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hugshughes · 8 months

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The 1 A. Fantilli

Adam Fantilli x fem!reader

synopsis - based on “the 1” by Taylor Swift obvs. The school year starts back up at the University of Michigan and after your break up with Adam, you’re trying to live life freely but can’t seem to get the idea of him and your relationship off your mind. But what happens when you see him again, and you both are yearning for each other more than ever before?

wc - 4.5k (:0)

contains - lowkey angst but also very fluffy closure, reader cries, miscommunication a little bit (i know), kissing, cuddling. (if i missed anything please let me know!!!!)

an - this is the first part in my folklore 100 follower celebration! i’m so excited for it! i do not loveeee this but i really wanted to get this first part out! hopefully you guys like this! here is the masterlist to this celebration. me when im about to make a fic based off “the 1” have a happy ending 😊. also sorry this took longer than expected i has surgery the other day and did not pop back to normal like i assumed i would lmao. please someone get the betty refernce at the end ;))) also i still need a player to use for my betty fic for this celebration so… someone request someone. also this is barely edited so sorry. also should i make a taglist?? would anyone like that??

i’m doing good, i’m on some new shit. been saying “yes” instead of “no”.

To say you were definitely doing much better now that August had arrived was a true statement. You’d been a wreck most of the summer over your breakup with Adam, but as the summer started to slow down and your tan glowed, you felt you heart get lighter and rid itself of it’s burdens.

You and Adam had broken up just a little bit before the draft. The prospect of him being in Anaheim while you finished school in Ann Arbor sounded like an impossible feat to conquer.

You also knew what the newfound NHL fame would bring Adam, even more attention than before, new people, new friends, new girls surrounding him. And while you knew Adam would never in a million years cheat on you, you didn’t want him to feel like he had to be tied to something, someone, 2,234 miles away, to be exact.

When you watched the draft and saw Leo get drafted to Anaheim, your heart sank to your stomach. Many tears were shed that night, knowing the boy you loved with all of you wouldn’t be 2,234 miles away, only 190.

You assumed that if he wanted you back he would’ve called, or texted, or emailed, or sent a letter, anything. But you got nothing, so you accepted that he was perfectly okay with still being apart. Even though it did hurt because you remembered the night both of you cuddled close and whispered about how amazing it would be if he went to Columbus and not Anaheim.

i thought i saw you at the bus stop, i didn’t though.

When school started back up, you couldn’t help but see him everywhere you went. You did feel better, and you were healing, but it did instill an ache in your chest when you’d see your favorite study spot, your table at the starbucks right off campus, his dorm building, everything.

You even thought you saw him there once, your eyes widened with fear as you thought you saw him standing at a bus stop on campus but it wasn’t him, just another brunette boy, but not yours.

i hit the ground running each night. i hit the sunday matinée. you know the greatest films of all time were never made.

It was hard for about a week or so, being back in the place where you fell head over heels in love with him, but your friends would always be quick to cheer you up and tell you “it’s gonna be okay.” And most of the time you believed them.

You’d gone to many more parties than you had last year, you were usually trying to spend time with Adam and you two preferred being alone together than things like parties.

You felt the ache when you saw a guy taking his girlfriend to the Barbie movie, as stupid as that seems. You and your friends had all waited to see it until you were back together and you were all dolled up in your pink outfits. But you couldn’t help but have that same ache when you remembered Adam promising to take you to see if, and promising to wear pink just for you.

Obviously, that never happened. After the movie you couldn’t help but pull up your photos and scroll through your ‘Adam🤍’ album, the videos got to you the most.

Adam had made you film yourself when you opened your birthday gift from him, you had no idea why.

“Baby, why am I filming this?”

“Because, I want to be able to rewatch your reaction to it!”

You give him a funny look, and he urges you to open the big bag, seeing a jersey, a Michigan jersey. You’re pretty confused because you have a Fantilli jersey already, one you wear often. You pull it out of the bag and unfold it and turn it around, and then you see it. Instead of Fantilli across the back, it says “MY MAN”. Your jaw drops, you start laughing so hard, like stomach hurting from how hard you’re laughing.

Adam joins in your laughter, asking if you like it. You tackle him in a hug, kissing his cheek twice.

“It’s so perfect!”

The video was perfect, it ended in your phone falling from it’s propped up place on your desk as you kissed Adam. You felt happy and sad when you saw it. Happy that it happened, that you were able to ever experience that kind of love. Sad because it was all gone now.

i guess you never know, never know. and if you wanted me, you really should’ve showed. and if you never bleed, you’re never gonna grow.

You know that if you had the chance, you’d go back to Adam without thinking for two seconds. He was the best thing that you’d ever been graced with. He was everything to you, and you know that in a tucked away part of your heart he still is.

You just wish you both had tried harder, because you both loved each other with all of your beings. You just wished you both showed how much you really wanted it at the end, but both of you were scared of how the other was feeling.

but we were something, don’t you think so? roaring 20’s, tossing pennies in the pool.

In the middle of the night, when you’re staring at the ceiling of your room after watching Adam’s newest highlights you tend to always think about one thing; if he still thinks about you, the way you do him.

You hoped he did, you hoped you weren’t the furthest thing from his mind at all times. And if you were to ask him, he would tell you that you were all he could think of for months, you were the only thing on his mind when he woke up, and when he went to sleep. Columbus was fun, and new, and exciting, but you were everything to him.

Adam had hoped you’d send him a text the night of the draft, and then he’d be able to start talking to you again. But, you never texted, you were worried he wouldn’t care if you did. You didn’t want to embarrass yourself.

and if my wishes came true it would’ve been you.

You had wished on 11:11s, fallen stars, eyelashes, candles, four-leaf clovers, everything, that you and Adam would be together always, and that didn’t end when you broke up, you still wished for him, always.

in my defense, i have none. for never leaving well enough alone. but it would’ve been fun, if you would’ve been the one.

You always felt like you were doing something wrong towards the end of your relationship, not because of Adam. It was because you just had a voice in the back of your head telling you that you weren’t doing enough for him and that you were making him upset, and it led to you doing things to try to fix that but only would end up making things worse.

You just needed him always, you two were inseparable. You were at every home game, a good amount of the away games, and then you were almost always together during any free time you two had. While you were only together for about a year, you could see your life with Adam. He had said something to you about wanting to marry you, 5 months after you started dating. You were just it for each other.

i have this dream you’re doing cool shit. having adventures on your own. you meet some woman on the internet and take her home.

You think about if he has met another girl yet. You know that those hockey teams like going out together and they definitely attract lots of female attention. The ache came back at the thought of him sleeping in the same bed as another woman.

we never painted by the numbers, baby. but we were making it count.

Some people thought your relationship was, unrealistic, in a sense. You and Adam were together all the time, and it made certain family members and friends question what would happen after the draft came and Anaheim took your boyfriend from you. But obviously, Anaheim didn’t take your boyfriend, Columbus did, which made the breakup hurt even more.

Every minute you spent with Adam was full of love. There were very little disagreements, and the few that did take place were always out of love, which also made everything hurt more. No one could’ve seen your breakup coming, you two included, it just came up one night and ended up with you two calling it quits. It was the first time you’d ever seen Adam cry, and that broke you inside.

you know the greatest loves of all time are over now. i guess you never know, never know. and it’s another day waking up alone.

Sometimes you wake up and forget he’s not yours anymore, that he might even be someone else’s. And then you snap back to reality and it hits you like a train. Your roommates sometimes leave sticky notes to you that you’re gonna be okay, that’s everything’s okay. He was the greatest thing ever. Your love for him conquered all.

i, i, i persist and resist the temptation to ask you, if one thing had been different. would everything be different today?

You just play back every single moment in your head. Wondering if you’d done anything different if you’d still be his, if he’d still love you how he did. What you didn’t know was that he was doing the same exact thing 190 miles from you, resisting the urge to text you.

Adam was counting down the days until his birthday, praying that you would text him, allowing him to start a conversation with you. You were as well, having typed out your birthday message to him already, weeks early, waiting to be sent.

but we were something, don’t you think so? rosé flowing with your chosen family. and it would’ve been sweet, if it could’ve been me.

You two would spend nights with his friends, the boys he loved most, and his teammates because you wanted them to like you because he liked them. You wanted to be able to have their approval and you definitely did. Your friendships lasting with a few of the players, specifically Dylan Duke.

Dylan had been so incredibly sweet to you when you met, understanding how it probably felt to be surrounded by a team of boys who you didn’t know. He was someone you could hang out with at hockey parties when you felt like you were being too clingy to Adam.

in my defense i have none, for digging up the grave another time.

Dylan had been begging you to come to a hockey game since before the season started. And you were finally convinced so you are going to attend the 2nd Providence game. They won last night 2-4 and were hoping to do the same again.

You felt the ache when you were searching through your umich gear for your outfit to the game and found your Fantilli jerseys. You took a deep breath and pushed it off, grabbing a blue and maize crewneck and throwing it on over your leggings and blazers and leaving.

You got into the Children of Yost section pretty easily, but it was always a hassle nonetheless. You found some friends and stood with them, shouting cheers when the guys skated out.

You and your friends were pretty close to the glass in the student section, only a few rows back, so you were able to see the guys really well. You screamed when Dylan scored his first goal of the night, he saw you and laughed so hard. Luca, who was hugging his teammate was confused by how hard Dylan was laughing, and looked to see what the source of his entertainment was. When he saw you, jumping up and down with your friends, screaming for Dylan, he was shocked. Shocked you’d even come to a game. And then his eyes widened when he realized his brother was here, watching him play.

When the first period was over the Childen of Yost settled down and danced to the songs and did the little games that came up to on the jumbotron. Your fun halted when you saw Adam come up on the screen, the words “Welcoming back former Wolverines!” and his names flashing on it. Your friends saw and their jaws dropped. He hadn’t been at the game the night before, of course he hadn’t, of course this was the game he came to.

You brushed it off and insisted that you were fine. You continued to have fun and mess around with your friends during the break in between periods. But then Adam had the shock of his life, staring at the screen as the view of you and your friends dancing to American Boy by Estelle & Kanye as the cameras showed different groups of the Children of Yost.

The second he gets over his shock you’re off the screen, and he’s slightly leaning out of his seat, searching the crowd of the student section, and then he saw you, messing around and playing with your friends. Part of him wishes you were in his jersey, as unrealistic as that seems. He wonders if you still have his jerseys, if they’re in a thrift store somewhere, or if they’re tucked away in the bottom of a box in your room.

He knows Dylan probably convinced you to come, because Dylan was your favorite of his friends, and the two of you guys were “besties” whenever you were together. He wonders if you’ll go down towards the locker room after the game to see Dylan and if he’ll get to see you again.

The game ended soon enough, the guys winning 3-4 with 2 goals from Duker. He texted you after the game to come down, wanting to go to eat with you after.

from: Duka👊

Dude come down after I wanna go eat

from: Y/n/n🤝

idk duke i kinda wanna go home

from: Duka👊

Bro no you have to stop being a loser

from: Y/n/n🤝

fine.

He liked your message and you let out a sigh,

“Hey guys, I’m gonna go down and see Duke. I’ll see you guys later, okay?”

They nodded and gave you light hugs, telling you random things that are always part of girl goodbyes.

“Are you sure, do you think Adam’ll be down there, babe?”

You sighed again, shrugging, hugging her tighter.

“Don’t know, but I can’t let him stop me from doing things, right? If I see him, I see him. I don’t know if he’ll say anything to me, but if he does I’ll just talk to him normally, you know?”

The girls all nod, saying goodbye again, telling you things about your said “girl power”. You made your way through the arena, getting let through by security and heading back to the hall where the players come out.

You kept your head in your phone as you leaned against the wall, snapping people, scrolling through Instagram, and texting your mom about the game.

Dylan came out fast compared to usual. You high-fived him as he came up to you, congratulating him on his two goals. He thanked you and then was quick to try to get you guys to leave.

“Dylan, It’s okay. I know he’s here. I’m not gonna like, run away from him. Alright?”

“Yeah alright, he was just in the locker room and I was worried you might not know, 'cause I didn’t even know, so.”

You nodded and smiled at him, patting his shoulder in thanks. Then you realized he was missing something.

“Dylan, did you leave your phone in the locker room?”

He looked at you in confusion, then patting the pocket on his bag, and then his sweatpants pockets, then his sweatshirt pocket, but came up empty.

“Shit. Alright, I’ll be back in half a second, wait here.”

You nod and he hands you his backpack, racing back to the locker room. You put his bag on your back and look back at your phone again. And then you hear him, his laugh. You don’t even wanna look up, you glance out of the corner of your eye, seeing his silhouette.

You freeze in your stance, fingers pausing on your screen. You hear him, Luca, and Mark talking very loudly. Adam sees the bag on your back first “DUKE #25” along the side of it. Then he realizes it’s you. He quiets down very quickly, almost stopping in his tracks.

Luca notices his baby brother’s change in attitude instantly, whipping his head to the side, his eyes meeting your figure. Mark, somehow sees you and his mind doesn’t think for two seconds. He calls your name, happy as ever.

“Hey! Come here I haven’t seen you in forever. What’s up?”

You wince at his obliviousness, or maybe his uncaring of the situation. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second before putting a smile on.

“Hey Mark, I’m fine. How are you?”

He nods and replies, half hugging you and pulling you back towards his group. Luca quickly says hey to you, wrapping his arms around you briefly.

You look at Adam, your eyes softening. He looks at you as if you’re the only girl in the world, and to him, you are. You go to say hey to him but he hugs you before words can come out. He holds you so so tightly, and you practically grip him. Fuck, you missed him.

“Hey, Adam.”

You feel him take a deep breath in, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

“Missed you.”

“Missed you too, Adam.”

You both seem to realize you aren’t alone and you pull away, clearing your throat as the other two boys look at you with huge smiles. You feel heat radiating from your cheeks as the four of you stand there.

The awkward silence is cut off by Dylan racing back through the hall.

“Hey dude, sorry I took so long. Ty started asking me about something-”

He stopped himself when he saw you standing inches from Adam, a blush covering your face. He tries to cover the smile overtaking his face.

“Oh hey guys, um well, we were about to go eat, you guys wanna join?”

Your eyes widened at Dylan, cursing at him in your head, hoping you’d gained mind powers that could disintegrate him. Just because you can stand here and hug him doesn’t mean you can sit and eat dinner with him.

Mark jumps to accept, telling you two that you should also invite the other guys still in the locker room. You agree, thinking the more the merrier for your situation. You and Dylan let the other guys know and then take off. In the car, you turn to Dylan and almost shout at him.

“Dylan Duke! What the fuck?”

He smiles at you, that stupid smile. You shake your head and sigh loudly leaning back against the headrest and closing your eyes.

“I saw how you were looking at each other in there. And Mark whispered to me about your hug. I know that this is for your own good dude. At least get civil with him.”

You sigh and nod, your eyes still closed. Dylan lets out a noise of agreement, and you two drive to your chosen restaurant.

When you pull up to a restaurant on a Saturday night and ask for a table for 10, you usually are looked at like you have two heads. But in Ann Arbor, when a umich hockey player comes in and asks that, they will make it happen.

You and Dylan were the first to get there, sitting across from each other at the far end of the table. Tyler, Rutger, and Ethan arrive next, Tyler sitting at the end chair between you and Dylan, and Rut and Eth sitting next to Dylan. Adam, Luca, and Mark arrived next. You watched Mark push Adam forward to sit in the space on your right.

He smiles at you awkwardly as he sits down next to you, making sure to leave a comfortable amount of space between you. Lastly, Seamus and Mackie arrive, taking the last two seats at the table. All the guys were talking around you while you checked your phone every minute or so to try to look busy. You glance to your side and notice Adam as bored as you.

“Hey Fants.”

His head quickly turns to you, a bright smile adorning his features.

“Hi.”

“How’s Columbus? Sorry I never congratulated you, I just-”

“Hey! It’s okay, I understand, alright? But it’s nice, I’ve made a couple of new friends and stuff. It was nice already knowing people there.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’s really good Adam.”

Adam stared at you longingly as you stared at your fingers. You were messing with the rings you always wore, then realized how you were wearing your ring from Adam. You felt like you couldn’t let him see it, worried you might embarrass yourself. You covered your hand with your other, trying to make your position look as natural as possible.

When you looked back over to him and he was already staring at you, you swear your heart started pounding, even more so than already. His eyes looked sad, something so uncommon to see him feeling. He’d always been your happy boy, always bringing you up and making you better.

You would rather climb to the rooftops and scream to every Ann Arbor citizen of your everlasting love for Adam than even whisper it to him. His eyes, though, they’re like the ocean. One look and all of your senses are gone.

“I really missed you Adam.”

You didn’t look at him when you whispered it, you stared at the football game playing on the TV across the restaurant, the Bengals were winning by 14. Your hand pressed into the wood of your chair next to your thigh, running your fingers back and forth across the grain. You didn’t flinch physically when you felt his hand brush over yours, but your heart felt like it was about to implode.

“You have no idea how much I missed you.”

You finally got the courage to look into his eyes. You turn, just a little, and look at him, the raw look on his face, his glazed-over eyes, his bit at lips, your boy, he’d always been yours, always will be.

“And, you have no idea how badly I want to kiss you right now.”

He mumbled it, not caring if you heard or not, he just knew he had to say it, if not to you then to admit it to himself, that he wanted to kiss you.

Adam watched as your eyes widened innocently, he loves everything you do. He just stared, he knew you heard him, he didn’t know what to do after that, and neither did you. You seemed to have gotten lost in the moment, forgetting about the 8 other hockey players surrounding you, who had honestly mostly just stopped really talking to each other and were mostly watching you and Adam.

In that moment, you couldn’t even hear them, you couldn’t even see them. They were blurry, muted, and muffled, but looking at Adam, it was so clear. You weren’t thinking, you were just following whatever split-second decision your heart made and grabbed his face, kissing Adam. You fucking kissed him. His hands wrapped around your wrists, kissing you back immediately. You kissed for maybe three seconds, the hustle and bustle all around coming back to you.

You pulled away from him first, if it was his choice he would’ve made out with you right there in front of everyone. You looked at him with wide eyes, and he still had his big beautiful smile. You hear an ‘oh shit’ come from Luca’s mouth, and then the rest of the guys at the table going crazy and immediately feel embarrassed. Your face burns as you quickly wipe your lips with your sleeve, burying your face in your hands as a smile reluctantly makes its way to your face.

Adam has the biggest grin on his face as he scoots his chair closer to you, wrapping his arm around you, pulling you close. Adam’s hand rests on your hip, tracing shapes already like it was never gone. Like it was home after being away for far too long. You know the two of you would have a big conversation about everything later. But for right now, you just let him hold you, and you let him order for you, because he always knew what you wanted, even now.

When dinner came, Adam’s hand left your hip, but it ended up holding yours under the table like you were two fourteen-year-olds hiding from your parents. He started messing with your hand, pulling it more into his lap so he could play with it with both of his hands. He’d always done this when you were together, he would mess with your hand while he talked to others at dinners or parties or anything.

Adam was shocked when he felt it, the cool band on your ring finger. He looked down at your hand, eyes widening when he saw his ring still adorning your finger. He stared at you with so so much love in his eyes, from across the table, Luca could see how happy his baby brother was, and he was so thankful for you.

“You still have my ring on.”

You couldn’t tell if it was a question or a statement when he whispered to you. You looked down at the band on your finger, smiling sheepishly at him and blushing. You nodded slowly, not knowing how to explain it to him.

“I just really like it. And I just really like you, so.”

He laughs, nodding at you with amusement, letting out an ‘Oh yeah?’ to which you nod assuringly.

You knew he was the 1. You’d known when he had first introduced himself to you. You could tell that this new beginning to your relationship was going to last, that the time apart only made you both stronger. You’d always loved him, and always will, and if kissing him in a crowded restaurant in front of all of his stupid friends is what it takes to have him, you definitely would.

but it would’ve been fun, if you would’ve been the one.

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wwbtsdty · 1 year

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What Makes You Sweat | 18+

Summary: You’re really getting tired of how much time your boyfriend spends in the gym when you have so little time together on his days off. So one day you decide to join him to see what really makes him sweat.

Rating: 18+

Genre: idol!au, smut, fluff

Pairings: Jungkook x Reader

Status: Oneshot

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Explicit language, dom!jungkook, sub!reader, smutty smut, sexual tension, big dick!jungkook, unprotected sex(wrap it before ya tap it!), oral sex, cocky!jungkook, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, praising, dirty talk, creampie, rough sex, spanking, bondage, squirting, begging, cursing, fingering, biting, did I miss anything haha.

Author’s Note: This has been sitting in my drafts forever, mainly because I was so upset I lost all my edits to it one day. Sooo I’m just gonna release it, with the premise that its extremely rough because I can’t find it in my heart to edit it again. So here it is, take it for what it is.. a quickie, dirty, unedited short story haha.

This is all fictional.

You sigh deeply staring up at the ceiling in boredom, you had tired of playing games on your phone or scrolling social media an hour ago. Glancing at the clock on the nightstand, 10:44 PM... he’d been gone for two hours. Just what the hell does he down there for so long?

Surely most people didn’t work out this long every single day, it seemed excessive and it was starting to get on your nerves. You know he promised to keep his washboard abs for ARMY, but surely he didn’t need to work out every damn day to maintain those bad boys.

Grabbing your phone again you sent off a quick text to him.

Did you fall off the treadmill? Are you seriously still working out?

You and Jungkook had been dating for over a year now what he did for so many hours every day in that gym was still a mystery. You had never been tempted to join him before, when he was finished with you for the night you could barely move, let alone go workout. Meanwhile he was the energizer bunny, ready to go again and again until you finally caved and told him to go work off some steam.

The past few days though you’d had to work late because of your bosses stupid mistake. So you weren’t able to get home in time to soothe the bunny, he was always off at the gym so you would pass out on the bed.

Tonight though you’d had to listen to one of your coworkers gossiping about their sex life with their new younger boyfriend. Which of course in turn, got you thinking about how much you happened to miss your boyfriends delicious body, anxiously waiting all day to get home to him.

So here you sat, waiting on his bed, Bam having had long since given up on waiting for his dad and crawling into his crate to go to sleep. Your phone chimed suddenly causing you to practically lunge for it.

I’m just getting started babe, don’t wait up. 😘

Just getting started? What the hell does that mean? What exactly has he been doing for that last two hours?

You groaned, rolling onto your stomach in frustration as you stared at the text on your phone.

Don’t wait up he says! I hardly get to see him anymore, not with working full time and him getting ready for his next comeback, it seemed like their time together was becoming less and less these days—yet all he wants to do is spend time in the gym!

Jumping off the bed you squared your shoulders as you raided the closet for a pair of leggings and a sports bra.

Fine, if he wanted to work out then you were going to join him, sure it was the last thing you felt like doing, but if it meant you could spend time together then so be it!

Jungkook had just finished up running for his cardio workout the last hour, pulling up the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat that had accumulated on his face.

Now that cardio was done he could start on weights, he needed to work his lower body today since he did upper body yesterday. Then of course abs as always to finish off the workout.

Taking a swig from his water bottle, his attention diverted as the door swung open, you walked in wearing what he guessed could pass as workout clothes.

But really there wasn’t much there, he sure hoped you didn’t wear that shit in public to workout or else there was going to be a conversation later.

“Hey, what's up? I told you not to wait up, i’ll probably be a while still.” He eyed you suspiciously, you had never come to workout with him. Not that it ever bothered him, it was more of his thing and that was totally fine by him.

“Well... you spend so much time here, I thought I would see what you get up to for once. Maybe you could give me some pointers as well, I should probably workout more anyway. I’ve been stuck at a desk all week.”

You shrugged trying to act nonchalant, but your eyes gave you away as you took in his appearance. It wasn’t fair how beautiful this man was, even coated in sweat--no, not even, of course coated in sweat this man was absolutely sinful. All you could think about was stripping that shirt off his delicious body and raking your nails down his chest.

You bit your lip, rubbing your thighs together for some sort of relief. You weren’t sure just how long you stood there ogling your boyfriend, but it was obviously enough for him to take notice.

“Hmm... you want to work out?” He sauntered up to you, eyes darkening as he crowded you against the wall, hands coming up to rest on either side of your head behind you.

Your held your breathe as you took in the sudden change in his demeanor. This was the man you had come to know all too well every night, the one that bent your body to his will.

“I missed you, feels like I haven’t seen you in weeks,” You whispered, tucking a strand of his hair back behind his ear. He smiled brightly, bunny teeth on display as he cupped your cheek leaning down to kiss your forehead sweetly.

Stepping back, he booped your nose cutely with his finger. “I always miss you.” Sighing sadly, “When this comeback is done I promise we will take a vacation, just the two of us. We can spend every waking moment with each other. We don’t even have to leave the bed.” He raised his eyebrows suggestively.

God, You loved this man so much. How you had gotten so lucky to land Bangtan’s golden boy, he was anything and everything you could ask for in a boyfriend.

“I was about to start some weights, you wanna start with some cardio?” Just like that your tender moment was gone and Muscle bunny was back. How did he just flip a switch just like that, was it part of being an idol or something?

Huffing loudly, you made your way over to the treadmill he had just vacated, turning it on the lowest setting. You walked as slowly as possible, staring aimlessly at the little television blasting some random entertainment show before you. Behind you sounds of grunting and heavy weights clinking filled your ears as he began his workout again.

It was about 16 minutes later, according to the treadmill, when you had finally reached your breaking point. His grunts and groans were driving you crazy, you could hardly walk for fear the slick coating your core would drip down your legs.

Stopping the treadmill you spun around to find him doing sit-ups on the floor, each time he sat up he gave a soft grunt. You bit your lip as an evil plan hatched in your head.

Two could play this game.

You sashayed over to the rowing machine, plopping down loudly on the seat as you fastened your legs in. Wrapping your fingers around the handle to pull back fiercely, you let out a whisper of a moan. You saw his head swivel around towards you at the noise.

Ha, take some of your own medicine Kookie!

You smirked, continuing to pull on the rowing machine. Arching your back with each tug so your breasts thrust into the air alluringly.

His gaze zeroed in on the way your breasts proudly displayed as you rowed, suddenly his grey sweats felt all too tight. He knew you were purposely trying to rile him up, and it was working. But his competitive nature would never let him give him.

Plus, he was actually enjoying having you here with him for once, and he had to admit seeing you working out made him proud.

Not like you needed to work out, eyeing that perfect ass he loved so much. Having you ride him reverse cowgirl was one of his favorite positions, he loved watching that ass bounce up and down on his dick.

Reaching down to adjust his hardening length, he pulled his gaze from your body to refocus himself. At this rate he was going to lose this game you had decided to play and turn this into a whole other kind of workout.

You had quietly crept over his way once he went back to finishing his sit-up, the slight sway of your hips driving him to distraction once more. He stopped, arms behind his head as he laid back looking up at you suspiciously, “You done already?” He questioned, regarding you as a smirk lifted his lips.

You weren’t going to give in that easily, sure you’d been annoyed he hadn’t come over at your show earlier while rowing. You couldn’t miss him adjusting himself and the tent in his pants though. You were getting to him too. It was time to change tactics.

Throwing your leg over his waist you straddled his stomach, hands splayed out across his chest as you nestled your core above his hardening length. Your fingers sliding slowly down his chest to push yourself back to lay against his knees causing your breasts to jut out towards his face tauntingly. “Nope. Just taking a break…”

His brow raised quizzically, thrusting his hips off the floor bouncing you in the process to signal you should move. “Alright princess, well I just finished sit-ups… so how about you give me some motivation to finish my pushups?”

His hands encircled your waist when you didn't move, hoisting you up into the air like you weighed nothing. He let your body slide painfully slow down his until your feet touched the floor, “Lay down.” His voice held a hint of command forcing you to lay down where he indicated unbidden. You watched as he knelt down at your feet, hands moving to either side of your head, his body hovering above yours.

“Now be a good girl and stay still.”

You bit your lip at his deep voice, his face coming closer before moving past yours, his breathe tickling your ear.

“One.”

His whispered breathe across your ear sent a shot of arousal straight to your core, nipples suddenly standing for attention as he pulled back up.

Just as quickly he was pressing back down, this time you were more composed, your head swiveled around to nip at his earlobe.

“Two…” He groaned, pulling back with narrowed eyes.

The third time he decided to press his body flush against yours, hips rolling into your core for you to feel his now fully hard length.

You moaned loudly, frantically thrusting your hips up as he pushed up just as quickly. You glared up at that cocky bunny smile plastered on his face.

“Three.”

You'd had enough of this game.

You grabbed that taunt ass with both hands as he came down for the fourth push-up, rolling your hips seductively against his.

He growled, letting his body collapse atop yours in response. “Naughty girl. I told you to stay still, you can’t even obey one command? Am I going to have to tie you up so you don’t move?” His voice was pure sin in your ear, hands sliding slowly up your arms causing goosebumps in their wake, bringing them up above your head where he captured your wrists in one hand.

“So, we're done playing already? Just when the game was getting interesting...”

His right hand moved quickly down your stomach to cup your heat without warning. Your eyes flew open in surprise, arching your back sharply as you let out a groan of satisfaction at finally being touched, tugging desperately at his grip on your wrists to break free.

A soft moan escaped his lips, “So wet for me already? Does this pussy want to be filled so badly by my cock?” He trailed wet kisses down your neck, he bite the spot where your neck meets your shoulders quickly laving the tender spot with his tongue.

He sat back on his heels, admiring the way your breasts looked barely confined by your sports bra as your chest rose and fell rapidly. Taking your breasts in each hand to squeeze them together, dipping down to taking one of your nipples and then the other into his mouth through your sports bra, tongue circling it teasingly before biting playfully.

“Jungkook!” you gasped, hips thrusting against his hand in reflex, chasing some kind of friction. You could feel just how embarrassingly slick your panties and leggings had become at this point, providing barely any barrier.

Jungkook smirked, pressing the palm of his hand down hard against your clit through your leggings. "Is this what you wanted baby?"

Nodding frantically, "Yes! Yes! Please!!" You should be embarrassed at the way your hips followed his hand as he pulled back, but you were already past caring.

He released your wrists, sitting back on his heels as you whined at the lack of contact. Palming at his hardened bulge as he motioned to the bench behind you. "Go sit that pretty ass down on that bench."

Jumping up to obey, your body trembled in anticipation as you spread your legs displaying the large wet patch that has formed in the crotch of your leggings.

He quickly shed his shirt as he approached you, dropping to his knees between your thighs.

Your mouth watered as you admired that amazing body, eyes catching a drop of sweat dripping down his chest that you suddenly wanted to catch with your tongue. And those damn grey sweatpants, always showing just enough to drive you crazy. His hard dick filled them out so well now, you could practically feel it inside you already.

He made quick work of your leggings, peeling them down your legs. God you were practically soaking that bench already and he’d barely touched you.Grabbing your thighs to tug you down to the edge of the bench roughly. He admired your beautiful pussy for a minute, the material of your panties sticking to your lips making them practically transparent.

He slid his fingertip down your slit, pressing just the tip inside your pussy the material of your panties creating resistance from going in any further.

"All of this just for me? How long has my poor baby been suffering? If you’d just said you wanted to be fucked we could have ended this game quickly. But now I feel like making you wait… I won after all.” A smirk quirked his lips, leaning down to suck your clit into his mouth over the fabric.

“Fuck Jungkook!!” You squealed at the feeling of his mouth, the material of your underwear aiding the sensation. You slid your hand into Jungkook's hair, the other gripped onto the bench beneath you as you rolled your hips against his mouth.

Without removing his mouth from your clit, he grabbed your flimsy underwear tearing it off your body and flinging the offending material away. His mouth moving over your now bare pussy, tongue delving into your folds greedily.

You sobbed in relief, squeezing your thighs together at the sudden onslaught of pleasure that was almost unbearable.

Jungkooks digs his fingers into your thighs, keeping them open for his onslaught. "Ah Ah, don't hide from me." He quips smartly, sending a sharp smack to your pussy that causes you to jump, a whine escaping you at the stinging sensation as more arousal seeps from your lips.

He begins lapping at your clit teasingly, his fingers massaging your thighs as he enjoyed the whines escaping your lips.

“Kook, stop teasing!”

He takes your clit into his mouth once more, sucking strongly. At the same time slowly inserting one finger, curling it as he begins thrusting in and out of your sloppy cunt, rubbing that sweet spot each time.

You could already feel that familiar knot forming in your stomach and he’s barely touched you. Turned on beyond belief from their game earlier and not seeing him the past few days, or more specifically not seeing his cock.

"Tell me this isn't what you came down here for?" He remarks, pulling his digit from your pussy and bringing it up to his lips to taste you.

You screamed in frustration at the sudden emptiness, leaning up on your elbows as you regarded him between your legs not moving.

"Jungkook!" He just laughed at your situation, removing his finger with a pop from his lips, his tongue prodding his cheek. He reached down palming at his dick which had become so painfully hard. Your gaze followed his hand, jerking his length over his pants a few times in relief. He couldn’t wait to finally feel you wrapped so tightly around his cock, it had been so long, he was tired of using his own hand for relief. It was a poor excuse for that tight pussy he had come to love.

"Fine, okay! I came down to get fucked okay? I couldn't wait for you any longer… Jungkook! Please just fuck me already you idiot! I need to feel you!" you sobbed, throwing your arm over your eyes in embarrassment at your confession. Even after so many years you could feel embarrassment at how badly you wanted him at times.

He smiles all teeth at your confession, "Good girl, that wasn't so hard now was it? Did you really think I thought you wanted to work out? Unless you were referring to this workout." He motioned to himself with a cocky smirk, tongue running along his lower lip.

Before you could make a smart ass remark he plunged two fingers inside your pussy, thrusting them quickly in and out of you.

Shoving your sports bra up to reveal those beautiful pert nipples. Taking one into his mouth, his tongue lavishing attention on it as he scissored his fingers inside you, stretching you out for him.

"So fucking tight. How are you still so fucking tight!" He grunted, slipping a third finger inside of you.

You winced at the slight burn, your body already having forgotten the shape of his dick. As the burn ebbed, a delicious pleasure spreading in its place as your thighs quaked from the sudden orgasm approaching. Your hips thrusting in tandem with his fingers, chasing your high.

"Yes, Yes! Jungkook harder!!" You tugged at his dark locks, forcing his mouth harder against your breast.

He rubbed at your clit with his thumb, curling his fingers to continually hit your spot as he increased his speed. His fingers moving so fast you could barely keep up.

Suddenly you felt that cord snap inside of you, your back arching off the bench as you screamed out from your orgasm. A rush of liquid flooded Jungkook's fingers, spraying his chest as he dove down to taste your release. Tongue fucking your gaping hole as it quivered around his mouth, you tasted so fucking sweet he couldn't get enough of it.He pulled his fingers out to rub your clit as his tongue delved deeply inside of you prolonging your release.

"Ah, Jungkook no more.. please..."

He forced your thighs to wide as you tried closing them from the overstimulation, squirming away from his mouth. Your fingers tangled in his dark locks as you tugged at his head trying to stop him.

"I know you can, don't even think about stopping me."

He continued lapping at your sopping pussy, filling you with two fingers again as he sought that spot inside you.

You could feel the overstimulation already turning to pleasure again, moaning loudly as you thrashed on the bench with your fast approaching second release.

Jungkook sucked your clit into his mouth, fucking his fingers harder inside of you until you felt that damn break once more. "JUNGKOOK!!" you screamed his name loudly, black flashing behind your eyes as you squirted all over his face this time, your thighs shaking with the intensity of your orgasm.

You lay back panting as he removed his fingers, watching your gaping hole quiver at the emptiness. He licked his lips glancing down at your throughly fucked out face with satisfaction.

"Good girl, I knew you would do it." He sat back on his knees, chest glistening with your release. Standing up, he quickly kicked his sweats and briefs off, his cock springing to attention against his stomach. He wrapped his hand around his painfully hard length, sliding his fingers up and down a few times before his eyes caught on something in the corner.

You were so out of it, currently basking in your post release, you hadn't even noticed him move to the corner of the room. It wasn't until you felt something cold wrapping around your wrists that you startled to attention.

"What..?" you questioned, giving a measuring tug of your wrists to find them tied together with something.

"You were very bad tonight, trying to stop me from enjoying my prize earlier." He gave a sharp tug making sure your wrists were secured with the jump rope.

"So now your going to lay there and let me fuck you however I want." He whispered in your ear before standing up, he lifted your body up from the bench forcing you to now lay on your stomach.He eyed that beautiful ass now on display, delivering a harsh smack to your left cheek enjoying the red marring your skin.

You jumped at the sudden stinging of his hand, a new flush of arousal spreading throughout your body.

He knelt down at the end of the bench, adjusting some knobs. You suddenly found your feet leaving the floor at the same time the rest of your body leaned down closer to the floor. You felt incredibly vulnerable suddenly, ass up in the air, pussy quite literally on display for his viewing pleasure. You couldn't see where he was or what he was doing.

"Fuck, you're so perfect."

He eyed your position, having risen one side of the bench to lift your ass up to the perfect height, while the other was lowered for your comfort so you wouldn't be at a weird angle. He could see just how wet you were from this angle, your pussy dripping on the bench as your hole twitched with anticipation.

He ran his index finger through your slick, "Just for me."

You suddenly felt the head of his dick teasing your core causing you to thrust yourself back against him, you wanted to feel him filling you up so badly. But instead he kept teasing you, tapping his dick against your clit as he pressed a hand down against your lower back to hold you in place delivering a shark smack to your ass.

"Stay still." He growled under his breathe, pushing forward until the thick head of his cock sinks inside you, just as quickly pulling it out.

"Jungkook!" You screeched, wriggling against your confines in frustration, you feel a new wave of wetness seeping from your pussy. "Please, Jungkook, please fuck me! I need your cock.."

His fingers spread out across your ass, massaging at the reddened cheeks. "You look so amazing like this, bared just for me, pussy just waiting to be filled." He pulled your cheeks apart, groping as he watched the way your pussy twitched, admiring the mess you made of the bench already. He strokes his cock once before lining it up with your heat, coating it in your cum before suddenly thrusting forward sinking balls deep inside of you.

"Fuck!" you screamed out, suddenly feeling so full as he sunk so deeply inside you. You swear you could feel him all the way to your stomach. You clenched around him inside you, wanting to keep him inside.

He slowly pulled out until just the tip was left inside you, letting you feel every ridge and vein before harshly thrusting back in as your ass jiggled with the motion.

Suddenly his thrusts sped up, hips plunging into you as the bench jerked beneath you at the strength of his motion. Loud moans left your mouth as your body fought to keep up with his pace. Pleasure wracks your body, fighting against the orgasm already approaching.

He watched your ass bounce against his hips as he took your hips in his hand, forcing your body down to meet his thrusts. Your orgasm hits you as soon as he presses his thumb down on your clit, thighs shaking as your body releases for the third time tonight.

Jungkook continued thrusting through your orgasm, chasing his release as you felt him swell even bigger flooding your insides with his cum. He gave a few more lay thrusts as his cum started leaking out between your bodies soaking the bench below. He slowly pulled out from the warmth of your body, cupping your heat to keep his cum inside.

“Don’t let even a drop escape.” He commanded moving your hand to replace his as he went to slid his boxers and work out shorts back on.

You squeezed your legs together trying in vain to keep his cum from running down your legs as you to went to find your underwear and leggings he had thrown haphazardly.

He gave your ass a firm smack once you had finished getting dressed, pushing you towards the door.

“Now be a good girl and let me finish my workout.” He flashed you a cocky grin before heading back over to the weights.

Your jaw dropped at his request, “Seriously?!?”

Remember to like, reblog and follow if you enjoyed! 💋

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byoldervine · 26 days

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Writing Tip - “Mine Isn’t As Good As Others”

We’ve all heard someone say it. We’ve all said it ourselves. We read a book and then go to our own writing project and this “Mine isn’t as good as that, will it ever be good enough to have anyone care about it?”. And today I’m going to give you some reasons why you feel that way

1. You’re too close. This is your own writing, where you’re aware of all the failed drafts and the struggles to try and get it right and, most of all, the idealised image in your head that you conjured up all by yourself. When you’re reading someone else’s work, you only see the best in it, and it paints you a picture that wasn’t there before. I guarentee you the author couldn’t paint the original image in their head as beautifully as they imagined it, but since you have no frame of reference for that original image you can only enjoy the amazing new image you’ve conjured up yourself. The words never do the original image justice, and that can be a struggle for authors to accept since they read such vivid descriptions from others

2. Familiarity. You know how when you read the same word over and over it stops looking like a word? Thats what happens when you’ve been working on the same story too long. This is why we always say fresh eyes are so important; someone entirely unfamiliar with the story will view it completely differently, but not someone who’s micro-analysing every little word choice

3. Faulty comparison. If you’re reading a finished book, one that the author was proud enough to publish, and then turn around and get sad that your first draft isn’t as good, you need to be realistic; you can’t compare a finished product to a work in progress. Finished books will undergo a whole bunch of edits, the least amount of edits I’ve seen is about three dedicated ones before the book got published - and for some books I’ve seen it go upwards of ten. Are you really gonna compare the first draft to the twelfth one?

4. First drafts are bad. In fact, don’t ever compare your first draft to anything, because they’re not supposed to be good. Your first draft will never see the light of day. Many writers rarely if ever share their first draft outside of getting advice on how to progress on something they’re stuck on, usually they’ll at least wait until the second draft before that gets out to beta readers or anyone like that. Your plotting is your foundation, and your first draft is like the scaffolding and framework of your house. Sure, it does good to hold it up and give you a clear idea of where you’re going, but it doesn’t exactly constitute a house, does it? It’s not supposed to be the house, it’s just needed in order to progress further

5. Difference in experiences. On the whole, reading is passive and relaxing, which is why everyone enjoys it as such a chill past time. All the work has been done for you, you can just sit back and enjoy it without putting any effort in. But writing is an active project that you need to be putting a lot of effort and mental strain into. You can’t just zone out and watch the scene play out in your mind, you actually have to write it down. This can be very discouraging, especially when it breaks you out of your immersion constantly. Reading feels better in comparison because it’s easier, all the hard work is someone else’s problem, and as such we can think that the other book is so much better than the thing we shacked together just to get our daydreams to work out

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sweater-daddiesdumbdork · 8 months

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Life Is Short So Make It Sweet

Chapter 24: When It All Goes Out

Summary- 5.8k Curtis Everett x Plus!Sized Reader. Returning from Florida meant returning to the last bit of winter weather and it hit with ferocity, leaving Duluth without power. Luckily Curtis is ready to handle such a challenge.

Warnings- Intimate sex and some talk of Curtis's past and his grandparents being ill from cancer and a stroke. Mentions of freezing cold weather? Is that a warning?

A/N- I had to throw in a winter storm because they are something I experience every year, along with losing our power when it is freezing ice cold and it is miserable. I need someone like Curtis who can make that experience a lot better! I also wanted to meet some more of his family and this seemed like a good way to do it. As always, thank you so much @what-is-your-plan-today for editing this, also thank you to everyone who has been following these two! Divider made by @firefly-graphics As always happy reading, Liking, Commenting, and Reblogging are so appreciated! 🐝

Chapter Twenty-Three / Masterlist

The end of February and beginning of March came in with the coldest snap of the year, the wind blew freezing temperatures off the lake and you swore you were moving to live with Jade after the fifth night you stood at your stove while stirring your pot of hot soup. Curtis was working on putting heavy sheets of clear plastic over your very drafty windows after he felt how much cold was creeping in, leaving your heat running constantly.

“I have plenty here if you want some dinner.” You muttered as you tasted the broth off the tip of your spoon. “But I’m sure you are sick of it by now?”

Curtis was stretching to the tip of his toes to get the tape in place, giving you a glimpse of his pale belly, the Florida tan having faded away as fast as it arrived. You could feel yourself getting all wistful for the sun filtering through the palm trees in Frank and Jade’s backyard.

“Honey, if you're feeding me, I’m not going to have any complaints. Soup sounds warm and I’m still freezing from today. Sucks having to work outside on days like today. Should have seen Edgar. Had on so many layers he could barely move.” He moved back from the windows and checked the seams of the plastic. “Okay, I think this will help a bit. I don't feel a draft sneaking through anymore.”

You clicked off the stove and hugged around his waist. “Thank you Curtis.”

“I got your bedroom too, that was not quite as bad as these kitchen ones, but Honey this building has so many issues.” He frowned as his eyes roamed around your tiny apartment.

“As soon as my lease is up, I’m moving. I’m not crazy about this place either. I was thinking about a little house next.” You said while easing back to the stove to ladle up the soup. “I miss having a garden to work in. I had the most beautiful one with my parents since I also lived in an apartment there.” You placed the bowels side by side at the table while Curtis picked up his supplies. “I always wanted a yard, with a porch either on the front or back of the house.” You smiled a bit at the thought of it, Curtis catching your wistful look while you daydreamed.

“You know my Gram had lots of gardens in that yard. If we can’t find the house you want, you can certainly use them.” He offered as you finished up the table with some drinks and warm bread that you had baked that afternoon, butter alongside it, because warm bread needed slathers of salty butter to bring it to life. It was something you used to deny yourself daily. Now you thoroughly enjoyed it whenever the mood struck. It started with you making it for Curtis, because he enjoyed it so much but now, it was just as much for yourself as him.

Hearing Curtis mention the old garden beds at his own house made you perk up. “She did? Do you remember what was in them? Are they even still there?”

“Yeah, they are still there, it wouldn’t be hard for me to rent a rototiller to break that ground back up for you. And she did everything, flowers, vegetables, herbs. There are some bushes and fruit trees back behind the treehouse that can probably be brought back to life. All her tools are still in the shed. Grandpa didn’t have the heart to toss them after she stopped being able to use them.” Curtis dunked a piece of bread in his soup and bit into it, letting his eyes slip to a close while he chewed, thoroughly enjoying his food.

“I would love to revive your Grandmother's gardens Curtis.” You worked on sitting down but once again Curtis hooked an arm around your waist and pulled you to his lap, hugging around you. You didn’t try to pull away like before, just slid your bowl over close to his and took your own bite. You had to admit it was warmer in his hold, a feeling of security that you’ve grown accustomed to being with Curtis.

“Mmhh you’re so warm, makes me wish I could stay tonight.” He grumbled, knowing in this cold he had to keep his fire going and make sure his water didn’t freeze up. “She would appreciate it, I tried for a few years to keep them going after she passed, but it was so time consuming and I just didn’t have enough hours in the day and I just didn’t have the knack for keeping anything alive like she could.”

“Trust me, I wish you could stay too. You are like a furnace when you’re sleeping, perfect to keep me warm tonight.” You chuckled, leaning into him as you took a bite of bread, savoring its rich warm taste. “I will send some of this bread home with you.” You twisted a bite off for Curtis and held it up to him, which he promptly took with a light nip to your fingertips. “Make yourself some toast tomorrow before work.”

“You do that and I will just come back looking for more.” He teased you with a bypass on soup and bread for the curve of your neck, hitting that sweet spot of yours that always made your breath catch. Your hand lifted to cup the back of his head, making you breathe deeply while muttering a curse at him.

“You're an absolute fucking menace Everett.” Making him laugh deeply, the vibrations from his chest felt in your back where you were pressed against him. “Keeping you coming back was my master plan though. However how about we go to a movie and dinner tomorrow? My Friday night treat?”

“You wanna take me out on a date, Pretty Girl?”

“Sure, gotta show you off once in a while.” You winked at him before turning back to your soup.

“Well, I will be delighted, make sure I wear my finest beanie hat and coat you got me for Christmas.” Curtis promised, making your cheeks heat with affection at how happy he still was with his Christmas gifts.

Friday you ended up waking up to a freezing cold apartment. You weren’t the only one you found out while you bundled up into several layers, your phone was flashing with weather alerts and school cancellations due to power. The cold snap ended up being matched with high winds that snapped frozen tree branches all over the place, knocking out several areas of power all over Duluth.

You were bundling up in even more clothes, trying to remember all the things your dad taught you about what to do during a power outage like this when your phone rang with Curtis’s name popping up.

“Hey.” You answered while curling up in your bed to get in the blankets. “You without power too?”

“Yes, I woke up a while ago getting the fire going and making sure my water was running. Pack a bag, you should come stay with me. I’m going to go pick up my aunt to bring her here, Ella is packing up her and Sophia. It’s too cold for you all to be staying without heat.”

You happened to agree and staying at Curtis’s sounds much better than your icebox of an apartment.

“You are a literal knight in shining armor Curtis.” You made him chuckle into the phone. “Want me to grab anything?”

“Nah, I got everything we need. If the car has a hard time starting, give me a call and I will pick you up. When you get here pull right into the garage. The truck should be fine as long as I cover it from the wind.” He instructed and once you assured him you would be there soon, you hung up.

Clothes weren’t much of a problem, you had plenty there. But you wanted to bring your laptop in case you were able to do a bit of work on it, plus you were sure Curtis had a small emergency battery you could plug it into to charge. You grabbed a few other things that you knew wouldn’t do well in the cold, including your tiny little spider plant you were just starting. You finally managed to get your bag of stuff you needed in the car and luck was with you as it quickly started without too much trouble.

When you got to Curtis’s place, going in through the garage, it was currently empty of any occupants. Your bag of stuff in one hand, your spider plant precariously balanced in the other, you called out Curtis’s name, not expecting any answer. “Guess it’s just me and you for now, Peter.” You muttered to your little sprig of greenery, making sure to place it in the living room where the wood stove was currently keeping the space toasty warm.

Figuring Curtis must be picking up his aunt, whom you had yet to meet, and Ella was coming with Sophia, you decided to get some hot water onto the stove, which luckily still managed to work with the flick of a lighter, enabling you to start heating up water and milk for drinks. Going into your cupboard above the stove, you brought down several teas, a container of instant coffee and a special mix of cocoa you had purchased with Sophia in mind.

“Jesus Christ and tits, it's cold out.” Ella suddenly announced as she ushered Sophia through the garage door, holding onto her kid’s jacket before she could bolt off. “Get your boots off and go say hi to Y/N.” “I got some cocoa for Sophia going if she wants some.” You poked your head into the hallway to see if they needed any help. Ella tossed you a bag of clothes for you to take off her hands while she worked on getting Sophia out of the outside clothes.

“What do you say Soph, hot chocolate?”

“Does it have the mallows?” She asked so solemnly and you nodded with enthusiasm.

“Unicorn ones. I picked them up last week when I was grocery shopping.”

Sophia’s brown eyes widened with excitement and she hurriedly wriggled out of her clothes while you went to set the bag of clothes in the living room. When you came back out to the kitchen, she was pulling the stool over to the counter to help assist in your cocoa making adventures. “Ella, you want anything?”

“If you have any kind of coffee, I would fight my cousin and make you my girlfriend.” She shouted while she stuffed everything in the closet to get it out of the way.

“I got instant.” you answered back while pouring the heated milk into a mug. “Careful Soph, it’s hot.” Grabbing the package, you emptied it into a flower mug for Sophia.

“Oooh, they are pink and purple unicorns!” The little girl said excitedly as she carefully stirred the powder into the milk, changing the color to a soft brown color. She scooped a marshmallow and blew on it before biting it. “Mmmhh.”

“Perfect for today.” You agreed with Sophia while you made two more mugs, one with instant coffee for Ella and you drizzled some of your honey into another and a tea bag. Ella came in, pressing cold hands against her daughter's warming cheeks, making Sophia squeal and twist out of her mothers hold to march to the table with her mug.

“Ahhh, looks like I have to fight Curtis, good thing I fight dirty.” She wrapped her hands around her mug and stole a splash of warm milk and sugar to finish sweetening it.

“I will be your cheerleader from the sideline. I am a great prize.” You snorted in laughter. “So what were your plans this weekend before all this?”

“Oh Sophia was gonna go stay at my mother’s for an overnight while I went to the aquarium to help set up a new exhibit.” Ella sipped from her mug. “I will still go tonight if they let me. Right now everything is going into maintaining the generators, so they might not let any of us go ahead with doing the changeover exhibits.” she shrugged. “I’m actually okay if I have the weekend off. It was a pain in the ass touch tank, one that always is a bitch to deep clean those things.”

“Momma!” Sophia scowled over her mug, sporting a chocolate mustache now. “You swore.”

“Don’t worry, it will happen again.” Ella crossed her eyes at Sophia to make her giggle and went right back to her coffee and convo with you. “What about you and Curtis? Any plans this weekend?”

“Ahh, we were going to do a little date night tonight when I got out of work. Movie and dinner, been a while since we have done that, but I don’t know how long this storm will keep the power out for. Staying in works for me though. I can spend the day in comfy clothes.”

Ella shot out her leg to show the fuzzy pajama bottoms she was wearing sporting the batman logos and extra thick socks, one in bright pink, the other in purple. “I’m right there with you.”

The rumble of a truck could be heard and Ella sprang from her chair to open the garage door. “Hey mom! Curtis! Just in time, Y/N has hot water going.” Ella’s arm wrapped around an older woman, half hidden in a giant winter coat and Curtis followed her hurriedly, his heavy boots thumping on the linoleum as if he was trying to warm up and get the door closed against the chill. You could just barely see him under his hoodie, which he shoved down off his head but kept his beanie on, pulling it down enough to cover the tops of his ears.

“It’s like hell froze over out there.” He opted to kick his boots off and slip his jacket off to hang in the closet.

“UNCLE CURTIS.” Sophia scowled at him from the kitchen table. “Bad word!”

Curtis scowled right back at his niece, taking the effort to make a funny face at her to make her giggle into her cup as her expression went from serious disappointment to glee. “How much do I owe you now for the bad words?”

“Million trillion gazillion.” Sophia said confidently and Curtis sighed with exasperation.

“Kabillion? I might have to write you a check kid.” He continued teasing her.

Ella assisted helping her mom, talking a mile a minute to the woman. Sophia waved a hand while she had her cup half tipped to her mouth, choosing to finish her precious unicorn hot chocolate before going to greet her grammy and uncle. You just stayed quiet, sipping your tea and watched everyone greet each other in a chaotic manner.

“Froze over and then decided it still wasn’t cold enough.” Ella confirmed Curtis’s statement while the trio went into the kitchen. “Y/N, have you met my mother yet?”

“No, but I’m glad you were able to come.” You held out a hand and the woman, who was on the shorter side of the family, just coming up to your own shoulders meaning Curtis and Ella towered over her, looked at your hand and swept it away as if offended.

“I’ve heard so much about you, I feel like we’ve already met.” She wrapped her arms around you, catching you by surprise. “Call me Lisa.”

You were quick to recover with a swift smile and nod. “Sure Lisa. You must be frozen, please come to the table so I can make you something.”

The woman accepts graciously, letting you lead her away while Ella gathers boots to tuck away and Curtis finishes hanging up winter clothes in the closet. They could hear Lisa start right in about how the kitchen table had been her parents and had many similar days, spent around it warming up after a cold winter day with ‘coffee strong enough to keep you awake for days.’ Making you laugh as you joined Lisa and Sophia at the table.

“See that, fits right in. Mom loves her.” Ella winked at Curtis who gave an eye roll, but he couldn’t keep the grin at bay seeing how relaxed you were alongside his niece and aunt, comfortable as could be.

The day was soon filled with activities to pass the time now that Curtis was sure everyone was able to stay warm. Several games were dragged out from the top living room bookshelves, helping make them kid-friendly so Sophia could play.

The small wood stove in the living room kept the house heated for the most part and when it came to the evening, you started to light candles while Curtis went to retrieve some of his grandparent's old oil lamps from the garage. The house felt lively as the rest of the world almost felt shut down, at least in their part of Duluth.

The oil lamps cast a warm glow around the living room, Curtis making sure to set a couple near where his aunt was curled on the couch, working on a project with her crochet hook and a large bag near her full of bright colored yarns.

Sophia and Curtis were playing some game nearby while Ella worked in the kitchen, picking up from the meal earlier. You sat on the other end of the couch, taking a breather after the chaos of the day, Ella having chased you from the kitchen claiming she had it all under control. You also didn’t want Lisa to be alone and although you didn’t know her, felt better giving her some company.

The woman was just as friendly as Curtis and Ella, her eyes lifting from her project with a smile. “Dinner was fantastic Y/N, you can make me chili any time.”

You eased a bit at her friendly welcoming tone. “Thanks, it was the only thing I could come up with that didn’t require the power for the oven.”

Lisa laughed, hooking her string around her finger, and with a flash her hook was back to a whirl of movement. “My parents always went to beans and hot dogs.” Her eyes flashed and a soft smile curled her mouth at the memory. “You will get creative. This happens quite often up here this time of year. I keep telling Curtis he needs to replace the generator, it’s on his to-do list.” Lisa leveled you a look, making you giggle a bit.

“He has a long to-do list?”

“So he claims. But he has done a good job on this old place. It was a lot rougher a few years ago when Dad was sick. A lot of repairs needed to get done, these old houses as sturdy as they are, are also always falling apart.” Lisa said softly while she started another row. “Curtis moved back in when mom got sick and for that, I’m always going to be grateful to him.”

You nodded, curious as you hadn’t heard much about this time in Curtis’s life. “It must have been hard for all of you when that happened.”

Lisa nodded in agreement as she twisted her project, inspecting her stitches. “Cancer is harsh. Mom refused to be sad about it though and I think that kind of took a toll on Dad and Curtis, because they weren’t able to be sad about it either. At least not near her. Then after Mom passed, Dad just went downhill, heartbreak.” She said, sighing as she glanced at you. “Then when he had his stroke, Curtis stayed to help take care of him too and make sure he wasn’t living alone.” The older woman seemed lost in her memories for a moment till she glanced at you, seeing that you were paying attention. “I’m sorry, this is a heavy conversation after we just met.”

“It’s okay.” You assured Lisa with a genuine gentle smile. “It helps to talk about them. Curtis mentions things once in a while. I know he misses them a lot.”

“Sometimes that boy keeps way too much buried inside, always being the one who takes care of everyone.” Lisa smiled thankfully, giving a small glance around the room that she had grown up in, as well as her daughter and nephew, now her granddaughter would have memories as well

“We all keep too much inside, why I agree with you. It does help to talk about them. I’m glad Curtis still does. Do you crochet?” She held up her project in question.

“No, that's one I have never gotten to try. I sew costumes for the drama club. But I always wanted to learn.”

“Well get over here, I got more hooks and plenty of yarn, let me teach you.” Lisa set her project aside and pulled up her bag. “What’s your favorite color?”

“Oh um, I love almost anything.” You peered into the bag and she pulled out a spool of greens that reminded you of summertime.

“You can use this, I have more at home. Okay, so we are going to start with a loop…”

You got engrossed in the lesson, and you and Lisa lost track of the other people in the house. Not by Curtis though, once in a while he would wander into the brightly lit living room to check on the fire, which didn’t actually need any tending.

Seeing you bite on your lip as you slowly mimicked Lisa’s movements, you looked like you were enjoying yourself. This felt right to him, this made his house feel like home.

You shivered as you crawled into bed that night, using a flashlight to see in the dark upstairs, opting to keep the lanterns downstairs for Ella and Lisa to use. Outside the wind howled and made tree branches scrape ominously against the side of the house, adding to the slightly spooky feeling that having the power out so long gave.

“Damn, it's still so cold.” You tucked yourself under the multitude of blankets covering Curtis’s bed. “You sure everyone is all good downstairs?” You asked quietly when Curtis came into the bedroom, sporting a steaming cup for you. You gratefully took it, wrapping your hands around the hot mug to warm your fingers up.

“They are, it’s warmer down there than it is in here.” Curtis assured you, easing the door partially shut for a little privacy.

Downstairs, Lisa ended up in the bedroom just off the kitchen which Curtis was sure to have the door open for the day to warm it up and in the living room you and Ella opened the pull-out couch, equipping it with plenty of blankets for them.

Curtis managed to stir up the fire and refill it with wood for the next few hours just before coming up the stairs and from somewhere in the depths of the old house, you thought you felt it sigh in peace as all the occupants settled for the night. “Okay. I just wanted to be sure everyone is comfortable.”

You sipped on the warm tea while watching Curtis hurry brushing his teeth and changing into his gray sweatpants and a hoodie. “I gave the stove a good amount of wood, it should warm up a bit more up here too.” He slipped in next to you, pulling the blankets up high around the two of you.

You curled up closer, sliding your hands under his shirt to press against his warm chest while he wrapped an arm around you, mimicking the move against your back. “Your hands are freezing Curtis.” You whined into his hoodie. He promptly started rubbing them against your back to heat them up.

“Better?” He rumbled sleepily and you hummed a sleepy yes. “Thank you Honey, for everything you did today. I’m sorry we didn’t get to go do that date though.”

You lifted your head enough to look up at him, smiling up at him. “You are welcome Curtis and we have other nights to go on a date. I had a great time today.” You cuddled in closer.

It didn’t escape Curtis’s notice that you didn’t brush off what you did today like it was nothing. You happily accepted his thanks because you deserved it. You whispered a good night, passed a quick kiss, and curled up comfortably next to him.

It was almost pitch black in the bedroom when you were woken, the air chilly on your nose but you felt a warm breath against your ear, a press of chapped lips and the scratch of Curtis’s beard against the curve of your neck.

“Mmhh Curtis?” You muttered as you felt his hand slide under the sweater you wore to bed to keep warm.

“Shh Pretty Girl.” He nudged at you lightly with his hips, pressing himself against you.

Really pressed against you, you could feel him hard through the layers you both were wearing. “Our door is open and they will hear us downstairs.”

That sent an excited little shiver to escape as he continued to kiss on whatever skin he could find. His hand moving aside your hair while he nipped at your sensitive place where your pulse fluttered in excitement. “You sure?” You gave a little throaty whine when his hand under your shirt squeezed a breast.

“Fuck yes. You made me so fucking happy today when it could have all gone to shit, you made everyone so comfortable and feel welcomed.” He admitted to you in hushed whispers. “I thought I could ignore how much it turned me on, but I just don’t want to anymore.”

You arched into his touch again, wriggling back against his broad chest. “That really got you this worked up?” You asked curiously.

“Yup.” was all he muttered as his hand moved out from under your shirt and he pulled the blankets over the two of you to cocoon you underneath. You eased to your back as he pulled over the top of you, holding himself up on his elbows while he started kissing you softly, pressing his lips against yours, over and over till you both started to relax into the sensation.

It was making your half-asleep mind go all fuzzy and warm feeling him press himself over the top of you and continue kissing you. Now his tongue slid over your teeth and pressed against your own tongue, making you both moan at the sensation of one another. Your fingers curled into his hoodie, to pull him harder against you, his hips snug against yours and rocking into you.

“You might have to keep me quiet.” You whispered when you both broke, your head tilting back so he could once more kiss on your jaw, another moan escaping him as he rocked into your soft body once again.

“I always got you Honey. Lift your hips.” He pulled up just a bit, enough for you to push at your sweats to work them off with his help. Under the blankets everything was muffled, the blankets keeping you both warm and snug stretched around you both. More kisses soon distracted you both for a moment, your bare legs hooking around Curtis’s thighs which were still encased in his soft worn sweats that always drove you crazy. You mumbled against his lips, panting slightly to catch your breath.

“You still have too many clothes on Curtis.”

He tilted his head to catch your earlobe, sucking on it, his chin a sensual scrape against your neck that sent a shiver down your spine. Your hands dragged down his muscled back, tugging at his sweatshirt to pull it off to touch bare heated skin. He mimicked the action, making you lose your shirt over the edge of the bed. “Fuck.” He hissed as you ground yourself against his groin again, needing that friction. The fabric of his sweatpants rough against your sensitive clit. Your nails pushed down the last dip of his lower back and under the band to grab onto his flexing cheeks and pull him harder against you. Suddenly he shoved at his pants, pushing them low enough for his cock to spring free, needing them off now.

You pulled up once more to kiss him, sighing against his mouth at feeling his cock press against you and he eased himself into you with a matching satisfied sigh, his weight pressing over you into the mattress. Easing your hands up to spread over his cheeks and running your thumb over his bottom lip before placing more soft kisses on his mouth, you felt his expression under your fingertips, the slight curve of his mouth pressing against yours made you smile against him.

You both kept the kisses light, brushes of lips against one another and rubbing noses while Curtis barely rocked himself against you. He rose on his elbows enough to touch his forehead to yours, his fingers burying into the hair along the side of your head while he rocked into you with soft grunts. You soaked into the feeling of him, easing your hips to meet him with a slow unrushed arch.

It was different, no chasing and encouraging one another to finish, but just enjoying the feeling of your bodies pressing against each other. You let your hands slide down off his cheeks to the side of his neck, closing your eyes as your fingertips traced tendons flexing whenever he tensed in his movements and then down to his muscled shoulders. You sensed him shifting, the brush of his beard against your neck making you moan against his ear while his weight sunk on you. The hair of his chest tickling your breasts till he pressed against your soft body.

You felt the groan in the hollow of your throat as he skimmed his mouth against you. “You always feel so good under me Honey.” Heat spiraled up your spine as you made yourself softer against him, your thighs rubbing up and down against the side of his hips and circling a leg to hook over his rocking ass to press him in closer. You wanted to drown in this feeling with him, make it last forever.

His fingers tightened just enough to move your head to tilt towards him, his lips resting against yours while your gazes locked, sharing each other's soft pants.

Thick lashes framed around his shining blue eyes, his pupils wide, searching yours while you were sure your gaze had a similar expression, except when he tilted his hips into the gentle rocking and Curtis pressed against you in a way that made you tighten around him, your eyes fluttering up as your breath hitched. “What are you thinking about Curtis?” You pondered in a whisper before pressing your mouth more to his.

You couldn’t get enough of this intimacy you were sharing with Curtis. Sex had always been good for you two, but this felt different. You felt him everywhere and you felt just as seen, barely breaking your gazes unless some sensation rocked through one of you, making your bodies so good while embracing the sensation.

But you two always relaxed again once it passed, sharing in the moment.��

You felt Curtis groan against you, the vibrations pressed into your chest as you rocked once more to meet him till he slowed even more. “How good this all feels.” He finally whispered against the curve of your neck where he buried his face. You thought he was talking about this moment alone and arched up into him slightly, running your hands down his back, feeling more of him, wishing you weren’t already building up to a release. “You in my home, fitting so fucking good in my life.” More kisses pressed against your pulse as he rocked back into your wanting body.

You grabbed at the back of his head to press him closer as he kept talking. “How life just feels so sweet with you Honey.” You smiled and it felt so good to smile in this moment, when you were feeling so close with Curtis. It sent an urgency racing through you, unable to stop the sultry moan escaping as your head tipped back and you tightened around Curtis. His head lifted to watch you come undone, keeping up the slow dragged pace he was using, rubbing his hips into yours while your hot velvet heat clamped around him, the rush of your orgasm made him grin.

“Fuck you are so sexy when you come. Come on Pretty Girl, let me feel you. Just give in.” He encouraged, soft kisses pressing against your forehead and side of your face before he pulled back again to watch you.

You rutted your chin up as you pressed back into the pillows, another moan escaping while your body broke in the softest way. You rode the high that felt like a warm wave washing over you when it passed, making you want to curl up in his hold, against his tattooed chest and soak in all of his touches that always made you feel beautiful. This wasn’t just your orgasm, it didn’t belong to you this time.

This was his, this one belonged to him so you let him see how good it did make you feel. You let your arms circle around his neck and pull his face towards yours, letting your forehead lean into his, sharing a deeper kiss that poured all you were feeling and was so close to saying.

Curtis watched your face meld into euphoria, which is all he ever wanted to do since the day he saw you standing on the bus steps with your students piling up behind you. You smiled so sweetly at him and he wanted more of that. He was always going to want more of that.

Your nails raked gently up his back, your thighs pressing in closer to touch your foot against the top of his ass, pushing him down to bury in you. “I’m going to feel you for days Curtis.” You whispered with a satisfied moan. “It’s your turn. Fill me up Baby.” You begged, so sweetly with nipping kisses to his jaw and along his neck, your body arched under his, pressing all your curves he was passionate about against him. “You feel so good inside of me. I don’t want this to stop.”

Curtis felt the rush you gave him with your words, the pull in his body to fill you with his spend was so intense, that he sped up. He grabbed your hip to keep you against him and you begged him for it till he spilled with a sharp yell of your name and he pinned you under him while warmth spread through you and he made no move to pull out. .

You felt him relax with a groan, hugging you to him and refusing to let you move just yet. You didn't try to pull away but clung to him, both of you warm inside and out.

#life is short so make it sweet #curtis everett x honey #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x plus sized reader #curtis everett and honey #curtis everett and reader #curtis everett and plus sized reader #curtis everett and you #curtis everett x you #curtis everett au #curtis everett fanfiction #snowpiercer fan fiction #snowpiercer au #chris evans characters #amber writes #sweater writes

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novlr · 6 months

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Gearing Up for NaNoWriMo with Novlr

Hi everyone 👋 I’m Pamela, Writer Development and Community Lead at Novlr!

October is coming to an end, and so is the time to prepare for NaNoWriMo (a time we affectionately call Preptober).

I hit my head, what is NaNoWriMo?

National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) is an annual event where writers from all over the world work toward the same goal - writing 50,000 words - while offering and receiving support from other writers.

Throughout the year, NaNoWriMo also provides resources and support for writers, as well as events like Camp NaNoWrimo.

Okay, and who are you?

We’re Novlr, and we’ve got a long history with NaNoWriMo. Our co-founders, Kim and Thomas, and myself are all NaNoWriMo vets, and Novlr has sponsored NaNoWriMo since 2019 because we share their aims of supporting writers and uplifting the writing community.

Novlr is a writing workspace designed to get you from the spark of an idea to a completed first draft without any distractions. We’re completely free to use for up to five projects, and we are the first creative writing platform to be writer-owned.*

We put writers at the centre of everything we do, and we work with our community to build the tools that writers need. We care about allowing every writer to focus on what’s most important — your words. And we are all about empowering writers to achieve their writing goals, no matter what they look like.

Why use Novlr this NaNoWriMo?

With Novlr, you can fully integrate your project with NaNoWriMo without having to manually keep track of your word counts.

We keep track of all your words automatically, from words written, deleted, to total word count. Our integration sends that data directly to NaNoWriMo, keeping your project updated on the NaNoWriMo site as you write.

We’ve also put goals front and centre in your writing workspace, which will keep you on track to reach your NaNoWriMo goals, as well as let you keep up your writing practice even after NaNoWriMo has finished.

Lastly, we’ve got advanced writing analytics that will help you learn all about your writing habits, like when you’re most productive, and help you get the most out of your writing time.

In addition to the platform itself, I’m also going to be writing with you all this year!

Novlr will be hosting a NaNoWriMo kickoff event on November 1st at at 23:00 - 01:00 GMT / 18:00 - 20:00 CT.

Throughout the month, I’ll also be running regular writing sprints in our Discord and sharing lots of posts with inspiration, encouragement, and resources, as well as chat through our projects.

Join me and my writing buddy, Molly, for lots of creativity 😍

No matter where you write your words, NaNoWriMo is the perfect time to build a writing community. I’ve made lifelong friends through my participation, and have got so many words written. Whether you use Novlr or not, participation is the key. And our community, and the NaNo community at large, are here to support you as you reach for the lofty goal of 50,000 words in 30 days.

I can’t wait to read all the amazing things you write!

*P.S. While our Standard plan is completely free, we do offer some extras for those who want the extra push. As sponsors of NaNoWriMo, we’re offering all participants this year 40% off Novlr Pro for 12 months, and winners, 60%! Just visit the offers page in your NaNoWriMo dashboard.

Novlr Pro gets you unlimited projects, unlimited version history to restore older versions of your work, a ProWritingAid integrated proofreader for when you’re ready to edit, as well as access to our advanced analytics. Create your free account at Novlr.org.

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somerandommess · 7 months

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Maxiel Au, writer Max;editor Dan. On Ao3 :) here. It’s like 3000 words so below is just a snippet. Enjoy? :)

Jimmy and Sassy

The tail of how two cats explore the world

Book 3: Jimmy & Sassy become pawtectives

Written by Max Verstappen

Illustrated by Charles Leclerc

Draft

“You cant possibly think editing this book yourself is a good idea”

“I do think it’s a good idea. I’m not going to send off my book to some random editor. I know what I wrote, I can edit it!”

“It’s not that I don’t think you can edit it, it’s just that you already have so much work doing.”

This is a conversation that Max and Charles have had several times since Max finished writing his latest book.

Ever since he published the first Jimmy&Sassy book, his agent Christian had been on his back about the next books in the series. Max never expected the books to gain such popularity, but apparently cats getting into trouble was what 7-9 year olds around the world demanded.

Max got up from his place at the breakfast bar and made his way to the fridge, stealing a piece of toast from Charles as he went. He frowned and shoved a bit of omelette in his mouth , watching as Max took his last yogurt.

He didn’t really want the yogurt, but since Charles brought up this topic for the third time this week he figured why not. Out of spite.

He walked to the couch, yogurt in hand, sat down and picked up his laptop. He placed the yogurt down in favor of his mouse and opened the draft of Jimmy&Sassy. Highlighted words and comments greeted him as he scrolled down to where he stopped late last night.

Jimmy gave Sassy a remorseful look. Perhaps the dog from across the street hadn’t stolen the catnip from Mrs.Hoffer, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t commit a crime. Sassy blinks at him but says nothing. Jimmy knows she’s discontent-

“You see! Discontent, remorseful! What seven year old is going to know what discontent is?” Charles exclaimed from behind him.

Max jumps. He didn’t hear Charles sneaking up behind him. He blames it on the lack of sleep.

“They can get a dictionary,” Max responds. It’s what I did he leaves out. He knows Charles gets uncomfortable when he talks about his childhood. About Jos. He doesn’t say it out loud but he sees it in his eyes when Max says certain things.

His father always hated his decision to become an author. He told him he’d never make it big, and that he should stick to children books since he can’t write anything above a fourth grade reading level.

Despite the success of Jimmy&Sassy, he still feels that his father was right when he ignores his other projects to write about two cats stopping a parrot crime lord from taking over the world.

“Get a dictionary? Do you hear yourself?” Charles crouches next to him,

“It’s not just this, you have so many sentences that are out of place. Most of it feels like it should be in another book-“

Max rolls his eyes, “Charles-“

“I know you’ve been working on a side project,” Charles presses on.

“Charles I’m not-“

“Don’t even lie, I see you writing sometimes.” He smiles cheekily at him.

Max frowns. It’s true.

Charles looks at him still and Max chooses to ignore him, highlighting discontent and remorseful instead.

Charles stands and cracks his back. Max watches out of the corner of his eye as he takes his seat next to the window infront of his tablet. He picks up his pen and goes through the motion of sketching potential covers for the new book.

Max shakes his head and stares at the screen.

He highlights some more,

Deluded, rampant, languid.

Charles hums some stupid song, smile on his face. Max groans.

“Fine!”

“What’s that Max?” Charles looks at him, batting his eyes.

“Maybe I need an editor,” he mumbles.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you?” Charles responds. A big smile on his face.

Max angrily clicks save, “You heard me!”

Charles giggles, actually giggles, and grabs his phone.

“I’ll send you his info.”

“You already have someone? Is he even credible? Has he done editing before?”

Charles doesn’t bother looking at him and just continues typing, “He’s a friend of Jules”

Max blinks. Jules Bianchi, famous romance author, and Charles’ godfather. Max assumes that the guy edits stuff for Jules, so he must be good.

He closes his laptop and sets it down. His phones pings and he sees it’s the contact information for a Danny Ric .

He would email him later.

….

On Ao3 here

#maxiel #maxiel au

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abcd-adventures · 1 year

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Wow. I am glad it’s Friday. This week was so heavy at work that I swear the weight of it felt physical.

Last night getting home, I was so exhausted and drained that I felt like I had nothing left for my own family and that’s not ok at all. Thankfully, my husband is amazing and does bedtime nearly all of the time, and he took some extra time so I was able to grab some headphones and get out for a long walk. It had been way too long since I put on my happy playlist and took a dance walk. It was freakin awesome. God, I needed that. Putting it on my calendar for a couple of clients who I think will really enjoy it. Lol I might even try it with one client who will definitely think I’m insane if I suggest it but I bet he would love it if I can get him to just try it. If nothing else, I’ll really enjoy his reaction to the idea. Hahahaha

Afterward, my headspace was soooo much better. Got home just as the husband finished putting B to bed. He was very pleased with my expression of gratitude. ;) We’re having our Valentine’s Day date this weekend, and I also can’t wait for my card! I’ve probably mentioned many times that he gives the best cards. It’s been a rule the whole almost 17 years we’ve been together that he must write his own words in the entire left side of the card and he always does an amazing job. Once, in undergrad, I found his rough draft--the man takes this shit seriously--and it was the best thing ever. I have it somewhere still.

Cleaning service starts today. It’s been difficult, but I have resisted doing the pre-clean that I really felt like I “should” do. The point of this is supposed to be to REDUCE stress. I think it will if I can just let it happen and stop feeling so freakin guilty about it.

Edited to add: Got a hilarious compliment from a newish client: “You seem like such a sweet person but you can curse like a sailor. I’m impressed.” Hahahahaha You know, sir, sometimes a few choice words are just really needed. (I don’t curse around all my clients.)

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rjalker · 2 months

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here's the finished almost half of the Flatland "translation" into casual English.

First draft lol

uh lets see if tumblr will let me paste the images in all at once or if it's gonna be difficult...

nope it's not letting me put the images and it got rid of the image descriptions. alrighty then. so just ignore it when it mentions a diagram I'm not adding them all back in manually

This is 15,000+ words. With almost 15,000 to go that still needs done.

Preface to the Second and Revised Edition, 1884.

By the Original Editor

I am writing this preface for my friend from Flatland, since he has been so mentally devastated by his years spent in prison that he can’t write it himself. Rather than copying his words directly, I am paraphrasing on his behalf so you, my readers, will understand what he means.

First of all, he wants to thank all of his readers, both fans and critics, in Spaceland, who’ve enjoyed his book so much that he had to get it reprinted again to meet the demand.

Second of all, also wants to apologize for some errors and misprints in the original edition, though these aren’t actually his fault.

Third of all, he wants to explain a few things that have confused some readers.

He wanted to respond himself, but he’s not the Square he used to be. The problem is not just that he is a prisoner, it’s that no one believes what he has to say, and do nothing but mock him. He’s also an old man now, and his memory is fading. He’s forgotten many of the ideas he learned on his adventure in Spaceland, and the words to describe them.

So he has asked me to reply on his behalf, to explain two points that many confused readers are upset by.

The first thing people complain about is that when a Flatlander sees a Line, that means they have to be seeing something that does have height, not just width and length, otherwise it would be invisible from the side. So why doesn’t he admit that his people already exist in three dimensions?

I understand that people are going to complain about this, since it’s such an obvious problem with the idea that Flatlanders only exist in two dimensions. I gotta say, I really wasn’t sure how to respond when I first read this comment, since I couldn’t think of any counter argument, but fortunately my friend was able to answer it in a way that makes sense to me, so I’ll paraphrase his words here for you:

"I admit," he said, "What this critic said about us having some height is true, but that doesn’t mean we exist in three dimensions the way Spacelanders do. Yes, Flatlanders are tall as well as long and wide, otherwise we’d be invisible, but this isn’t something we can measure or recognize on our own – (Remember, I didn’t even know the word “up” before my adventure in Spaceland) -- and you Spacelanders also have a fourth dimension you don’t have a name for, that I’ll call ‘extra-height’, that you can’t measure or understand on your own either, but that doesn’t mean you’re fourth-dimensional beings anymore than I’m a third dimensional being. Even after my adventure, I still can’t measure height, or “upwards”, not by seeing it, or even trying to imagine it. But I know it’s there, and I have to rely on pure faith.

“Let me try to explain. You can only measure something if it has variation to be measured in the first place. If everyone, and every single thing you see – animals, people, trees, buildings -- is exactly the same height, you can’t measure height, because there’s nothing to compare it to. It’s just the way the world is. Nothing is shorter than anything else, or taller. There’s nothing there to measure. Especially because everything you see is all that you can see. You can’t see above the height of everything, or below it. It’s just what’s there.

“Some Spacelander critics who like to complain too much have suggested we invent a so-called “delicate micrometer” to measure our height, but again, that’s impossible for us to do, because we can’t measure upwards, nor can we compare it to anything else.

“When we see a Line, we see something that is long and bright, and that’s how we know it’s a Line. Brightness and length are needed for us to understand what we are seeing. If there’s no brightness, the Line becomes invisible to us, and may as well not exist.

“This is why, when I try to explin the concept of height, or ‘upwards’ to my Flatland friends, when I try to point out the existance of height in a Line, the only thing they can see is the Brightness. And when I tell them I mean something else, a different dimension, they demand I prove it’s there by measuring it. Which I obviously can’t do, for the reasons I’ve already explained. You can’t measure what has no variation.

“It was just yesterday that the Chief Circle – our High Priest, or maybe in your terms better understood as the ultimate President or King – came to visit me, the seventh of his yearly visits. And just like the last six times he came to visit me, he asked me the same question: ‘Are you sane yet?’.

“And so I tried to explain to him that he was tall as well as wide and long. And you can probably guess his response. ‘You say I am ‘high’, so measure my ‘high-ness’, and then I’ll believe you.’

“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do the impossible? I’ve already explained that we can’t measure height. There was nothing I could do to prove what I said, and we both knew it. He left the room, just as triumphant as the earlier six visits.

“Still confused? Then put yourself in my shoes – imagine a person from the Fourth Dimension decided to visit you, said:

“‘Whenever you open your eyes, you see what appears to be a two dimensional image, and you understand that these are actually many different three-dimensional objects, through shading and light, and because you can reach out and touch them. And you think all you are seeing is Three-Dimensional, but really, you’re also seeing a Fourth Dimension, and it’s not colour, or shadows, or anything like that, but a true, separate Dimension. No, I can’t point it out to you, no, I can’t give you any way of measuring it or seeing it, you just have to trust me.’

“And how would you respond to someone saying this? Wouldn’t you want him thrown into an asylum too?

“Well, that’s what happened to me. I was a Square who tried to convince my countrymen that there was a Third Timension, and I was locked up, just as you Spacelanders would lock up anyone who tried to tell you there was a Fourth Dimension.

“Alas, the family resemblance of ignorance and bigotry runs strong through humanity in all Dimensions! Points, Lines, Squares, Cubes, Extra-Cubes, it doesn’t matter – we are all just as likely to make the same mistakes, believing only what we can see, and refusing to think beyond that.

“As your famous Spaceland playwrite, William Shakespeare once said, 'One touch of Nature makes all worlds akin'."

That’s what he told me in response to this complaint, and it makes sense to me.

As a further note on this point, the Author also wants me to also tell you that in this updated edition of his story, we have added back in some of the extra details of his conversations with the Sphere that we originally left out, because we assumed you, the audience, would find them boring and unnecessary.

So there is his defence against the first point of complaint. I can’t find anything to argue with about it, it seems like a solid defence.

As for the second point of complaint…I wish I could tell you that his response to the criticism was just as well thought out, but I can’t.

It has been objected that he is a woman-hater, and, because many of the people making this complaint are Women themselves who feel hurt by this, I want to reassure you to the best of my ability that this is not the case, at least as far as I can tell you that without lying.

The unfortunate fact is that the Square who is the Author of this book is not used to thinking in terms of morality, let alone the ideas of morality that we in Spaceland have.

If I were to literally transcribe his response to this complaint, I’d be making him look much worse than he really is, because he doesn’t really understand how to articulate his thoughts on this topic, because Flatland (or at least, his country in Flatland) does not have the words to describe it.

((Note from the 2023 editor: I want to emphasize that when the original Editor here says the Author didn’t have the words for morality, he means that very literally, as you’ll see later, when the Author is narrating for himself.))

So, as I am already doing by paraphrasing his words for you, I paraphrase again his response to this allegation of misogyny.

It’s my understanding that since he was imprisoned seven years ago, he has changed many of the personal views he expressed in this book, both in regards to Women, as well as the Isosceles and other Lower Classes, such as Irregulars.

His opinion is now much closer to that of the Sphere who visited him, that Straight Lines are in many ways superior to Circles.

But, because he wrote this book from the perspective of a Historian, he aligned himself (maybe too closely) with the general views held by the Higher Classes of Flatland, and, as I’ve since told him, many among us here in Spaceland.

I don’t think I need to tell you that many of our own Historians, who are mostly Men, have generally not considered the lives of Women or other Oppressed People to be worthy of writing about or considering.

The Author also wishes to deny the idea that he is still a supporter of the Circles and Aristocracy. He has had a long time to think since his imprisonment, and while he doesn’t deny that the Circles are very intelligent – otherwise, he says, they wouldn’t have managed to stay in control for so long – he believes that the facts of Flatland speak for themselves.

Revolution cannot always be suppressed by slaughter, and because the Circles themselves tend to be infertile, he believes that Nature Herself has condemned their actions as a failure in the end.

“And this is where,” He said, “I see the laws of Nature working in all worlds. Man thinks he is doing one thing, and he thinks he knows best, but Nature is wise, and cannot be denied. Her end goal is much different, and better, than what Man plans for.”

For the other complaints, the Author begs the readers not to assume that every detail of daily life in Flatland is a mirror of some other detail in Spaceland.

He hopes that his book, taken as a whole, will be educational as well as amusing to Spacelanders who are willing to suspend their disbelief and not immediately cry, “That can’t happen”, or “No, things only work like this”.

The rest of this book, I leave to him, in his original words, now with the small edition of some clarification in his conversations with the Sphere.

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions

by A Square

Table of Contents:

Part One: This World

01. Of the Nature of Flatland

02. Of the Climate and Houses in Flatland

03. Concerning the Inhabitants of Flatland

04. Concerning the Women

05. Of our Methods of Recognizing one another

06. Of Recognition by Sight

07. Concerning Irregular Figures

08. Of the Ancient Practice of Painting

09. Of the Universal Colour Bill

10. Of the Suppression of the Chromatic Sedition

11. Concerning our Priests

12. Of the Doctrine of our Priests

Part Two: Other Worlds

13. How I had a Vision of Lineland

14. How I vainly tried to explain the nature of Flatland

15. Concerning a Stranger from Spaceland

16. How the Stranger vainly endeavoured to reveal to me in words the mysteries of Spaceland

17. How the Sphere, having in vain tried words, resorted to deeds

18. How I came to Spaceland, and what I saw there

19. How, though the Sphere shewed me other mysteries of Spaceland, I still desired more; and what came of it

20. How the Sphere encouraged me in a Vision

21. How I tried to teach the Theory of Three Dimensions to my Grandson, and with what success

22. How I then tried to diffuse the Theory of Three Dimensions by other means, and of the result

PART I: THIS WORLD

"Be patient, for the world is broad and wide."

Section 01. Of the Nature of Flatland

I don’t call our world Flatland because that’s what we call it, but because I want to make what it’s like clearer to you, my happy readers who are privileged to live in Space.

Imagine a vast sheet of paper on which Straight Lines, Triangles, Squares, Pentagons, Hexagons, and other geometric shapes, rather than being drawn by pencil or pen, are alive, and move freely about, either on, or maybe you’d call it within, the surface of the paper, but unable to rise above or sink below it. Almost like shadows, but hard and solid, with glowing edges.

If you can imagine this, you’ll have a pretty good idea of what my country looks like.

Just a few years ago, I would have said, “my universe” instead of “my country”, but now I know better.

In such a flat land, you Spacelanders will almost immediately assume that it’s impossible for there to be anything you would consider “solid”. And yet, if you look down, you’ll see the Triangles, Squares, and other figures, just like I said.

We on the other hand, see no such thing, because the only things we can see are straight lines.

If this sounds confusing, let me give you an example, which you can follow along with while you read.

Get a penny, or another small coin or similar object, and place it in the middle of one of your tables in Spaceland.

When you stand above it and look down, you see the penny as a circle.

But, if you move back to the edge of the table, and lower yourself partway towards the ground – more like the way we Flatlanders see the world – you’ll see that the penny now looks less like a circle, and more like an oval.

Then, when your eye is level with the edge of the table, when you are closest to what you can get to being “on our level”, you’ll see that the penny, seen from above as a circle, now appears to just be a straight line.

The same thing would happen if you did this with a Triangle, or Square, or any other shape you could cut out of cardboard. As soon as you look at it with your eye on the table, it looks like a straight line.

Take for example an equilateral Triangle—who with us is a Tradesman, or Proffesional Man, of the respectable class.

Figure 1 below represents the Tradesman as you would see him while you were bending over him from above, as a triangle with all three sides of equal length.

Figures 2 and 3 represent the Tradesman as you would see him if you began to move your eye closer to the level of the table.

Figure 4 represents what you would see if your eye were level with the table: nothing but a straight line, which is how we see him in Flatland.

When I visited Spaceland, among other things not work talking about in detail, I was told that your sailors have a similar experience when they’re out on the ocean – distant lands might have bays, cliffs, buildings, and all kind of shapes on them from close by, but until you get close enough, or unless the sun’s bright enough to cast stark shadows, all you can see at a distance is a grey line on the horizon.

That’s like what we see when one of our triangular or other acquaintances comes towards us in Flatland. We have no shadows like you do, and none of the other advantages your vision has in Spaceland. If our friend comes closer to us, he becomes larger, if he goes away, he becomes smaller, but he’s always a straight Line. It doesn’t matter if he’s a Triangle, Square, Pentagon, Hexagon, Circle, or anything else. He always looks like a straight Line, and nothing else.

You’ll of course be wondering how we tell eachother apart if this is all we can see, and I’ll be able to make you understand better once I finish describing the people who live in Flatland.

But for the moment, let me pause this subject, and instead tell you about our houses, and the climate of Flatland.

Section 02. Of the Climate and Houses in Flatland

Like in your world, we also have four points on our compass: North, South, East, and West.

Since we have no sun or other celestial bodies like you do, we can’t tell where North is in the way you do, but we have our own way.

Similar to your birds, we always know where south is, because for us, we are constantly being pulled in that direction. This pull is very small in our most northern countries, so light that even a reasonably healthy Woman can travel for several furlongs (note that 1 furlong is equal to 220 yards) northward without difficulty.

But even at its lightest, we can still feel it, and tell which way is South. As an added bonus, the rain, which always falls on a predictable schedule, always comes from the North.

Because of this, when we are in a town or city, we can tell the direction from the way the houses are built – because the rain comes from the north, the solid roof faces north, so that the water can run of and safely down the sides without getting inside.

When you’re out in the country were there are no houses, you can use the trunks of the trees instead.

As you can see, it’s usually pretty easy for us to get our bearings.

But one problem is that when you are so far north that you can barely feel this pull, if you were walking in a deserted plain with no trees or houses in sight, I’ve sometimes gotten so turned around that I had to stand in place for hours straight, waiting for the rain to come so I’d know which way to go.

If you are ill or old, or a delicate Female, this pull to the South weighs heavier than on the healthy members of the Male Sex, so it’s considered polite that, if you meet a Lady in the street, you will move to the South and give her the North side to walk on. This can be easier said than done in such short notice, if you are in a northern climate where it’s hard to tell which way is south, or if you’re feeling sick yourself.

Unlike your buildings, ours have no windows, because light comes to us everywhere equally, whether you’re inside and out, during the day or night, and where this light comes from, we don’t know.

A long time ago, philosophers and scholars used to ask eachother “What is the origin of light?” and debate the possible answers. Many people have tried to find the answer to this question, and the only result is that our lunatic asylums have precious space taken up by the people who’ve claimed to solve it.

Our Government tried to persuade people to stop trying to solve this problem by forcing those who did to pay heavy taxes, but when it kept being a problem, the Law Makers, not so long ago comparatively, finally made it completely illegal to talk about.

And here I am, the only one in Flatland who knows the truth to where light comes from. But I can’t explain it to my countrymen, and they just laugh at me – me! The only one in this world who understands that Light comes from the Third Dimension! They laugh at me like I’m the maddest of the mad.

But I’ve gotten off track and this is a painful topic, so let’s get back to talking about houses.

Most of our houses are five-sided shapes, or as they are commonly called, pentagons.

Here is an illustration to help you understand:

The two northernmost sides of a pentagon house, which in the illustration are labled “RO” and “OF”, make of the roof, and these normally don’t have any doors. On the eastern side, there is a small door for Women, and across from it on the Western side is a much larger door for Men. The Southern side, or floor, usually doesn’t have any doors.

Square and triangular houses aren’t allowed, because their angles are much sharper than those of a Pentagon, and since the lines of inanimate objects, like houses, are dimmer than the lines of Men and Women, and are harder to see, if someone wasn’t paying attention, they could get seriously hurt if they accidentally ran into the corner of a Square or Triangle shaped house.

As far back as the eleventh century of our era, triangular houses have been illegal to build, with the only exceptions being for military structures like forts, ammunition stores, barracks, or other state buildings that most people aren't allowed to enter without special permission.

At that point in time, you were still allowed to build square houses, but they were subject to special taxes to discourage people from building more of them.

Three hundred years after triangular houses were outlawed, the Law finally decided that if a town’s population was above ten thousand, then the angle of a Pentagon was the smallest house-angle allowed to be built, in the interest of public safety.

The general community has common sense, and has agreed with this new law, so now, even out in the country on farms, almost all houses you can find will be pentagons. Now and then, though, in some very remote and poor farming district, an antiquarian might still find an ancient square house.

Section 03. Concerning the Inhabitants of Flatland

Most adult Flatlanders will reach a length of around eleven of your inches, or twenty-eight centimeters. Twelve inches, or around thirty centimeters, is considered a record breaking maximum.

Our Women are Straight Lines.

Our Expendable Soldiers, and the Lowest Classes of Laborers, are Triangles with two equal sides, each about eleven inches, or twenty-eight centimeters long, with their third side, or base, so short (Usually less than half an inch, or two centimeters), that they form at their vertices an extremely sharp angle, or point.

When these sorts of Triangles have a base of the most degraded type (less than an eighth of an inch, or three millimeters), it’s almost impossible to tell them apart from Straight Lines or Women, so sharp are their needle-like points.

Just like you do in Spaceland, we refer to these kinds of Triangles as Isosceles, which is how I will refer to them from now on.

Our Middle Class consists of Equilateral or Equal-Sided Triangles.

Our Professional Men and Gentlemen are Squares (which is the class I belong to) and Five-Sided Figures, otherwise known as Pentagons, as mentioned above.

Above us are the Nobility, with several classes, starting with Six-Sided Figures, or Hexagons. After Hexagons, the numbers of sides increase until one is given the honorable title of “Polygonal”, or many-sided.

When the number of one’s sides become so high, and the sides themselves each so small, that the figure can’t be told apart from a circle, he becomes part of the Circular, or Priestly order. There is no class higher than that of the Circles.

It is a Law of Nature with us that a male child will have one more side than his father, so that each generation rises in the ranks of nobility, as a rule.

This means that a Square (4 sides) will have Pentagonal sons (5 sides), and his grandsons will be Hexagons (6 sides), and his great-grandsons will be Septagons (7 sides), his great-great-grandsons Octogons (8 sides) and so on and so forth.

But this rule doesn’t always apply to the Tradesmen, the Equillateral Triangles, and it’s even less common in the Isosceles Soldiers and Workers. But to be fair, they can hardly even be described as human beings, since their sides aren’t all of equal length.

Because they’re subhuman, this Law of Nature doesn’t work on them, and most of the time, the son of an Isosceles is still an Isosceles.

But things aren’t entirely hopeless! Your children’s position in society can always get better, even if you’re one of the most degraded of Isosceles, through hard work, dedication, and many successful military campaigns!

Often, when Workers and Soldiers prove themselves to be smarter than their peers, when they are measured again, the measurements will show that their third side, or base, has grown, while their two longer sides have shrunk, producing a larger angle at the vertex!

The Priests then graciously intercede, arranging the marriage of the lucky Isosceles to a suitable Straight Line, and the sons born to these arranged marriages are almost always born with larger angles than their fathers, much closer to being an Equal-Sided Triangle than others who married for love.

Very, very, very rarely, a true, certifiable Equal-Sided Triangle is born to Isosceles parents.

(And a critic might ask, “But why does he need to be certified? When he eventually gives birth to a Square son, isn’t that a certificate from Nature herself, proving that he’s truly Equal-Sided?” And I tell you that no self-respecting Lady would ever consent to marry an uncertified Triangle.

Square sons are sometimes born to slightly Irregular Triangles, which would seem like cause for celebration, but almost every time, the Triangle’s Irregularity is passed down to his grandson, who either fails to attain the rank of Pentagon by being born a Square, or relapses entirely by being born a Triangle.)

If an Equilateral Triangle has any hope of being born to Isosceles parents, there must be a careful plan of arranged marriages for several generations, as well as strict self-control and frugality. Each generation needs to become smarter than their parents, and make sure their children are smarter than they are, for many generations.

When a True Equillateral Triangle is born to Isosceles parents, the birth is celebrated for many furlongs around.

The Sanitary and Social board performs a strict examination of the newborn, and, if he is certified as Regular, he is, with all due seriousness, allowed into the class of Equilaterals.

He is then immediately take away from his proud, sorrowing parents, and adopted by an Equilateral who has no children of his own, who has to promise never to let his adopted child go to the area where he was born, or even look at his biological parents, in case he mimics them without realizing it, and reverts to a degraded Isosceles.

The rare birth of an Equilateral from the masses of serfs is not only welcomed by the serfs themselves, as proof that their hope of their children climbing the social ladder isn’t misplaced, and gives them something to be temporarily happy about in their otherwise miserable lives, like a sudden, surprise holiday, but also by the Aristocracy.

The Higher Classes know that their own social status won’t be changed by these births, because it’s really the exact opposite – these births help maintain their power.

If the acute-angled rabble had been completely, absolutely without hope and ambition, it would have created many leaders to start their rebellious phases, and, with their superior numbers and strength, they would have been too much for even the wisdom of the Circles to handle.

But Nature is even wiser, and has decided that, as the working-classes get smarter, they also get weaker, as their acute angle, which makes them so dangerous and stupid, grows wider, getting closer to the comparatively harmless angle of an Equilateral Triangle.

In the most brutal, acute, and threatening of the Isosceles – creatures almost on the same level of Women with their lack of angle and intelligence – their ability to kill is matched by their inability to plan how to do so efficiently.

And in return, when their descendants have finally become smart enough to plan what would be devastating acts of terrorism, they’re no longer physically capable of carrying them out.

How admirable is this Law of Compensation! It just goes to show how natural, and -- dare I say, divinely inspired? -- the structure of our society is here in Flatland! It is as if Nature herself is helping our great Polygons and Circles to kill rebellion in the cradle!

Art, too, comes to the aid of Law and Order. Our doctors can usually figure out a way – through artificial compression or expansion of the figure – to make the more intelligent leaders of any given Isosceles rebellion become Equilaterals, allowing them to immediately join the privileged higher classes.

Many more of these rebel leaders, though, are too far below the standard for intelligence to be allowed the surgery, but, bewitched by the promises of becoming Regular through similar treatment, they are tricked into entering the State Hospitals, which they will never be allowed to leave. They spend the rest of their lives honorably confined to these hospitals.

Only a few of the more obstinate, foolish, or highly Irregular of the rebel leaders are actually put to death.

And then the wretched rabble of the Isosceles, without plan, without leadership, are either killed without resistance by the small group of Isosceles assassins the Chief Circle pays in case of emergencies such as this, or, more often, thanks to the suspicions and in-fighting stirred up by the Circular party, they begin attacking and killing eachother, until none of them are left alive.

There are a hundred and twenty rebellions recorded in our state records, and a further two hundred and thirty-five minor outbreaks.

All of them have ended as I have described above.

Section 04. Concerning the Women

Now that you understand how dangerous our highly-pointed Isosceles Triangles are, you can understand how much more dangerous our Women are. Because if an Isosceles is a wedge, a Woman is a needle, made up of, you might say, nothing but points, at least at the two ends.

Add to this sharpness a Woman’s ability to make herself practically invisible at will, and you’ll see that the Females of Flatland are not the kind of creatures you want to mess with.

But maybe some of my younger Readers are confused, and thinking, “But how can a Woman in Flatland make herself invisible?” I think the answer is pretty obvious, but it won’t take very long to explain, so even those who aren’t paying full attention will understand.

Place a needle, or another long, thin object, like a pencil, on a table. Then, lowering yourself until your eye is level with the surface of the table, look at your line from the side, and you'll see its whole length. But if you turn it so that you are looking straight at it from the front or back, you see nothing but a small point.

This is what happens with our Women. When her side it towards us, we see her as a straight line. When her front or “head” in you terms, the part, containing her eye or mouth (which for us, is the same organ) is pointed at us, we see a bright point.

But when her back is pointed towards us, we see a dim light, so dim it's almost as dark as an inanimate object. And this is how a Woman, by simply turning her back on you, can become practically invisible.

I need to make it clear to you just how dangerous our Women are. If running into an Equilateral Triangle, whose angle is 60°, will give you a painful gash, then running into an Officer of the military class will give you a serious wound. If a mere accidental bump from the vertex of a Private Soldier, one of the lowest of the Isosceles, is life threatening, then what can you expect from running into a Woman, except complete and total annihilation?

And when a Woman is almost invisible like this, imagine how difficult it is, even for the most caution, to avoid running into them!

Many laws have been put into place in the different countries of Flatland in order to lessen this danger, and in the Southern and less temperate climates where the force of the Southern pull, or gravity, is greater, where human beings are more likely to have sudden and involuntary movements from constantly fighting the gravity, the laws regarding Women are, naturally, much stricter and harsher.

But a general view of the regulations for Women can be understood from the following summary:

1. Every house will have one entrance on the Eastern side, to be used only by Females, and all Females must enter “in a becoming and respectful manner”. Females must never use the Men’s or Western door. [Note: When I was in Spaceland, I was told (in a conversation not transcribed in this book, to save my reader’s valuable time) that some of your Priestly institutions have a similar policy, with a separate entrance for the working poor (`Spectator', Sept. 1884, p. 1255) so that they can also "approach in a becoming and respectful manner."]

2. No Female shall walk in any public place without contually keeping up her Peace-cry, under penalty of death.

3. Any Female diagnosed with St. Vitus’s Dance ((A neurological disorder causing sudden, involuntary movements after an illness, usually affecting children)), seizures, a chronic cold accompanied by violent sneezing, or any other disease that causes involuntary movements, shall be destroyed immediately upon diagnosis.

In some countries, there is another Law that forbids Females, under penalty of death, from walking or standing in public spaces without constantly moving their backs from side to side, so that people behind them can see them better.

Other countries will sometimes demand that any Woman in public should be followed by one of her male family members or servants, and still others ban Women from public entirely, confining them to their homes except during religious festivals.

But our wisest of Circles and Politicians have found that having so many restrictions on Women not only leads to the weakening of our society overall, but also to an extremely high number of domestic murders, to the point where the number of Men killed as a result far outnumbers the accidents that the Law was attempting to avoid in the first place.

Because when the temper of a Woman is stoked by being confined to her home, or having to deal with harsh, inconvenient restrictions when in public, they are likely to unleash their fury upon their husbands and children or siblings, and several times, in countries with highly restrictive laws, the entire Male population of a town has sometimes been wiped out in just a few hours as the Females simultaneously and violently succumb to their wrath.

And this is why the first three laws I’ve outlined here are good enough on their own for the better-run countries such as the one I belong to, and can be used as a rough summary of the Female Code.

After all, it’s not the Law itself that protects us so much, as the instinct for self-preservation in the Women themselves. It I true that they can inflict instantant death by simply moving backwards, but it is also true that unless they can immediately remove their stabbing-end, their own fragile bodies can easily be shattered by the death throes of their victim, and be killed along with them.

The power of Fashion is also on our side. I said above that in some less civilized countries, Females are not allowed in public without swaying her back from side to side, but in my country, our high-ranking and ambitious ladies have been doing this of their own free will since as far back as anyone can remember. The idea that a law would have to be passed to guarantee this behavior, (which should be instinctive in ladies of high breeding), is extremely embarrassing.

The rhythmical and, if I may so say, well-modulated undulation of the back in our ladies married to Circles is envied by the wives of Equilaterals, who, trying their best, can only create a regular twitch like the ticking of a clock.

But even that simple ticking is admired by the wife of the ambitious Isosceles, who wishes to raise her family’s status, so that she becomes the first in all her family line to practice the art.

So you see, in every family worth considering, “back motion” is as old and ingrained as time itself, and the lucky Male members of these families enjoy their immunity from invisible attacks.

But don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying our Women don’t care about their families. But, unfortunately, their emotions in the moment overpower their other feelings, driving out every other thought until their anger passes. This, of course, is the result of their unfortunate configuration as Straight Lines.

They have no angle to speak of, and thus are mentally and physically inferior to even the very lowest of the Isosceles. They are, as a result of this lack of angle, completely devoid of brain-power, and are completely incapable of self-reflection, judgment, or planning, and barely any memory at all.

This is why, when they are in a state of fury, they have no idea what they’re doing, or who they’re doing it to. They will not recognize their husband or even their children.

I’ve actually heard of a legal case where a Woman murdered everyone in her whole household, but then half an hour later, when she’d calmed down and the fragmented bodies had been swept away by Police, asked where her husband and children were. She didn’t remember a thing.

So it should be obvious that you shouldn’t annoy a Woman if she’s able to turn around and stab you. But when you have them in their apartments – which are built so narrowly specifically to prevent them from turning and attacking – you can say or do whatever you want, because they’re incapable of reacting in any way except verbal, and in a few minutes, they won’t even remember whatever it is you’ve said or done that they’re threatening to kill you for, nor will they remember the hasty promises you’ve made (with no intention of keeping) to get them to calm down.

In general, we get along pretty well with our Women, except in the lower classes of the Isosceles military. These Isosceles, lacking in angle, also lack in tact and discretion, and many times this has caused indescribable disasters.

These Isosceles rely too much on their sharp points as weapons instead of the shield of common sense and knowing how to react to different problems, so these reckless creatures often fail to properly follow the safety code for building Women’s apartments, or irritate their wives by insulting them when out in public, and then to make things worse, refuse to immediately apologize.

And, being simple creatures who are too fond of the literal truth, these Isosceles refuse to make the kinds of lavish, impossible promises that Circles readily deploy to pacify the would-be murderess.

The result of this lack of careful handing is massacre, but you shouldn’t see it as a tragedy – on the contrary, these outbreaks eliminate the more brutal and troublesome of the Isosceles, and many of our Circles view the destructiveness of the Thinner Sex as one of many favors Providence has given us for naturally suppressing the population of Isosceles, and helping to nip Revolution in the bud.

But even within the families that most strictly follow the Female Code, even with our closest-to-true circles Circular families, I have to admit, our idea of “domestic bliss” isn’t as full of affection and comfort as it is with you in Spaceland.

There is peace, as much as the absence of slaughter can be called peace, but it is impossible for there to be shared interests or hobbies between Man and Wife, with the Man’s safety paid for in the loss of true comfort.

Since time immemorial, the women of our Circular and Polygonal houses have had the habit – which has now become a kind of instinct – of always keeping their eyes and mouths pointed towards their husband and his male friends.

If a lady in a high-ranking family turned her back on her husband, it would be seen as an omen of disaster involving a grevious loss of STATUS.

But, as I will soon explain, this custom, while insuring safety, is not without its problems.

In the house of the Isosceles Working Man, or the Equilateral Tradesman, where the wife is allowed to turn her back on her husband while performing her household duties, there are moments of peace, where the wife is neither seen nor heard, except the humming sound of her ever-present Peace-cry.

But in the homes of the upper classes, these moments of peace are few and far between. There, the loud and bright face are always directed at the Master of the household, and not even the never-changing light is more persistent than the never-ending feminine chatter.

The diplomatic skill required to avoid a Woman’s sting has no power against a Woman’s mouth, and, since the wife has absolutely nothing meaningful to say, and no intelligence or conscience there to prevent her from speaking anyway, more than a few cynics have been quoted with saying they prefer the death-dealing but mercifully silent sting of a woman’s back side to the obnoxious volume of her mouth.

To my readers in Spaceland, the condition of our Women may seem truly miserable, and indeed it is, without question. A Male of even the lowest type of Isosceles can look forward to some improvement of his angle through hard work and dedication, and eventually the increased rank of his entire degrades caste, but no Woman can ever hope for such things for her own sex.

“Once a Woman, always a Woman” is a Decree of Nature; and the very Laws of Evolution seem to stack misfortunes against her.

But at least we can admire the wise arrangement Evolution and Nature have given us, so that even though the Women have to be miserable for our great society to exist, at least they’ll soon forget it.

Section 05. Of our Methods of Recognizing one another

You, who are blessed with the ability to perceive shading as well as light, whose people are gifted with not one, but two eyes, who are understand perspective, who get to enjoy all shades of colour without thinking about it, you who can actually SEE an angle, and see the complete circumference of a circle from your happy, elevated position in the Third Dimension without a single speck of effort—How can I make you understand how difficult it is for us in Flatland to recognize eachother?

Remember what I already explained to you earlier. All thing in Flatland, alive or inanimate, no matter what their shape, appear to be, TO OUR VIEW, the same, or nearly the same, as a Straight Line. So then how can one shape be told from another, when all shapes look the same?

The answer is threefold.

The first way of recognizing different shapes is the sense of hearing, which with us is much more highly developed than with you in Spaceland, and not only lets us recognize the voices of our friends, but even to tell which class someone belongs, at least as far as the three lower classes – the Equilateral, Square, and Pentagon – go. As for the Isosceles, well, there’s no telling.

As we rise in social standing it becomes harder and harder to tell people’s classes apart by their voice, partly because the higher classes all speak in similar ways, and partly because using someone accent to judge their class is a poor man’s skill that is looked down upon by the Aristocracy.

And if there’s any danger of offending someone more important than us, we can’t trust this skill, because among the lowest classes, the vocal organs are more strongly developed, so that an Isosceles can easily fake the accent of a Polygon, and, with some training, even a Circle himself. So a second method is more commonly used.

Feeling is, among our Women and lower classes – I’ll explain shortly about our higher classes – the main test of recognition at all times between strangers, and also when the question is not to the individual’s identity, but his class.

As a result, a “formal introduction” in Spaceland’s higher classes is the equivalent for “feeling” with us.

“Permit me to ask you to feel and be felt by my friend Mr. So-and-so”, is still the go-to phrase for our more old-fashioned gentlemen who live in the countryside far from towns.

But in the towns, and among businessmen, the words “be felt by” are cut out, and the sentence is shortened to, “Let me ask you to feel Mr. So-and-so”, and it is just assumed that the “feeling” will go both ways.

Among our younger, more modern, and dashing young gentlemen, who refuse to expend extra effort than necessary, and don’t care at all about protecting the sanctity of their language, the phrase is shortened even more, using the words “to feel” as a shortcut for “to recommend for the purpose of feeling and being felt”.

At the time this book was written, this “slang” of the now allows such disgraceful barbarism as the sentence, “Mr. Smith, permit me to feel Mr. Jones”, to exist.

But please, my Readers, don’t assume that “feeling” for us is as awkward and tedious as it would for you, or that we have to go all the way around the person, feeling all his sides, before we can figure out what class he belongs to.

Years of practice and training, started in school and continued in daily life, allows us to immediately tell apart the angles of an Equal-sided Triangle, Square, or Pentagon at a single touch. And I don’t think I need to explain how the brainless vertex of an acute-angled Isosceles is obvious even to the dullest touch.

That is why, as a general rule, we don’t need to feel more than a single angle of an individual, and this by itself can tell us the class this person belongs to, unless he belongs to one of the higher sections of the nobility, where things become much more difficult.

Even a Master of Arts from our University of Wentbridge has gotten a ten-sided and twelve-sided Polygon confused, and no Doctor of Science, in or out of that university who would pretend to know, without hesitation, the difference between a twenty-sided and a twenty-four sided member of the Aristocracy.

The Readers who have been paying attention should remember from what I said earlier about our Women’s Code should quickly understand that the process of feeling requires serious caution and self-control, otherwise the angles of the one being felt might seriously injure the feeler.

It is essential for the safety of the Feeler that the Felt should stand completely still. A twitch, fidgeting, and yes, even something as simple as a violent sneeze, can prove fatal, and have ended, before they could begin, many promising friendships.

This is especially true with the lower classes of Isosceles. Their eyes are positioned so far from their sharp points that they can barely see what’s happening on their most dangerous end. These Triangles are also literally insensitive, and can barely feel the much more refined touch of a highly organized Polygon. So no one can really be surprised if a sudden toss of the head deprives the State of a valuable life!

I’ve heard that my honorable Grandfather – (one of the least Irregular of his unhappy Isosceles class, who obtained, shortly before his death, four out of seven votes from the Sanitary and Social Board to let him be certified a an Equal-Sided Triangle) –often bemoaned, with a tear in his venerable eye, an accident of the kind I’ve just described to you, which happened to his great-great-great-Grandfather, a respectable Working Man with an angle, or brain, of 59 degrees 30 minutes.

According to this story, my unfortunate great-great-great-great-great grandfather, who was suffering from rheumatism, and while being felt by a Polygon, with one sudden, unintentional movement, accidentally stabbed the Great Man in a horrific cut straight through the diagonal.

Half because of his long suffering in prison, and half because of the moral shock that swept through all of my ancestor’s relatives, our family’s angle was thrown back by a degree and a half, cutting off their ascension to higher standing.

This resulted in the next generation of the family brain being measured at only 58 degrees, and it wasn’t until five whole generations passed that the lost ground was recovered, and the full 60 degrees obtained, finally lifting us out of the class of Isosceles. And to think this whole series of calamities all came from one little accident in the process of Feeling.

And I think at this point I can hear some of my readers exclaiming, “How can you Flatlanders know anything about angles, degrees, or minutes? We can see an angle from Spaceland, because we can see two straight lines connecting to form an angle, but you Flatlanders can only ever see one line, or just a few pieces of different lines in a bigger line – how can you hope to measure any angle, let alone measure angles of different sizes?”

My answer is that while we can’t see angles, we can infer them, and do so with great accuracy. Our sense of touch, trained through constant use, lets us tell angles apart far more accurately than you can with the naked eye. We have many natural advantages that shouldn’t be forgotten.

It is a Law of Nature that the brain of the Isosceles class begins at half a degree of angle, or thirty minutes, and if it increases, it will do so by half a degree for every generation, until the goal of 60 degrees is reached, when the newest, freeman generation leaves behind the condition of serfdom, and joins the class of the Regulars.

This means that Nature herself gives us the tools we need, in the form of an ascending scale, or alphabet, of angles for every half a degree, all the way to 60 degrees, giving us all the examples we need, specimens of which are placed in every Elementary School throughout the land.

Due to occasional slip-backs like the kind my family suffered, as well as frequent moral and intellectual stagnation, not to mention the extraordinary ability of the Criminal and Vagabond Classes to breed, there is always a vast pool of individuals with an angle of half a degree or a single degree, and a fair abundance of Specimens up to 10 degrees. These are absolutely destitute of civic rights; and many of them are too stupid to even be useful in warfare, so they are given from the State and to the schools, to be used for education.

Shackled so tightly they cannot move in any way, to remove all possibility of danger, they are placed in our kindergarten classrooms, and and used by the Board of Education to teach the young Equilateral Triangles that have been adopted away from their biological parents the proper tact and intelligence that the wretched Isosceles who produced them are completely lacking in.

In some States, these chained Specimens are sometimes given food and water, and as a result, are allowed to suffer living for several years; but in better-run areas, we know that the educational interests for the children are better served with saving the food, and simply getting new Specimens every month – which is about how long a member of the Criminal Class can last without food.

The cheaper schools which choose to prolong the life of the Specimen loses in the long term by the cost of the food, and partly in the lessened accuracy of the Specimen’s angles, which, after a few weeks of constant “feeling”, become impaired.

And let’s not forget, as we think of the advantages of the more expensive system of constantly replacing Specimens, that it helps, however slightly, to lower the numbers of the Isosceles population, a goal that every statesman in Flatland constantly keeps in sight.

This is why I think (though I do understand that many of our popularly elected School Boards prefer the cheap system) that the more expensive system is, in this case, the best use of the money.

But I shouldn’t let the politics of School Boards distract me from my real subject. I’ve said enough, I hope, to show that Recognition by Feeling isn’t as tedious or confusing process as you might assume, and it is also obviously more trustworthy than Recognition by Hearing.

But many object that this method can be dangerous. For this reason, many in the Middle and Lower classes, and almost all of those in the Polygonal or Circular orders, prefer a third method of Recognition, which I will explain to you in the next section below.

Section 06. Of Recognition by Sight

I am about to seem very inconsistent. In the previous sections I’ve told you that all things in Flatland appear to us to be nothing but a straight line; and it was implied that this makes it impossible to tell people apart by looking at them.

But now I will be explaining to my Spaceland critics how we Flatlanders do recognize one another by our sense of sight.

If you, the Reader, will take the time to revisit the paragraph where you think I claimed that Recognition by Feeling is universal, you will that I specified “among the lower classes”. Only among the higher classes in our civilized societies is Sight Recognition practiced.

That this skill can exist anywhere, for any class, is the result of the Fog that covers the land for most of the year in all parts of Flatland except in deserts. What Spacelanders see as a depressing, evil smog that blots out the landscape and makes you cold and sick, is celebrated by us as a blessing second only to air itself, and is recognized as the Nurse of art and the Parent of science.

But I’ll try to stop singing praise for this beneficent Element so that I can explain to you what I mean.

If Fog didn’t exist, all lines would appear just as sharp and clear as every other line, and this is actually the case in those unhappy desert countries where the atmosphere is perfectly dry and transparent.

But wherever Fog can be found, objects that are at a distance of, for example, three feet, are noticeably dimmer than those at a distance of two feet and eleven inches. As a result, by careful, constant observation, we are able to understand, with very high accuracy, the shape of the object we are looking at.

A specific example will allow me to make my meaning clearer to you than many more paragraphs of explanation.

Imagine that I see two strangers approaching me, whose rank I want to learn. Let’s say that they are a Merchant, and a Physician, or in other words, an Equilateral Triangle, and a Pentagon – so how do I tell them apart?

Here is a diagram to illustrate:

It will immediately be obvious to every child in Spaceland who knows anything about Geometry that if I am facing these two men so that I am looking directly at their front point (A), my view, obviously, lies perfectly between the two points on either side of that (CA, AB), so that both points appear to be the same size.

Now when I look at the Equilateral Merchant, what will I see? I will see a straight line (in reality made up of three points), with the center of the line (which is really point A) being very bright (Because point A is closest to me).

The two seeming-ends of the line, though, will be much darker, with a very sudden shift from the white of the center to almost black. This is because the points (B and c) that make up the ends of this seeming-line are much further away from me, with more Fog covering them.

On the other hand, the line that represents the Pentagon Physician with shift from white to a lighter grey rather than almost black, because the points that make up the ends of the line are not as far away from me than they were on the Triangle.

[Note from the 2023 editor: To simplify further: The closer the point is to you, the brighter it is. The further away, the darker it is. Remember this, and you’ll be fine.]

The Reader will probably understand from this example how -- after a very long course of training aided by constant practical experience – allow those of us who are well-educated to accurately tell strangers apart when it comes to the Equilateral and Isosceles classes by our sense of sight.

If my Spaceland friends have grasped this idea enough that you’re not immediately rejecting it as impossible, I’ll consider my job done in this matter. If I tried to give you any more details, I’d only confuse you hopelessly.

But for the sake of the young and inexperienced, who might assume, from the two examples I gave above of how I would recognize my Father and one of my Sons, that Recognition by Sight is easy to learn, and I feel the need to point out that, in reality, the problems posed by Sight Recognition are much more subtle and complex than my simple diagram can convey to those in Spaceland.

For example, if my Father, the Equilateral Triangle pictured above, were to approach me with one of his sides instead of his angle, then, until I’ve asked him to rotate, or until I move around him to another angle, I cannot be certain whether I am looking at my Father, the Equilateral Triangle, or a Straight Line, in other words, a Woman.

Then, when I am with one of my two Hexagonal Grandsons, looking at one of his sides, it will be clear, I hope, from the diagram below, that I will see a straight line with a large center of brightness (made up by the points A and B), with two small darker sections above and below, which quickly fade away into dimness.

But I need to resist the temptation to keep explaining about these topics.

Even the best mathematician in Spaceland should believe me when I tell you that when you are at a ball or a convention, moving around the room and other people, trying to recognize and keep track of the many high-ranking Polygons around you is no easy task.

This is why we value our expert mathematicians – Professors of both Static and Kinetic Geometry, from the University of Wentbridge -- so highly. They are the ones who teach the elites of the states the complex art of Sigh Recognition.

It is only a few of the most promising heirs of our most noble and wealthy houses who can afford the time and money necessary for mastering this noble and valuable Art.

If I, a Mathematician of fair skill, and the Grandfather of two very promising and perfectly regular Hexagons, found myself in the middle of a crowd of rotating Polygons of the higher classes, even I sometimes find myself unsure!

And of course, to a common Tradesman Equilateral or Serf Isosceles, such a sight must be as bewildering and meaningless as it would be to you, my dear Reader, if you were suddenly transported to our country.

In a crowd like this, the only thing you would see, wherever you look, is nothing but a Line that seems to be straight, but with different parts in constantly changing light or darkness.

Even if you had graduated from your third year in the University’s classes for Pentagons and Hexagons, and had memorized the theory of the subject, you would quickly find yourself realizing that it will take many years of practical experience before you could confidently move through a high-society crowd without bumping into your betters.

It is impolite in the extreme to ask to “feel” such superior nobles, and it is without a doubt, due to their superior culture and breeding, that these fashionable crowds know everything of your shape and movements, while you, still inexperienced, know next to nothing about theirs.

In other words, the only way to belong truly in Polygonal society is to be a Polygon yourself. It’s a painful lesson I have had to learn the hard way.

It is astonishing how much the Art (I like call it an instinct) of Sight Recognition is honed simply by constant practice, while avoiding the custom of “Feeling”.

[Note from the 2023 editor: I apologize in advance for the next sentence you are going to read after this interruption is done.

The author here, as you may be able to guess soon enough, thinks he knows more than he does.

I will state now, for the record, that his idea of how Deaf and mute people learn to speak is completely and blatantly false, a myth long since thrown away, but I will still transcribe his words here for the sake of posterity, and to better help you understand his mindset.

Let me make it absolutely clear that denying Deaf and mute children access to language of sign language or Augmentive and Alternative Communication devices (AAC), and forcing them to lipread or spend years learning to speak perfectly aloud, does not help them learn to communicate better, the only thing it accomplishes is isolating and punishing them and delaying their ability to talk to you.

Let them learn sign language (and learn it alongside them!). Get them an AAC device. Stop trying to fit a square through a circular hole! It is a myth that sign language stops Deaf and mute people from speaking – just because you didn’t bother to learn doesn’t mean they’re not talking!

Interruption over now. You may continue.]

Just as with you, the deaf and mute, if allowed to gesticulate and to use sign language, will never acquire the more difficult, but far more valuable art of speech and lip-reading, so it is with us as regards "Seeing" and "Feeling".

None who in early life resort to "Feeling" will ever learn "Seeing" in perfection.

This is why “Feeling” is either discouraged or forbidden completely among the families of our Higher Classes.

The children of High-Class Polygons are not sent to the common Public Elementary schools where Feeling is taught. Instead, they are sent to private schools with very strict entrance requirements. At these schools, to “feel” is seen as a serious problem, and is punished with Suspension for the first offence, and complete Expulsion for the second.

But the lower classes think of Sight Recognition as an unattainable luxury. The common Equilateral Tradesman can’t afford to send even just one of his sons away to spend an entire third of his life studying abstract ideas.

So the children of the poor are allowed “feel” as soon as they begin moving, and in doing so become practiced at moving and interacting with others very quickly, which makes them seem, to the untrained eye, much better developed than the comparatively listless, unmoving attitude of young nobles Polygons of the same age.

But don’t let this disparity fool you – once the young Polygons have finally completed their course at the University, and are ready to go out into the world to gain more experience, a change sweeps over them so that they seem to be born for a second time. In all the skills of art, science, and sociability, they then rapidly catch up to and out-compete their Triangular competitors with ease.

It is rare for any of the Polygonal Class to fail their Final Test at the University, but it does happen, promising a life of pitiable misery to these unsuccessful nobles.

Cast out by other Polygons, they can make no friends among the common classes either.

They cannot function in Polygonal society because of their lack of Sight Recognition, but also have no idea how to navigate by Feel, as they’ve been forbidden and shamed out of learning it their whole lives.

There are no jobs they can perform, either professional or common, and though most States do not actually ban them from getting married, it is still difficult for them to find any willing partners, since history has shown us that the children of such marriages will be, at best similarly unfit for the noble life, or, at worst, blatantly Irregular.

This trash of the Nobility is where many of the leaders of the various Tumults and Seditions of the past centuries have risen. So many, in fact, that an increasing number of our progressive Statesmen have decided that either imprisoning these wretched outcasts for life, or at least mercy killing them, would make life easier for everyone.

But I am once again becoming distracted by the subject of Irregularity, which is actually so important for you to understand that it deserves its own separate section.

Section 07. Concerning Irregular Figures

Since the start of this book I have been assuming that my Readers in Spaceland were already aware of something that I of course take for granted. I should have made sure to explain to you the most basic, fundamental law of our society, upon which everything else is built:

Every human being in Flatland is a Regular Figure. Which means that a Woman is not simply a line, she is also a Straight Line. An Isosceles Workman or Soldier must have two of his sides equal (being an Isosceles, he is of course defined by his third side being irregular). A Tradesman must have his three sides equal. Lawyers, (the group which I, your humble narrator and guide, am apart of), must have four equal sides, and in the higher Polygon class, all sides must be, generally, equal.

The size of these equal sides of course depends on how old this person is. A Female at birth is about an inch long [around 2.5 centimeters], and a tall adult Woman might be more than 12 inches [around 30.5 centimeters] long.

As for the Males of every class, as adults, the length of all their sides, when added together, measures somewhere around two feet, give or take. [around 61 centimeters].

But it is not the length of our sides that is important. I’m talking about the Equality of the sides, and it doesn’t take a stretch of the imagination to see why the whole foundation of civilization in Flatland rests upon the fundamental fact that Nature wills all Figures to have their sides equal.

If our sides were unequal our angles might be unequal.

Instead of simply being able to judge a single angle by feel or by sight, you’d have to figure out the measurement of every single angle by time-consuming Feeling.

Life is too short for such mind-numbing groping. The whole science and art of Sight Recognition would be killed instantly. Feeling, as much as it can be called an art, would perish soon after.

Casual interaction would become deathly dangerous or outright impossible; no one would ever be able to interact with any stranger or make even the most basic social arrangements without being in danger. In a word, civilization would collapse into barbarism.

Am I going to fast for my Readers to understand how I’ve come to these obvious conclusions? Surely if you think for a moment, and imagine a single instance from our every day life, you’ll be convinced that every part of our society relies on Regularity, or Equality of Angles.

For example, say you meet two or three Tradesmen in the street. You know they are Tradesmen by a single glance: a seemingly straight line, with a bright point in the center, rapidly growing darker towards either end. You ask them to step into your house for lunch while you discuss business.

This is something you can do, right now, without any hesitation, because everyone knows how much space, give or take an inch or two, is taken up by an adult Triangle.

But imagine if one of these Tradesman dragged behind his regular and respectable angle, not just a straight line, but a parallelogram of twelve or thirteen inches on the diagonal. Now what are you supposed to do with a monster like that stuck in your door?

But I’m insulting the intelligence of my Readers by explaining things that are clear to anyone who lives in Spaceland. Obviously the measurement of a single angle wouldn’t help us interact with one another under such circumstances – one’s whole life would be hours upon hours of feeling or visually surveying the entire perimeter of everyone you meet.

It’s already hard enough to avoid running into others in a crowd, even for the trained wisdom of a well-educated Square! But if Regularity flew out the window, and you couldn’t assume anyone around you had logical angles, everything would devolve to chaos and confusion. The smallest panic would cause serious injuries, or -- if there happened to be any Women or Soldiers in the crowd -- considerable loss of life.

This is why Expediency teams up with Nature in stamping the seal of it’s approval on Regularity of conformation, and the Law, of course, seconds their efforts.

To us, “Irregularity of Figure” means a combination of both inherent moral failure and purposeful criminality, and is treated accordingly.

We do, of course, have some distributors of writings that claim there is no inherent connection between geometrical and moral Irregularity.

“The Irregular”, they say, “is, from the moment he’s born, rejected by his parents, bullied by his brothers and sisters, neglected by his nurses, scorned and suspected by society, and excluded from all forms of trust, responsibility, and fulfilling jobs.

“His every movement is openly surveiled by the police until he comes of age, and presents himself for inspection. Then, he is either destroyed if he is found to be Irregular past the set margin of deviation, or imprisoned in a Government Facility as a desk worker of the seventh class.

“Barred from marriage, forced to serve at a boring job for practically no pay, and with no other choice but to live and eat entirely at this same office, unable even to take a vacation except without a guard escorting him like the prisoner that he is – then is it any wonder that human nature, no matter how pure or benevolent it started out when he was born, becomes bitter and corrupted with a lifetime of this kind of treatment?”

None of this very plausible reasoning convinces me, nor has it convinced the wisest of our Statesmen, that our ancestors made a mistake when they set down the law that mandated Irregularity as incompatible with the safety of the State.

I have no doubt that the life of an Irregular is hard, but the best interests of the rest of society requires that it be hard.

If a man with a triangular front and polygonal back were allowed to exist, and to father even more Irregular children and grandchildren, what would become of the arts of life? Are the houses and doors and churches all supposed to be changed to accommodate such monsters? Are the ticket-sellers supposed to measure every man’s perimete before they let him into a theater, or to take his place in a lecture hall?

Is an Irregular supposed to be exempt from military service? And if not, how is he going to be stopped from killing his comrades by accident?

And just think of the horrible crimes and lies these creatures must be tempted to commit! It’d be so easy for him to enter a shop with his polygonal front forward, and order whatever he likes, on promise of future payment, from a too-trusting salesman!

Let the falsely claimed “Philanthropists” beg all they like for the abolishment of the Irregular Penal Laws, they won’t convince me, because I, for one, have never known an Irregular who wasn’t what Natuer clearly intended him to be – a hypocrite, a misanthrope, and, as far as he can succeed, a perpetrator of all kinds of mischief.

Not that I would (at the moment) recommend the extreme measures adopted by some States, where any infant whose angle deviates by half a degree from the expected angularity is summarily destroyed at birth.

Some of our best men, men of real genius, suffered, in their early childhood, through deviations as great as--or even greater than-- forty-five minutes. The loss of their precious lives would have been an irreparable injury to the State.

We have also achieved many victories in the art of healing, allowing most Irregularities to be either partly, or entirely, cured, through the use of medical compressions, extensions, fuses, and more.

I would say there is no point at which we should look at a newborn and decide it is incurably Irregular – but, if the Irregularities cannot be cured before the body begins to form its permenant shape, and the Medical Board has declared that nothing can be done to salvage it, then I would suggest that the Irregular offpring be painlessly euthanized.

Section 08. Of the Ancient Practice of Painting

If my Readers have been paying attention to this story so far, you may have realized that life in Flatland can be a little boring.

Obviously, I’m not saying there aren’t the wars, scandals, uphevals and drama that are supposed to make History interesting, or that we don’t enjoy our lives, as strange as they may seem to you in Spaceland. There is something indescribably invigorating about the need for constant calculating of angles, and the usually-instant gratification of knowing you’ve done so correctly.

I mean from the aesthetic, artistic point of view, that Flatland is, very literally, dull.

It would be difficult for it not to be, when all our lives, ideas, hopes, dreams, even our artistic masterpeices of all kinds, are nothing but a straight line, with no variation at all except for small differences of brightness and shadow.

It wasn’t always like this.

If our Tradition can be trusted, then we know that long ago, Colour allowed our ancestors to live in a splendor we can barely imagine.

Long ago, in the remotest ages of history, it is said that a Pentagon whose name we do not know for sure accidentally invented some simple colours, and a method of painting. It is said that he immediately began decorating his house. Then he painted his slaves, then his Father, his Sons, his Grandsons, and, finally, himself.

The beauty, and convenience, of the results were admired by everyone.

This Pentagon’s most commonly accepted name among historians is ‘Chromatistes’, and wherever he went, turning his colourful frame, he was the center of attention and respect.

No one needed to take the time to “feel” him anymore, and no one confused his front from his back. Every move he made was easily read by those nearby without any effort on their part or the need for calculation. No one bumped into him, or failed to move out of his way. He did not have to waste his breath exclaiming his rank, as we colourless Squares and Pentagons have to today, to get a crowd of ignorant Isosceles to show us our due respect.

The fashion spread like wildfire. Before the week was over, every Square and Triangle in the distinct had copied his example, and only a few of the more conservative Pentagons refused to join in.

After the first month or two, even the twelve-sided Dodecagons had fallen into the trend.

In less than a single year, the habit had spread to all classes in the district except the highest of the Nobility.

Needless to say, it didn’t take long for this trend to make its way out of Chromatistes’ neighborhood and into surrounding regions.

Within two generations, there was no one left colourless except the Women and the Priests.

With these two classes, Nature herself seemed to plant herself as a barrier to protest this infection spreading further.

For the Innovators, as they were called, having multiple sides was almost a requirement for having colour. They would say, “Distinction of sides is intended by Nature to imply distinction of colours”.

These words were popular, flying from neighbor to neighbor, and helped to convert whole towns at a time to the new cultural wave.

But it seemed that this idea could not be applied to Priests and Women. Women, being Straight Lines, have only one side, and thus, in all ways that matter, have No Sides. Women hated to admit this, and were ashamed of it.

On the other hand, Priests, if we are to accept that they are true Circles, and not just very high-ranking Polygons with many small sides, loved to brag and boast that they also had no sides, and were instead being blessed with a perimeter of a single line, or, in other words, a Circumference.

I hope you can see now why these two Classes could not be convinced by the so-called universal truth of “Distinction of Sides implying Distinction of Colour”, when it could not, apparently, be applied to them.

Even after everyone else succumbed to the temptation of self-decoration, the Priests and Women alone were still pure and unpolluted by the touch of paint.

Immoral, vulgar, anarchical, unscientific, there are many names used to describe the ancient days of the Colour Revolt, but, from an aesthetic point of view, those days were the glorious birth of Art in Flatland. A childhood that, unfortunately, was cut short before it could mature to adulthood, or even enjoy its youth.

To live them was to live in a world of endless delight, because living meant seeing, and even the smallest group of friends was a delight to the eyes, and the richly varied colours in a church or theater are said to have, many times, been so distractingly beautiful by the actors and teachers that they forgot their jobs.

But the most beautiful sight was said to have been the unspeakable magnificence of a military performance.

Imagine it: To see twenty thousand black-painted Isosceles bases suddenly spin to reveal the orange and purple of their two sides at their acute point. The Equilateral Triangles tri-coloured in red, white, and blue. The Square artillarymen rapidly rotating to show mauve, ultra-marine, gamboge, and burnt umber, with their vermillion guns.

The dashing and flashing of the five-coloured Pentagons and six-coloured Hexagons racing across the fields with their surgeons, geometricians, and chiefs of staff.

With this fabulous display of colour at military parades, its easy to believe the famous story of a powerful Circle king, who found the sight of his army so beautiful that he at once threw away his royal crown and ceremonial baton, and declared that from that day forward, he was never going to pick up another tool besides the artist’s brush.

The vocabulary alone that they used to express themselves shows how amazingly colourful the times they lived in were. Even the most mundane statements made by the poorest citizens during the Colour Revolt seem to be infused with a richness and creativity that is lacking today.

All of our finest poetry, and even the little bit of rhythm and rhyme that can still be found in our scientific statements of today, we owe to the amazing era of the Colour Revolt.

Section 09. Of the Universal Colour Bill

But while the beauty of colour was thriving, the intellectual Arts were quickly dying out.

No one needed to use Sight Recognition anymore, so they stopped practicing it altogether. Soon, the studies of Geometry, Statics, Kinetics, and other similar subjects became considered pointless as well, and became looked down upon, even at our greatest University!

Not even the inferior Art of Feeling was immune, and stopped being taught at our Elementary Schools.

Then the Isosceles classes, pointing to the fact that the Specimens were no longer needed for teaching, refused to pay up the members from the Criminal class that were owed to the schools, and as a result, their numbers, and their disrespect towards the more Noble classes, increased by the day now that they were no longer subject to the custom that had both thinned their excessive numbers, and removed the most dangerous of them from society.

Year by year, the Soldiers and Workers began to insist more and more often – and with increasing truth to their claim – that there was no real difference between them and the highest ranking Polygons, now that they could deal with all the problems of life just as easily as the nobility by simply using Color Recognition.

And they weren’t happy to just let Sight Recognition naturally die either, they began to actively cause its death by demanding the right to learn it themselves, calling for the law to ban the “monopolization of aristocratic Arts”, and thus ban the exclusive scholarships that allowed the higher, non-Criminal classes to study Sight Recognition, Mathematics, and even Feeling.

It wasn’t long before they began insisting that Color, which was a second Nature, had now destroyed the need for aristocratic distinctions at all, and so this meant that the Law should follow the same path, and legally recognize all classes as absolutely equal and entitled to equal rights.

When it became clear that the higher Orders were undecided and wavering in their convictions, the Revolution pushed even harder, demanding, at last, that all classes, including the Priests and Women, should honor Colour by allowing themselves to be painted.

When it was argued that Priests and Women had no sides, so couldn’t be painted, the Revoluntionists retorted that Nature and Expediency had worked together to make the solution to this problem simple: that the front half of every human being, containing his eye and mouth, should be easy to tell apart from his back half.

They created a Bill which they showed in front of an extraordinary meeting of all the States of Flatland, proposing that all Women should have the front half of her painted red, and her back half painted green. The priests were to be painted the same way – red on the half of their body where their mouth and eye were, and green for the rest.

You can see how devilishly clever this proposal was, and trust me, this plan was not created by any Isosceles – we all know they’re too degraded to understand, let alone think of, such an amazing political move.

No, the creator of this plan was an Irregular Circle who escaped being destroyed in his childhood due to foolish sentimentality, and was now repaying that kindness by bringing down destruction upon his country, and on his countless followers.

One part of this ingenious plan was to win over the Women of all classes into joining with the side of Chromatic Innovation. Because by painting Women with the same two colors as the Priests, the Revolutionaries guarenteed that it would be easy to mistake a woman standing in a certain pose as a Priest, and treated accordingly. This could not fail to appeal to masses of the Female Sex.

But I understand that some of my Readers might not understand how a Woman and a Priest could be confused even under the new Legislation, so let me explain it to you first, it’s very easy to follow.

Imagine that a Woman – a Straight Line – is decorated according to this new Code: her front half, or head, painted red, and her back end painted green.

Imagine you are looking at her from the side, as we would see her in Flatland – obviously, you will see a straight line, half red, half green.

Now imagine a Priest, a diagram of which will be provided below. His mouth is at M, and his front semicircle is colored red, and his hind semicircle green.

As demonstrated in the diagram above, ff you look at this Great Man from the side, you will see a straight line that is half red, and half green.

The line you see may be shorter than a fully-grown Woman would be, and might grow darker at the edges faster than a Woman’s edges would, but the colors alone would be doing most of the work in identifying this person’s Class to you, allowing you to be lazy and ignore those details, making it easy to confuse a Priest with a Woman if you are not paying strict attention.

Below is another diagram to illustrate the similarities.

Now, don’t forget what I have already told you – that Sight Recognition was dying out as an art at the time of the Color Revolt, and

#Flatland #Rjalker writes Flatland a 2023 translation #WIP #work in progress #Rjalker reads Flatland a Romance of Many Dimensions

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