sentiment: Shi De always loved Shu Yi, but as he said to Dad, he wanted to be with him forever the moment he got together with him. Before that was his one sided love, a vague concept of love, but the dream to be together with Shu Yi was just that, a dream. One that became concrete and true, and that was the moment Shi De actually felt and decided he wants this forever.

It became a decision to commit, and the process of it becoming real for Shi De, a decision that reaches into his reality, it took ten years. So he was reluctant to believe that for Shu yi that process of reaching certainty could have happened much quicker. He only had his own love as reference, and used to carrying it all by himself, that standard made him question, if Shu Yi COULD be as certain as Shi de was, after arriving at his decision after 10 years, versus Shu Yi’s rather recent-feeling awakening.

– maybe Shu Yi loved you for longer, even if his knowledge of it was asleep, Shi De, you know he comprehends things in his sleep, we know that about him, right? Sorry side tracked –

Shi De realizes, and TELLS Shu Yi, I mean that scene, he just tells and talks, the marvel… sorry, Shi De realized he DID not believe Shu Yi’s devotion to be the equal to his, thought that Shu Yi was just swept off his feet by the moment, and then he realizes, that the fault for that lies in his own insecurities. And he says that. To Shu Yi. InternalYesScreaming.

-          Okay. The intricacies of miscommunication and manipulation. Dad’s arguments were received by Shi De with open ears, because they were thoughts and insecurities, he’d already had himself. The worry of being not good enough, of holding Shu Yi back. That’s why they work even if Shi De realizes he’s being manipulated by that entire put together scene.

-           And then Dad presented that broken phone, the symbol of broken communication and broken bridges between them, on a silver platter almost, I mean do you remember the way Dad orchestrated that meeting with the food and the waiter handing him the device on silent cue? It must have felt like things were truly broken beyond an immediate chance of repair.

-          BTW : Dad holding the cards, ahem, the phone, the means of communication between them in his hands? We will remember that later, right.

-          So yeah, the only chance Shi De saw to salvage anything of it, was in the future. So he gave himself those 5 years, to be worthy to stand next to Shu Yi.

-          I think that is about the time that Shu Yi realizes, finally allows himself to let it click, that this man never looked at anyone else but him. Like, that for Shi De, there is no one better on this planet than Shu Yi, there’s no arrogance that a cheating situation could have been born out of.

-         Also? He sees that Shi De actually has always perceived himself as inferior to Shu Yi, deep down, and/or is afraid Shu Yi might see him as such, which is a reversal and touch on their theme of who is No 1 and Mr. Second, see conclusion waaay down below in highlighted on this monster of a meta.

-          The power of it. For Shu Yi to be able to finally SEE Shi De and who he is enough again, that he can overcome his doubts. Without Shi De addressing the misunderstanding, but, and that is important, by Shi De TALKING. About himself, without pretense for strength. The misunderstanding is made nil by communication per se, not communication about it but by the essence of communication, of baring yourself to another, who listens, and understands.

-          Gah.

-          The way Shu Yi finally acts, when Shi De mentions someone better for Shu Yi. Like there would be someone. How he makes him face him again when Shi De starts to get lost in his own self-flagellating thoughts. Reminding him, this is not a monologue this is a dialogue, by making him face him again. So important, because that happens with them when they are in a room together. They can draw each other out of their heads and communicate.

-          Btw, there are wet spots of tears on both their pillows.

-          And yes, he puts it in words. That it is his call to choose Shi De, and decide to want to stay with him forever. Not Shi De’s for him, not Dad’s.

-          Stupid Gao Shi De. And that affectionate slap on his head. Because they will always be physical like that.

-          And there it is, the bracelet that was never gone, and what follows is a renewed wedding vows scene if I ever saw one, is humility and forgiveness and renewed promises on an equal footing. I think that scene deserves way more words, but I might put that in fic or another meta, this is getting ridiculously long. But I think the feels in this one are quite clear. But let me say this:

This episode poses the question who is the lucky one. Also, related to that, who is Mr. Second, and who is No 1? Is it who we thought it was? Or was it reversed, was Shi De the lucky one after all? OR was it the two of them from the start, two lucky ones, two fools for love? And finally: a sense of growth, away from the hierarchy and the illusion of No 1s and Mr. Seconds, of winners and losers in relationships:

You can be equal only through honesty and vulnerability and shared responsibility.

 -          Please let me know what you think the statue, the rabbit and the crystal ball symbolizes, knowing the show it might symbolize something, but I am lost here, lol. Is it a chinese character thing? Soundsalikes? Three syllables? Am i interpreting too much into it?

-          I actually will skip some scenes now, because I just want to mention the ones that tie into the topics I started on above, communication and bridges, because else this will break all limits lengthwise.

-          The scene where Bing Wei tells Shi De of the magnitude and depths of Shu Yi’s love. Once again solidifying, that it has always been Shi De’s love’s equal, devotion wise.That Shi De is the freaking lucky one, too.

-          The matter of the phone as the symbol. Shu Yi crying alone with the phone, the broken symbol of the broken communication between them, and then Dad taking that out of his hands.

-          How it ties into when they both realize at the same time, Dad’s involvement and interruption of their communication might have even started earlier, with blocking the emails from the start when they were apart. You lose sympathies in this ep again, dad, lol.

-          The scene on the bridge. BRIDGE. Yeah, besides that it has history for them, look what they do in that scene. They reconnect further, mend bridges, by their shared history in highlights, but also by levelling the ground between them, each admitting and being told that they both have been idiots in this for their own parts, laughing about it even with tears in their eyes. Teasing each other with it, but pulling each other closer over it, the teasing, careful, long unused steps around each other, but on a bridge between them that they revisit, that has been mended, that is secure again under their feet.

It’s the ground they can stand on, the ground they can and WILL use to talk about all that stuff, the bridge between them, their equal love.

-          Also, Shu Yi is eating in that scene, happily.

-          Oh man, I will end it here, because there’s just too much to say, and I will, in fic and more meta, let me know what you wanna talk about if you made it this far.