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#i started getting the mindset of 'whatever. just publish and move over to the next request' but that is not how writing should be

pagesoflauren · 3 years

Text

Money’s Worth - You’re Mine

soft husband!Ransom Drysdale x reader

Summary: Starting 2021 answering the question I got asked the most in 2020: “How will the reader react to learning that Ransom hooked up with someone when she was away for Christmas?”

A/N: When y’all filled out this poll, there was a 100% yes answer for a spinoff for The Highest Bidder. Well, here it is: Money’s Worth. In which Ransom is getting $50,000+ worth of experiences with his wife and child(ren). If you have more ideas, don’t be shy, drop ‘em in my ask box! I’ll update this series from time to time.

If you were tagged in Highest Bidder, I automatically tagged you in this. If you’d like to be removed, let me know! My feelings won’t be hurt, I promise ❤️

Also, I’m sorry if your name is Amanda 🥴

Warnings: smut, swearing, jealousy, angst, daddy!kink

The Highest Bidder Masterlist

Money’s Worth Masterlist

Main Masterlist

“Darling, can you go over to the next aisle and get a couple boxes of pasta?”

Ransom nods, even though you’re too engrossed in looking at the differences between chickpea-based and gluten-based pasta.

His son is awake, wide eyes looking around at brightly colored food packages and fluorescent lights with a pacifier in his mouth. From what Ransom recalls of tales from when he was a baby, Harlan Jr. is more like you. Quietly observing, not kicking up too much of a fuss.

Pinching the baby’s nose gently and coaxing a small giggle out of him, Ransom ventures over to the next aisle to find the pasta you like.

A sharp gasp and an obnoxious “oh my God,” draws his attention. When he looks up and finds the source of the voice, his stomach gurgles with dread and annoyance.

“All the times I’ve been here, I’ve never seen you,” she says. “What are you up to? Disappointing more girls in bed?”

Ransom weighs his options in his head. He could dig low, reminding her of all the times she was actually begging for him, or he could take the high ground, grab the pasta, and ignore her.

He does the latter, though makes the mistake of using his left hand to do so.

“Is that a wedding band?” she scoffs.

“Yeah, it is--”

“Oh, Ransom, don’t get that one, we want the bigger noodles.”

Shutting his eyes, Ransom shouts all the swear words he can think of in his mind. This is such bad timing!

“No fucking way,” Rebecca--or is it Veronica?--scoffs.

“Hi,” Ransom sees you give a sickeningly sweet smile and he wants to disappear into the shelves. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall ever meeting you.”

“I’m Amanda.”

Wow. Completely different name than the ones his mind was supplying.

“Your husband and I know each other pretty well.”

He can see the gears turning in your head, analyzing the situation.

“Quite frankly, I’m not surprised about the little one. I’m sure he did the same thing to you as he did to me, just finished and decided he was done without fully getting the job done!”

You’re visibly taken aback. “I’m sorry?”

“Oh, we just hooked up casually like, two years ago? I can’t really remember, it was during Christmas though. Hadn’t heard from him in a while and he mentioned being lonely and I figured ‘Why not?’”

“Two years ago?” you echo, looking at her, then at Ransom.

“It was casual, I left right after,” he points out,

“Oh, were you two together then? I’m so sorry--”

“You know what, Veronica, just get your stupid pasta or rice or whatever the fuck you’re here for and leave me and my wife in peace! Don’t you have better shit to do?!”

“It’s Amanda.”

“I don’t care.”

Rolling her eyes, she leaves, turning on her heel and exiting the aisle.

Ransom turns back to you and doesn’t like the thoughtful look on your face. You don’t look at him or Harlan, just at the contents in your cart.

“Hey, don’t let whatever she said get to you. You know I love you,” he reaches for you, fingertip just grazing your cheek and you cringe away from him.

“Just put the pasta in the cart and let’s go.”

You’ve snapped at him before to remind him to stop completely at intersections or double check the temperature of Harlan’s bottle. You’ve never snapped at him that way, in irritation as if you can’t stand him.

He recoils, drawing his touch away from you. “Well, just...let me get the right one.”

“Ransom,” you deadpan, “I wanna go home. Just put the pasta in the cart and let’s. go.”

He does as you say, carefully placing the boxes atop the other items.

You don’t speak to him as you check out and sit in the backseat with Harlan to make sure he’s okay as he drives the three of you home. His little eyelids drop closed, completely calm despite the palpable tension between the two of you.

Once at home, Ransom takes care of the groceries while you bring Harlan upstairs to his crib so he can continue to sleep. Just as you get him settled, you hear your husband pipe up.

“So, can we talk about what happened at the grocery store?”

You sigh, straightening up. You cross your arms as you turn to face him. “When was the last time you saw her?”

“When you were on winter break a few months after you had just moved in.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, a whirlpool of emotions spinning around in your chest.

You’re angry and hurt, but you don’t know why. The two of you were just starting your sugar arrangement and it wasn’t anything deeper than that. There weren’t any feelings on your end until the following spring.

“It wasn’t anything, it was just some hook up. She was just being a bitch because I left--”

“I don’t want to hear about it,” you interrupt him.

You had long reconciled Ransom’s past and never held it against him. But you just cannot pin the exact reason why this revelation bothers you.

“Look, I’m still figuring out things going on in my head. And I don’t really...I don’t really want to see you right now.”

“I don’t understand why this is such a big deal,” he argues, “We weren’t anything. We only became a thing in July.”

“Really?” you wonder. You weren’t going to bring this up, but it feels fair in order to get him to understand your perspective. “I had a crush on someone from my cohort.” You watch his expression shift from annoyed to surprised. “I kissed him once. In November, after I moved in with you. But it didn’t work out because I was living with you, so we decided to not do anything about it.”

You can see the visible tinge of red on his neck. “Are you saying that just to get at me?”

“It’s the truth,” you say. “Does it bother you?”

You can see him setting his jaw as he takes in the information.

“But we weren’t anything, right?” you remind him of the words he spoke just minutes before.

Ransom doesn’t say anything. He turns away and walks down the hall. You hear him going down the stairs and then the door to his office slams.

You check on Harlan, he’s still sound asleep. Slightly relieved, you move into your bedroom and sit on the mattress.

Ransom lets out a long-winded groan when he deletes the sentence he’s been working on for the fifty-second time in twenty minutes.

He feels odd knowing you liked someone when you were living with him, just as the seeds of his feelings were being planted. He’s taken pride in the fact that he was the only one to have you, but turns out your heart was a better prize and that wasn’t his completely.

He doesn’t doubt you love him and he’s certain he never has to worry about sharing you ever again, but it still bothers him.

He scrubs his hands over his face and rubs the back of his neck.

He remembers fights between his parents never being resolved, which resulted in their marriage slowly disintegrating into a financial arrangement than a romantic relationship.

He knows you late at night when you’re both hungry; knows you pregnant and crying over hermit crabs while watching nature documentaries; knows you between his arms and keeping him warm, making him feel safe and loved when he felt he didn’t deserve it. He doesn’t want this to turn into anything close to the example of marriage he saw growing up.

Shutting his laptop, he gets up and marches to the door. When he yanks it open, you’re standing there.

“What are you doing?”

You look caught, as if you’re somewhere you’re not supposed to be. “I...I wanted to talk. Unless you don’t want to.”

You begin to leave and he grabs your arm. “No, let’s talk.”

Stepping into the room feels reminiscent of walking into his office at the publishing house for the first time. You’re not comfortable entering this territory.

Hugging your arms around your middle, making yourself look as small as you feel, you decide to just be forward. Your words come out sheepishly, “I just...I didn’t like knowing the moment I was gone, you went out and replaced me. Even if we didn’t have an exclusive label. And, I just thought, like, I realize it doesn’t matter because we’re married. And like you said, I know you love me. But, I don’t know. Just didn’t sit right with me.”

Ransom sighs, shaking his head. “I wasn’t replacing you or anything like that. I...I saw a change in myself from just having you with me for a few months. But I thought you’d leave as soon as you got the opportunity,” he uses a large sweeping gesture as if he’s picturing you leaving all over again. “And I’d…” he hesitates, hand up by his head before his arm goes slack, “be back to my shitty normal self.”

It’s different now with the explanation, and you wish you had been in the mindset to listen to him earlier instead of hurt him.

“And I get it. Knowing you had a crush on some guy doesn’t sit right with me either. I just,” he looks up and distantly, “I wonder what he had. What made you like him but then you were fine with nothing happening and then you started liking me?”

“Neither of us were ready for a relationship at the time. We had just started and our first semester was crazy.” You take your turn to explain. “And feelings just come and go sometimes. I saw him again in February and it just...wasn’t there.”

He takes in your strikingly simpler explanation, understanding your reference to fleeting feelings that are gone almost as quickly as they appear.

“I’m sorry, Ransom. I shouldn’t have said anything about that. It was so stupid and it really didn’t mean anything--”

“Neither did Amanda.”

“I…” you trail off, not knowing what to say.

“I wasn’t being very understanding earlier when you first said it bothered you. You were just trying to get me to know your side of things.”

“Doesn’t make it right,” you counter. “I really am so sorry.”

Ransom smiles and laughs to himself. He still doesn’t know how to accept an apology. He sighs, reaching for you. “How long do you think junior will be asleep?”

“Could be an hour, maybe two,” you answer as he draws you closer with a hand around your waist.

“Think that’s plenty of time for us to make it up to each other.”

“Technically I need to make it up to you,” you correct him as you take his hand. “And I know how I want to.”

You lead him back around his desk, ushering him to sit in his chair. It’s large with dark blue velvet, providing enough room for you too and straddle his lap.

You dive for his mouth, capturing his lips in a heated kiss.

His left hand comes to cradle your jaw, keeping your lips locked onto his, while his right hand drifts down your back to cup your bottom.

You grind your core against his, smiling when you feel his hips jut up to yours. Tilting your head you give a tentative lick into his mouth. He opens up, bringing his tongue in to play with yours.

It reminds you of how it was when it started; being shy and letting him take the lead. You haven’t fallen into this cloudy headspace in a long time, but it feels so good that when you pull back and gasp the word “daddy,” it feels so natural.

Ransom, on the other hand, is taken aback. He’s gotten used to you calling him “darling” or other terms of endearment. Hearing you call him that awakens something that had long gone into hibernation; and he wasn’t sure if it would ever see the light of day again.

But like you, he slips into the space, creating a firm grip on your ass as a smirk appears on his face.

“Wanna call me ‘daddy,’ baby? Hm?” he taunts. Your eyes are wide and doey, feigning innocence when he knows you’re far from it now. “Well, guess we can do that. We’ll make up for that night I wasted on someone else.”

He watches your brows furrow and eyes squint in anger. Your hands slide into his hair, fingers tightening in the tresses. It creates a pull on his scalp, something he enjoys. “You’re mine, daddy,” you whisper just before your lips are on his again, kissing him harder than before, certain to bruise.

You pull away and lean down to nip at his neck, hands moving to the waistband of his pants. You pop the button and undo the zipper unceremoniously.

You remove yourself from his lap only to kneel between his legs on the carpet, pulling his jeans down to his knees. His boxers are quick to follow, revealing his hardening member. You grasp it, giving it a few squeezes and tugs the way you know he likes, watching his head loll back against the back of his chair.

“This is mine, too,” you say.

“Yeah?” he pants, looking down at you. A hand grazes through your hair, stopping at the back of your head. “My cock only belongs to you?”

You nod, working him with more determination.

“Then take it, baby.”

You practically lunge for it, leaning forward to take him into your mouth, lips spreading to accommodate his girth.

You’re satisfied with the sound Ransom makes, something between pained and blissful. He eggs you on, gathering your hair into a ponytail secured with his hand as he guides you to take more and withdraw in rhythm.

You want him to finish in your mouth, but he pulls you off him and makes to lift you back onto his lap. You stand, already shimmying out of your bottoms.

Straddling him again, you focus your attention down to poise yourself just above the head of him.

He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and makes you look at him before crashing his lips on yours once more.

“Take what’s yours, baby. It’ll always be yours,” he whispers.

You sink down, crying out at the feeling of him within you. The doctor had just given you the green light to resume sex as normal after Harlan’s birth weeks ago, but you haven’t been able to find a lot of time to tangle with each other without your baby or Ransom’s book needing attention.

Ransom appears to have an equally hazy feeling, looking at you with heavy-lidded eyes. You straighten up slightly until just the tip of him is in and lower yourself again.

It’s so much for the both of you that his hands come to your waist and he guides your pace. “Slow,” he instructs you.

You obey, finding a steady pattern as you build a climax for the both of you. Coaxing your hips the slightest bit forward, Ransom sinks all the way to reach that spot within you that makes you see stars.

“Like that, baby?” he taunts you again, moving your hips up and down his length. “Tell daddy.”

“Yes,” you gasp, “Just like that, daddy.”

He works you until you’re nearing your end, tightening and pulsing around him to bring on his orgasm as well. Just as you’re about to fall over the edge, he taps below your eyes, a silent request for you to look at him.

Your eyes meet his and he verbalizes exactly what he’s thinking. “I’m yours,” he pants, “I’m yours, my baby, my sunshine.” You fall forward and kiss him, letting him swallow your moans and whines. “Come for me, let me show you.”

Your body weakens in his grasp, leaning onto him for support. Your movements falter and he makes up for them, jutting his hips up until he’s finishing within you.

You gasp at the warmth that blooms in your stomach, feeling like gravity is failing but it’s okay; Ransom’s holding onto you, keeping you grounded.

He holds you tightly as you breathe heavily, trying to recover your strength. You sigh and your arms wrap around his shoulders. You hear him chuckle and lean back.

“We should’ve thought this through better,” he smiles, “We gotta get upstairs and clean up.”

You moan your disappointment. “M’tired. Can’t we just stay here a bit?”

Moving your hair out of your face, he kisses your exposed forehead. “Okay, sunshine,” he agrees. “Just a few minutes.”

Permatag: @caffiend-queen @fckdeusername @lou-la-lou @bangtan-serendipity @stargazingfangirl18 @lovemarvelousfics @rainbowkisses31 @richonne4life @damnndeanndamnn @meetmeatyourworst @tinyplanet-explorer @vivien-1211 @unknownmystery22 @nerdygirl8203 @xoxabs88xox @mariaenchanted @gotnofucks @denisemarieangelina @myoxisbroken @kelbabyblue @pspice639 @maynay43

Chris tag: @onetwo3000 @patzammit @astheworlddturns @inlovewiththefictionalcharacters @maeleeme @tvckerlance @thiskindahotkindamusic

Ransom tag: @jeremyrennermakesmesmile

Highest Bidder Taglist: @imanuglywombat @sapphirescrolls @just-another-wretched-egg @ladynightshade30 @angstsfordays @icanfeelastormbrewing @buckysteveloki-me @what-is-your-plan-today @geniedetails @twittytelly @an-awkward-human-1 @fanfiction-trashpile @jtargaryen18 @donutloverxo @princess-evans-addict @asiaaisa77 @kelbabyblue @my-emotional-self @saiyanprincessswanie @captainchrisstan @buchanansebba @sweater-daddiesdumbdork @andiebell2023 @avengerraven1023 @dahkness @saiyanprincessswanie@sllooney @sheerfreesia007 @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @suzieqsez @edge-ofparadise @bellaireland1981 @tinystudentfirepurse @opheliadawnwalker3 @siggy85 @thatweirdwalangpake @captain-asthmatic @mery-be @isaxhorror @everythingisoverrated @imboredat2am @tsunderebae009 @arseofrivia @alexakeyloveloki @heyarely16 @empower-bi-women @buckaro0 @readermia @bubbaduck33 @ssworldofsw @woah-kanda @itgetsdarksometimes35 @pinkshenanigan @sweetwaterprincess @mrsenos08 @flowersnbeer @syms-things-5 @leahedgehog @chase-your-dreams-away @my-dirty-spot @what-is-your-wish @candy-and-writing @shayrey @princessofdarkwinter @denisemarieangelina @optimistic-dinosaur-nacho @ornella0910 @hailmary-yramliah @justlovelifeblog @wxstedhexrt @taketimeandappreciate @abundanceofcarolines @cassim297 @rachellovesharry @orenjineki @heyitsmeimdead @omgkatinka @mandiiblanche @mrsdeanwinchester19 @wtfevenismypage @nannies-dont-date @cockslut-padalecki @buckysknifecollections @wth-trippy @riverscyberwife @capcevans81 @lunarmoon8 @nowigetthereference @cltex84 @x-abi-sharp-x @miss-jackson500 @corneliabarnes @rogertaylur @selinakyle373 @tuiccim @celestialblu7 @maynay43 @jennmurawski13 @miri-est-fou @pastathighs @capsicle-shield @redhairedfeistynerd @badbo1-evans @inactivewhore @wandascarlett @saint-bvcky @newdaynewyearnewlife @arianabrashierstuff @goldenfightergir @lalalalemonade11 @actuallygroot @smediumsmeatbae @may-machin @onelovesr @loustan90 @perplexed3001 @deafeningwritingtechnologysoul @rhumphr4 @pandawalnut @fanngirl19

#ransom drysdale x reader #ransom drysdale fanfiction #ransom drysdale fic #ransom drysdale fluff #ransom drysdale smut #Money's Worth #The Highest Bidder #ficsofpagesoflauren

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dirty-urie · 3 years

Text

Date Night

Third Person

Brendon x Sara (OC kinda)

College AU

PWP Oneshot

NC-17

5.4k Words

Disclaimer: This is a fictional story using the names and/or likeness of at least one real person. This is intended for entertainment purposes ONLY. Please do not share or bring up my work with anyone other than fellow fans. Any similarity to real-life events involving these characters that have not been shared with the general public is only coincidence. Just because I’ve included something in my fics does NOT mean I condone, support, or encourage that behavior, language, or action in real life. Please practice safe and consensual sex practices, and just be a good person.

Warnings in Order of Appearance: Real Person Fic, Crude and Vulgar Language Throughout, Mentions of Alcohol, Brief Joke About Forgoing Contraception, Talk and Consumption of Pornography, Unprotected Oral Sex, Female Receiving Oral, Intercourse, Male Receiving Oral, Female Masturbation, Use of a Non-Sex Toy as a Sex Toy, Minor Social Anxiety

Author's Notes:

1. I spelled Sarah's name wrong on purpose because I felt bad writing porn about her. Brendon's technically permitted to write about him, so I'll do that without guilt (okay, with some guilt, but I feel guilty about everything. I have anxiety), but I respect Sarah too much to do that to her. That being said, I didn't want to use a random name, so I decided on a middle ground. Here's Sara, who is both not a real person and also not not married to Brendon Urie in real life. Schrodinger's OC. Okay, thank you for putting up with me.

2. I don’t know if I’m going to write any more third-person fics. I know they’re not really that popular, but for some reason, this spoke to me in third, so I embraced that. Anyway, give it a chance, and if you don’t like it, give whatever I publish next a chance.

3. This used to be split into two parts because I uploaded it on mobile, but I have since condensed the two parts, and now the whole thing is on this post.

Brendon fumbles with his keys as he unlocks the door to his apartment. Sara won't be there for another little while, but he's anxious to get inside anyway. His roommate is away visiting his family for the first time in nearly two months, and he hasn’t gotten any real alone time with his girlfriend since then. It’s hard, and Brendon knows Sara’s been struggling too because she spent their whole coffee shop study-date the day before whispering to him about how she's been practically crawling out of her skin. Brendon shivers at the memory of her hot breath against his ear as he slams his front door shut and hurries to his bedroom.

He's thinking about all the nasty ways he wants to get back at her for getting him so worked up in public when, speak of the devil, his phone buzzes, and Sara's name pops up in the caller ID. Actually, "Brunette from Creative Writing" pops up, but he swears he'll change it one day. Sara jokes that they'll be married with a whole flock of adult children, and she'll be calling him from the bingo hall as "Brunette from Creative Writing." God, he fucking loves her.

"Hey, babe, I just got home," he says after he hits the answer button.

"Okay, I just got out of my lecture, but I'm stopping by my dorm to grab my duffel bag, then I'm going to the drugstore to get condoms that aren't the shitty university clinic ones, so I won't be there for almost another hour," she tells him.

"Noooo, just come straight here. You can just wear my clothes all weekend. And condoms are so unnecessary; I'll just pull out," Brendon whines.

Sara laughs into the phone, knowing he doesn't mean any of that. "Oh sure, in that case, I'll come right over. Did you want to pay me $400,000 to raise a child in cash or check?"

"Uh, check, but you're gonna have to wait a bit to cash it," he replies.

He can practically see her rolling her eyes, even through the phone, "I'll be there in an hour, but I'll bring you something fun from the drugstore," she says.

"Fun like sex fun or fun like gum from the checkout stand fun?"

"You'll just have to wait and see, love you, bye!" she tells him through the phone before hanging up.

"Love you too, babe," he says sarcastically to no one. He walks into his bedroom and makes sure it's spotless. He doesn't want anything whatsoever to get in the way of fun, sexy times once Sara gets here.

His apartment is clean; he has wine and groceries in the fridge, enough money saved up to rent a movie and order dinner later, and no homework, so once Sara shows up with the condoms, he’ll be good to spend the entire weekend at home with her. With nothing else to do, he climbs onto his bed and grabs his laptop. No harm in a little pre-gaming, he figures, pulling up his favorite porn website while he waits.

He clicks on the first video without too much thought. It’s a girl, one Brendon recognizes, wearing a tiny thong and nothing else, and playing with a small bullet vibe while her boyfriend watches. She’s wet, probably just with lube and not actual bodily fluid, he realizes, but at least they bothered to make her look physically aroused at all.

He gets invested in the video, in the new toys that the boyfriend hands her, in the way both of their arousal grows as time goes on. He gets so engrossed that he’s beyond startled when Sara interrupts with, “Starting without me?” eyeing the erection already straining through his jeans.

Brendon laughs with glee now that she’s finally here, “No, no, no, just passing the time while I wait for you. No touching yet, see," he says, holding up his hands and waving them around before pausing his video.

"Well, don't stop on my account," Sara scoffs. "I don't mind you starting without me as long as I'm there when you finish," she murmurs.

They both moan, Brendon in response to her words, Sara in response seeing Brendon's cock twitch in his pants, “Ah fuck, babe, that’ll be sooner than I’d like if you keep talking like that.”

Sara climbs in next to him and snuggles against him so that she can see his computer screen, “Ooo, she’s hot,” she says, pointing to the girl now getting eaten out by the guy who, coincidentally enough, doesn’t look dissimilar to B.

“Yeah, I like a lot of her work,” Brendon says back, disinterested in the video playing on the laptop now that Sara’s actually there in the flesh “hey, you should take your pants off,” he suggests, totally smooth and subtly.

“You’re such a guy, B. No ‘how was your day? Are you hungry? Can I get you something to drink?” she teases.

Under normal circumstances, Brendon would object to such slander on his impeccable moral character. But, well, there’s not a lot of blood in his brain right now, and he knows that she would just respond with more teasing, further delaying the Fun Sexy Times, so he rolls to his side and kisses behind her ear, pressing his cock against her leg in an attempt to tease her into pliability. It works; she melts, whimpering a little bit as heat pools deep in her stomach when she feels just how turned on Brendon is. “You feel so nice, B. Bet you’d feel nicer without this layer of denim between us. Can you help me?”

Brendon unbuttons her pants and moves down to slide them off her body, moving his mouth along the newly revealed skin as he works them off. He’s paying so much attention to the warm flush of her thighs that he almost misses her panties: dark red lace, even darker where she’s soaked through them, and so delicate that they’re nearly see-through.

“Oh fuck, babe, that’s gorgeous. Are you wearing a matching bra?” he asks.

She answers by sitting up and pulling off her t-shirt, revealing the same thin lace. Her nipples are hard, practically poking through the delicate material.

Brendon settles back on his heels to fully take his girlfriend in, now stripped down to just her matching bra and panties set.

Sarah grins down at him, “Why do I get the sense that I can expect this set in every color for my birthday? Although, I know for a fact that I can get the same reaction from you wearing full-coverage high-waisted granny panties,” she thinks aloud after seeing Brendon’s wide-eyed awe.

Brendon isn’t paying attention, though. His mindset shifted from the fun and playful sex they usually have to lust-fueled passion as soon as Sara took her shirt off. Don’t get him wrong, they have great sex, but they normally have to do it fast and quietly and spontaneously, so they’ve gotten good at not taking themselves too seriously, at laughing at Brendon’s old superhero boxers, and then getting to business. Now that he has the chance to really take his time to appreciate, no, worship her as she deserves, he wants to do it right.

He moves off his heels and crawls over her body, supporting himself with one muscled arm as he moves in to kiss her. She picks up on the change in mood immediately, grasping the back of his head to deepen the kiss. He’s throbbing against her thigh now, even through his jeans, and she’s worried that she might come just from feeling him.

She, too, loves their normal sex, but even though it’s fun, it can’t always be as intimate as either of them would like. And it’s a shame too because as good at Brendon is at fucking, banging, screwing, whatever, he’s damn good at making love. At making sure she’s safe and supported and in absolute bliss, even when they’re hooking up in someone’s bedroom at a party, but especially like this when they’ve got hours and total privacy.

When her moans increase in pitch and frequency, Brendon crawls back down on the bed and settles between her thighs. “Darling, these panties are a gift to humanity, but I’m afraid they’re going to get in the way of some things I have planned. You don’t mind if I take them off, do you?” he says, voice deep and gravelly. He mouths against the soaked fabric while he waits for her response.

After taking a moment to collect herself and catch her breath, “God, Brendon, please, I need your mouth, fingers, cock, something,” she whines.

Now that he has her permission, he moves his mouth from her core to the waistband against her hip and bites it, just letting his teeth scrape her skin as he pulls down. Whether intentionally or not, Sara arches her back up, making it easy to slide them all the way down her legs. He kisses her way back up her legs, but instead of stopping between her thighs, he keeps going up. He licks up across the flat planes of her stomach all the way until he reaches her bra. Just like with her panties, he mouths over the fabric first, inching up slowly before sucking on one of her nipples through the lace.

As much as he loves how her breathing gets faster and heavier just from that, he can’t resist the actual mouth-on-skin that the low cut of the bra allows. He sucks a pink mark on each breast and then moves to lick and suckle gently on her neck. They’ve both agreed that they’re not middle schoolers and visible hickeys are beyond tacky, but they both go so wild from neck stimulation that it can be hard to resist spending a few minutes sucking a licking at the rapidly-beating pulse points.

As much as Brendon wants to keep teasing, Sara’s squirming like crazy, and he’s worried that if he kept going in the same way, she’d come before he got to touch her for real. He finally settles between her thighs for real this time, kissing and sucking gently on her vulva for just a second or two. Sara is quivering by the time he moves down to suck on her clit. As soon as he finally makes contact with the sensitive hood, she screams out in ecstasy, taking full advantage of Brendon’s roommate’s absence. He sucks around her clit just like her nipple, a few short staccato bursts followed by long, drawn-out pulls. He moves his tongue gently the whole time to stimulate her further.

Both of her hands are tangled in his hair, tugging hard when he moves from sucking on her clit to licking across her entrance. He licks across the opening in broad strokes before his tongue enters her, rubbing her clit with his thumb the whole time. He waits until her thighs are clenched tight around his head, and she’s bucking up against his mouth before he slips two fingers inside to rub over her g-spot.

“B, stop, I’m gonna fucking come!” She shrieks.

He lifts his head without slowing his fingers, “You don’t wanna come?”

“Want you to be inside me when I do. Inside me for real, not just fingers,” Sara pants, trying hard to distract herself from her building arousal.

As much as Brendon’s disappointed that Sara won’t come on his face, after all, he’s been hard for over an hour now, and he would love to get out of his restrictive jeans and get a little more stimulation than rubbing himself against the bed.

He crawls out of bed and peels his shirt off. Now it’s Sarah’s turn to marvel at her lover. His cheeks and chest are flushed a deep pink from the exertion and arousal, his face is shiny with spit and her juices, and his cock is tenting the material of his pants.

Sara strokes over herself lazily, it’s not nearly as good as Brendon, but it’s something to take the edge off while she watches Brendon unbuckle his belt to strip his pants off. He’s moving slowly on purpose. He always did love to put on a show.

Once he’s down to his black boxer-briefs, he asks Sara where she put the condoms when she came in.

“B, I love that you’re so distracted by me, but the bag is right next to you on the nightstand,” she answers.

“Hey, I’m not wearing my glasses. That’s not fair,” Brendon replies softly. He turns and opens the plastic bag with the drugstore logo on the front. Sara laughs when his eyes visibly widen. “Should I be scared?” He asks, holding up a large vibrating dildo.

Sara laughs. “No, love, I just wanted to get some toys I could leave at your place,” she answers as he pulls out a bullet vibe, two different types of lube, a cock ring, massage oils, whipped cream, a multi-pack of condoms, and yes, gum from the checkout stand.

“...I may have gotten a little carried away in the sexual wellness aisle,” she admits.

Brendon’s eyes are still the size of saucers, “God, no kidding, babe, this is all incredible,” he says, stripping off his boxers and opening the box of condoms to tear a packet open with his teeth. It’s a bad habit, and usually, Sara would scold him, but she’s so worked up that she spreads her legs in anticipation anyway. Her mouth goes dry while he strokes himself with lube before he rolls the condom on.

He finally, finally, finally settles over her. “Is this position okay?” he asks.

“It’s perfect, baby; I love getting to see your face when you push into me,” she answers, whining as he drags his cock across her opening.

That’s good enough for Brendon. He rocks forward into her slowly, partly because he’s a tease but partly because he wants this to last as long as possible. After pushing in deep to rub back and forth across her g-spot, he starts thrusting in earnest, relishing her moans and pants.

“Oh B, you feel so good,” she cries out.

“You feel even better, love. Squeezing so nicely around me. So tight and wet,” he says.

Sara scratches down his back in sheer bliss. Brendon’s rhythm is steady, but he’s moving just slowly enough that they can both relish every thrust without feeling overly needy or impatient. She pushes her thighs together to feel him even better inside her.

His thrusts falter for a second, and he chokes out a gasp. “Love you, love feeling you,” he groans, “but it’s been nearly a month since we last had sex, babygirl. If you keep that up, I am going to come.”

She relaxes her thighs just a little bit. “God, I love how sensitive you are right now, babe, responding to my every touch so much. I love you collected and composed too, but it’s such a treat having you so weak for me,” she marvels, stroking the back of his neck.

A shiver goes down his whole spine, and he devotes all of his energy to not coming. “I haven’t touched myself since we last had sex,” he admits, “I figured if my sweet girl couldn’t get off, I couldn’t either. It’s been such a challenge, but fuck, it was worth it. I’m so on edge for you.”

She tightens around him, moving her hand to touch her clit. “Shit, Brendon, that’s so fucking hot. I’m just thinking about you late at night, hard and aching thinking about me, but controlling yourself so it could be all the better when we finally reunited. Did you ever cheat? Did you ever jack yourself but force yourself to pull away right before you came to roll over and go to sleep? God, I bet you had so many dirty dreams. Bet you woke up humping a pillow because your body needed to get off so bad. Bet you’d struggle to hide your hard-on in public when your mind wandered even just a little. Such a dirty needy boy, but so so good for me, aren’t you?” she pants out, squeezing tighter as she talks.

He laughs, “You know me so well, sweetheart, all of the above is true. My roommate was thrilled to have all the hot water for himself this month because… I took a lot of cold showers. I’ll leave it at that. Now, if you don’t mind, I believe you’ve taken my job,” he says, replacing her hand on her clit with his own.

Sara falls back and goes rigid, crying out. He circles his thumb faster as the pace of his thrusts picks up. “I’m gonna come!” She shouts.

“Do it, come on me,” Brendon whispers.

Sara contracts around him, shrieking and convulsing as she comes on him before melting back onto the bed.

Brendon leans down to nip at her shoulder and then kiss her lips. “Good, baby?”

She nods, eyes closed and still panting hard.

“I’ll give you a second,” he murmurs, mostly to himself before pulling out and collapsing down next to her. He strokes over himself while he waits for her to come back down to earth, still rock hard.

“Shit, B, you still haven’t come,” she finally realizes, “do you want me to blow you?”

His cock twitches at the thought.

“Or I could ride you? Let you watch my tits bounce as I fuck you?” She suggests.

“That one wanna be back in that perfect cunt.”

Sara moves to straddle him, rubbing her clit against his tummy and kissing him before moving back to settle on him for real. She lets him thrust up into her a couple of times before moving herself, relishing the way his muscles tense under his flushed skin.

Brendon loves being ridden. He wouldn’t say it’s his favorite position, but it’s up there. It’s even better when Sara takes her bra off, as pretty as it is, and he gets to see her entire naked body. She gets herself at the perfect angle and rides him as hard as she can.

“I’m really not going to last long,” he warns.

Sara tangles her hands back in his hair just like he loves. She’s pulling out all the stops to get him to come. “God, B, me neither, I didn’t think I had it in me, but I’m right back on the edge. Just rub my clit, and I’ll come.”

He moves his hands from her ass to touch her clit.

She shudders, “B, I’m gonna come!”

“Me too,” he grunts out, “do you want me to pull out?”

“No, wanna feel your hot come inside me, even with the condom,” she answers before coming again. Even harder this time as waves of pleasure roll through her entire body.

The rapid contractions around his cock trigger his own orgasm, and his entire head goes blank as he gets lost in the sensation. Sara collapses and situates herself in his arms just as they’re both starting to come down.

He moves, but she stops him. “Honey, I’ve gotta,” he starts, but she whines and shakes her head, knowing exactly where he’s going, “I’ve gotta pull out so we can clean up and eat dinner. Round two after Italian?”

She finally nods but wraps her legs tighter against him anyway, “just two more minutes. Then we can go be romantic.”

***

“Sara, sweetheart, food’s almost here,” he whispers thirty minutes later. He’s wearing pajama pants with no shirt, and his torso’s still wet from the shower he took to rinse off. “Do you wanna go get yourself cleaned up while I set up the coffee table to eat?” He asks.

Sara shakes her head, “I get clingy and needy after sex-”

Brendon cracks a grin because he knows this, of course.

“So you’re stuck with me for the next couple of hours,” she finishes.

“Mm, that’s fine with me, babe. I just want you to be comfortable,” he responds, kissing her forehead.

She moves up into the kiss and realizes that a shower might be nice after all, “Actually, I am a little sticky. Come into the bathroom with me?”

“Anything you want, love,” he says, scooping her up and carrying her to the shower.

He turns the water on for her and then goes to sit on the counter while she rubs off the sweat under the spray. “B?” She calls.

“Yeah?”

“I know it’s nothing fancy, but when you rubbed my clit in little circles, I nearly died on the spot. Normally when I’m alone, I just stroke back and forth, but god, it felt so good to feel something new,” she says. Brendon doesn’t respond immediately. “B?” She calls back timidly, shy now. “B?”

She’s getting worried that he left without her hearing, so she pulls back the shower curtain and has to choke back a moan. Brendon’s still sitting on the counter, his head tipped back on the mirror, palming over himself through his PJ pants.

“God, Sara, sorry, I just love hearing how I make you feel, and I couldn’t help it,” he tells her.

Sara shuts the water off and walks across the bathroom to Brendon, paying no mind to how she’s dripping all over the tile. She yanks him up to his feet and drops to her knees on the padded bathmat in front of the sink. She pulls his pants down just enough- no underwear, she observes without surprise- and takes him in her mouth, getting him slick enough that she can stroke him to total hardness with her hand. Once he’s fully hard, she takes him back in her mouth and sucks hard, making his knees tremble. She bobs her head up and down, stroking him with her hand when she doesn’t have his whole length in her mouth.

He’s bracing himself against the counter to stay upright and not buck into her mouth. She moves down to just stimulate the tip while quickly stroking over the rest of him.

“Can you come for me? Food is going to be here any minute,” she says, looking up at him with big eyes.

“You playing with yourself down there, baby? Getting all wet from sucking me off?” He asks, the dirty talk getting him closer to the edge.

“Oh, you know it, gets me so hot, making you feel good. I wish I had one of my new toys, though,” she pouts before licking his dick again.

Brendon gropes behind himself blindly, trying to find… well. It’s not a vibrator, but it does, well, vibrate, he thinks, hitting the button on his electric toothbrush. He hands it to Sara, who puts it between her legs without hesitation, pressing it against her clit.

She goes weak, moaning a buzzy hum over his cock while she sucks. She knows he’s close by the way his balls are drawing into his body, so she goes ahead and lets herself go. Tightening the pressure around his cock.

“Shit, babe, I’m gonna come,” he warns, hips bucking. “Can I come in your mouth or…?”

She holds up a thumbs up, and he comes, most of it staying in her mouth, but some ends up dripping down her chin. She swallows, and Brendon hands her a wad of toilet paper to wipe off the rest with.

He tucks himself back into his pants and then helps her back to her feet.

“Can I have my toothbrush back, love?” He requests softly.

Sara blushes and takes the still-vibrating toothbrush out from between her legs, “Sorry, I forgot I still had that.”

“No worries,” he responds with a soft chuckle, kissing her forehead. He takes the toothbrush and turns it off before rinsing it off under the sink. “Gosh, you did a number on this thing. It’s soaked,” he marvels, “My perfect messy girl.”

Just then, there’s a knock at the door. “Perfect timing, must be the food. I’ll deal with that while you get dressed?” He suggests, and she nods, still a little dazed from the orgasm. Well, orgasms, plural.

She goes back to his room, where she stashed her bag and rummages through it for her pink silk slip nightgown. It’s super simple, just spaghetti straps with a straight-across neckline and then deep pink fabric straight down to just below her ass, but Brendon loves it. She suspects it’s just because she can’t move very much without flashing her butt, but he insists that the slip itself is gorgeous.

As she’s getting dressed, she hears the door open and Brendon apologizing for his relative state of undress, saying he just got out of the shower. Brendon’s naked more often than he’s clothed, so Sara just shrugs it off until she hears a giggle and flirting coming from the delivery girl.

Brendon stammers out that he has a girlfriend, but he’s flattered, but that doesn’t seem to be deterring the delivery girl, who makes an extra point to linger her hand on Brendon’s as she hands him the food. Sara strides out of his bedroom, “Hey, B, have you seen my panties? I can’t find them in your bed or your bathroom or the kitchen or the sofa, so I wonder if I left them in your pocket during our multiple rounds of lovemaking,” She calls before pretending to spot him and the girl for the first time by the door. She scootches in next to him and kisses him on the cheek, plastering a sickly-sweet smile on her face. “My apologies, didn’t know you had a guest,” she lies, shooting death beams at the delivery girl whose hand is on Brendon’s bicep. The girl retracts her hand, and Sara grabs a twenty-dollar bill from her wallet on the doorside table to tip her. Sara knows Brendon would’ve already tipped her on the website, but this more of a ‘please don’t touch my boyfriend without his consent tip’ than a ‘thank you for your work tip.’ “Have a nice day, ma’am,” Sara tells her, shutting the door.

Brendon smirks, but there’s a weariness behind it, “Way to save the day, baby. Getting possessive?”

“No, I love it when others check you out. Just validates how hot I am for you. You just sounded like you do when you get overwhelmed at the grocery store, and I figured you were feeling a little claustrophobic,” she explains.

Brendon nods. “I don’t mind a flirt, but she was getting way too handsy. And even then, it wouldn’t have been the end of the world; I just felt a little vulnerable being shirtless and all. She probably just wanted a big tip. I bet that works for her a lot. And y’know, I probably shouldn’t have been shirtless at all. If I was in a restaurant, they’d have every right to kick me out, so really, I’m lucky she didn’t blacklist my address,” he rambles, turning to get plates and silverware from the kitchen.

Sara touches his shoulder and grabs the bags of food from him. “Hey, B, you don’t need to justify your feelings, okay? I get it; she was in your space. Both your personal space by touching you and your physical area by being near your home. But it’s sweet of you to give her the benefit of the doubt. You’re probably right, I would guess that works with nine out of ten guys; she was cute. And hey, I gave her a nice tip to get her to go away, so it worked on us too.”

“And you got to brag to a stranger about our hot sex life, so it really did all work out in the end,” Brendon half-jokes, and she’s happy to observe that any panic seems to have left his body.

“Mhm, my favorite hobby. Maybe we should order dessert, and I can change into something even more slutty. This shows my ass so nicely, but my chest is totally covered,” she suggests, and he cracks a real smile for her. “Seriously though, you’re totally good?”

“Yes, ma’am, everything’s perfect,” he responds, and he’s telling the truth.

“Good, let me set up dinner then. You go relax on the sofa,” she orders.

Brendon goes to sit on the couch, knowing better than to deny a direct request. Sara plates the food and brings it to the now dim living room, where Brendon’s lit three candles in the center of the table.

“Awww, how romantic,” she praises, settling against Brendon with their food.

“I had more romance planned, I promise, I just weighed my options, and I cared more about snuggling with my girl than trying to overdo it on decorating the living room,” Brendon responds. “I do still have wine in the fridge if you want that?”

She twists around to kiss him. “The romance level is perfect. Consider me totally romanced. I think I’ll wait on the wine until later if that’s okay? It’ll make me sleepy, and I’m still interested in a round two,” she says, resting her hand against Brendon’s thigh.

“Whatever you want is fine with me, love,” he says, sighing contentedly.

***

“You’re falling asleep, babygirl.”

“Am not.”

“Your eyes are closed.”

Brendon smiles, “Do you wanna keep watching the movie, or do you wanna go to bed? If you’re sleepy, that’s fine, but we’ve gotta move to the bedroom then,” he murmurs.

Sara moves off the couch and stretches, turning on the light. “I’m not even tired; I took a nap earlier. It’s just the dim lighting and carb surplus. C’mon, let’s keep watching, it’s only 10 and we’re not even to the, ‘paint me like one of your French girls’ scene.”

“Okay, if you insist, then we’ll soldier on. I’ll get dessert,” he agrees, getting up to head to the kitchen.

“Ooo what’s for dessert?” she asks.

“Cannoli and coffee,” he responds.

Sara moans playfully. “God, Brendon, I’m so turned on right now.”

Brendon rolls his eyes. “I’ll try not to take offense that you’re more attracted to sweets than me.”

Sara wraps her arms around his waist from behind him. “I’d choose you over cannoli any day. Someone could offer me a thousand cannoli and I’d scoff in their face and then go kiss all over you. I love you, babe. Thank you for a great date night,” she says before spinning him around to kiss him.

“I love you too,” Brendon whispers against her lips. “Tonight was wonderful, and I owe it all to you.”

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serendipitous-magic · 3 years

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what's your writing process like? do you plot things out beforehand? or do you sort of write it as it comes? a mix of both?

Depends on what I'm writing!

In general I'm a planner. I can't write from a blank page, unless I'm just like... really really captivated by whatever I'm writing, which was what happened with the first chapters of both The Art of Living Your (Second) Life and The Partnership Plan.

a) In general, if it's a fanfiction I'm writing, I tend to build the plan as I write - meaning, oftentimes I'll be inspired to write the first chapter, and I'll write that with little idea what the rest of it will be. Or, even if I have an idea what the rest will be, it's more of a vague skeleton than a full plan. And then, as I continue to write, I think more about where the story is going and I continuously add to and refine my plan kind of alongside the actual writing. In this way, the plan grows at the same time that the actual chapters do - but because the chapters take significantly longer to write than planning does, the plan outpaces the "real" writing and I usually know the basic story arc from fairly early on. Then it's just a matter of fleshing it out, adding detail, writing down scenes I thought of, etc. And then when I get to that point in the actual writing, I have a framework in place already.

-_-_-

b) Sometimes for fanfic, I have a more complete plan upfront - although I use "complete" here to mean "from beginning to end," not "completely detailed." So, more like a full skeleton than a full body, if that makes sense. I did that with Roll for Strength. What usually happens is that my plan will look something like...

...

Chapter One

-Will suspects Mike has a girlfriend and is kind of put out about it but thinks he's over Mike so he tells himself he doesn't care

-Will walks in on Mike and his BF (name??) and has a crisis (they don't see Will, so Will knows about Mike but Mike doesn't know that Will knows)

-Will might get off to that later, guiltily? (Or move to chapter two)

Chapter Two

-Do Mike's POV to tell about how he ended up dating a guy, how he got very disillusioned with the world after canon events and got into a "fuck it, the rules don't matter and I hate them anyway" mentality, which eventually snowballed into him kind of realizing and accepting his sexuality earlier than usual fanon

-Also introduce BF (name??) in a scene

-Set time and place - season should set the mood if not already mentioned in Ch 1

-Maybe also do BF's POV briefly to introduce him?? Or leave that for later

...

Etc.

And that's the original skeleton plan. And then it gets expanded upon more and more and more as I continue to think about the story, sometimes even with full pages' worth of unbroken text blocks as I get inspired and start basically thought-vomiting an entire scene. So by the time I get around to actually writing it, it might look like the above, or it might be a few steps shy of an actual draft already, depending on how much I've thought about / worked on that part.

See #5 in this writing advice post to see what I mean about a "thought vomit" draft.

-_-_-

c) Here's the thing - the above was for fanfic, or for short stories, or stories that I'm just kind of having fun with.

For original stuff, I adhere much more tightly to the "rules," because the guidelines for original work (that you might try to publish in the actual publishing market) are much stricter - and for good reason! Fanfiction is a sandbox, and we're all invested in the characters and worlds and settings already. We're all reading and writing fanfic because we already love these characters and this world, and we just want to play in it.

It's a different situation with original novels that you hope to publish. The plot, pacing, tension, and story beats have to be much, much tighter and more polished. Because people reading original work have no prior reason to be invested in it or care what happens - that's work that you have to do. For fanfic, that work was done for you by the original thing. Not to mention, the publishing world is so absolutely choked with competition, and the emphasis lies so heavily on sales, that if your book isn't fucking top-tier compelling, no publisher or agent will take a second look at it. Which is kind of unfortunate, because there's value in slower, more relaxed, more reflective storytelling, too - it's just not what capitalism has decided to value, which is sad.

But anyway.

When writing an original thing, I basically need a full plan - beginning to end, covering all plot points. Not necessarily all the details, just all the plot points - I need a skeleton and I need connective tissue. The rest comes later. But to start, I need to know what happens, why, and how the characters get from event to event. I need to know the physical story events, the emotional beats, and how those things logically flow throughout the story.

Some people can write without this and it still turns into a compelling story, tight narrative, etc. I envy these people. I have all respect for these people. I cannot do this. If I write original work with no plan, and especially without at least like 50-75% of a plan, I end up with something slow, meandering, and kind of limp. No bueno.

So, I usually use a beat sheet.

What's a beat sheet?

It's a 15-beat plotting structure used by screenwriters. And, yeah, technically it's for movies / screenplays. But storytelling is storytelling. And it's highly flexible. (And my favorite professor ever taught it to me in college so you can pry it out of my cold dead hands.)

Google it. It's what I use to make sure my (original work) plots are tight, have momentum, have a satisfying character arc, etc.

Okay, okay, I'll paste the basic structure below just so you can see wtf I'm talking about:

-_-_-

-Act I:

1) The First Frame

-What is the first thing we see? This should be a snapshot of the main character’s problem, before the story begins

-Ex: the Star Destroyer in A New Hope

2) The World Around Us

-What is the main character’s world like at the beginning of the story?

-What is missing in the main character’s life?

3) State the Theme (sneak this into The World Around Us)

-What is the story secretly about? This should happen during The World Around Us

4) Inciting Incident (smol tentpole)

-What happens to put the hero on the road? This is where the hero’s life changes forever.

5) The Hero Questions

-1st introspective moment

-Can the hero really do this? Should the hero chicken out?

-Oftentimes the hero fails at something

-Ex: Luke gets his ass beat by the raiders

-Act II:

6) Crossing the Threshold / The Emotional Hurdle (big tentpole)

-The main character makes a choice

-Beginning of Act II

7) The B Story / The Love Story

-Introduced here

-Often but not always a love story

8) Promise of the Premise

-Fun and games in the world you promised

-Horror movie? Creeps here!

-Sci fi? Space battles!

-Animation? Shenanigans!

9) Midpoint (big tentpole)

-The hero finds out that what they want is not what they need

-Luke rescues the princess - turns out that’s not really what the story was about

10) Bad Guys Close In / Throwing Rocks

-Events conspire to tear the hero’s goal to shreds

-Wesley is mostly dead, Inego is drunk, Fezzick is part of the brute squad

-This is the other side of the fun and games coin where things are no longer fun

11) All is Lost

-Something super bad happens, and that goal is impossible

-If someone important is gonna die, it’s probably now

12) The Pit of Despair (smol tentpole)

-The hero mourns the death (if someone died) and wallows in his/her lowest point

13) Inspiration

-A fresh idea

-Act III:

14) Come and Get Some / Final Confrontation (big tentpole)

-The final confrontation - the final showdown

-A and B stories wrapping up at the same time

-The theme makes sense and the battle is engaged

15) Final Frame

-Opposite of the first frame

-The hero is changed

-_-_-

It's what I use. But hey, you don't have to. What works for me might not work for you.

I'll finish this off by pasting in a section of actual real-ass planning I have open in a document for one of my novels at this moment (it's giving me the evil eye, I swear) so you can see what I kind of mean by "thought vomiting." Also note that in my actual document, the bullet points are indented incrementally to be kind of "nestled" underneath the relevant points, if that makes sense, and that it's a whole eye-watering mess of different colors. But for Tumblr, it's this:

-_-_-

-You have to be rescued by the rest of the team, because you fell down that hole - and you are, eventually, after screaming yourself hoarse some more (plus it’s been like an hour or more now, so they have since noticed that you were missing)

-I could gloss over this, like end the chapter when you run away, and open the next one with “It takes another half hour of screaming your throat nearly bloody before the team finds you,” or something

-They berate you for chasing after ghosts - you say you didn’t find anyone down there, because you know for damn sure nobody’s gonna believe what you think you saw, and you don’t even think you believe it

-This leads to a trip to the local doctor (a clinic, probs, akin to UrgentCare), which you’re not happy with because that’s more people taking notice of you

-However, you’re also going through the change in mindset here - see below

-Note: I as the writer don’t have to worry about the paperwork or whatever that you’d normally have to fill out, getting hurt on the job, because you weren’t officially hired - however, it would be a good “humanity is okay” moment if the guy who hired you came in and helped you with the medical expenses because he felt bad - he’d also probably be a little nervous about you suing or something, but you assure him that you have zero interest in that

-I could include a funny line where the guy says he’ll pay for your doctor bill and you try to say no (being indebted to someone is bad news for you) but he insists, because he says he feels responsible, and you just kind of stare at him and then blurt, “Do you need me to kill anyone for you?” (Something you probably regret as soon as you say it, not because you expect him to accept but because you abruptly remember what happened two days ago.) (Would it be too much to also add like “You want me to murder anyone for you? You want a blowjob? I will do anything,” and he gets flustered and bats it off like “Nah, nah, nah, chill out. You’re crazy, man.” And insists that you don’t need to pay him back)

-Here’s a decision I have to make - does the guy pay for your doctor bills as well as paying for your work today (leaving you enough money to potentially split town, but you decide not to), or do you have to pay the $2,500+ in doctor bills with no insurance for the injury, which raises the stakes by depleting all your money?

-I think I like Option A best, because it gives Sam more agency as a character if they decide to stay despite having the option to leave, versus them just being stuck completely - plus I don’t know how else I’d be able to explain away you having money for the hotel

-The guy who hired you pays you for the work day here - and maybe, just maybe, that gives you barely enough to buy that used car (although, why would it? It couldn’t have been more than like $200 for 8 hours of work, maybe $300 if he was really really desperate - if it was a really cheap used car, that might give you barely enough to buy the car but literally nothing left over)

-Point being, maybe you have enough money to bolt now, if you chose to - and you have to make the choice not to

-The car you found might be a $1,500 Honda Civic (or Jeep or whatever) with a dead battery, and the guy selling it says it should run fine with a new battery, which you Google (apparently it would be somewhere in the range of $100-$200) - maybe you think of how nice the mechanic was for you and wonder if you could cut a bit of a deal with him, if you get this car - and if the guy pays for your trip to the doctor and pays you for the temp work, this could just tip you into the margin of being able to afford the car, if you haggle with the seller

-_-_-

Or another example, with more actual sentences:

-_-_-

-As you approach the trailer you start to register a smell that turns your stomach - something like a porta potty and something like the sharp tang of rusting metal. It makes you pause - maybe there really is someone in there, using the place to live whether there’s a sewage hookup or not - it wouldn’t be the weirdest thing you’ve heard of. But after standing for a bit, silent and listening, and then hiding behind a large tree to chuck a rock at the vehicle to no response, you continue forward. You’ll just have to be cautious. Your spirits lift when you see the door. It’s completely grown over. (Leafy vines lace over it, tangling in the handle, yellowing and unbroken. If someone is living in there, they’ve been using the window to come and go, and that doesn’t seem all too likely. Bolstered by a new swell of confidence, and picturing the unlikely riches you might find stashed away in a cabinet or a glove compartment, you cross the last few feet towards the shape.

-You find the body and recognize it as one of the two obnoxious vlogging dudes from the motel

-I’m kind of imagining the moment of discovery like the wardrobe moment in Narnia where, during your nice forest trek, there’s been some pleasant acoustic music playing (like All the Pretty Girls by Kaleo maybe) and then it just stops abruptly in the middle of a phrase, maybe echoing slightly, when you see the body, and all at once everything is sickly silent.

-Oh dude, maybe you continue thinking it’s a duffel bag (possibly feeling pretty upbeat, though cautious until you’re literally about to step over it, and then you happen to glance down and get a sickening, chest-slamming shock when an empty human face is staring up at you

-Note: there should be mushrooms growing in, on and around the RV, because mushrooms are Creepy

-You go to investigate the RV

-Maybe you recognized the body as one of the vloggers and you’re trying to see if his friend is around - or maybe, in a kind of sick daze, you short circuit and find yourself doing the only thing you can think to do: continuing along your trajectory, stumbling towards the RV and tearing the rusted-out door free from the lattice of brittle vines that held it in place (this is what alerts The Dude that someone has been here), like if you just get to your original goal that’ll fix everything - somehow, if you just keep moving forward on the track you set out on, that thing won’t be real anymore - at the very least you have to get inside, to put a door between you and the body, like you’re pulling the blankets over your head to shield yourself from the boogeyman. Just as long as you’re not out there with, with...

-_-_-

Anywho, I'll stop.

I apologize again for... (scrolls up for a million miles) all of that, but you asked me about my passion and now you pay the price, lmao.

#asks #anon #writing #writing advice #i guess?#my writing #thought vomit draft #also you get a sneak peek at The Vanishing Day I guess lmao

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lovehaswonangelnumbers · 4 years

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New Post has been published on https://lovehaswonangelnumbers.org/intuitive-astrology-forecast-september-2020/

Intuitive Astrology Forecast September 2020

By Tanaaz

September 2020 is a big, bold month with some strong cosmic energy on offer. The main feature of the month is Mars Retrograde, which begins on the 9th and lasts up until November.

Along with Mars Retrograde, we have two major planets- Jupiter and Saturn, ending their retrograde cycles and moving forward into a new chapter.

Both Jupiter and Saturn have been major cosmic players in the events that 2020 has brought our way, so to have them moving forward again is likely to reveal more of the story to us.

2020 was always destined to be a highly transformative year, and as the year comes to a close, things are amping up.

It seems we are walking deeper into the changes and revolutions that are required, to shift and elevate this planet to higher levels of consciousness.

Transformation is difficult but it’s always worth it in the end. It requires some destruction, some chaos, and some endings in order for the rebirth to occur, but from these ashes, we rise.

Even though September offers strong transformative energy, it also offers cosmic protection too.

No matter what transpires in the months to come, the Universe is shining down a protective light. We see this in the astrological alignments that take place. While we have some heavy alignments, they always seem to be met with some protection, some silver lining, and some- “I got your back”- from the Universe.

To support you through the energies of September, try my Soul Soothing Cosmic Guided Meditation.

Let’s take a deeper look into the astrology of September 2020:

September 1-2: Pisces Full Moon

The month begins with the Pisces Full Moon. This Full Moon carries awakening energy and opens us up to new realizations and information. This Full Moon may heighten our emotions and sensitivities, especially in our relationships. If irritability or anger comes up, be sure to sit with it and find healthy ways to express and work through it.

Your September Full Moon Forecast is here.

September 2: Sun Trine Uranus

This alignment will be activated by the Full Moon and brings soothing, harmonious energy. A trine occurs when two planets are within 120 degrees of each other. The Sun Trine Uranus indicates whatever comes our way under the Full Moon, can offer unexpected opportunities. Here is a good example of where we are being protected. Lean into this energy by focusing on the bigger picture, especially if hardships or challenges come your way.

September 2: Venus Opposite Saturn

This alignment will also be triggered by the Full Moon and will be shining a spotlight on where we feel held back, limited, or controlled by another person or event in our lives. We may feel like something is bearing down on us, or that we are being restricted. This energy asks us to take responsibility and ownership of our actions and to put solutions into place. We are being called to step up and create long term solutions rather than just short term fixes.

September 9: Mars Retrograde

Mars enters retrograde in the sign of Aries. Mars moves retrograde every 2 years, however, this is the first time in Aries in over 30 years. As Mars moves retrograde, we are going to feel things slowing down. We may feel our energy levels are a little muted or we may start questioning whether our actions are aligned with what we truly desire for ourselves moving forward. We may also find ourselves challenging some of the goals and dreams we have held or been working towards.

Your Full Mars Retrograde Forecast is here.

To support you through the energies of September, try my Soul Soothing Cosmic Guided Meditation.

September 9: Sun Trine Jupiter

Again, the Universe comes to support and protect us with this harmonious alignment that falls on the same day as Mars stations Retrograde. Sun Trine Jupiter is peaceful energy, that reminds us that we are powerful. We have within us, the courage, strength, and determination we need to create and live a beautiful life. This energy reminds us that we are abundant and abundance is always on offer to us, as long as we attune our mindset towards it. Use this energy to focus on the abundant blessings of your life and the world around you. It will help ease any tensions or sluggishness that Mars Retrograde may bring.

September 11: Sun Opposite Neptune

Neptune is sometimes associated with viruses and “unseen” things. At this time, we may receive some news or updates about the pandemic. Alternatively, we may feel confused and receive conflicting information. While this could be about the pandemic, it may also manifest in our personal lives too. We may feel a sense of conflict about whether to do something or not or what the best course of action is. When we feel uncertain, it is always better to wait until clarity arises. This energy is very good for intuitive work, so pay attention to that small, still voice within.

September 13: Jupiter Direct

The largest planet in our solar system is turning direct in the sign of Capricorn. This is great energy, however, we may have to wait a few weeks before we can really harness it. Jupiter is the planet of expansion, so we may find that an area of our life that we have been working on suddenly expands in some way. Maybe we are able to reach for more opportunities, or maybe we find that our hard work starts to be rewarded. Think back to what you were working on or focused on around May, as this may receive a beautiful boost in the weeks to come.

Jupiter 2020 Retrograde Forecast here

September 17: New Moon in Virgo

The Virgo New Moon sends powerful waves, reminding us to connect with the wisdom and power of our bodies. It guides us to not live in fear and to remember the innate strength and wisdom we all have within. This New Moon brings waves of healing energy and the promise of a fresh new start.

More to come on this soon.

September 22: Equinox and Libra Season

The Equinox brings the start of Libra Season and equal hours of night and day. We are moving out of earthy Virgo into an air sign that is all about balance. There will be a focus on others and how our actions and even thoughts are impacting the world around us. The Equinox is also a power day where the veil between dimensions is thin. We can use the Equinox energies for intuitive work and connecting with our loved ones on the other side.

September 28: Saturn Direct

Saturn turns direct after being retrograde since May. As Saturn begins moving forward again, it will be covering the last few degrees of Capricorn and preparing to make its way into Aquarius come December, where it will remain for the next 2.5 years. This is a huge energy shift and definitely one to watch as it gets closer. With Saturn moving direct, we may notice information around governments, authority figures, or those in positions of power coming to the surface. We may also experience a revisit of events that were taking place around February 2020.

Saturn entering Aquarius 2020

Saturn Retrograde 2020

29: Mars Square Saturn

This is the second Mars Square Saturn alignment this year and it indicates growing tension and unrest. With Saturn just moving direct yesterday, its energy will be strong and we may see a push-pull with those in power positions. We may also feel a growing sense of irritability on unrest in our own lives. This alignment challenges us to go within and clear all that is making us feel insecure, fearful, or unloved. It wants us to sit with our angst so we can understand what it’s trying to show us.

More on Mars Square Saturn here.

September is a big month that kickstarts a journey into wrapping up the transformative energies of 2020.

Even though we may feel the shifting energy strongly, we can also tune into the energy of protection that is on offer too.

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slutsofren · 4 years

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Paint Me Red

Summary: Being a struggling artist in a city filled of aspiring artists has always been rough, you were privileged enough to have a semblance of steady income thanks to the promotional work your manager, Poe Dameron, does for you. For the past however many weeks, you've become consumed with the works of an anonymous poet, one who has captivated their own cult following. Their works have inspired countless paintings of yours and in turn, you catch the eye of one Kylo Ren.

Tags: Kylo Ren reader insert / modern au / painter reader / poet Kylo / eventual romance / maybe smut idk / Kylo has Trauma but you dont have to “fix him”

Read on AO3 here!

Chapter 1: Gallery (below the cut)

You kept looking at the painting. No matter how many times you re-painted, reinterpreted this poem, your hands just couldn’t find a consistent translation between the words and your paint. You dropped the brush and leaned back in the chair, hanging your head as far back as you could and let out a loud groan.

“Why does this have to be so complicated ,” you exclaimed to nobody in particular. It’s been a month since you cooped yourself in this studio, a whole month! It felt like you’ve accomplished nothing but waste canvas and paint this entire time. All along the floor laid waste to the discarded abstract portraits you had produced and hated. Nearly a fraction had been left unfinished due to it just not working out.

You mumbled and grumbled while you stood and relocated to the workspace of the studio, where a computer and books had been thrown about. The computer woke, nearly blinding your eyes. What time is it anyways, you wondered. The sun had set some time ago, you knew just as much when you could barely see your work and were forced to lose focus to turn on a light. That distraction had really set you back.

A quick glance to your watch informed you that no, the sun didn’t just set a while back- it set well over six hours ago. The time had been creeping to two in the morning already, no wonder your eyes were straining so hard. When your computer unlocked and you opened your music app to play some background audio, you grabbed the leatherbound book that was inspiring your work.

Nobody knew who the author was, only that they released two-hundred and fifty black leather bound books with gold foiling titled “Mine” every couple of years. You were close friends to some editors down in San Diego, the same publisher that worked with this anonymous author and they were always kind enough to secure you a copy.

They wrote like it was the last thing they’d ever write, as if pain circulated through their veins. They wrote of being lost, being hurt, feeling such intense anger with no human outlet, and of being ignored and tossed away.

Sometimes they wrote like they’d be dead before the poem had ended.

Much of this resonated with you. Ever since you moved to Los Angeles, this magnificent city of wanna-be actors and musicians, seeing lights that inspired yet mocked the pedestrians down below, you’ve felt like you were dead yourself. When you moved here, all you ever wanted to be was a painter. It didn’t always matter what you painted, you loved a variety of styles and eras, as long as commissions paid the bills and your personal pieces sold at galleries, you were satisfied.

But sometimes being satisfied wasn’t enough.

You took the black book and opened to the poem you had been hyper-fixating on for the last couple of months since it was released. You interpreted it in as many ways as you could style your hair on any given day. This one spoke to you the moment you read it, it broke your heart, mended it, then threw it away all at once. To you, this particular poem breathed new life into your soul.

You read each line over and over, admired how this poet seemed to write effortlessly, as if it’s just how they speak. Gosh, what you would do just to meet and have a conversation, to understand the mysterious writer’s genius.

And so you kept painting, never seeing each unfinished canvas as a failure but rather an entirely different interpretation. You couldn’t let this get you down, you just had to keep working- keep picking up the paint and let loose.

As the days blended together, your manager, Poe Dameron waltzed into your workspace without a care in the world. You turned down the music that you had playing in the background while you worked.

He picked up one of your unfinished works, “I got you a gallery space, set for two weeks from now in Pasadena. Sponsored by the Norton Simon Museum.” The way these words rolled off his tongue was so nonchalant, you didn’t believe it.

You let out a choke, “Excuse me?”

“You heard me, you got a space, now give me something to tide them over with- oh, that looks nice can I take that one,” he grabs another unfinished painting. “Anyways, don’t worry about promoting it, they are all over it. They’re just calling it Artist Spotlight but they’re going to need a theme name.”

Your eyes drifted over your amazing manager, he worked just as tirelessly as you did with each and every one of his clients. It was no wonder he was married already, with a charming smile like his and the luscious hair to match made him a total darling.

“Let’s call it, Paint Me Red .”

“You got it, girl,” he walked over to you and gave a chaste kiss on your cheek and left with his silent goodbye. Although you were nothing more than his client, you loved him very much. He always gave you a rough time when you needed it but was always a person you could rely on to tell you the truth when you needed it.

To sum it up, Poe Damereon was a guy you paid to berate you like a protective older brother and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Those two weeks passed and you worked even more tirelessly. The artist in you was seldom satisfied by your creations but your manager reaffirmed even your “trash” paintings were more beautiful than the best modern oil paintings for which you found yourself taking the most comfort in.

It was difficult to remove yourself from this mindset but as your gallery expanded with each rise of a new day, you became prouder of not just what you painted but of yourself. This was going to be a showcase that you were to be proud of.

Your night came which brought nerves like no other. Los Angeles had a rough art community to grow and develop but this was the place for you. You arrived at the gallery, dressed as professional yet as fierce as you could in a shimmery silver gown that bared your shoulders in a skinny strap that had a plunging neckline. You wanted to wow your crowd with your paintings and yourself.

You poured your heart out over this collection- you wanted, more than ever, to receive a warm reception and maybe a little bit of praise in the meantime. It didn’t make you vain, it made you human.

The director of the art studio welcomed you with a glass of champagne and let you wander the space before it opened to the public. Your heart swelled with emotion as you glanced over all these white walls that supported your artwork. Abstracts, sharp lines on some, a couple that resembled portraits of a human-like void. Anything and everything of what could be taken of that single poem.

Over some small amount of time, guests began to fill the building, allowing others to finally view what you’ve worked tirelessly over these past however many weeks, well, months really. As the newness of this exhibit of yours wore off, you began to get antsy, started to bite on the inside of your cheek.

You felt eyes on you as you hid your face behind the fourth glass of champagne you managed to snag. The more nervous you felt, the hotter the room got. This is beginning to be way too much- oh stars, you can’t breathe- it feels like you’re dying, like you’re-

“Are these yours,” a dark voice asked behind you. You stood up straight and turned slowly, trying to get your mind away from whatever was happening to you.

“I- yes they are.”

This tall, handsome stranger looked at the painting that was next to you, something that mildly resembled Everts’ Studies in Desperation series. It was one of your darker interpretations, something filled with a little more hatred and angst than the rest.

“They’re very nice, what inspired you?”

Your mouth opened agaped and quickly shut, you didn’t want to look like a fish now. You opened up your bag and pulled out your trusty copy of Mine and showed the stranger. “This poet, their selections have always called to me but, Red, Mine would repeat in my head nearly nonstop until I picked up a brush and painted what it spoke to me.”

He grabbed the book from your hand and flipped through it slowly, sometimes reading the short notes you had written on some of the pages, like “I love this one,” or even, “I’ve felt like this before”. As he took his time going through the leatherbound poetry, you took this moment just to admire just how handsome the man before you is.

He stood tall and confident, long black hair that looked soft enough that you had to refrain from running your fingers through; his face was littered with constellation-like moles that truly gave his presence some warmth and beauty despite the deep angry red scar that cut threw them like a blade. The large crooked nose stood just as prominent as his ears but, by the stars, he made it work. All of these features suit his being so well, almost as if he was your own personal Adonis, you wanted to paint his beauty.

His long lashes finally looked up from your bookmarked page of Red, Mine where you had written very simply, “This one,” and a heart. He closed the black book with a small thud, almost entirely muted by the sounds of your audience mingling.

“You really liked that one,” he questioned as he handed the object back to you. You took it from him and gestured around you.

“All of these paintings represent how this one poem has made me feel. Loss, hope, anger, hurt, fear,” you paused while you looked at the man before you and held his gaze, “But most of all, this particular poem has made me feel accepted. Like I’m not alone. Almost like, it’s my turn to be strong, it’s silly-”

“No, by all means, no, it’s not silly,” he interrupted you. His eyes had grown wide and you realized he put his hand out to almost hold your shoulder but quickly retreated to put his hands in the pockets of his suit’s pants. His jaw flexed for a brief moment and he looked to his feet. “I have their collection too. It’s a good read from time to time.”

Your lips turned up in a small grin, “Yeah, they are. I’m glad to have met another Anonymous Poet enthusiast.”

He looked up at you and cleared his throat, “What’s something you’d say to them if you ever could?”

“Hmm,” you wondered, “That I love their work, I’d love to sit down and talk, wonder what they think- what their thought process is. Maybe thank them for helping me cope and tell them that I don’t think I’d be alive without their words. Heck, I’d even work up the courage and ask if they like my interpretations of their poetry. I’m not sure, what would you say?”

He looked at you almost like you had shot him, “I think I’d simply say that I’m sorry they went through whatever they did to get them where they are. That they’re stronger now.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Poe came and placed his hand on your arm and called your name, “Hey, girl. Time for your speech and then people can start buying your art.”

You looked back at your strange new friend and he gave you a small encouraging smile, “It was nice meeting you.”

As Poe began to drag you away you piped up, “I didn’t catch your name!”

“Kylo- Kylo Ren.”

You gave him a small wave before you turned your back on him and approached the stage. Poe did the honors of introducing you, calling your vision “illuminating and awe-inspiring”. Finally it was your turn.

You approached the glass podium with only a mild case of anxiety shaking within your bones. The lights, however warmly hued they were to temper against the constant rotation of art still seemed like a spotlight on you. You cleared your throat.

“Hi- hello,” you introduced yourself, mentioning you're the creator, “Thank you all very much for being here and supporting me tonight. This entire exhibit is decorated with a wide variety of my illustrations in both dedication of and inspired by the Anonymous Poet, creator of Red, Mine the poem. It is only fitting that I should read the very words that seemed to have possessed my mind these past couple months, you think?”

The audience gave a chuckle. You looked up and around, feeling hints of anxiety nipping at the silhouette of your being. Across the room, leaning against the small bar table, you spotted Mr. Ren and when he noticed you staring, he raised his glass of champagne. Urging you to continue.

It was almost as if his steady gaze and warm features guided your confidence to hold steadfast and ready, your courage multiplied and tingles at the tips of your body, sparking new found strength.This small gesture kept those dark hounds at bay in your mind.

You cleared your throat and began, “Red, Mine

This is how the story goes

It has never changed, never been altered

It didn’t make much difference

The twin suns are rising in the west now,

The world changed from when you knew me last

This is how the story goes

This life of mine would be snuffed in green lights

Then you were there to guide me

Truth is, you could never be thanked

I would never be forgiven

This is how the story goes

I snuffed the little lights that had mocked me

Tore down the buildings that confined me

I ran

I never stopped running

This is how the story goes

I found solace in red

This green and blue would have ended my life

The both of you tried and failed

I will live on bathed in black and red

This is how the story goes

This fire red consumed me

I consumed red

Now it’s your turn to run.”

At the beat of the last syllable, you could hear a warm applause, a gracious signal of congratulations. Your smile kissed the corners of your lips and your heart swelled with warmth. This was exactly where you were meant to be in life and you couldn’t be prouder of yourself.

Your speech wrapped up with the ceremonious thank yous and appreciation to all who came as well as the Norton Simon Museum for sponsoring the showcase. Not to mention the big fat check you got on their behalf.

Poe lent you a hand as you descended the platform, “Alright, now go mingle and sell some art!”

You gave him a warm kiss on the cheek and another wave of thanks. One hand took yet another glass of champagne as the other held your clutch tightly. Your heels clinked against the tile of the gallery as you floated in and out of conversation, selling your artwork and trying to network and make new professional relationships.

It was rather obvious that leaving early would be considered rude but your feet hurt as much as your eyes. All you wanted was your warm bed and soft music to lull you to sleep. You spotted Poe across the room speaking with a pale gentleman, donned in a navy blue suit and matching tie, his orange hair was just as slicked back as his authoritative presence. You watched as they shook hands and the stranger departed, leaving the building entirely without a glance back.

Poe caught your eye and his jaw dropped, just nearly bolting into a fast pace walk, attempting to keep whatever semblance of professionalism as he could without knocking any of the patrons over as he bee-lined straight to you.

“You will not believe what I’m about to tell you,” his brown eyes lit up.

You gave him a hesitant look, clearly it was good news but usually Poe Dameron was in a good mood usually meant him ending in some kind of trouble. “Then don’t tell me?”

Your manager gave you a deadpanned look and pulled out his clipboard, “Every single piece was sold before you even walked off the stage.” He handed you the order sheet and sure enough, each and every painting was bought by the same person, leaving only AP as the buyer’s name.

“AP?”

“Initials for a little someone called the Anonymous Poet,” with those words you instantly felt faint. There was no way, no goddamn way.

“Was that him? Poe, was that really him,” your voice faltered. Your hand rose to cover your open mouth, eyes wide.

He did nothing but shrug and give you a sly smile, admiring your shocked expression, “The man I talked to was not, rest assured, but clearly your muse admires you and your work.” Poe gave you a small squeeze on your shoulder, feeling your oncoming emotional whirlwind. “If you faint on me now, you won’t hear the best part,” he teased.

“What is it, tell me,” you rushed the words out as fast as you could, the heat licking at your skin as your anticipation mixed with anxiety.

Poe reached into his pocket and retrieved a sleek black business card and flashed it at you. “Expect an email within the next few days, your muse wants to talk with you.”

You felt Poe’s warm hands grasping your shoulders as you fell. After all, Poe did say to wait until after he gave you good news.

#asher's writing #paint me red #kylo ren #kylo x y/n #kylo x reader #kylo x you #kylo ren reader insert #star wars sequel trilogy #star wars smut #star wars reader insert #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren/reader #kylo ren/you

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glassbangtan · 5 years

Text

Jungkook is Typing... {Jungkook x Reader}

Words: 21.1k

Summary: You and Jungkook met online when you were only fourteen years old. Neither of you thought meeting up would be a possibility, until you’re hired as Big Hit’s new editor.

Genre: mild smut, angst, fluff.

Warning: sexual scenes (but nothing graphic)

Notes: masterlist

---

You and Jungkook met online.

This is where most people roll their eyes, close the book and move on. It's this little pinprick of information that makes people turn a blind eye and assume the absolute worst.

In truth, you never really blamed them for this mindset.

You were only fourteen when you started getting into online gaming, and it wasn't like it was some massive deal at the time. Everyone was doing it; World of Warcraft, Dungeons and Dragons, Minecraft Online were all common topics of conversation amongst your year ten class, with people sharing server pins and usernames in a similar way to how they used to share sweets when the teacher wasn't looking. It was no surprise to you – or anyone else – when you asked your parents for a computer for Christmas, and quickly got hooked on the game Prisons of Terror.

It was all you ever talked about, because – in truth – it was all you ever did. You got home from school, threw your bag on the floor and darted to your room. Some days, you didn't even bother saying hello to your mother in fear of someone logging onto the online server before you and getting all the weaponry you'd stashed away in an unlocked chest. You simply could not let that happen. Over one hundred and twenty five hours of hard work were not going to waste just so you could make idle chat with the woman who lived downstairs.

Your parents never questioned it – as stated, this wasn't some new phenomenon, and you didn't have a problem. You were quite capable of logging out of the game when the server was quiet, and you only spoke about it when someone else was willing to engage in conversation. Other than that, most people saw you as a fairly capable, intelligent fourteen year old – normal.

But this little passing fling with Prisons of Terror grew when GoldenJeon entered the server for the very first time. You remembered the date, remembered flicking your eyes up from your homework with the game still running in the background – hardly anyone was playing, so you'd decided to at least be a little bit productive as you waited for some of your other friends to come online. Never before had you seen GoldenJeon written across the bottom of the screen.

You narrowed your eyes, leaned forward and quickly typed into the chat: Who are you?

He didn't reply. You left it at that. He was probably just there to try it out, too nervous to speak to anyone until he found his footing in the game and was finally able to open up a little bit more.

A few days later, he appeared again.

You were quicker with your curiosity this time, barely letting his name disappear from the chat before you were repeating your previous question.

GoldenJeon is typing...

But then he stopped, and there was no response given.

Maybe it was this constant game of back and forth that piqued your interest, that had you pondering over the person behind the strange username. His characters skin consisted of the gear of prisoners, which has always been a strange thing to pick when playing this game. Most people are drawn to the powerful looking players, the guards, the people with swords and crossbows slung across their backs – your own was a person in a guards uniform, your weapon consisting of two circular blades strapped to your shoulders.

Your curiosity heightened to levels you could no longer control, and you opened up a new, private chat with GoldenJeon and started texting.

Innocent questions at first; asking him who he was, how long he'd been playing the game, who the hell gave him the password for the server you were so familiar with at this point.

And he texted back.

He gave you answers, the conversation flowing so much easier than you'd ever expected it to. His silence in the beginning had unsettled you to the point where you'd ridiculously convinced yourself he didn't like you – even before he'd spoken to you. He was ignoring everything you said, so what else were you supposed to believe?

But the two of you texted like best friends outside of the ring of the game you'd grown so addicted to. He sent emojis, and after a few months of constant back and forth, he started sending you little pictures of his dog and the doodles he did during class, and you granted him the same thing. You were never much of an artist, but you put a lot of effort into the drawings you sent him, and also put a lot of effort into making them look effortless, just like he did.

GoldenJeon: got bored in class again. Teacher nearly caught me this time. {ATTACHED IMAGE}

He was talented. There was no denying that. Even at fourteen, there wasn't a sense of jealousy that came with this acknowledgement, but a simple sense of pride. You often tilted the phone to your friend, Yul, and let him see the fresh, simplistic art work GoldenJeon had sent you that day, and Yul would hum and compliment him, and you'd sit there smugly as if to say yep, he's my friend.

After a few weeks, GoldenJeon became somebody else. He became Jeon Jungkook, a student in Busan – miles away from where you lived, but close enough to startle you. Both of you lived in Korea – that had to count for something.

The start of it all was a bumpy road, but looking down at your phone now, you can't help but grin at the realisation that it really was all worth it. Though you and Jungkook are yet to meet in person, not a day has gone by in the past four years where he hasn't sent you some bizarre song, or some scribbled doodle on the back of his notebook. Not a day has gone by where he hasn't sent you a good morning text and asked you how you are, what you've eaten, what your plans are for the day.

He's your best friend, but telling people that earns you a few confused glances, so you tend to refrain as far from that conversation as humanly possible.

Jungkook: I'm bored. Please cheer me up before I walk out and fail this entire class.

Y/N: tough day?

Jungkook: The worst day. I forgot we had a test.

Y/N: what a Jungkook thing to do.

Jungkook: Fuck off and cheer me up. I'm keeping you around for one thing and one thing only.

Y/N: to cheer you up?

Jungkook: Exactly.

Challenge accepted. Standing in line at Starbucks, you shamelessly lift your phone high above your head and take a selfie, sticking your tongue out and throwing up the peace sign for added effect. You hit 'send' to Jungkook and stuff your phone back in your pocket, turning round to retrieve your coffee and head back to work.

Jungkook goes to a weekend performance club in Seoul. This much you know, as you get updates from him on the daily about how his classes are going and how life is now that he's basically an independent man who can do whatever the hell he wants; as well as being a student, he's also a trainee.

He told you about his dreams of becoming an idol on multiple occasions, but you'd heard it all before. Growing up, every single person in your class wanted to be an idol at some point; rising stars like Big Bang and EXO inspired the youth to strive to become as rich and famous as possible – but it always died away, and that's what you thought was going to happen with Jungkook.

You really should have known better.

He was only fifteen when he texted you saying he'd passed his audition. Confused, you'd asked him what he meant, only for him to send you a picture – “photo credit to my mum!” - of him standing in front of a sign with the words Big Hit plastered across it. You leaped out of your chair, squealing with happiness, immediately pressing 'CALL' to continue your freak out with him on the line; he'd started crying, you'd started crying, and that phone call will forever go down as the one that cost you the most money as it lasted for over four hours.

He was still working hard. You got the updates. You comforted him when it all got too much. You helped each other out.

Your phone chimes, signalling Jungkook's response.

Jungkook: Okay good. I think I can push through now. Wish me luck. Love you loads and all that.

You grin.

Y/N: love you too. Don't kill anyone. Xx

The conversation disappears and you are finally able to sink yourself back into reality – work.

Whilst Jungkook is a thriving trainee, you're an intern at a publishing house. Whilst Jungkook spends his days singing and dancing, you spend your days going through unedited manuscripts and marking them up with red pen.

Your boss, Mr Grey, is standing by your desk when you walk in, which is already the first bad sign of the morning. His arms are folded, his grey (yes, grey) moustache freshly waxed. You swallow back a laugh, giving him your best grin as you walk past him to your desk, pretending that his presence in your office is a normal, everyday occurrence.

You already know you're in Big Trouble. Mr Grey never steps foot outside of his office unless someone is in Big Trouble.

“Are you sure you need that caffeine this morning?” is the first thing he asks, as it usually is. Mr Grey is on a health kick. Even though you know it's temporary and he's been through this with you a million different times before, he will still chastise you for any and all unhealthy lifestyle choices you make in his presence whilst he is trying to slim down.

You take a small sip of your hot beverage, clap your lips together and say, “Definitely.” You set your folder down on your desk before turning to him fully. “How may I help you this morning, sir?”

“I need to speak with you about an important matter,” he replies. You pause, waiting for him to elaborate, but his eyes have suddenly turned shifty and there is not a single hint in his posture to reveal whatever riddle he has just spoken.

You look around cautiously, half expecting Soobin from the next office to jump out and spray you with Silly String, or perhaps throw a can of paint in your face. You honestly wouldn't put it past Mr Grey to want to poison you somehow.

When nothing seems out of place, you turn back to your boss and say, “Okay. Do you want to sit down?” You gesture towards the seat he is stiffly standing behind, and he nods before slowly lowering himself onto the worn out cushion. You follow his lead, shuffling a few papers around because that's often all you need to do to look busy around here. You then intertwine your fingers over a thick folder and glance at him, waiting for him to usher the conversation along.

He inhales and rubs a single finger along one of his bushy grey eyebrows. “There has been an opportunity given to me recently that I unfortunately cannot take for myself, so I've come here to ask if you would like to take the chance in my place.”

He says it just like that. The previous silence, the drawn out dramatics just look stupid now, and you can't help but stare at him blankly as the words settle in. You haven't been there for very long, and you're still barely full-time. You're still considered an intern by most people, and still have a lot to learn – so why is he offering you something like this when there's hundreds of other worthy colleagues who would know what to do with this opportunity so much better than you?

“Right,” you say slowly. “I'm gonna need a few more details, I think.”

“It requires travel.”

“I don't really think I can aff-”

“All expenses will be paid by the agency. They'll organise a flat and transport when it's needed. They've been very generous with this offer, which is why I think it would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Your heart is thumping. This is real. This is serious.

“What is this offer?” you ask, trying to keep your voice steady but failing miserably.

“A well-known company is writing up a catalogue for future employees and they want an editor flown out to make corrections on hand if they need it.”

You blink. “That's . . . Unheard of. Why don't they just send the manuscript out?”

“Because that takes too long, and they don't have that amount of time,” Mr Grey explains. “Plus, they're already in partnership with another editing agency, but this agency doesn't have enough staff free at the moment to take on the job. That's why they came to me.”

“So you'll be shipping me off to another editing agency? I'll become part of another team?” You raise your brows, slowly lean back in your chair. “You could have just sacked me, Mr Grey. It would have done the same thing.”

Mr Grey rolls his eyes – he never has any time for comments like these. It's part of the reason you find it so difficult to find even ground with him. “You'll be coming back eventually. This is just a temporary job, a favour for a friend.”

You sigh. “This is a lot to take in, sir.”

“I understand,” he replies, before he starts standing up. “I'll give you time to think about it, and when you-”

You launch yourself over the desk, grabbing his wrist and dragging him back into his seat before he can get much further. “Jesus, Mr Grey, slow down. I never said I wouldn't take the bloody offer.” You grab a pen from the Worlds Worst Drinker mug on the corner of your desk. “What do I sign and when do I leave?”

---

The train station is bustling with people, but you had been expecting nothing different when you were told you'd be shipped off to Seoul.

Seoul, South Korea. A place you'd once only dreamed about stepping foot in. As you'd grown older, the idea of visiting the capital became more and more intimidating, and you've since grown quite fond of your tiny little area. You'd heard the stories, seen the pictures of the crowded streets and the smoke that always fills the air, but hearing about these details and being amongst them are two very, very different experiences.

You step off the train at long last, shoulder immediately shoved by a passer-by who is too busy looking down at his phone to notice you standing right in front of him. You frown, quickly pull your timetable out of your pocket and look down – you're meant to be meeting your colleague. According to the timetable, this mystery person was meant to pick you up in their car and drive you straight to the building you'd be working at – which, at this moment in time, you have not yet heard the name of.

You look around for any sign of somebody professional looking – sadly, that seems to be the majority of Seoul. You're surprised to see that half of the people bustling around look like they're on their way to work, wearing nice suits or long coats that hide whatever professional gear they're wearing underneath.

“Y/N L/N?”

Your eyes shoot up, heartbeat thumping because you know, just from the sound of the unfamiliar voice, that things are finally starting. There is no backing out of this. You can't just turn around and get back on the train – you've taken the offer, and you're stuck.

You turn on your heel, placing your professional grin on your face. Standing behind you is a fairly small man with a tiny black moustache, wearing an oversized grey hoodie and a beanie. Little black hairs trickle from the edge of his hat and poke him in the eyes, but he does nothing to shift them out the way.

He certainly wasn't what you had been expecting. He's shorter than you by a few inches. He's wearing casual clothes, even on a Wednesday afternoon. He looks like any normal human being, even a little laid back.

“Mr Son!” you exclaim. “It's a pleasure to meet you.”

“Please, call me Sungdeuk,” he says. “I hope the train ride wasn't too bad? I know they can get a little crowded and uncomfortable.”

As he speaks, he grabs for your suitcase and starts down the platform. You blink, ponder over whether or not to follow him before you're nearly tripping over your own feet trying to catch up.

“Uh, yeah. It was a – uh – experience,” you reply. “I'm just glad I got here on time.”

“I assume you know all about the kind of work you'll be doing?”

“Mhm!”

You cringe even as the noise leaves your lips, because in truth, you have absolutely no idea what it is you'll be doing. What little you've been told barely seems to cover the surface, and you're still carrying around many questions in which you know will need answered eventually – when you get to that point, you'll make sure to ask, but for now, it's safer to just pretend you're prepared.

You and Sungdeuk make your way into a large Range Rover that is parked outside the station. Sungdeuk gets in the front seat whilst you clamber into the back, and immediately a cold bottle of water is passed to you over the back of Sungdeuk's seat.

“Kept chilled, just for you,” he says, winking in the rear view mirror.

You smile and grab for the drink, but your stomach is reeling with nerves and you know for a fact you won't be able to keep anything down, liquid or not. And so, you mess with the lid, curling your fingers around it until the clasp bites into your palm, until the condensation is sinking into your jeans and making the leather seats damp.

Neither of you speak for the majority of the drive, and Sungdeuk seems perfectly fine with that. He barely even glances at you, too busy leaning his head against the headrest with his eyes closed, like he's living in his own fantasy world. Even the driver is perfectly content with the silence, but it itches at your skin. You should be talking. You want your first impression to be chipper, friendly, curious. You want your new boss to think you're actually interested in whatever it is you've been signed up for.

Cautiously, you lean forward and poke your head between the passenger and driver seat. “Uh, hi.”

Sungdeuk creaks open one eye. “You alright?”

“I was just – uh – I have a question.” You may as well slip a question in now.

Sungdeuk turns to look at you. “Go ahead. I thought you were told everything.”

“I was told most things,” you lie. “Except for – you know – who I'll actually be working for.”

Sungdeuk stares at you, waiting for the non-existent punch line. You suddenly want to curl up in a ball, perhaps throw yourself out the window.

He purses his lips when you stay silent, features completely straight. “You don't know who you're working for?”

“I'm sure it was in the contract,” you hasten to say. “I might have just missed it. You know what, sorry for bothering you.” You wave a dismissive hand, already leaning back in your seat and pretending you didn't even speak up in the first place. “You carry on doing what you're doing, and I'll just sit back here and-”

“We're here anyway,” he says, grinning at your sudden flustered state. You don't even have a chance to be embarrassed, as you lurch forward and look out the window, just as the massive gates open into the car park behind a large grey building. Lights are on in almost every single room, and there's a sign on the door that reads, in big, bold letters:

BIG HIT ENTERTAINMENT.

And you want to scream.

There's no way. There's absolutely no way this is real life. You've decided. You've come to the conclusion that maybe you hit your head on the train and now you're actually dreaming this entire thing. You're in a coma somewhere. A doctor is poking at you this very minute, but you won't wake up because-

“Y/N?”

Your eyes snap up. “Hm?”

“We going in?”

You swallow thickly and gather your wits, trying to calm the race of your heartbeat. Your phone burns a hole in your pocket – you want to text Jungkook so bad, because you can already guess his reaction. He's going to be mortified. The safe little friendship the two of you have is going to be destroyed as soon as he sees you walk in them doors, because he can no longer hide behind the distance that was always such a comfort blanket between the two of you. Sure, it was a pain in the ass sometimes. Sometimes Jungkook would just go on huge rants about wanting to cuddle you because he couldn't sleep, and its them moments where the distance can honestly just fuck off – but at the same time, you have a pimple growing on your forehead that Jungkook would never be able to see.

Not until now.

Nonetheless, you know you can't just set up camp in the back of the Range Rover, so you gather your bags and follow Sungdeuk into the lobby of the building. He's chatting away, giving you a brief tour of the area you can see, but you're not even paying attention.

On the wall, the posters glare at you.

“Who is Bangtan Sonyeondan?” you ask, not even realising you're cutting the man off.

He lowers his hand and follows your gaze to the poster you're currently inspecting; it consists of seven men, all of whom you recognise because Jungkook idolises each and every one. He texts you about their daily runnings almost every single day, and you find it kind of strange that you know Namjoon's favourite cereal to have in the morning, as well as the fact that Seokjin shrunk his favourite pink socks the other day.

But it's Jungkook who your focus is trained upon, because you recognise him immediately. The brown hair, the dumpling cheeks and the baggy clothes. He's staring into the camera with such a serious look on his face, and half of you wants to burst into a fit of giggles whilst the other half of you wants to burst into flames.

“They're the group,” Sungdeuk says.

You raise a brow. “The group?”

“The only group Big Hit is representing at the minute,” he confirms. “They've been together for a few years now. I'm surprised you haven't heard of them.”

You swallow. You have heard of them – probably on a much deeper level than Sungdeuk can even begin to comprehend.

He moves on with the tour, leading you through winding hallways, explaining each and every detail as he does so. You meet a few people on the way past; a few producers, a few choreographers, a few people who are messing with broken cameras and lights. The building just seems to get more and more complex the longer you walk, and it isn't long until Sungdeuk is leading you directly to the training room.

Thankfully, it's empty for now.

“And this is my place,” he says, stretching his arms out. The room is only small, but it's brightly lit and there's a glowing neon sign in the corner that reads BTS. Beneath it are a pair of shoes that look as if they had been discarded not long ago; with your limited knowledge of fashion, you're able to identify them as Balenciagas.

“This is where the boys come to learn their choreographies and practice some of their old stuff,” Sungdeuk continues to explain. “I sent them on their break so I could come and get you.”

You smile warily. “So what is it you actually do around here?”

“I'm the production manager,” he replies. “But I'm also the lead choreographer. I come up with the dances, teach them to the boys and send them on their way. They're quite independent that way – they don't need me holding their hand through everything.”

You chuckle. “I heard Hoseok does a lot of the training. He tends to just take over.”

Sungdeuk laughs. “Yeah, he's a really good-” He freezes. You glance at him over your shoulder. His eyes are narrowed, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Wait. How do you know about Hoseok?”

Aaaaaand, you've already fucked up.

Your brain runs at a million miles per hour, because there's a legible answer there somewhere. You can lie. You can come up with something – anything - but god, your hands are now sweaty and he's staring at you with his head tilted and he probably thinks you're such a crazed stalker.

You open your mouth to reply, to say anything, but the words are cut off by the sound of booming laughter and the door opening. It squeaks, and you make a mental note to bring some WD40 with you next time you're here.

But until then, you have to calm down, because Jungkook is there and he's taller than you imagined, and he's captured your eye already meaning there's absolutely no getting out of this mess.

Sungdeuk greets the other boys – all six of them, fuck sake – but Jungkook stays rooted to the floor. In his hand is a coffee. In his other hand is a water. He's wearing a bandanna and an oversized hoodie, and it takes everything in you not to melt into the floorboards right here and now.

“Everyone, meet Y/N L/N,” Sungdeuk announces, one arm wrapped around Namjoon's waist, the other pushed towards you. “They're the new editor for the Big Hit catalogue.”

“Ay, you found someone!” Taehyung exclaims, walking towards you with those long, intimidating legs that are neatly covered by a pair of striped trousers. He wraps an arm around your shoulders and tugs you tight against him. “It's a pleasure to meet you, Y/N. I'm Taehyung.”

“Nice to meet you,” you mumble.

“Awk look; they're already nervous,” Seokjin teases, peeling his jacket off his very, very broad shoulders.

“Don't worry. We don't mind a few typos,” Yoongi chimes in.

You try to laugh, but it sounds forced and honestly not worth the effort. Even the boys seem to notice the dry, false side to the giggle as they all turn to look at you, a crowd of raised eyebrows turning to look at you all at once – but again, you can't take your eyes off of Jungkook for even a second.

This is the person you've been talking to since you were fourteen. This is the person who calls you in the middle of the night because he doesn't know what to get from the fridge. This is the person who sends you countless videos on Snapchat of him trying to figure out how to fit the sheet back on his bed in the morning, most of which end with him saying, “Seokjin will do it.”

He's standing in front of you, and he's real, and you're still not entirely convinced you're not dreaming.

Until he speaks.

“D-don't be nervous,” he says. “You'll do a great job. I know you will.”

Oh yeah. You're definitely going to melt into the floorboards at any given moment.

---

“I can't believe this-”

“I swear to god I didn't know it was Big Hit I was gonna be working for.”

“You're here. How are you here?”

“I took a train, Jungkook. A train! Do you know how terrified I am of fast moving vehicles?”

Jungkook closes his eyes, tilts his head back against the wall you've accidentally pushed him against in your panic. You aren't even sure how you've done it, but in your hectic panic, you've ended up basically shoving him against the wall as soon as the two of you are away from the large group of excited, older men.

You take a step back and awkwardly rub the back of your neck. “Look, I'm being serious. I didn't even know what company had hired me until Sungdeuk pulled up outside the Big Hit building. I wasn't searching for you or anything.”

Jungkook cracks an eye open. “You know I'm not even meant to be in contact with you.”

This draws you up short. “What?”

“After I joined Big Hit to be a trainee, they made me sign this massive contract thing. It said I had to cut all ties with certain people, and I signed it and said I would.” He bites his lip and looks away, as if confessing to his crimes makes him somehow not worthy to look into your eyes. “And then I texted you the same day about going online for a few hours.”

Your chest hurts. Physically aches. “You were meant to cut ties with me?”

“I didn't take it seriously!” he hisses, tugging at his hair. “I was fifteen, for gods sake. It wasn't until Hoseok started telling me all the things he had to do to make up his contract that I started realising I should probably be – you know – paying attention, too, but I liked texting you. It became kind of routine, so I never stopped.”

You hollow out your cheeks. Not even a full day into business and already Jeon Jungkook is overwhelming you; you're not even surprised.

“Okay, so we just don't tell anyone that we know each other,” you say, as if the two of you haven't already put suspicion in people's heads by basically handling each other with bubble wrap the entire afternoon.

“But I was gonna – I was gonna ask if you wanted to go get dinner tonight,” he says. You raise a brow. He rolls his eyes, shakes his head. “As friends, you sleez.”

“Okay, okay, I was kidding,” you chuckle. “We can still go to dinner, Jungkook. You can just tell the guys you're going somewhere else, and then we'll meet up. Although, I don't really know my way around Seoul just yet so...”

“Do you know where you're staying?” he asks.

You pull a piece of paper from your back pocket and shove it in his hands; written in almost unintelligible handwriting is your new, temporary address. Jungkook's eyes light up when he reads it.

“Hey, that's not far from the dorms!” he says. “I can come and pick you up if that makes it easier. Then we can finally . . . you know . . . discuss what's going on here.”

The way he says it makes your spine tingle, like being friends is some kind of scandal. Apparently it kind of is, considering Jungkook was meant to cut all ties with you over three years ago and just casually decided not to, as if it was no big deal. Part of you wants to be flattered by it. The other part of you wants to slap him up side the head for thinking his friendship with you was more important than living his dreams.

“How long are you staying?” he asks, voice suddenly quiet.

“However long it takes for the catalogue to be made,” you reply, before awkwardly stepping forward. “Jungkook, I just want you to know that I'm not here for a holiday. I have work to do.”

Jungkook's head snaps up, eyes alert. “What? Of course. I know that. I was just – I mean, we've been friends for a long time, Y/N. I think it's about time I take you for dinner.” He raises a brow. “Unless you think this is weird. 'Cause we can always just go back to texting and sending each other stupid videos.”

You chuckle, glancing down at the floor where your toes are very nearly hitting against his. You don't step back, simply kick a rock up onto his shoe which he kicks back onto yours almost immediately. “No. I think this is good. It's like fate, isn't it? Even the universe can't keep us apart kind of thing.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Is this another one of them astrology things you always send to me?”

You roll your eyes, nudging Jungkook with your elbow. “I was trying to be sweet, you idiot.”

“You don't need to be sweet. I've seen you make a fake Instagram account to get a look at your ex-boyfriend's new page.”

“I was fifteen-”

He starts walking back towards the building. “I've seen it.”

“Jungkook, I swear to-”

“I've seen it, Y/N!”

---

You shouldn't feel nervous, but you do.

As you look at yourself in the mirror and try desperately to fix your travel-hair, you remind yourself that this is Jungkook. GoldenJeon. The boy you've known for years, the boy who knows you better than any of your real life friends do. There will be no awkward silences, because there is so much to talk about. There will be no flustered glances, because there is no reason to be flustered. There will be absolutely no tension during this dinner, because you and Jungkook have been friends for years. Just because he is now a physical form changes nothing.

These are the rules you set out for yourself as you slip on your shoes and head for the door of your new apartment. It's small, one bedroom, a tiny kitchen and a sofa. There's a generously sized television hung up on the far wall, and a picture of a house plant hung beside it; you're half tempted to take it down and replace it with a family picture, but something about that makes this place seem a little too permanent. You don't want to be getting attached when you know full well you'll be heading home in a matter of months.

Jungkook texts you to tell you he's outside at exactly seven pm. He's on time, something you weren't expecting considering he has a habit of being late to almost every single meeting he's invited to – he tells you these things on a daily basis, claiming he slept in or he forgot, or he got too caught up in his games.

But he's not lying. You step outside into the chilly night air of Seoul and are greeted by the sight of his warm smile and fluffy brown hair. He's wearing an oversized coat, his hands tucked into the pockets, his shoulders bunched around his ears. When he sees you exit through the front door, he picks up his pace to a penguin-like jog before jumping in front of you and bundling you into a hug you most definitely were not expecting.

“Do you see how early I am?” he asks. You can feel his lips moving against the crown of your head, and your face heats up.

“You're on time,” you correct. “And apparently in a very good mood.”

He pulls away, holds you at arms length. His brown eyes look so light beneath the yellow glow of the street lamps. It's a doe-like look, and it makes your spine tingle when it's trained on you.

“Of course I'm in a good mood,” he says. “I've already picked out the restaurant we're going to. It's called Frapuls.”

You raise a brow, letting Jungkook slip his hand into your own as he starts to lead you down the pavement. “Frapuls? I don't think I've ever heard of that before.”

“It's good. All sorts of food – burgers, kimchi, stir-fry – anything you want, they have it.” He looks over his shoulder. “I wasn't sure what kind of food you liked, so I just picked the one that had the most options.”

You smile. “Frapuls sounds perfect.”

The restaurant itself is small, sparcely populated. Part of you thinks Jungkook's decision to eat here had more to do with the fact that it isn't busy than because he was unsure of your food preferences – nonetheless, you're not complaining. Jungkook leads you into the tiny restaurant, mutters something to the man at the front desk before the two of you are led towards a table on the far side of the restaurant.

It's dimly lit, tiny little lanterns placed all around the room being the only source of light. It makes Jungkook's eyes a little darker, making you want to rip his bucket hat off his head just so you can be given better access to the doe-like brown eyes you had seen earlier on. However, when Jungkook looks at you from across the table, there is no more wondering; you can see his eyes perfectly fine, bright and round and questioning. He looks so curious, tracing your features, trying to figure you out – you can see it in his expression. He has questions, so many questions, but he says none of them until you cough and meet his gaze.

“You can ask me anything you want.” It's a bold statement, but you mean it.

Jungkook pulls back, spreading his fingers across his untouched menu. He licks his bottom lip and sighs. “There's just so many things that don't make sense.”

“Like?”

“Like how you're here. How I didn't know you were going to be here. How we managed to meet up after years of just texting online, and it wasn't even planned.” He shakes his head. “People in our situation literally go through hell to see each other, and it just fell into our laps.”

You bite your lip. “Would you say it's luck?”

“I don't really believe in luck.” Jungkook leans forward, folding his arms in front of him. “But I can't really put my finger on what else it could be.”

“A coincidence,” you suggest. “I mean, it's insane that the people from Big Hit decided to choose the publishing agency I work for to edit their catalogue. It's insane that my boss decided I'd be a good replacement for him.”

Jungkook raises a brow. “It's not insane. You're brilliant at what you do. I've been subject to plenty of late night distressed phone calls to be able to vouch for that.”

You scoff. “You of all people are not allowed to talk about late night distressed phone calls. I think I received at least one a week from you – I marked them on my calender.”

“I'm not that bad!”

“You definitely are. I have the receipts-”

Jungkook's hand snaps out and curls around your wrist before you can grab your phone.

“Alright, I believe you,” he says. “But that's not the point.”

You grin, twisting your hand out of his grip. “Look, maybe it's better if we don't question why we were lucky enough for this to happen. Neither of us know how long we've got together, so we might as well focus our attention on other things.”

Jungkook nods, looking down at his menu. “I agree. For example, you never told me how short you are.”

You very nearly choke on the air you're breathing.

Your eyes snap open, darting across the table to where Jungkook is now grinning down at his menu, pretending like this conversation starter is oh-so-normal, and not at all totally ludicrous.

“I'm average!” you argue. “It's not my fault you're a complete skyscraper of a human being.”

Jungkook raises a brow, still yet to look up from his menu. “I'm not even that tall. You're just taking the piss.”

“Is this your way of charming me?”

“I didn't know you wanted me to charm you in the first place.”

You grit your teeth, shifting your eyes back to your menu.

Jungkook, however, is on a roll. “Did you notice that I could put my chin on your head when I hugged you earlier? Is that not adorable?”

“I'm average,” you repeat.

“You're small. The sooner you realise it, the better. Then I can give you more chin-to-head hugs.”

It sounds promising. That single hug outside your apartment had been enough to fill you with so many butterflies that you were convinced you would float off like a balloon pumped with helium. His arms had been warm. You had convinced yourself that he'd hidden hot packs in the front of his coat, because nobody's chest could be that warm and welcoming in two degree weather. He'd even gone as far as to press his lips into the crown of your head, and you remember that vividly, because it was that very movement that-

“Can I take your order?”

You look up, cheeks heating up with the realisation that you had just completely zoned out, remembering Jungkook hugging you. Looking over, you can see Jungkook staring at you, his cheeks a vivid red colour and his eyebrows furrowed. You bite your lip, looking back up at the smiling waitress who is waiting patiently at your table with a notebook in her hands.

You order the pasta carbonara and a water, whilst Jungkook orders the steak and rice with an iced Coke to go along with it. The two of you don't mention the lack of alcohol – you don't trust yourself to get drunk in front of him yet, and if your thoughts are anything to go by, you need to keep your brain in check tonight.

Jungkook's look of confusion does not leave his face throughout the meal, even as the conversation develops a life of its own. The two of you bicker like an old married couple, Jungkook complaining about the amount of times he has to revive your character in Overwatch and you complaining that you always have to give him extra supplies in Minecraft, even though you've totally, one hundred percent outgrown Minecraft and only play it because Jungkook still likes it, and his character would definitely die if you were not there to make sure he keeps his inventory full.

You're not even surprised with how easy the conversation flows; it's like your texting, but with your mouths. The banter, the teasing, the sly jabs that are always so present in your text conversations do not take the back seat even when you are in front of each other – the only difference now is that you can see his expressions, can hear his laughter, can hear his scoffs of disbelief, and it makes your insides melt with each and every thing he says.

It's so much better than texting. It's so much better than patchy Skype calls. It's so much better than you could have ever imagined.

You speak for hours even after your meal has finished. You place your napkin over your empty meal, place your bag in your lap but neither of you move from the table; you just keep talking, shifting into a debate on whether Billie Eilish or Justin Bieber have the best new song out – Jungkook admits that he's taken a liking to Billie Eilish, but hastens to insist that Justin Bieber is, and forever will be, his ride-or-die.

You only leave the restaurant when the shy waitress glides over to you and tells you that the table you've been over-occupying for hours is needed. Jungkook has paid for the entire meal (plus a tip) before you even have a chance to find your purse.

You shoot him a glare once the two of you are finally outside again, subject to the cold winter air and the surprisingly busy streets of Seoul – back in your home town, the streets were basically empty at this time, but Seoul is different. Seoul is always alive, always bustling with people and chatter and entertainment. Even at this time of night, there are buskers seated on the pavement and dancers twirling through the streets, lights on in every household. It vibrates with an energy you've never known before, and it sends a ripple of excitement coursing through you.

Jungkook ignores your glare and continues walking, a dull smile playing on his features that you find difficult to miss.

“I don't wanna go back to the dorms yet,” he says without turning to look at you. You are forced to pick up your pace just to catch up with him, and when you do, you latch onto his arm so you don't lose him amongst the ever-thickening crowd. If it bothers him, he says nothing.

“What else can we do?” you ask. “It's getting late.”

“So?”

“So all the shops are closed.”

Jungkook raises a brow, glancing down at you as if your logic is extremely flawed. “Again, so?”

“Jungkook, we can't just-”

“Watch this.” He shrugs out of your grip and marches towards a nearby busker before you have a chance to even register what he is doing. You pause in the middle of the street, pulling your coat tighter to your body and watching as Jungkook and the young man with the guitar talk in hushed tones. The busker's eyes eventually light up and he shakes Jungkook's hand before the song he was previously playing is forgotten and replaced by a soft, melodic tone that you've never heard before.

When Jungkook turns back around to face the crowd, he looks nervous. You immediately know what he's going to do, and your heart races at the idea of it; you've heard him sing before. Some mornings he'll call you just so you can keep him company as he goes through his daily routine, and you sit back and listen to him hum as he brushes his teeth, belts out solos as he picks out his outfit for the day. You've heard him sing, but never like this, and you aren't sure why the idea of it excites you so much.

He doesn't bother with an introduction to the song. He just looks at you once, closes his eyes and starts singing, and suddenly the rest of the crowd no longer exists.

The little girl crying over her fallen ice cream no longer exists. The bickering couple beside you no longer exists. The dog barking in impatience no longer exists, and the only sound you can hear is Jungkook's soft voice flittering through the busy crowd, meeting your ears as if he's singing for you and only you.

The lights bring it all together. They shine behind him, illuminating the gold streaks in his hair, the outline of his jaw that has absolutely no right to be as sharp as it is. His body sways back and forth, and even though he's wearing the worlds biggest coat, zipped right up to his chin, you can still imagine his Adams apple bobbing every time he stops for a breath.

This is Jungkook in his natural element. This is where he's meant to be, where he worked so hard to be. For years, the both of you had always joked that he was a video game obsessive, that he was most comfortable in front of the computer, or PlayStation, or xBox just losing himself in a world that wasn't this one – but now you feel ridiculous even pondering over such a crazy idea. This is where he belongs.

Your throat closes over as the song does. Jungkook's voice fades away, and the eruption of cheers brings you back down to Earth. Everyone fizzles back into place, and you're suddenly overwhelmed with the unexplainable urge to break down into tears.

Jungkook's eyes meet your own almost as soon as he opens them. You grin brightly, clapping along with the crowd and he blushes before he turns, thanks the busker and makes his way over to you. Almost as soon as he is in front of you, he takes your hands in his and pulls you close.

“You look freezing. I should have kept us moving.”

“What song was that?” you ask, pulling away to look up at him.

He frowns. “You liked it?”

“I loved it,” you reply. “What song was it?”

“It's called Promise. My friend Jimin wrote it.”

“It was beautiful,” you say before you can stop yourself. Jungkook's blush grows more prominent, looking down to the floor in his attempts to hide it, but you can see right through it. You grin, place a hand on his neck and say, “I'd like to hear you sing some more.”

His eyes meet your own. For a moment, you think you've gone too far. His brows are furrowed, and he's silent for a moment longer than you're comfortable with, but he eventually grins and nods. “Of course.”

---

The first day of work is a hectic one.

The first few pages of the catalogue arrive on your doorstep at seven am sharp, followed shortly by a frantic phone call from Mr Bang Shi Hyuk, who you met a week ago and have still yet to hear talk in a normal tone. He's always busy, always bustling round his office, and you're certain you've never gotten through a phone call without him having to put you on hold to scold someone. This morning, his frantic call has an undertone of desperation to it as he asks you to get the freshly edited pages back to him by five pm – definitely not an impossible goal, but you know you won't be taking any breaks today.

And so, you set up camp at your kitchen table and get to work as soon as the coffee kicks in. Bundled in your fluffy dressing gown and a pair of slippers, you sip idly on different beverages, red pen in hand, glasses perched on the end of your nose. You order some food from a nearby delivery place, dig into it with one hand whilst the other continues to glide across the pages, correcting typos and sentences until everything sounds smooth.

You reach an area of the catalogue that describes Bangtan Sonyeondan, and put it to the side for later. You don't want to think about Jungkook right now – well, you do, but it probably won't be for the best. Any time you see something that reminds you of him, you want to stop, snap a picture of it and send it to him via your stupid little Whatsapp group – that is time wasted, and you can't afford it right now.

Seven am turns into four pm, turns into five pm, and you're stuffing the catalogue pages into the return envelope at the same time you're pulling your jacket on over your shoulders and sprinting out the door. You don't bother saying hello to the friendly door lady at the reception desk. You don't bother to check both ways before sprinting out the door and barrelling up the street towards the Big Hit building. The only thing you can focus on is the time slowly trickling away, and by the time you've crashed into the lobby of the Big Hit building, the time reads 5:01pm and you're already planning out your new CV in your head.

You groan, sprinting up to the front desk and slapping the envelope onto it. “Here. It's here. I wasn't late. I was just -” You pant, trailing your fingers over your rain soaked hair. “Please tell Mr Bang the pages are finished.”

The lady at the desk eyes the envelope and raises her brows, before slowly reaching forward and slipping it into the delivery bin beside her. “Thank you, Y/N. I'll email him now.”

“Like, right now?” you push. You stand on your tip toes and try to see over the desk. “Can I see what you write? Please tell him I was on time, I was just-”

Hands gently grip your elbow, startling you. Jungkook is grinning down at the receptionist as he pushes you away from the desk. “Don't mind us, Gertrude. We're leaving now.”

You shrug out of his grip, spinning around when he pushes you into a nearby hallway and closes the door. He turns back to you, raising a brow that holds so many questions, but your only concern at the minute is whether or not Bang Shi Hyuk is going to receive those pages on time.

You try to look over his shoulder. “Do you think he'll be mad at me?”

“You weren't even late,” Jungkook replies.

You pull your sleeve up and shove your watch in his face. “Can you see that? Five. Oh. One. He wanted them back by five, but I lost track and-”

Jungkook reaches up and tugs on your bottom lip. The action is so unexpected that you don't even continue speaking once his hand drops back to his side – you just watch his arm swing, eyes slowly narrowing.

“What did you just do?”

“Tried to calm you down,” he replies. “Or shut you up. Whichever way you wanna look at it.”

You frown, shifting your eyes to his. “I think I'm delirious. I've been sat at my kitchen table since seven this morning.”

“So I thought,” he says. “You weren't answering my texts, or my single phone call that I so kindly wasted my lunch break to make.”

You wince. “Sorry. I was busy.”

He waves a dismissive hand, but the guilt is still there; Jungkook always makes time for you, no matter how busy his life gets, and you can guarantee that his schedule is a lot busier than yours on days like this. You can see it in the way the sweat clings to his baggy black shirt, the way the ends of his hair are damp.

“Did you eat anything good today?” he asks.

“I had some Chinese takeout.”

“Gross. That's not good at all.”

“It was good.” You pat your stomach for added affect. “I had fried rice, chips, egg noodles – the whole damn heap. Ate it straight out of the bag, too.”

Jungkook crinkles his nose, and it's the most adorable thing you've ever seen. “I swear to god, I'm going to have to keep an eye on you 24/7. You're gonna end up giving yourself a heart attack.”

“I was stress eating,” you say. “I was burning the calories by stressing. It's like I haven't even eaten.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, loops his arm through yours and starts down the hallway. You follow him, a new-found skip in your step that it seems only Jungkook can rattle into your system.

He leads you right to the training room, where the rest of Bangtan are busy doing absolutely nothing. They lounge around, some of them laying on the floor, others sitting on spinny chairs that have absolutely no reason to be there. Namjoon is leaned against the wall; if you weren't careful enough, you'd mistake him for a house lamp.

“Look who arrived,” Jungkook announces, shoving you into the room. The other boys chorus out a “Hi Y/N,” before going back to their exhausted scrollings of social media. “One minute late.”

Jimin fake gasps. “Fired!”

“Don't even joke,” you grunt, slumping down next to Taehyung on the floor. He leans over and shows you his phone screen, and you immediately take over his game of Angry Birds. He lets his head drop back to the floor and his eyes promptly close, as if he had just been waiting for someone to take over his game so he could go to sleep.

“Hard day?” Namjoon asks.

You shrug. “Stressful day.”

“But at least you made it. Did you edit the pages Mr Bang sent you?” Seokjin asks.

“Barely,” you reply, and Jungkook scoffs, kicking your foot.

“You're being too hard on yourself. One minute late isn't a big deal – Mr Bang probably won't even get to reading them before he goes home tonight.”

“So why did the little bastard make me run down here to get them to him by five?” You raise a brow at Jungkook. “Answer me that, Oh Great One.”

“Because.” Jungkook sits down beside you, crossing his legs. “Having a deadline looks more professional than just telling you to get them in by the end of the day.”

“Can someone tell him that I don't care about professional?”

Seokjin sighs. “I've been trying to tell him that for years, Y/N. So far, no luck.”

You groan, the sound mingling with the angry chipper of a bird who has just failed to knock down a house full of tiny green piglets.

“It's done now, anyway,” Hoseok chimes in. He's barefoot again, his Balenciagas thrown carelessly to the side. “I say you celebrate.”

“Mm. I could always order more Chinese food-”

“Nope!” Jungkook exclaims. “Nope, nope, no. No more Chinese food.”

You frown. “Who made you the devil incarnate this evening?”

“You're gonna make yourself sick,” he says. “Celebrate some other way.”

“I wish we could join you, but I'm exhausted,” says Yoongi.

You wave a dismissive hand. “Don't worry. I am too, buddy. I'll probably just go home and get an early night.” You shoot Jungkook a glance. “Play a bit of Minecraft.”

His eyes light up, a tiny smile twitching on his face that he tries to hide by ducking his head down and messing idly with the drawstrings of your grey sweatpants; you didn't even realise you were wearing them. You were too busy trying to leave the house to actually pay attention to your appearance.

“Sounds like a night made for an elderly person,” says Jimin. “Right up your alley.”

You throw Hoseok's Balenciaga at him.

---

GoldenJeon is active, and you're ready to absolutely destroy him.

Gathering snacks and a drink of water (healthy), you settle by your laptop and start playing. The two of you agreed to meet up on a server called The Hunger Games, in which the players are put against each other until there is only one remaining player – for years, you and Jungkook have squabbled over this game, making it much more dramatic than it needs to be, but it's all for the right reasons. Jungkook will call you in the middle of the game, speaking through gritted teeth, warning you not to jump out at him because he knows you're prowling around the corner, just waiting for him to drop his guard. Neither of you even pay attention to the other players; if another player kills you, Jungkook kills them. It's how it works. You're Jungkook's only goal, and he is yours.

Jungkook calls you after the ten minute mark. Whilst he speaks through clenched teeth, you speak through a mouthful of marshmallow.

“Just tell me where you are, you piece of shit,” he demands.

“Ask me nicely.” On your screen, his tiny block player is busy scrambling through some chests. It would be so easy to sneak up on him, stab him whilst he's too busy looting for gear, but you stay back.

“Y/N, I swear to god, you're giving me anxiety,” he replies. “Just tell me where you are. I promise I won't kill you.”

“Aren't you sweet.”

“So?”

“I'm not telling you where I am.” You equip your player with your new weapon. “But I just want you to know that I've just found a diamond sword with full strength still on it, so I'd watch out.”

Jungkook groans. “I hate you. I hate this game. I hate that you're so good at this fucking game.”

“You spend too much time worrying,” you say. “As soon as the map loads, you're trying to get away from me. Why don't you actually try and figure out where I'm going before you run off in the other direction?”

“Because if I stay close to you, you'll kill me!”

“That's the point!”

Jungkook groans again, and you can imagine him tugging on the blanket he always has wrapped round his shoulders when he's on his laptop. “You need to cut me some slack.”

“You've been looting plenty of chests recently, Mr JK. It'll be easy for you to just find me and kill me.”

Jungkook pauses. “How did you know I was looting chests?”

You grin. “A hunch?”

“You son of a bitch.” His character spins around and looks directly at you. You let out a squeak of surprise at the same time Jungkook gasps, but you don't give him mercy. You dive out of your hiding place and slam the space button so many times your finger starts to hurt from the pressure; your character bashes Jungkook's character with their fancy new diamond sword until eventually the words GoldenJeon has left the server appear on the bottom of the screen.

“Y/N!” he cries out. “You didn't even-”

“I won, is what I did,” you holler, throwing your arms in the air, doing a little dance on your mattress. “I won again, I won again, I won again.” You put your hands back to the keyboard. “Another game before we go to sleep?”

“No, you know what?” He sounds stern, and you're no longer sure whether to continue the teasing. “No. This is totally unfair. I'm on my way over.”

You freeze, not sure whether you heard him right. “You're what, sorry?”

You can already hear him shuffling around on the other side of the phone, probably grabbing his coat, or maybe a baseball bat. “I'm coming over. Get the kettle on, by the way. I have to walk, and it's fucking freezing.”

“Jungkook, it's twelve am,” you hiss. “Stay where you are or so help me-”

“See you in five minutes, you little traitor!” And then he hangs up, leaving you in a sudden state of panic.

Whatever triumph you'd felt at winning the game has melted away and been replaced by an immediate sense of urgency. You jump out of bed, blankets flying left, right and centre. You don't bother going for your wardrobe – Jungkook has seen you in your pyjamas plenty of times before (thank you, Skype). Instead, you head directly for the kitchen, slapping the kettle on on your way past before you busy yourself with tidying up the mess you'd made this afternoon. Broken pens and pencils scatter the table; old takeout boxes litter the counter; your washing up basket is filled to the brim. You quickly toss a pair of underwear under the fridge and hope to God Jungkook doesn't decide to go snooping.

You've barely emptied the bin before the door to your apartment is opening and Jungkook is suddenly there, in all of his fucking glory, with the most hard expression you've ever seen. You swivel up, drop the bag and say, “If you're here to kill me, I want you to know that it was all fun.” You pause. “But I still beat your ass in that game.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, and before you can process what is going on, he's crossed the threshold of your living room and is standing right in front of you. He wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into him, startling you enough for a squeak to escape your throat.

Jungkook leans down, his lips so close to your ear, your throat, the hinge of your jaw and suddenly you want to drag him into you and lose yourself in that warmth you were lusting over only a few weeks prior.

“I've never been able to do this before,” he says, voice gruff.

“D-do what? Kill me?”

He nuzzles his nose into the crook of your neck, and Jesus take the wheel, you've had it.

“I've never been able to just come over to your house when I want to.” If it's possible, his voice is even lower. “Never been able to call you a son of a bitch to your face, because you should have told me where you were.” He nips your collar bone. If the world wasn't spinning fast enough already, it sure is now.

You grip the counter behind you, breathing heavy. You want to continue the teasing, to make light of this situation, but your head is running at a thousand miles per hour and holy fuck is this really GoldenJeon holding you like this?

“Jungkook, what are you doing?” you ask, breathless.

He stops, detaching his teeth from your throat but he doesn't move away. “Do you want me to stop?”

“No!” You're eager, and that much is clear in your words. “No, please don't. I just want to know why.”

“As I said,” he says, leaning down to bare his teeth against your flesh again, “I've never been able to do this before.”

“I didn't know you wanted to.”

“Then you're very, very oblivious.”

“Not as oblivious as you. That's probably why I was able to kill you fifteen minutes into the first match.”

He growls. His hand snaps down and grabs the back of your thigh, hitching your leg onto his hip. You squeal, tossing your head back just as he lifts you up and props you up on the counter. You bang your head against the cupboard. Jungkook pulls back, eyes wide with that concern you know so well, but you don't let him spoil the moment. You grab onto the back of his neck and drag him forward, slamming your lips against his before you lose your god damn mind.

Because that's what it feels like. All of this is so sudden, so unexplainable and strange, but you're going to be driven absolutely insane if it doesn't continue. Your stomach clenches. You swallow his breathy pants, acknowledge how his lips twist, how his hands hesitate before he finally clamps them on your thighs and slowly drags them up until they're teasing the waistband of your unflattering pyjama trousers.

“Shy little Jungkook,” you whisper into his mouth. “So confident a few seconds ago, and now you can barely touch me.”

“Where do you want me to touch you?” he asks.

The question hits you like a ton of bricks. Your eyes flutter closed. His mouth trails hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw as he waits for your reply, but you're not sure you can gather enough air to give him one at this moment in time.

His grip tightens on your thighs. Your legs jerk, but he holds you down. “Tell me where you want me to touch you, Y/N.”

“Everywhere,” is your reply, because you can't think of one specific body part this is burning hotter than the others. “Just – Just stop messing around.”

Jungkook chuckles. His tongue darts out, dabs at the hinge of your jaw before disappearing, and you want to scream with how slow he's taking this, like he's savouring every moment even though you're trying to scoot closer to him, trying to capture his lips with yours again.

“Do you want me to touch you here?” He curls his fingers around your leg, his fingertips moulding into the flesh on your inner thigh.

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “Somewhere else.”

He raises a brow, slowly lifts his hand to your mouth. His thumb scrapes along your lower lip, and you resist the urge to do that thing you've seen in movies where the girl sucks the mans thumb into their mouth – is that even considered attractive in real life?

“What about here?”

“Not good enough.”

He tilts his head, starts to smirk. His hand drops from your lips, glides along your chin and disappears into the front of your pyjama top. “Here?”

He's not close enough. Your only response is a strangled groan, to which Jungkook laughs and slips his hand lower, lower, lower until his fingers are moulding the area you need to him to be.

You groan, tilting your head back when his hand traces the underside of your breasts. “Fucking hell, Jungkook, took you long enough.”

He leans forward and kisses you. It's desperate. Now that he's heard your response to his hands, he can't get enough. He wants to please you. He wants to take this as far as he can, and he shows this by hitching both your legs around his waist, picking you up and stumbling from the kitchen.

“Where's the bedroom?” he asks, breathless.

You point in the general direction he's referring to before pressing your lips to his. No more talking. He could stumble into the bathroom for all you cared, and you'd have him in the bathtub with absolutely no complaints.

It's your luck that he kicks open the bedroom door and presses you into the mattress. His lips detach from yours for only a second as he strips off his shirt and you strip off yours; he gawks down at your exposed chest, shakes his head and says, “No bra?”

“It's midnight,” you say. “I haven't had a bra on since seven pm.” You grab his shoulders and pull him on top of you. “Now please stop talking.”

He laughs, peppering kisses along your jaw that leave you squirming and warm and satisfied. If he were to just spend the entire night kissing you, you'd go to sleep in bliss. His lips work like electric shocks, startling you every time he makes contact, every time his tongue slips from his mouth and joins with your flesh. You feel hickeys burn into your skin, but you don't worry about them now because God, you're too far gone. Tomorrow doesn't exist. It's tonight and only tonight, and it's you and Jungkook and everyone else can go the fuck to hell for all you care.

He whispers in your ear. His voice is rough. The soft spoken, excitable boy you used to talk to on the phone every night has melted away into something ravenous and hungry, and his hips are grinding into yours with only his jeans and your pyjama trousers as a barrier, until there is no longer a barrier and it's just bare skin against bare skin.

He asks if you're ready. You say you are. He asks if you're sure, and you say you've never been more sure about anything in your entire life, and in that moment, you mean it. He kisses you, and it isn't the kiss you give someone on a one-night-stand. It's soft, holding memories and feelings and his body slides against your own and your groans contaminate each others mouths. You get loud; Jungkook gets greedy. You beg for more, and Jungkook tells you you're doing so well, so, so well. You unravel in each others arms. Jungkook falls to the side of you, nuzzles his head in your sweaty neck and you hold him so close because you don't want this moment to end.

“Tomorrow isn't real,” you whisper into his hair. He nods his agreement, panting against your flesh. His breath tickles your new hickeys. You reach up, press your fingers into the forming bruise.

Jungkook presses a soft kiss to the skin. He's loopy. You look down and see that tired smile playing on his face, the sweat drenched ends of his bangs hanging in his eyes. He shuffles up the pillows, wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest.

You don't think he realises what he's saying when he whispers “I love you,” into your hair.

You look up. His eyes are closed, his breathing even. Jungkook is peaceful, but his words play on a loop in your head for the rest of the night.

---

When you wake up, Jungkook is nowhere to be found.

Your heart immediately lurches into your throat; this can't be happening. You know Jungkook well enough to know that he would never just use someone like that before taking off – so he's either parading around your house, or he's dead.

You slowly sit up, tucking the quilt under your arms in a pointless attempt at sparing your dignity. The sheets are stained with sweat and . . . other stuff, and you internally groan at the idea of having to wash them; your new washing machine is complicated enough with clothes.

You make a promise that you'll deal with them later before slipping out of bed and tugging your dressing gown on. You slip into a pair of slippers and head downstairs.

Immediately you are greeted by the welcoming scent of cooking bacon. It's only when you walk into the kitchen and glance at the clock do you realise what time it is.

“Six am?” you mutter, startling Jungkook. He stands by the hob, swaying his hips to a song that is playing softly from his phone.

He spins around, face lighting up at the sight of you, even though you're certain you look nothing short of bedraggled right now. Whilst he looks fresh as a daisy in a black shirt that is tucked lazily into a pair of belted blue jeans, your hair is knotted and your breath stinks, and you have absolutely no qualms about any of it.

“Apparently,” Jungkook replies. “I was hoping to make you breakfast in bed.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you say. “But also, you're a guest. You shouldn't have to make breakfast.” To prove your point, you grab the tongs out of his hand and nudge him with your hip. He chuckles, giving you the benefit of the doubt by over dramatically stumbling out of your way. You roll your eyes and start poking at the mostly cooked bacon.

“At least now you'll be able to say you helped,” Jungkook says.

You grin. “I'm nothing if not completely useless.”

“Only sometimes.” He presses a kiss to the back of your neck, and it is this movement that brings you back to last night; the kissing, the sex, sharing a bed.

The I love you.

You'll be damned if you bring that up to him, though, because judging by the look on his face, he doesn't even remember saying it. He sways around the kitchen like he's lived there his whole life, a goofy smile on his face that has your chest constricting, because you're fairly certain it's you that has put that smile on his face. He grabs two plates from the cupboard above your head and lays them on the counter, before he goes back to watching as you poke the bacon.

“How do you know when it's done?” you ask.

Jungkook blinks. “It's been done for a good two minutes. I thought you just liked yours crispy.”

You hiss, quickly turning the hob off. “You could have said something!”

“Give it here.” He takes the pan from you and starts scooping the bacon onto the plate. You follow suit, grabbing the bowl of scrambled eggs he'd prepared earlier and adding a decent amount to each plate. Jungkook then spoons the beans and adds the toast to the side, and the two of you are prepared.

You eat on the sofa, because of course you do.

Jungkook eats bent over his plate. You don't know why you notice this, or why you're so intrigued by something so small, but you struggle to take your eyes off him. He presses the edge of the plate into his chest and bends forward, his eyes not leaving the TV as he struggles to rip a bit of fat from his bacon.

You watch his Adams apple bob, remembering the feel of it beneath your lips. You regret not trailing your fingers along the column of his throat. You regret not unravelling him, completely taking over in the way you so desperately want to now; you had been so caught up in the logistics of what was happening that you didn't take a moment to focus on what you wanted to do; you realise now that you want to watch his eyes roll into the back of his head. You want to see him come apart.

You swallow thickly and turn back to the TV, cheeks burning. You need to remind yourself that you have other things to worry about besides what happened last night; the work hasn't just stopped because Jungkook decided it was a good time to show up and completely ravish you.

Jungkook finishes his breakfast before you. As he nibbles on the last remaining bites of his toast, he turns and glances down at your plate; it's nearly empty, and yet he still raises a brow. “You feeling okay?”

Your eyes shoot up. “Yes. Why wouldn't I be?”

Jungkook stares at you for a moment longer, urging you to tell him the truth. When you look back down at your plate and ignore his seemingly endless gaze, he sighs, sets his plate down on the coffee table before shuffling closer to you. “Is this about last night?”

You let out a breath. “I really thought you weren't gonna bring that up.”

“Do you want me to leave it?”

“No!” You grab his arm. “No, Jungkook, of course not. I really think we need to talk about it, but I just . . . I wanna know your feelings on it first.”

Jungkook narrows his eyes, tracing the lines of your face, the same trail he traced with his fingers last night. “I thought I made my feelings pretty obvious, considering I was the one who initiated it in the first place.”

“That doesn't mean anything,” you murmur, looking down. “I could have been bad at it, you know.”

A noise not unlike a croak escapes Jungkook's throat. It slowly morphs into a laugh, his hand coming down upon your knee and squeezing.

When you don't join the laughter, his smile fades and he stares at you. “Wait. You're not serious, are you?”

You throw your hands up in frustration. You hadn't even realised this train of thought was so prominent in the back of your head, but there's no denying it now. “Look, all of it was very unexpected. I didn't have time to – like – practice my strategy or anything.”

“You didn't need to-”

“Yes, I know that, but it would have helped,” you hiss, before groaning and slumping back against the plush sofa cushions. Your plate remains abandoned on the coffee table. Jungkook looks down at it, picks up a piece of bacon and takes a bite.

“I definitely came.”

He says it so casually that you very nearly miss what he's said at all. Your eyes burst open, cheeks burning with this news that isn't really news because you know what happened – you were there. You made it happen.

“You made it happen,” Jungkook continues, as if reading your mind. “And you definitely came.”

“Oh god.”

Jungkook grins. “I think I have the qualifications to vouch for that.”

“You're a dick.”

His grin only grows. He leans over and presses a kiss to the space just below your ear; you hiss and pull away, hand snapping up to trace the edge of the hickey you'd forgotten was there. Jungkook pushes the hair from your shoulder and lightly touches it, biting his bottom lip to fight off the smile that is surely threatening to show on his face.

“Lovely,” he says.

“I'm gonna have to cover this now,” you grumble. “Do you know how difficult it is covering a hickey?”

“No, considering you didn't give me any.” He shakes his head. “I feel like I'm missing out.”

“Poor baby.”

He shrugs, swings his legs round and stands up. He grabs the plates off the coffee table and starts towards the kitchen, but not before saying a casual, “We'll try again next time,” that hangs in the air even as the sound of the tap water shatters the delicate silence.

You grin, biting down on your bottom lip. Butterflies are attacking your stomach. Memories of last night are lodged in your brain, and you know for a fact that there is absolutely no way in hell you'll be getting any decent work done today.

---

Jungkook leaves for the dorms at seven. On his way out the door, he bends down and picks up a thick yellow envelope, handing it to you.

“I think that might be the new catalogue pages,” he says.

You hollow out you cheeks, taking the envelope from him and tossing it carelessly over your shoulder. “Tell Mr Bang I'll get it to him as soon as possible.”

“Mm, no,” he says, pressing a kiss to your lips. “Then the old man will know I've been here overnight, and that is awfully suspicious.”

Despite knowing this would be the case, your heart still quivers a little. You hide it by rolling your eyes and ushering him out the door. “Fine then. Leave the hard work to me. You go and prance around your practice room for a few hours, and call me as soon as you get a chance.”

Jungkook spins, planting his hands on the door frame. “One more kiss?”

You narrow your eyes. “You're gonna be that guy.”

“I believe this is called the Honeymoon Phase.” He kisses you, small and soft but it ignites something in you you've never felt before. Jungkook feels it, grins against your mouth before slowly pulling away and clicking his forehead against your own. “I'll see you later, yeah?”

“We'll see,” you whisper, before you grip his waist and spin him round. “Now go! I'm not being the reason you're late.”

“Alright, alright. Tell me how you really feel.” His voice and laughter fade into nothingness as he disappears down the hallway. You watch him leave, gripping the collar of your dressing gown like some kind of wife sending their husband off to war. You only turn and head back into your apartment when you hear the lift ding closed.

---

You love your job. You really do. There is a power that comes with correcting other peoples mistakes, and you are not ashamed to admit that you have been thriving off it from the moment you picked up that red pen and started slashing marks into the pages.

But this is a whole different ball game.

You're hunched over your kitchen table, your third cup of coffee half-empty beside you, doing nothing to help the exhaustion. Your body is slowly beginning to realise that you were not made for being woken up at six am. Your muscles are sore, and your eyes are getting tired before you've even gotten through the fifth page of edits.

You lean back, scraping a hand through your unwashed hair that is still sweaty from last nights mishaps. You told yourself you would take a break to clean up and pull yourself together, because going another day in this state is going to drive you to breaking point, and yet three pm is rolling around and you have yet to move from your kitchen table.

The pages are littered with images of Jungkook. With Bangtan being the only group involved with Big Hit at the minute, they're using their maknae's adorable smile and doe eyes to the best of their abilities. It makes your job ten times more difficult, as you have to stop every few seconds to send a picture of Jungkook's face to your Whatsapp group with a teasing caption that Jungkook always chooses to ignore in favour of asking you how you're getting on.

Not good, you want to tell him, but you don't. He's working just as hard as you; it would be cruel to distract him with your own pointless stresses.

And so you lose yourself in the world of literature for a few more hours, until the last page is glaring up at you and your hand is cramping, and you're refilling the ink on your sixth red pen. Five pm rolls around, and once again you're shrugging your jacket on and bolting down the street towards the Big Hit building.

Mr Bang is standing in the lobby.

You freeze, one hand braced against the glass door, the other clutching the envelope tight to your chest; well, this is most unexpected. Though you and Mr Bang have spoken on numerous occasions these past few weeks, most of those conversations were had via phone call. You had convinced yourself that the small man in front of you lived in his office.

He turns when you enter, immediately smiling an oddly cute smile that lights up his whole face and crinkles his dark brown eyes. He nudges his glasses further up the bridge of his nose and steps towards you.

“I was just about to call and ask where you were,” he says.

You shove the envelope in his direction. “All done!”

“Great, great.” He tucks the envelope into his coat pocket. You resist the need to wince; he better not crinkle those god damn pages, or so help you- “The edits aren't the only reason I was looking for you, though.”

Your brain short circuits, and you aren't even sure why.

Today has honestly been the day from hell. Your head aches, and your hand is cramped, and all you want to do right now is curl up on your sofa with a glass of wine and drink everything away. Instead, you place a smile on your face and say, “Oh?”

Mr Bang sighs, looks around as if checking for anyone eavesdropping before he steps closer to you and lowers his voice. “Have you and Jungkook fallen out?”

Okay. That certainly wasn't what you'd been expecting.

You raise a brow, flicking a glance over the big boss's shoulder. Gertrude quickly lowers her head, pretending she hasn't heard anything, but it's obvious in the tilt of her head and the shy little smile on her face that she knows exactly what Mr Bang is asking about.

You look back at him. “I don't – I don't think so. Why?”

“Well, I told him I was going to offer you a job in one of the offices here so you don't have to keep running back and forth from your apartment,” he says. “Jungkook told me not to.”

It takes a minute for you to untangle what all of this means. It's the most absurd thing you've ever heard. It doesn't make any sense, because you and Jungkook slept together and he held you, and he said he loved you and there's no way in hell all of that changed in the space of a few hours.

But Mr Bang is serious. His eyes shift to the floor when you stay silent, and you watch as he slowly sucks in a breath.

“I don't like it when my employees go against each other,” he says. “I asked Jungkook if everything was alright and he refused to tell me anything. He's young, so I didn't push him, figured I'd let him figure it all out on his own. But I just want you to know that whatever this feud is – you can't let it get in the way of your work.”

“There is no feud,” you burst out. “I mean, not really. Nothing you need to be worrying yourself with, anyway.”

Mr Bang's eyes light up. “Really? That's fantastic, Y/N. How about you come and join us for dinner then?”

Before, the idea would have lit something inside you. The idea of sitting beside Jungkook and laughing with your friends would have excited you to no end, but you replay Mr Bang's words on a continuous loop and find yourself unable to gather that same excitement.

You stuff your hands into the pockets of your jacket and say, “I think I'm gonna have to pass. I'm exhausted.”

Mr Bang nods as if he understands. “Of course. I'll send the next few pages over tomorrow, then. Get some rest, Y/N.”

You turn on your heel and exit the building. It feels permanent. You want it to be permanent. You want to walk to your apartment, pack up your stuff and never come back. You feel like a teenager, moping over some boy, suddenly willing to change the directory of life just because this certain someone slipped up and hurt your feelings.

But that emotion is there. You grip the material of your pockets and inhale the cold air of Seoul, ducking your head down in case anyone were to notice your gritted teeth.

---

It's nearly eleven when the knock echoes through your apartment.

You're draped across the sofa, a glass of wine in your hand, the TV blaring re-runs of Friends. You've been sneering at Ross Geller for the past three hours, and quite frankly, you are in no mood to be disrupted.

You stay silent and hope the visitor takes the hint.

It's never that easy, though.

The knock sounds again. And again. On repeat until you eventually throw your head back and push yourself off the sofa. You slam your glass of wine down and barrel towards the door, throwing it open to reveal GoldenJeon in all his glory.

Your drunken state wants to spit on him.

He's grinning from ear to ear, hands in his pockets, hair a tussled mess. Even in your state of tipsiness, you still reach out and flatten a strand against his temple; you pull your hand back just as quick, tucking it under your armpit as if to restrain yourself from touching him further.

He frowns when he sees the state you're in. You have no idea what you look like, but you're purposefully scowling to the best of your ability, arms folded, the glass of wine bright and full on your coffee table – it wouldn't take a genius to figure out just what is going through your mind right now.

“Are you okay?”

“Why are you here?” you demand. “I didn't invite you.”

Jungkook's frown deepens. A crease forms between his eyebrows. “Since when did I need an invite?”

“Since you started showing up uninvited and interrupting my relaxation time.” You try to slam the door on his face, but he wedges his foot between the frame and pushes it open again.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he says, poking his head through the tiny gap he's created. “Are you gonna explain to me what the hell is going on?”

“No. Go away.”

“I'm not leaving until you tell me why you're mad.”

“I'll literally call the police.”

“No you won't.”

You purse your lips, turn on your heel and B-Line towards your cell phone. Jungkook shoves the door open and follows after you. You pick up the phone, but Jungkook is quicker; his fingers curl around your wrist and it is with barely any effort that he plucks the phone from your hand and tosses it onto the couch. He keeps your wrist in his grip, staring down at you with a set of eyes that – any other day – would have you pouncing on him in two seconds flat.

“Let go of me,” you say.

He does.

“And get out.”

“I'm so confused right now. I thought we were okay.” He rubs the back of his neck. “Is this about last night?”

You groan. “For crying out loud, Jungkook, I'm drunk. Why can't you just take the hint and piss off?”

He flinches. There's a tiny glimmer inside you that wants to apologise, wrap your arms around him and tell him you didn't mean it, but then you hear Mr Bang's voice in your head and your senses draw back to you.

“You didn't join us for dinner,” he says. It's almost a subject change. Again, you want to spit on him.

“I don't think you'd have been too happy if I showed up,” you reply. You take another swig of your wine. “Apparently you only really like me when I'm underneath you.”

Jungkook's eyes widen. His hands twitch by his side, and he reaches up to deftly rub at this throat. “What are you talking about? You know that's not true.”

“So why don't you want me working in the same building as you?”

There is no way to make that sentence sound intimidating, no way to get your anger across without sounding childish and needy; you and Jungkook spent one night together. If he thought it was a mistake, you would respect that – but he didn't need to cut you off from your work, didn't need to come crawling back when he was in the mood. If he found regret in last nights endeavours, it would be so much more merciful if he just left you alone.

His face softens. It's an expression of realisation, the fact that he's been caught out dawning on him. It's enough to make tears rise to the surface, and you blame the wine but it builds in your chest, grabs at your throat. Jungkook sees it – he lurches forward. You don't even fight when he wraps his arms around your waist and tugs you into his chest, his chin taking perch on the top of your head.

“No,” he says. “No, I didn't mean it like that. Y/N, I didn't mean it like that. I said it to protect you.”

“Protect me?” You jump away from him, stumbling but managing to catch yourself on the sofa at the last moment. “How could that protect me?”

“We're not meant to have what we have,” he says, running his hands through his hair. He's trying not to touch you. You're trying not to throw yourself into his arms.

“What is that, Jungkook?” you ask. “What do we have that is so special? Because last time I checked, all we've done is slept together and played a few rounds of Minecraft.”

“That's not true. We've got more than that. You're more than that.”

You grit your teeth, turning on your heel. Your wine sloshes, drenches your wrist but you don't even care. It triggers you to take another swig, then another, and another until the glass is empty. “You know what? I don't think I wanna play this game. I've never let a man dictate how a relationship works, and I'm not about to do it now.”

Jungkook groans. “I'm not dictating-”

“Telling your boss to keep me off the fucking premises so you can keep our friends-with-benefits subtle-”

“And we're not friends-with-benefits!” Jungkook steps forward, grabbing your wrist before you can reach for the bottle of wine. You glare at him, hoping and praying that your eyes look menacing enough right now; you want him to know how angry you are. You want him to see how bad he's hurt you.

His eyes trace your own. He's looking for forgiveness, but you won't give it to him. His lower lip trembles and he sucks it between his teeth.

“I don't want us to be friends-with-benefits,�� he whispers, fingers still curled round wrist. “I got carried away last night, but I didn't show up just to have a quickie and then leave. I want – I want more.”

You stare back at him, unsure of what to say. There are so many responses that are playing on the tip of your tongue, but none of them seem right. Not when his eyes look like that. Not when he slowly leans forward and presses a kiss to the flesh just beneath your ear – right over a hickey he sucked into your skin the night before.

You shiver, wrist sliding out of his suddenly slack grip.

“Tell me if you want more,” he whispers.

You close your eyes, tilting your head to the side. Your drunk and angry and turned on, and at this point it's too late to turn back. You do want more – you want it all. You want everything he is offering, but you know better.

You step away from him. He looks at you, analyses the way you're standing, the way you fold your arms over your chest because you're so scared you'll crack again, so scared you'll reach out and touch him and lose yourself entirely.

“I want you to leave,” you croak out. The words are acidic. They're a betrayal, but you have to say them.

Jungkook's features harden. He looks down at the ground, brushes his foot against the carpet only once before he nods and says, “So that's it then? There's nothing I can do to make this better.”

“You can't expect me to like this arrangement,” you reply. “I'm not sneaking around with you. I've got too much going on as it is without stressing over being caught with you.”

Jungkook nods, but you're not entirely sure he understands. Maybe he hides a ton of stuff from Mr Bang. Maybe sneaking around is his forte, but you haven't had as much experience as him in this line of work. You're not ready to put your entire career on the line to be with someone who clearly doesn't care about you enough to want a real relationship.

And god the thought hurts. The realisation hurts. Before, you failed to realise just how much of an integral role Jungkook played in your life, but looking at him now and knowing it will be the last time you'll ever be able to talk to him like a normal human being – it breaks something inside you. Little fourteen year old Y/N L/N is screaming in the back of your head, asking you what the hell you're doing.

You push them away.

Jungkook says nothing when he turns and walks out the door. He doesn't look back at you, barely utters a goodbye. He certainly doesn't apologise. He leaves you numb, watching the door swing closed behind him. You listen to the lift opening, closing, going down. You force yourself to stay rooted to the spot, resisting the urge to scramble to the window so you can watch him cross the car park.

You have to let yourself believe that he is nothing more than another chapter in your life – necessary for your story, but you have to move on to know the conclusion.

---

The pages are getting few and far between.

Months have passed. You still see Jungkook everyday, but it's not how it was. He doesn't smile when he sees you. He doesn't text you to find out if you got home safe. If he can avoid looking at you at all, that is exactly what he does.

In the beginning, you didn't want things to be awkward. You smiled at him, asked Yoongi if he was okay, made sure to check up on him when you could, but it got tiring after a while and you lost the motivation eventually. Jungkook wasn't giving you the same enthusiasm, so you no longer saw a point in trying.

It's your last few days in Seoul. You can feel the end approaching, even though none of the Bangtan boys nor Mr Bang himself wants to admit it. Mr Bang lengthens the deadlines on your edits just to keep you around that little bit longer. The Bangtan boys invite you out for dinner, but you decline because you know Jungkook will be there and you don't want that kind of hassle.

All in all, you are disappointed to say your last few months in Seoul have been terrible. Full of stress and avoidance, life truly did not give you an easy time of it.

But your days are coming to an end. You stand by your bed now, looking at the packed bags. A lump grows in your throat; you swallow it down, swiping a hand beneath your eye in any attempt to hide the tears that are threatening to rise to the surface. No one is with you – it would be easy to just break down, because God only knows when you'll next get a chance, but you don't want to. Not even within the comfort of your own company. Crying means admitting you've been affected by the sudden shift in your life. Crying means admitting you got attached.

Stupidly, obsessively attached.

To a boy who was meant to be nothing more than a few texts on your phone screen.

You busy yourself by reorganising everything yet again. It's the fifth time you've done it, and each time has been completely unnecessary. Your clothes are folded beautifully, your toiletries packed away, your sheets and work gear all tucked away neatly; you just need to do something. You finished the last few pages of the catalogue yesterday evening, sent them out and fled the Big Hit building before Mr Bang could make you emotional with any kind of farewell speech. You just needed out of there. Once you get back to your actual office, back home, you'll be fine. You'll be able to start over.

It's as your reorganising that you realise you've missed something.

How you missed it is completely beyond you, considering you've been through this five times already. You shoot up, spin around and glimpse your laptop on your desk, untouched for three days now. You've been too busy to even think about logging on and catching up with your gaming; besides, you didn't want to game. Not if Jungkook wasn't on the phone, yelling at you for the most trivial of things.

But now seems a good a time as any.

You slowly open it up, press your password in and wait for the Minecraft game to load up. It's ten at night, so nobody you talk to will be active; the game will be full of complete strangers, will be no fun. You'll sign out of it in a few minutes and go back to moping round your apartment, but at least you can say you've tried. It's a step in the right direction, a sign that maybe the spell Jungkook cast over you has melted away a little bit.

You click on the server you so frequently play on, and look through the list of people active.

GoldenJeon.

You should delete it. The whole game, just get rid of it. It's no fun without Jungkook, but after the fight you had, it's no fun with him either. You don't want to play at all, so what's the point of even having it on your laptop?

Despite these thoughts, the sense of them, you're unable to do anything but stare at his name. Your little character waits for the timer to start, signalling the beginning of the game, but you're not even preparing yourself for it. You're just staring at his name, blinking in gold letters.

And then your phone chimes.

Even though he hasn't texted you in weeks, you know it's him. You glance over, catch sight of his name, and you ask yourself why you even kept his number in the first place.

Jungkook: Please don't surprise me this time.

You bite your lip. That son of a bitch; he knows exactly what he's doing. He's prodding at your competitive side just to get a reaction out of you.

But he's done it now.

The timer counts down from three. As soon as the sirens go off, your hands are glued to the mouse and keyboard, and you're latching your view on Jungkook as his tiny little box character makes a dash directly for the woods; fool. He has no weaponry. Whilst everyone else headed straight for the chests in the centre of the map, Jungkook turned the other direction, thinking he would be doing something good by getting away whilst everyone else was distracted.

However, you are not one of them distracted people.

You sprint after him, even as your brain screams at you to just turn the bloody thing off and get back to being an Adult.

You follow him deeply into the match, your phone chiming away at the side of you; it's Jungkook having a crisis, begging you to not follow him this time. You know he's only saying this because you will – you'll follow him, you'll kill his character and then you'll be reminded of the last time you did it, when Jungkook realised he could come over and yell at you in person if he so pleased.

His character sprints through the map, gathering supplies and you follow him until he finally comes to a stop and you calculate your chances of survival if you were to just whack his head off now. You make your character crouch, duck behind a door frame as he shuffles around an abandoned house made out of bedrock (bedrock!).

Your phone rings. You click ACCEPT without even thinking.

“Where are you?” His voice his gravelly. It hurts to hear it.

“Now why would I tell you that?” you ask.

“I don't know why I never learn,” he grumbles. “You do this to me, you know. You make my head go somewhere else, and I can't use my common sense.”

Your heart thunders. “It works in my favour, so I don't really mind.”

“Are you gonna pop up out of nowhere again?”

“Would you like me to?”

Jungkook pauses. “I would. I really would.”

“But then you'll be out of the game,” you tease. “Poor little Jungkook, losing another round of Hunger Games because he can't think straight.”

He growls. It startles you, distracting you for a moment too long. Your eyes snap down to your phone, and you're positive it's only for a brief second, but by the time you look back up at the laptop screen, your character is being beaten bloody by GoldenJeon's stone pickaxe.

Y/N has left the game.

Jungkook doesn't laugh, doesn't yell in victory like you do every time you win. There's a single breath of humour-filled air before he says, “Got you.” And then he hangs up.

You sit there, staring at the end credits and trying desperately to catch your breath; what the hell just happened? What the hell just happened?!

He called you, is what happened. He had the nerve to pick up the phone and call you as if nothing had been going on these past few weeks, as if he hadn't ignored you, as if he hadn't completely ripped your heart from your chest and forced you to end things with him.

You grit your teeth. This is what he wants. He wants you to play right into his hands so he can get the control back, and you're not about to let him get away with it.

So you stand up, grab your coat and march right out the door.

You know where the dorms are. You've been invited over more times than you can count, have broken Taehyung's heart by declining these invites, but you can't think of a better reason to make an appearance now. You shrug your coat on as you march down the street, turn the corner and head straight for the front desk.

You're recognised and let inside almost immediately. You don't realise your relief until you're halfway up the stairs, heart thundering in your ears – this scene is so familiar. It's been reversed, but it's so familiar, and it makes your heart rate speed up to a rate you're pretty sure is considered unhealthy.

You had won the game last time. Jungkook has marched into your apartment.

Jungkook won the game this time. It's only fair for you to give him the same courtesy.

You rack your knuckles against the door and wait for someone to answer. It takes two seconds, and there is nothing but undeniable relief when it's Jungkook's grinning face that appears in the doorway and nobody elses.

You slam your hands into his shoulders and push him backwards. “You son of a bitch. I wasn't even ready!”

Jungkook loops his arms round your waist and tugs you into him. You're so lost. You're so worked up and he looks so good, and he's just beaten you at a game you prided yourself on winning each and every time. He did it to tease you. He did it so this would happen, and you've walked right into his trap.

But god, he smells so good, and his hair is slightly damp from a shower, and you're honestly prepared to make a fool of yourself if it means getting a glimpse of his toned torso one more time.

“Sorry,” he says. “But I believe I won that round fair and square.”

“You used a distraction tactic,” you hiss. “We never use a distraction tactic!”

Jungkook raises a brow, tilting his head to the side. “I don't remember distracting you.”

“You being on the phone at all was distracting enough.” You bundle your fists in his shirt, debate pulling him closer. You eventually decide against it and instead flatten your palms against his chest. “And then you kept making that stupid fucking noise, and I couldn't . . . I couldn't concentrate.”

Jungkook's eyes flare. “I can't help it if you get distracted just by my voice.”

“It wasn't your – Stop that!” You slap his chest and groan. “The point is, we need a rematch. That game wasn't fair, and you know it.”

His hands tighten on your hips. You want to scream.

“I really didn't take you as a sore loser,” he says.

You scoff. “Don't act like you didn't come marching into my apartment when I won the last round.”

That does it. The reminder settles between you, and you don't pull away even though you know you should. Jungkook's eyes – if possible – turn darker. Your breath hitches. The world is spinning too fast. You just want him to kiss you. You don't want any of this back and forth, teasing, talking in low voices – you just want him.

You knot your hands in his shirt again. This time, you do pull him closer, but not by much. It's a little jerk that has his chest hitting lightly against your own, but he still isn't close enough for your liking.

He inhales deeply. “I can't believe you're here after what I did.”

You close your eyes. “We don't have to talk about that.”

“I don't want to just sleep with you, Y/N.” He pulls away then, rakes his hands through his hair as if trying to restrain himself. “I told you on the day we argued that I don't just want to be friends-with-benefits. I want to be able to talk about things with you.”

There are cotton balls in your mouth. It's hard to speak, so you just stare at him, hope that gets your point across.

He bites his lip. “Is that what you want, too? Is that why you're here?”

Is that what you want?

On that first night, the first night Jungkook slept with you, you thought that was what you had. You'd never taken Jungkook as the type to have sex with someone and then just . . . leave, and that isn't what he did. Waking up to him cooking breakfast and his scent on your pillows felt almost natural.

So of course you want it. You want him – not his body, but him. All of him.

You swallow thickly and step closer. “If we're gonna make this work, we have to sort a few things out.”

He nods too quickly, too enthusiastically. It rips your heart out of your chest. “Of course.”

“I'm going back home in a few days,” you say, and Jungkook's hopeful expression fades. “I don't know – I don't know what that means for you. I don't know if that will make things easier. I don't know if me not physically being here will suddenly make Mr Bang let you date me, but-”

Jungkook groans low in his throat. “I don't care about Mr Bang. I care about you.” He steps forward and cups your face with one large hand. “I made a mistake. I was so caught up in my contract that I didn't even stop to think about how Mr Bang would take my own feelings into consideration.”

Your jaw drops, eyes snapping up. “What are you talking about?”

“Mr Bang knows we – we talk,” Jungkook stammers.

You step out of his grip. “He knows you went against the contract?”

“In the beginning,” Jungkook says. “He was disappointed, but he's known me since I was fifteen. I guess he took pity on me, because I was a mess when I went into work that day and told him. I'd just reached my breaking point.”

“And he was okay with it?”

“As I said, he was disappointed. Thought he could trust me and all that.” Jungkook winces. You place a comforting hand on his arm, knowing how hard it must have been for him to have disappointed one of the people he looks up to. “I said I was sorry, and then he – he asked me how things between you and I were going, and I got really confused. He said it as if we were together.”

You bite your lip. “Okay...”

“I turned round and told him you'd ended things because you didn't want to be sneaking around, and he just looked at me like I was insane. He asked me what I was doing, told me to talk to you and then he let me have the day off.”

You swallow the golf ball sized lump in your throat, not sure what to say but knowing for a fact that you are really gonna have to thank Mr Bang for this.

Jungkook rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “So I went home, logged onto Minecraft to see if you were there – you weren't, but I waited.”

“You waited.”

“And then you came online and I took my chance.”

“You did indeed.”

Jungkook lowers his voice to a whisper. “And now you're here.” It's almost like he's talking to himself, even though his eyes are burning holes in your own. “You're here and you're not saying anything.”

You don't need to say anything. There are no words that can possible portray what you're feeling right now, so you do the next best thing. It's straight out of a cheesy romance movie, but you've learned from the best and you launch yourself into his arms, kissing him with the need and desperation that has been building in your system for weeks now.

Jungkook grunts into your mouth, his hands gripping your waist. The two of you stumble until the back of Jungkook's knees are hitting against the arm of the sofa and he's falling backwards into the plush cushions; he doesn't let go of you, and your body ends up right on top of his own.

You kiss him again, and again, and again. Not just on the lips, but everywhere. Peppered kisses behind his ear, the tip of his nose, the corner of his mouth, his chin, his cheeks. Everywhere until he's giggling and trying to push you away from him.

“You still played unfairly today,” you pant, exaggerating each word with a kiss to his forehead. “I want revenge.”

“I'm excited to – hey! - find out how you get that revenge,” he replies, crinkling his nose up when you go to press yet another kiss there.

His fingers are just starting to grip onto your belt loops when the door behind him opens. Jungkook's head snaps up, his hands tightening to keep you in place. Taehyung and Namjoon walk in, side-by-side, but immediately stop and raise their brows when they see the position you are currently in.

Jungkook wriggles beneath you. You shoot upright, struggling to find your footing again. Jungkook grunts when you're forced to shove against his chest to get off the sofa. You turn to the two members of Bangtan and grin as Jungkook flops back onto the sofa and groans.

Namjoon is the first to speak. “Hey Y/N. . . I see you took Taehyung's invitation.”

“I did!” you exclaim, and then quieter, “I did. It's a lovely place you've got here.”

“Apparently we've also got a lovely maknae,” Taehyung says, wriggling his brows, and Jungkook buries his head in the sofa pillows. “I always knew something was going on with you two; you're the only person I know who can distract Jungkook long enough to break him away from his work.”

You raise a brow, flicking your eyes down to the boy in question. He peeks at you with one eye, half of his face still pressed into the cushions, and grins an embarrassed grin. You smile right back, pushing down a laugh.

“Come on, Tae,” Namjoon chuckles. “Let's leave them alone for a bit. I think they have a lot of catching up to do.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, mouths Use protection before he and Namjoon turn and leave the room. You glance back at Jungkook, raise a brow.

“He's totally lying, of course,” he assures, voice muffled.

You chuckle and bound back onto the sofa, circling your arms round his torso and going back to pressing loving little kisses to every part of his face you can think of.

---

Jungkook presses his chin into the crown of your head and sighs yet again. “You're still so tiny.”

“I'll literally start walking home now.”

He groans, pulling you closer to his chest. “Don't say home. You're home is meant to be with me.”

You close your eyes and tilt your head back. It rests in the hollow of his throat. You want to live there.

“I'll visit you,” you say, even though it's not enough. It'll never be enough. “We managed to keep in touch since we were fourteen – this isn't anything new.”

He sighs again. “I know. We'll make it work, just like we always do.” His arms tighten on your waist. “I'm just gonna miss this, that's all. I'm gonna miss you – you in your physical form.”

“In what way do you mean physical form, Jeon Jungkook?”

He leans down and nips your earlobe with his teeth. “Whatever form you're offering.”

You chuckle and shake your head, beckoning him away. He goes back to resting his chin atop your head, the two of you looking out for the train that will soon be pulling up to take you home. Your bag is packed, but Jungkook placed it a few feet away because he didn't want to admit that all of your stuff was in there – that means permanent, apparently. Packing up your stuff means there's no option to come back. Looking at your suitcase, filled to the brim with the clothes he's seen you in, the clothes he's ripped off of you, made him uncomfortable.

“I feel like adults are meant to handle this type of thing a lot better,” he says suddenly.

You look up; his chin slides to your forehead as he refuses to move. “What do you mean?”

He shrugs. “Like – relationships. Love. Stuff like that. I should have grown out of my mine, mine, mine phase, but the idea of you just . . . walking away is literally ripping me open.”

You bite your lip. “Jungkook...”

“I get it if you don't feel the same way. I'm not asking you to.” He shrugs again, grabbing your chin and tilting your head back so he can put his chin back where he is most comfortable. “It's only been a few months and I already feel like you should just be by my side all the time.”

“I wish I could be.”

“You do?”

“I don't think I've ever clicked with someone like I click with you, Jungkook. I feel just as awful about leaving.”

He sighs. Again. If you made this into a drinking game – drink any time Jungkook sighs – you would be falling head first into the train tracks by now.

He hugs you impossibly closer, and the two of you fall into a thoughtful silence. In the distance, the whistle of the train sounds and you close your eyes, as if in doing so, you can somehow transport somewhere far, far away, with only Jungkook to keep you company.

But reality is a bitch, and it slaps you in the face when the train pulls up and people start piling onto the carriages.

You turn, quickly wrapping your arms around his shoulders and kissing him, putting everything you can into the way your lips mould against his. He groans against your mouth – he always does – and he tightens his grip and you hope to God he just refuses to let go. You two can just live here, in this underground station, tangled in each others arms forever. You'll become statues, a part of the structure and nobody will bother you again.

But the conductor calls a warning,and you know you have to go.

You pull away. Jungkook's face falls, and his thumbs swipe beneath your eye. You didn't even realise you were crying until he shakes his head and says, “Soon. We'll see each other soon.”

You nod, biting your bottom lip. You say the first thing that comes to mind, which might not be the best strategy considering this is the last thing you'll get to say for quite a while, but nonetheless, it's a perfect parting confession.

“I love you, GoldenJeon.”

His eyes widen. You panic, because that was certainly not what you planned on saying. He reaches towards you, but you press a final kiss to his lips, grab your suitcase and dart off towards the train only seconds before the doors close behind you.

As the train speeds off, you turn in your seat. Jungkook is still stood on the platform, one hand raised to his lips and his eyes lowered to the floor.

---

You're in your pyjamas again. Boring, stupid old pyjamas. You'd left them behind for a reason – you're wearing them now because you're trying to get back into routine. You have to be at the office tomorrow. You have to look Mr Grey in the eyes and thank him for the opportunity even though he was the one who ordered you home. You shouldn't feel angry, but you do.

You press PLAY on your movie once again, having paused it to go and gather some ice cream and your laptop. You and Jungkook have only texted the odd time since you got home, with him claiming he wants to give you time to rest and you promising him that you were definitely, one hundred percent in bed and only seconds away from falling asleep.

Turns out, falling asleep without Jungkook's arms around you is a lot more difficult than you'd originally anticipated.

It's so weird. It's a phenomenon, considering you fell asleep without him your entire life. But now that you'd got a taste of just how luxurious sleep can actually feel, it's difficult to go back to square one.

You click on the tiny little Minecraft icon and watch the screen load. It's almost instinctive when you log onto the all-too-familiar server. Again, it's much too late for Jungkook to be online – he told you he was doing some late night editing for one of his Golden Closet Videos, and you've seen him when he starts editing; he won't be looking away from that complicated editing screen for another few hours at least. His attention will be nowhere near Minecraft.

It loads up, and of course, the little shit has lied to you.

GoldenJeon is online.

You narrow your eyes, hoping and praying he doesn't notice the little Y/N is online that appears in the corner.

But he's GoldenJeon. He notices everything.

Your phone chimes. You wince, cautiously looking over as Jungkook's name flashes on screen.

Jungkook: You weren't asleep for very long.

Y/N: you weren't editing for very long.

Jungkook: It's gonna be very difficult for me to come over and have sex if you win this match, you know. You didn't think this through.

Y/N: i'm sure phone sex will be just as sexy.

Jungkook: Let's give it a go.

The match begins, and you win. It's no surprise – at this point, you're fairly certain Jungkook is just letting you win because he wants an excuse to come over.

Or in this case, an excuse to call you.

You pick up before the first ring is even over. Jungkook laughs at your eagerness before saying, “Miss me?”

“More than anything. Now talk dirty.”

“I love you.”

You freeze.

“Oh, did you like that one?” he teases. You can hear him grinning. You want to smother him – or kiss him. Either way, you can do neither. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

“Jungkook-”

“I've loved you since I was fourteen years old and you were just a weird little character on a shit, low budget game.”

“I don't want you to talk dirty any more. Please keep making fun of me before I combust.”

Jungkook chuckles. “Tell me you love me back.”

“I said it first. You know I-”

“Say it again. We're having phone sex, remember?”

You bite your lip. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

He inhales shakily. You can hear it, the rattle in his chest, the way he bites his bottom lip. You can imagine him tilting his head back in that way he does so often when you insist on walking downstairs in one of his shirts, or nothing at all if you're feeling particularly playful that day.

“You're right, you know,” he whispers.

“About?”

“Phone sex really is just as sexy as the real thing.”

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moodyvalentinestories · 4 years

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Direction – Six | Hunt x HWU MC (Danielle)

Summary: Viktor is the absolute worst kind of person again. Also, we get to see Hunt and Danielle at work and, oh shit, why is my former student so sexy?

Words: 1800+

Notes: You can kinda tell this was supposed to be two chapters, but they would have been way too short, so I combined them. Also, FUCK Viktor!, is all I'm gonna say.

❥ Previous Chapter: Five ❥ Moodyvalentine’s Masterlist

Montmartre stayed far longer than Thomas had expected – he was still there once they’d gone through one reading of the revised script and Thomas had sent everyone he didn’t need on set that day home, while everyone else had been sent to make-up and wardrobe.

“Will you be staying the entire day?” Thomas asked, walking up to him. “I’m not sure that’ll be what’s best for the production.”

“Oh, I was just about to leave,” Montmartre replied with a sly grin. “Just have to speak to your little Miss Allen for a moment and I’ll be off.”

Thomas narrowed his eyes. “Whatever for? She’s not the one you need to be worried about.”

“Is that a threat?” Montmartre asked, an eyebrow raised. “Because threatening me would be unwise.”

“Not a threat,” Thomas said, shaking his head. “I just don’t think it’s necessary—”

“That’ll be for me to decide,” Montmartre said and called one of the production assistants over. “Darling, would you find out where I can find Danielle for me?”

“She was just headed to make-up,” the young woman answered.

Montmartre turned back to Thomas. “I’ll be on my way, then. And remember what I told you – I’ve got my eye on you. Any funny business, and you’re done for.”

“Noted.”

It was rare for Danielle to be angry with Chris these days – their break-up had been the best decision either of them had ever made, and they were much better off as friends – but, right now, he was truly getting on her nerves. Unfortunately for her, she couldn’t very well tell him that unless she wanted the make-up artist who was currently applying her lipstick to be immensely cross with her.

“I understand that you and Hunt have some less-than-ideal history, but I think you being an asshole isn’t going to make anything better,” Chris went on and Danielle badly wanted to roll her eyes.

She wasn’t the asshole, it was Hunt! He was the one who didn’t trust her, and he was the one who had been such an ass this morning! Then again, Chris didn’t know the half of it, so she couldn’t very well blame him for assuming she was the bad guy here.

“Can you at least try to be civil?”

Danielle huffed, then nodded – resulting in an exasperated sigh from the make-up artist.

“Could you be still for just a few more minutes? We’re almost done and—”

She was interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Viktor popping his head in. “Could I speak to Danielle for a moment? In private, please.”

The make-up artist groaned. “I really can’t do my job around here, can I?”

“What was that?” Viktor asked, an eyebrow raised.

“Nothing, Mr Montmartre,” she said and motioned for the other people in the room to follow her out.

Once Viktor and Danielle were alone, he pulled up a chair and sat down right in front of her.

“What now?” Danielle asked. “You’ve got Hunt. Wasn’t that what you wanted?”

He nodded. “I do, and it was. But I don’t trust either of you, and I just want to make sure we’re clear on how this works.”

“Yeah, yeah. We finish this movie, we don’t cause any problems, you don’t publish the photos.”

Viktor pursed his lips. “Well, yes, but there are other things that I want.”

“Other… things?” Danielle asked, though the look in his eyes told her everything she needed to know.

He smirked. “You look awfully pretty in that dress, Danielle.”

A shudder ran down her spine. “T-thank you.” She cleared her throat. “I really think I should be getting my hair and make-up done, though. We wouldn’t want to get behind schedule.”

“Oh, we’re already behind schedule,” Viktor argued, stopping her from getting up by putting his hand on her shoulder to push her back down into the chair. “You’ll want to agree to anything I say, Danielle, or your precious Hunt will pay the price.” He moved his hand upwards to brush her cheek, and she had to stop herself from clenching her jaw. “I’ll see you soon.”

And with that, he left, and a few moments later, everyone else was back inside and getting to work again. She didn’t notice much of what was going on around her, however, as a plan was forming in her mind. A ludicrously stupid, dangerous plan – but a plan nonetheless. Danielle knew what she had to do to. And she was prepared to do it.

But, first things first, she had to get through this day of shooting.

Not long after Viktor’s departure her – and Chris’ – make-up was done, and they were sent back to the soundstage, where it became immediately clear to Danielle that filming with Hunt would be entirely different to filming with Phelps. He’d always had a million people around, while now the space seemed much emptier. Only she, Chris, and the other two actors that were needed for the scenes today were present, as well as minimal crew. It reminded her very much of when they’d filmed Centaurus Lost together – except, this time, they weren’t quite co-workers. This time, Hunt was essentially her boss, and she was just an actress. Still, the familiarity of it all was somewhat soothing.

“You seem less tense than earlier,” Chris remarked as they made their way to the set.

Danielle shrugged. “Just getting into the right mindset for work is all.”

“Right. I’m sure it’s got nothing to do with the fact that you just realised you missed working with Hunt.”

“I did not—” Chris shot her a look, and she rolled her eyes. “Fine. I do miss it, but I’m not working with him, anyway. He gets to boss me around this time.”

He raised an eyebrow. “If I recall correctly, you like being bossed around under the right circumstances.”

“Shut up!” Danielle blushed. “And it’s not like that.”

Chris chuckled. “If you say so. But, don’t forget, I’ve known you for quite a while now, and your kinks aren’t the only thing I’m privy to.”

Someone cleared their throat behind them, and Danielle’s blush deepened upon realising that it was Hunt.

“Hunt! We were just…er…”

He made a dismissive hand motion. “As interesting as your activities in the bedroom may be to the tabloids, I do not need – nor want – to hear about them.”

“Duly noted, Mr Hunt,” Chris said with a shit-eating grin that Danielle would have gladly slapped off his face. He inclined his head towards the set. “I take it you wanted to start with the scene in which Jack and Maeve finally meet face-to-face?”

Hunt nodded. “That was the idea. Now, take your marks, everyone, we don’t have all day.”

Thomas knew the moment Danielle walked on set that he would have to have a talk with the costume department. She looked stunning – of course she did – but there was much less fabric and a lot more exposed skin than he would have liked to see on her. Because, frankly, there was absolutely no reason for her to be wearing a glorified bathing suit made of some material that he assumed was meant to look like armour. He’d never had to fight armies of orcs before, but he was fairly certain that an experienced swordswoman – such as her character supposedly was – would not choose to do so in such a flimsy costume.

Unfortunately, there was no time today to change anything about it. Then again, there was only very little fighting going to be taking place in this scene, so perhaps there was a way to salvage it.

“One more moment,” Thomas told Danielle and Chris once they’d taken their places, then turned to the closest production assistant he could find. “You! I need some type of cloak for Maeve to wear, could you check with wardrobe if that’s possible?”

“Of course, Mr Hunt,” he said and walked off to radio someone.

“A cloak?” Danielle asked. “I’ve never worn a cloak in this scene before.”

Thomas raised an eyebrow. “Are you questioning me?”

“Yes, I am! I’ll be fighting Chris, and a cloak would only get in the way. Why would my character be wearing one?” She shook her head. “She would know this, seeing as she’s one of the most skilled swordfighters in all the land!”

“But she’s not expecting to have to fight, is she? No one has visited her cave since she has disappeared, and she’s secured it as much as she could – why would she be prepared for a fight?”

She huffed. “It still doesn’t make sense.”

“Danielle, you and I both know that your costume is ridiculous. If you have any better ideas, please do tell.”

She crossed her arms in front of her chest and narrowed her eyes, then eventually sighed and nodded. “Well, I suppose a cave in the mountains could be quite cold… and Maeve would probably be wearing something to keep her from freezing to death.”

“Don’t forget that I’m the director here and you’re—” He stopped when he realised that she’d actually agreed with him and cleared his throat. “Yes, exactly. I’ll be talking to the costume designers about what to do with your costume and, next time, we shouldn’t have such a problem anymore.”

A short moment later, the production assistant returned with a black cloak and, after getting Thomas’ approval, gave it to Danielle. She put it on, then looked up, inclining her head. “Better?”

“It’ll do,” Thomas said. “Now, places, everyone!”

Chris, who had been watching them from behind the cave wall, returned to his position out of frame, and Danielle sat back down by the fire.

“And… action!”

It had been a long time since Thomas had last seen Danielle at work but, lord, she was still as captivating as ever. The moment the cameras started rolling, every trace of the person he knew had disappeared, and she had fully become Maeve, the cave-dwelling swordswoman from a fantastical land. And, he had to admit, her chemistry with Chris was incredible – but nothing could have prepared him for the moment her character began suspecting his of having been sent by the orc king and grabbed her sword.

Thomas had never seen her carry out a choreographed fight before, and he was surprised to see her do it so effortlessly – even with the added challenge of the fluttering cloak. She was mesmerising to watch as she attacked and parried and spun around, the black fabric hiding her costume revealing tantalising glimpses of her skin every so often. Eventually, Danielle had the point of her sword at Chris’ throat, forcing him down to kneel in front of her, and Thomas got the sudden urge to loosen his tie.

Get a grip, Thomas, he told himself. It’s not like being held at her sword’s point is such an enticing thought.

The shiver that ran down his spine at the idea, however, appeared to disagree.

Tags: @lilyoffandoms @trappedinfandoms @flyawayboo @oneemofungirl @alleksa16 @silversparrow02 @i-bloody-love-drake-walker @alj4890

#thomas hunt #professor hunt #hwu hunt #danielle

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duhragonball · 4 years

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Positive

I’m gonna record some stuff for posterity, since I’ve been feeling kind of down and I want to focus on some things that have gone right lately.

First, I managed to win a Crazyhouse chess match against my hated rival, Lichess.org AI level 6. I started trying to get serious about getting good at chess a few years ago, which eventually led me to lichess.org, which offers some variant games like Crazyhouse, where you can use captured pieces for your own. The AI has eight levels and I decided to just start at 1 and work my way up, but around... late 2018? I got to level 6 and it’s been kicking my ass ever since. I think my record is like 5-3742.

Friday night, I actually won, which is a big deal in itself, but more astonishingly, I beat it in 17 moves. Here they are below.

1. d4 d5 2. Nf3 { D02 Queen's Pawn Game: Zukertort Variation } Bf5 3. e4 dxe4 4. Ne5 Nd7 5. Bb5 c6 6. Bxc6 bxc6 7. P@b7 Rb8 8. Nxc6 P@f3 9. gxf3 B@g2 10. Rg1 exf3 11. Nxd8 P@e2 12. Qd2 g6 13. P@c7 Bg7 14. c8=Q Rxc8 15. bxc8=Q Ne5 16. Q@a4+ P@d7 17. Nc6# { White wins by checkmate. } 1-0

I tend to write off my wins as flukes--sooner or later the AI has to make a mistake--but usually Level 6 beats me in less than 20 moves. It had gotten to the point where I was more worried about surviving to move 21 than even hoping to win. Full disclosure: I use the takeback function to undo serious blunders, so it’s not like I pulled this upset off in one go. Still, I managed to put this together.

I think this is mainly because I started reading Chess for Dummies again and there’s a part where it says that you really shouldn’t start out by moving the same piece over and over. Instead, you should more a different piece each turn. That forces you to think a little harder about each turn, and you won’t get stuck in a situation where you waste moves on retreats. I’ve been making that mistake a lot lately, having like a knight or a queen running around the board, trying to avoid getting captured, and all that accomplishes is to let the AI develop their side of the board, until I run out of places to run.

So I took this advice to heart and it paid off in a big way. I’m sure it won’t go quite as well next time, but I’m wondering if this one mistake was holding me back this whole time. Either way, I’m just pleased that I read something in a book and managed to apply it successfully to the thing I was trying to learn. I can see a light at the end of the AI Level 6 tunnel.

Second, I made my first omelet last night. I bought eggs, and thought, you know what, let’s try to make an omelet. It’s not even that hard, it’s just that I never got serious about it. Every time I scramble eggs I think about how easy it would be to just... not scramble them and fold it over, but I never could figure out when to do that, and I’d just break down and scramble them, because I know how to do that. So last night I decided to look it up and make sure I knew what to do. All I had to put in them was some Swiss cheese, but it turned out great. Today I went to the store and got diced ham and chopped onions and shredded cheese, and I probably put too much in, but it was excellent.

My eventual goal here is to get proficient enough to attempt the recipe printed in Way of the House Husband v.3, because it looks fancy but how hard could it be?

Looking at this page again, I guess what I really need to do is work on steps 1-3, which involve cooking the filling first. Otherwise, I’m pretty close already.

Third, Dangerous Tekkers retained the IWGP Heavyweight Tag Team Championships yesterday.

Look at these distinguished gentlemen, and their beautiful IWGP championship belts. Also, a bowl of Zima, because they’re a sponsor.

I really thought they were in trouble, but they managed to steal a win, and that’s what matters. Big night for Suzuki-gun in general, but I’m most proud of Taichi and Zack Sabre Junior for extending their glorious reign. Nothing but respect for my champions. Go back to the end of the line, Golden Ace. Speaking of Golden Aces...

Fourth, I’ve updated my damn weinerfic yesterday. I’ll crosspost to Tumblr eventually, but my goal was to get stuff on AO3 this month, and I figured crossposting would slow me down. So if you read my fanfic and you made it this far down the list, Luffa’s updated to Chapter 126.

I’ve talked about this before, but I got real bad about writing scenes without assembling them into discrete chapters, which has left me with a large backlog of material that I needed to edit and post before I could move on. My goal for 2020 was to clear that backlog completely. I thought the wind was at my back when I got Chapters 119-134 assembled, but editing and formatting has been a real slog this month. Now that 126 is live, I think I’ve gotten through the worst of it, but we’ll see.

To be honest, this whole process hasn’t been that bad. I’m well on my way to the goal I set for the year. It just seems to feel a lot tougher than it should. I had lofty dreams of tackling some other projects this year, but I just don’t have the motivation, and I need to put whatever I do have into this one thing.

And that’s the reason I wanted to write this post. I feel like a jerk because things aren’t going as smoothly as I want them to, but the progress is still being made. I keep looking forward, and despairing at how much further I have to go, but I need to glance backward once in a while, and appreciate how night and straight my wake is.

I get frustrated a lot. When I first started writing this thing, I was self-conscious about the early chapters because the real meat wouldn’t be until later, and I didn’t think the early stuff would impress anyone as standalone material. Now I worry that it’s too damn big, and people will be turned off by the sheer size, and never get far enough in to see what I’m doing in the late game. Or they will read that far in, only to find that I jumped the shark at some point. I gotta get out of that mindset. It’s bullshit and I know it’s bullshit, and I know that I know it’s bullshit, but it still pops up in my head sometimes. The goal is to get the entire story finished. Whether or not it gets popular is a sideshow. I can promote the fic when I turn 50 and I’ve got nothing better to do. This time is for writing and editing and publishing. And right now, I’m getting it done. That’s what’s important.

Also, making that gangster omelet. One step at a time.

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recentanimenews · 4 years

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FEATURE: The Best Naruto Shippuden Fight Doesn't Include Naruto

This article written by Jared Clemons was originally published on May 22, 2020

If you’ve ended up watching enough Naruto, you’ll begin to pick up on the overall style of the show. The way the characters look, how they animate, the specific colors used throughout the series, there’s a certain way that Naruto and Naruto Shippuden look through their combined first 300 episodes. On rare occasions, that style switches to help showcase a big fight, such as early on against Zabuza and Haku, Rock Lee vs. Gaara, and in Shippuden when the Leaf takes on Hidan and Kakuzu, Sasuke vs. Deidara, and others further in the series. This fluid animation style alters how the characters look and move, while also using more of a muted color scheme. Most notably, this is usually thanks in part to episodes that Hirofumi Suzuki worked on as the animation director.

One episode that Suzuki worked on that sticks out by subverting the regular formula of Naruto is Episode 82 of Shippuden, "Team Ten." It’s not an episode that features any big fights, nor are there really any big conflicts between characters here. Instead, we see the inner turmoil that Shikamaru is facing following the death of Asuma. He’s skipping out on his funeral and just seems lost after the previous mission went horribly wrong. So, instead of creating another episode of Shippuden that is the same formula as everything else, Suzuki and the rest of the production staff decided to go in a different direction — one that is more likely to be seen on the big screen, rather than in television.

Given the highly emotional aspects of where the story is, the episode does a lot to make you feel uncomfortable — to get you into the same headspace as Shikamaru — and at times almost makes the viewer seem like a voyeur. We’re essentially going through the same process as Shikamaru as we see him tell Kurenai about Asuma’s death, relay that to people in town, figure out his own emotions about what happened, and then come back from the brink and find a way to stand tall again.

In order to truly get into Shikamaru’s mindset for this episode, the pacing slows to a halt. Everything is laborious and with a certain purpose to it. This is the kind of pacing and style you’d most likely see from a Naruto film or a more serious drama series rather than what you’d expect from a shonen series. It would be hard to pull off what this episode wants to force the viewer to witness if it was the same package that every other episode of Naruto Shippuden is. In order to pull viewers in and let them immediately know that something is wrong, you’ve got to disrupt their normalcy and their perception of what the series is.

Throughout the episode, if you’re watching for the first time or just trying to pay attention to figure out what’s different, you’ll notice a few things. Most notable to me was the lack of camera movement. Shonen series and anything with action will rely on camera movement to make episodes have a fast pace to them. Instead, here we get only four shots that feature any sort of movement. Each one is incredibly slight as well. They’re not quick but are slow and subtle to where you can easily miss them. In fact, the first bit of camera movement doesn’t occur until nearly halfway through the episode, which seems striking for this series. Instead, we get a lot of cuts and shots that linger long enough that it begins to feel uncomfortable.

One of the more striking shots in this episode is when Shikamaru and his father, Shikaku, play shogi together. There are cuts between the two as they begin to play, but then the camera goes to a side angle of the two playing and going back and forth with their moves. You’d think that eventually there would be cuts to each character as they place their moves and with Shikaku trying to tell Shikamaru why he shouldn’t beat himself up over what happened. Instead, the shot lingers. For two whole minutes. That’s not something that occurs in most series that are relegated to 24 minutes of air time. After all, camera cuts help keep the pace up and give viewers something new to look at. Yet, it fits the overall tone and style of this episode. You start to see Shikamaru’s emotions begin to get the better of him from this shot alone, and it’s able to tell that story in a better way than it would have if it was just the camera cutting between Shikamaru and Shikaku.

That scene, and those two minutes spent looking at their shogi game, leads up to Shikamaru finally being able to break down. This brings up another strange aspect of this episode: This scene is the first time we hear any music in the episode and again, we’re nearly halfway through. Before, you’d hear a lot of natural sounds such as insects humming or the chatter of people in the streets as Shikamaru wanders through the town. Even with the addition of music for this brief instant, it’s again subtle and not overpowering. It’s another aspect of something that you could easily gloss over as it comes and goes very quickly. That might seem as if it doesn’t really fit the emotional nature of this scene given that Shikamaru begins to cry and wail in this room they were playing in, but it absolutely fits because the music is just giving the viewer the slight push to tell them this is emotional. That doesn’t need to overpower the scene when you’ve got a character letting out deep emotional pain at the same time.

Perhaps this is why Suzuki and the rest of the production staff were tapped for this episode. Their style of animation that has worked so well for some of the biggest fights in the series works its magic for truly showing the emotional pain a character is going through. You’re able to see the pain and trauma rise up through Shikamaru’s face and then break through the levy as he’s finally able to let out all of his emotions and cry. His face distorts in realistic ways that wouldn’t have been the same if it was in the traditional animation or style. It’s the same kind of realistic expression that you would also have if you were in his situation, which of course is what the episode is trying to make you do. Become emotional and cry alongside Shikamaru.

One of the biggest takeaways I had from this episode is how much Suzuki and the team’s style reminded me of Naoko Yamada’s way of directing. Yamada’s work on K-ON and specifically Liz and the Blue Bird are very similar to what we see in this episode. There’s a lot of lingering shots, little camera movement, and relying more on cuts to showcase what’s happening — and a soundtrack that isn’t overemphasizing what’s happening. You truly get to see what these characters go through, which is an aspect of directing that Yamada accentuates as she’s said she likes to “watch people” and “get into the minds of the characters.” Those are definitely part of what makes this episode of Naruto Shippuden work so well. You’re truly able to dive into Shikamaru and see what he’s going through, how he’s able to figure out what to do next, and then act upon it.

The rest of the episode sees how Shikamaru is able to find an answer that gives him the drive to go out and finish the original mission and avenge Asuma. The pacing is still slow and methodical, but by the time we reach the end and Team Ten announces their plans to head out on their next mission while Tsunade tries to stop them, we begin to move back into the regular style of Shippuden as the music begins to take hold in a way you’d normally expect. In a way, this episode is able to pump the brakes on the whole pacing of the show, but then softly begins to accelerate by the end that lets you ease back into what you’d expect from the series.

There’s truly no way you could do this kind of episode for a series as big as Naruto every week. Obviously, it’d take too long to maintain this kind of quality for 500 episodes, so you’d have an episode a month at best, but also the charm of these subversions to the series would wear off rather quickly. Instead, you’d have fast-paced, action-packed episodes that would serve as that. “Team Ten” is a special episode and one that rewards people for sticking with the series as it lets you truly see everything from a different perspective, from pacing, style, character development, to storytelling. It’s hard to argue that this isn’t one of the absolute best parts of the series and should be recognized in the same way that the best fights of the series are.

What are some of your favorite episodes that seem to try and shake up the status quo of Naruto? Let us know down in the comments below!

Jared Clemons is a writer and podcaster for Seasonal Anime Checkup where he can be found always wanting to talk about Love Live! Sunshine!! or whatever else he's into at the moment. He can be found on Twitter @ragbag.

Do you love writing? Do you love anime? If you have an idea for a features story, pitch it to Crunchyroll Features!

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annavolovodov · 5 years

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ya girl saw the downton movie and has some Thoughts

if you followed me at all from 2011-2015 then you'll know i am firmly Team Downstairs and did not want this movie to happen, just so you all know what position i'm coming from here.

everything below is gonna be spoilery af. if you haven't seen it yet and want info just hmu. if you have seen it and want to talk about it please message me bc i’m always up for chatting about Downton.

okay but the title sequence with the music building and cresting as we come up over the hills and get our first shot of downton... goosebumps. tbh i don't know shit about film making but i can't fault the technical aspects (costumes, music, cinematography). the impact of the increased budget was felt from the very first second.

for the plot i’m gonna split things by character to make it easier. i’ll probably go to see it again and maybe after that i’ll have some deeper Thoughts but i missed being able to liveblog during the film so enjoy my rambling first reactions.

upstairs peeps

everything with violet was iconic. i'm glad that they didn't neglect her relationship with isobel and ofc maggie and imelda played fantastically off each other. pretty much everyone has already highlighted the scene with violet and mary at the end and it tied things up perfectly between them. violet and mary are so so similar and violet has been pushing for her to inherit since before S1. the movie showed us that mary is basically running the estate even if she doesn't get the the title and i can totally see why violet is confident in the future of downton now. that being said, i don't think violet will actually die. maggie has been talking about leaving since 2012 and fellowes obviously put this in as a get-out clause for her should she want to go, but i reckon they’ll convince her to do more. if carson's palsy can be mysteriously cured, so can violet's conveniently vague illness.

i already knew that robert and cora weren't gonna be in it much, but i wish we could've seen cora finding out what was happening with edith and helping her out. it wouldn't surprise me if there was a deleted scene there cause that whole storyline felt a little disjointed. i completely forgot that cora knew about the pregnancy and was so confused at how the queen foud out about it all. i don't think we got anything in robert and cora's bedroom, or anything with cora/baxter and robert/bates, which would've also been very welcome but i guess they can only fit in so much.

onto mary: this may be an unpopular opinion but god i miss her long hair. yeah i know it wasn't the style of the time but her wig in this one was tragic and they need to fix it. i absolutely love that t*lbot didn't exist for a solid 95% of this movie and mary got her rightful place ruling downton. i wouldn't say i’m the biggest mary fan but her arc felt like one of the more satisfying ones of the movie imo.

as someone who has been firmly #teamedith from day one i am delighted to see my girl happy and successful. literally all her outfits were A+ and not to be gay on main but those scenes of her in her nightclothes getting ready for bed gave me my rights. i’m sad that she seems like she's either given up her magazine or has less of a role in it now based on what they said outside???? she did seem unsatisfied with aspects of her position so hopefully she'll go back to doing some writing and publishing cause that was a good fit for her, and if edith and bertie are “modern” enough to travel without servants surely edith moving away from traditional grand lady duties and back to her magazine that wouldn't be an issue.

the mention of sybil being gone seven years? yeah. thanks for the pain. tom accidentally saving the monarchy on no less than two occasions is the ultimate "congratulations you played yourself" moment but the fact he thought the army had sent someone to check up on him is the level of republican i'm trying to be on. i'm a bit ehhhh on his relationship with lucy, mainly cause i'd rather the screentime given to the newbies had went to established characters. but like sybil/tom was a wholeass epic romantic slowburn spanning several years through a war and across class divisions n shit and meanwhile lucy/tom have known each other for forty eight hours and had three conversations in a hallway so like obviously that’s just gonna pale in comparison????? like it just is???? i guess i don't hate it but it just was a bit unnecessary and the time coulda been spent on better things.

isobel didn't have all that much to do on her own but i appreciated her scenes with violet and i love that she was the one to figure out that lucy was lady whatever's daughter. penelope wilton's facial expressions during some of the exchanges with violet were great. i see lord merton has also undergone a miraculous recovery from his apparently serious anaemia but he also didn't appear much which was a big win for me!

team downstairs aka the ones i turned up to see

as a downstairs supremacist who has watched the screentime distribution in previous fifty two eps of the show, it’s fair to say i had low expectations going in. i expected a grand total of 10 minutes for the servants combined and i think that's why i was unexpectedly happy with what we got. ideally we would've ditched the subplots involving the personal lives of the royals and all the stuff w imelda staunton and her maid but oh well it could’ve been worse and i'll take any breadcrumbs i can get. anyway i'm eagerly awaiting the team downstairs cut of the film one of yall will hopefully make when the dvd comes out. the only part that was far, FAR too upstairs heavy for me was the last sequence of the film after the royals left and i think we would've benefitted from rounding things off with team downstairs after the ball.

so i guess retirement magically cured the palsy carson had, but i guess after matthew’s miraculous recovery anything can happen at downton when it comes to health. Fellowes is getting a free pass for retconning this one cause i cba with more death/loss. mary going to carson for help and him immediately coming to her aid was very sweet. kinda wish we'd find out what he was up to post-Downton (except for his gardening) tho.

i was expected zero carson/hughes content in this movie and yet !!!! and yet!!!!!! we were somewhat well-fed. like carson (incorrectly) thinking he can control the other servants and mrs hughes' "oh that went well charlie, start as you mean to go on" hdjksjs i love them. and the lil scene in their cottage ugh. also we got more of them using their first names and yeah i guess that makes sense given they've been married for a while now but as i said, i had low expectations.

mrs hughes is still like the best person ever but wbk. her vs. the royal housekeeper = iconic. i kinda felt bad for royal whatsherface in some ways because she clearly didn't know who she was up against THE elsie hughes who has vanquished much scarier foes in her time. the other servants were never gonna win that battle.

the 0.5 seconds of baby bates *chef's kiss* perfection. god i am slightly bitter it was only 0.5 seconds given the fuckin multiseason journey leading up to his birth. tbh we should've ditched everything involving the personal lives of the rando new characters and let baby bates have some of that time but fellowes loves upstairs too much to let that happen. the small interaction was adorable though and i'm glad the mention of his name was subtle enough that we can retcon it cause i truly believe anna and bates would've came up with a more creative choice than that. genuinely i'm so curious about their whole living situation and how they cope with a smol child while working full time but i doubt fellowes even considered that so y’know. what can we do. i enjoyed the breadcrumbs but i wanted more.

i did go into this film with the mindset of "something awful will probably happen to anna or bates," cause that's what usually happens in these things but plot twist!!!! we saw them smile on multiple occassions!!!! what a nice change for us all! i swear every time anna bates smiles an angel gains their wings. her scenes with mary were good and i'm happy their friendship made it into the film. you know what else i was happy to see? the EXTREMELY UNDERRATED brotp between anna and baxter. there was a couple of moments with them standing next to each other or talking to each other and it warmed my heart. like yass two of my fave people are friends. it's a big win for me.

i'm sure i read something about brendan being involved in another project which meant he couldn't film too much (i'm curious to whether this impacted the lack of baby bates scenes?) and while it's true that bates didn't have a ton of scenes, i didn't feel like he was absent which was good.

thomas had the best storyline imo. i don't blame him for being angry that mary brought in carson and it was actually very iconic of him to go off in the library like that. i found it hilarious that while everyone else was panicking at downton he went off on gay adventures. i really wish we'd gotten this "thomas makes a gay friend then discovers the village's underground gay scene THEN gets a boyfriend" in the show cause that would've been SO MUCH BETTER than some of the other stuff that got stretched out across the last couple series (like the love quadrangle with daisy/ivy/alfred/jimmy). like, imagine thomas’ movie plot as a series-long arc. the impact. i liked the guy that was his maybe-boyfriend and i hope any continuation keeps that relationship going.

mrs p and daisy continue to be the mother-daughter duo of the century. i thought both of them were supposed to be moving to the farm post-S6 but i suppose that would've meant they wouldn't be in the film hence why it didn't come to fruition. i guess they could all move once daisy and andy get married. mrs patmore didn't get a great deal to do but i still feel like i saw her a fair amount. comrade daisy was awesome and is definitely me when i see any monarchy-related stuff. somewhere over the last few seasons she's developed into one of the most interesting characters in downton and we don't talk about that enough. andy trashing the boiler was immature af but at the same time i feel like it completely makes sense for daisy to take that as a compliment. it’s just such a daisy thing to do?????

now, there is one thing i kinda fucked up here. while i went into the film with low expectations for everyone else, i fully expected baxley to be A Thing because how could i not and boy did i come out looking like boo boo the fool. i guess baxter and molesley have continued the tradition of Agonisingly Long Downstairs Slowburns which would be okay if we were still getting one season per year but is quite frankly rude when we're on rationed content like this. the first half of the film i thought it was gonna be revealed that they were together or something but then that scene at the end implied they're dancing around each other and my god is it frustrating. i would give so much to trade tom and lucy's romantic subplot for a baxter/molesley one but once again i know that's an unrealistic dream.

definitely not enough baxter in general but that one shot of her, anna and mrs hughes standing in the same frame was worth the price of my cinema ticket. still love molesley even tho he's a monarchist.

in terms of the overall downstairs stuff, i'm euphoric at seeing all these people interact with each other again. as we all know, found family is the best trope and since the servants are literally the epitome of that every moment focussed on them is like chicken soup for my weary soul. was the revolution against the royal servants realistic? no. was it realistic for the two people who came up with most of the plot to be the ones who went to jail for doing literally nothing wrong and would therefore want to avoid stuff that could get them in trouble with an all-powerful family? also no! however, seeing downstairs all working together for a common goal is content that appeals directly to me and i am thankful.

shoutout to the last scene which is the best way the movie could've ended it for me. use of first names AND walking home together? thank u fellowes.

tldr; team downstairs fan who was strongly anti-movie, went in with low expectations, was pleasantly surprised. there are a shit ton of things i’d change but i just really loved seeing these characters who all mean so much to me again. obviously the only reason this film happened was for financial reasons rather than a desire to continue the storyline (cause the finale tied things up perfectly imo) but i wish they'd done a two-part miniseries instead to ensure everyone gets some screentime. two ninety minute specials every few years would work much better if everyone wants to keep downton going but i guess that doesn't bring the cash in like a movie does.

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geometragic · 4 years

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𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 & 𝐍𝐄𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄; 𝘔𝘶𝘯 & 𝘔𝘶𝘴𝘦 - 𝘔𝘦𝘮𝘦.

Fill out & repost ♥ This meme definitely favors canons more, but I hope OCs still can make it somehow work with their own lore and lil’ fandom of friends & mutuals. Multimuses pick the muse you are the most invested in atm.

Tagged by: The amazing @illdivine ! Thanks a bunch for tagging me ! ^^ Tagging: @extravachance @grandordergirl @kimintsugi @royaltywritten @daitoku @pragmarage @teniras @deviilscry @foolslaugh @wrathlead and anyone else who’d like to do this meme ! ^^

My muse is: canon / OC / au / canon-divergent / fandomless /

Is your character popular in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK

Is your character considered hot™ in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK

Is your character considered strong in the fandom? YES / NO / IDK.

Are they underrated? YES / NO / IDK

Were they relevant for the main story? YES / NO

Were they relevant for the main character? YES / NO / THEY’RE THE PROTAG (( He was one of the poster boys for Sengoku Basara 4, so...that counts for something, right ? XD I don’t think that Sengoku Basara really has a protagonist, though. Just a bunch of different characters. ))

Are they widely known in their world? YES / NO (( I’m putting ‘yes’ if only because Mitsunari, who never remembers anyone, remembers who Katsuie is. XD I think that, in general, some characters know Katsuie and others don’t ? ))

How’s their reputation? GOOD / BAD / NEUTRAL (( Bad in-universe, somewhere in between neutral and bad in the fandom. ))

How strictly do you follow ‘canon’? — I’d say that I follow canon pretty strictly ! Though I do add my own headcanons. ^^ I need to update some of my pages so that they’re more in line with canon, though. Especially Katsuie’s modern verse, now that the Basara Academy anime has been out for over a year... XD

Sell your muse! Try to list everything that makes your muse interesting (in your opinion) to make them spicy for your mutuals. — Katsuie comes off as really normal and very chill at first, which lets him easily have a first meeting interaction with most muses without angering them / fighting them / killing them / etc. But the more you delve into his thoughts and the things he does, you can see how warped his mindset is when it comes to certain subjects / people. ^^ And he’s a depressed emo kid, so I'd imagine that a lot of people on Tumblr would connect with him over that. XD

Now the opposite. List every reason why your muse might not be so interesting (even if you may not agree, what does the fandom think?). — Back when SB4 first came out, Katsuie got a lot of flak for his creepy obsession with Oichi, which is admittedly pretty bad. Since she’s, you know, married, and Katsuie’s willing to go so far as to kill Nagamasa, her husband, for a chance (?) to be with her. Not to mention Katsuie’s anime route, where he gets himself kicked out of the Oda clan, destroys his own hopes and dreams in the process by killing everyone in the Azai clan (Nagamasa, Oichi, and Maria), and finally gets mercy-killed by the former shogun. Yikes. ^^; I’m honestly surprised that, in my five years roleplaying Katsuie, no one’s sent in anon hate to me because of Katsuie’s behavior. (Unfortunately, a former rp partner of mine once got anon hate years ago for shipping Katsuie and Oichi. ;u;)

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐓𝐎 𝐑𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄? — Katsuie’s actually my very first muse ! ^^ I started writing him at the end of my senior year of high school. I think I’d been into Sengoku Basara for a year or two at that point, and I’d been reading translations that people were making for SB4. I’d also been following Sengoku Basara roleplayers / ask blogs (there were several active ones around back then), and I really enjoyed reading their interactions, so I wanted to pick a Sengoku Basara character so that I could roleplay with them, too ! I tried writing for a couple of potential muses in private to test them out, but it felt most natural to write for Katsuie, so I went with him as my first muse ! I probably chose him because I’d gone through a bunch of not-so-fun stuff in high school, so I saw Katsuie going through a bunch of not-so-fun stuff in the Oda clan and sympathized with that.

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐊𝐄𝐄𝐏𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐈𝐍𝐒𝐏𝐈𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐆𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐆? — To my knowledge, I’ve been the only one roleplaying Katsuie semi-consistently over the past five years ? He’s just such an interesting character to me —– it’d be too sad to close this blog and not see anyone’s Katsuie interact with other people’s muses anymore. ;u; It’s something I’ve been a little worried about recently because I know I’m going to be more busy in the future, since I’m (hopefully) going to finish up my research this year, get my master’s degree next year, and then go straight into a serious full-time job. I don’t want to give up rolepaying, but if I get too busy next year... >.<

Also, playing the mobile game Sengoku Basara: Battle Party every day helps ! And my rp partners are awesome. ^^

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍

Give your mutuals some insight about the way you are in some matters, which could help them get more comfortable with you.

Do you think you give your character justice? YES / NO / IDK

Do you frequently write headcanons? YES / NO

Do you sometimes write drabbles? YES / NO

Do you think a lot about your Muse during the day? YES / NO

Are you confident in your portrayal? YES / NO

Are you confident in your writing? YES / NO

Are you a sensitive person? YES / NO

Are you good at accepting criticism about your portrayal? — Yeah, I’d say I’m pretty good at accepting criticism !

Do you like questions which help you explore your character? — Yeah ! I’m happy to answer whatever questions everyone has about Katsuie ! ^^

If someone disagrees with a headcanon of yours, do you want to know why? — Yeah, because it’s interesting to see how other people view Katsuie ! From my point of view, if someone disagrees with one of my headcanons on Katsuie, it means that they’re interested enough in him and have thought about him enough to have their own opinions on him. It’s so so so so difficult to get anyone interested in muses from a series as niche and JP-only as Sengoku Basara, so I’d honestly be happy if someone cared enough about Sengoku Basara and Katsuie to disagree with me on my headcanons for Katsuie, as strange as that sounds. XD

If someone disagrees with your portrayal, how would you take it? — I think my answer to this question would be basically the same as the last one. I probably wouldn’t change my portrayal at this point, though ? I’ve had it for a long time and I’m actually really happy with it. ^^ Probably the only reason why I’d change my portrayal is if someone found / made more translations of the games that Katsuie is in (SB4, Sumeragi, Sanada Yukimura-den, Batopa, etc.) and I found canon details in the new translations that really clashed with details in my portrayal. In that case, I’d change my portrayal to match with canon.

If someone really hates your character, how do you take it? — That’s fair, honestly, especially when it comes to things Past!Katsuie / Kaioh has said and done, and even just things Default!Katsuie has done. Katsuie’s a really messed-up dude, and his views on things can be really twisted sometimes. And hey, if someone hates Katsuie, at least that means that they care about him on some level, right ? XD Apathy is the one thing that really kills my muse.

Are you okay with people pointing out your grammatical errors? — Sure ! If they can find them. XD I edit my drafts A LOT before I actually publish them, so usually I manage to catch all my mistakes, although the occasional mistake slips through every so often. Hemingway Editor is honestly a lifesaver when it comes to finding simple spelling errors and helping me write my sentences so that they’re a reasonable length and don’t have too many adverbs / phrases written in passive voice / etc.

Do you think you are easygoing as a mun? — I think so ! ^^ I just want to roleplay my muses and have a good time watching them grow and form relationships with other muses, that’s all. If there’s something I don’t like, I know to mute / unfollow / block / etc. and move on. Life’s too short to get involved in drama.

𝘛𝘩𝘢𝘵’𝘴 𝘢𝘣𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘪𝘵, 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘶𝘵!

#█₪➤ Out of Reflection ( ᵒᵘᵗ ᵒᶠ ᶜʰᵃʳᵃᶜᵗᵉʳ )#█₪➤ All Eternity is in the Moment ( ᵐᵉᵐᵉˢ )#long post

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callioope · 4 years

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2019 Favorites

Rules: Time to love ourselves! Choose 5 favorite works you created in the past year (fics, arts, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought into the world in 2019. Tag as many creators as you want to spread the love!

tagged by the awesome @theputterer! thank you!

HA, well, TBH I saw this meme going around and I was like oh no if someone tags me I’m not going to have anything to list!

It’s true I barely published anything in 2019 -- only one thing on AO3 -- but I did work on a few unpublished projects. So after some serious scrounging, I thought why not share some sneak peeks at what I’ve got cooking in addition to the few items I did publish!

First, what I actually published:

"I hope my love was someone else’s solid ground”

Firelight flickers across the faces around the campsite and the shadows press a little closer. She’s trying not to stare (to make her staring obvious), but as her gaze sweeps over friends it always settles on him. She keeps measuring the distance, counting the steps past Bodhi and Kay or the other way ‘round, past Baze and Chirrut, to the opposite, furthest corner of tonight’s makeshift home. Always when she finds his eyes, they fall a little farther from her.

She sighs and gets up. Waiting never suited her.

I don’t think an album has ever resonated with me as much as Sara Bareilles’ Amidst the Chaos, or a song as much as “Orpheus.” It’s just perfection. The moment I heard it, I thought of Jyn and Cassian, but this song also feels special to me personally as I’ve struggled with OCD and anxiety and have (finally) been going to therapy for it. It felt cathartic to tell a story about healing through Jyn and Cassian, and I just really loved the prose in this one. I haven’t posted it to AO3 yet because I was thinking about expanding it a little first, and then I never got around to it.

Learning Curve - Chapter 4: Scarif

“You know,” she says, sliding onto his lap, “there are better ways to show your surrender. If you want me to stop talking about work…” She leans down and demonstrates, and kriff, he tastes like the sunlight dancing on his lips, warm and sweet and happy.

“I love listening to you,” he murmurs when she finally pulls away.

She’s just sitting, safe in his arms, but when he looks at her like that, everything just falls out beneath her, and she closes her eyes and grips his shirt and burrows her head against the crook of his neck and shoulder.

Months ago, when she first stepped foot on the tarmac outside the temple, she’d thought she’d spend a semester and go back to Rudrig, that her life would continue on at its boring, lonely pace, that work would perpetually consume her. She’d never suspected she’d run into Cassian (and thank the Force for that; if she’d known he’d be here, she might not have signed up in the first place, might have preferred to avoid the risk of running into him and facing the embarrassment she’d created all those years ago—and she never would have had the chance to move past it).

She’d had no idea what kind of happiness awaited her, how close a call it had been, how she might never have known the joy of eliciting Cassian’s hard-won smile, the anticipation of an imminent kiss, or the simple satisfaction of quiet companionship and unassuming acceptance.

This took entirely longer than it should have, but I was very glad to finally finish it. It was definitely a lot of fun to imagine a galaxy with no Empire, where Palpatine was defeated before he could enact any of his crueler schemes, and to see what this meant for Jyn and Cassian as well as Lyra and Galen. It was also a challenge -- lots of moving chess pieces to account for -- so thank you to my beta and brainstormer @allatariel!

I do have a couple regrets: namely, that I didn’t split chapter 4 into two parts (it’s just so long! I suppose I could still split it...) and that I hadn’t watched Rebels yet, so I didn’t get a chance to imagine what kind of life the Ghost crew would have had. Maybe someday?

The Stakes of Star Wars: whatever else anything is, it ought to begin by being personal

As a writer, I frequently struggle with plot. Is it believable? Is it surprising? Is it exciting? Sometimes, it feels like plot is supposed to be what makes a story interesting. What makes for a cool adventure? The prevailing mindset seems to be: how high can you raise the stakes?

But I think over the last few years of writing, I’ve learned something important about the kinds of stories I want to read, and therefore write.

The stakes are important, but only for what they mean to the character.

It has to be personal.

It’s no secret that I hated TLJ. I wasn’t impressed with TROS, either. I think it’s easy (and, admittedly, cathartic) to point blame at one or the other and to write a laundry list of “things didn’t work for me” (which I did for TLJ -- though I only finished and published part of it). When it came to the final installment, I thought it was more fruitful for me to analyze the core of what didn’t work for me overall. I won’t deny there are things I did love about the sequel trilogy, but as a whole, trilogy-spanning story it really fails for me, and this is my attempt at finding out why.

Now, onto the unpublished projects!!!

Untitled “You’ve Got Mail” AU

Somewhere in a far corner of the Outer Rim, off the far reaches of the Perlemian Trade Route, past Felucia, near the Tion Hegemony, a small planet spins on its axis, and a new day starts.

As the sun rises, it conveys a whole palette of colors: rich reds bleeding into the purple and indigo of the fading night, gold light gleaming over the flat fields of blue-green grass spreading out in all directions.

Nothing stirs but a gentle breeze, racing along the grass like a wave; to the naked eye, this area of the planet remains entirely uninhabited.

And that is the point.

To a careful observer, someone with an eye for it, the grassy flatlands and the gentle rolling hills of Skuhl hide something valuable and just as beautiful as its surface. Such an observer could find it: the narrow crack in the ground; the cramped ten-meter vertical descent into the jagged earth; the winding, sloped passage that eventually blooms into a split-level cavern that might fit a squadron of X-Wing fighters—if they had a way in.

As it is, that cavern houses something else: the Skuhl rebel cell.

And in a little area partitioned off by a series of columns, stalactites, and stalagmites on one side and a makeshift counter, sink, and shelving on the others, Jyn Erso wakes to the sound of the caf machine whirring.

Groaning, she lifts her head from the table and blinks in the soft light of a lantern hanging off the shelf behind her.

“Good morning,” Hadder says, from next to the raucous caf machine. “You’ve got a message.”

AHHH I forgot how much I love this AU. I haven’t opened this in a few months. YEAH, I’ve got some purple prose going there, but I was really trying to imitate the opening of You’ve Got Mail, how it pans down into NYC and such. I got really stuck on this trying to write Jyn and Cassian’s correspondence (the whole point TBH, smh). Otherwise, this is all plotted out (again, thanks to the amazing @allatariel‘s help) and I just need to write it. Currently has 4,294 words.

Fencing AU (Working title is probably “En Garde”)

Jyn holds a blade for the first time when she is eight years old. It’s shiny and makes a fun clang when she smacks Bodhi’s sword. She’s been watching him from the corner, while she waits for Bodhi’s lesson to finish and for Mama and Papa to pick them up from the YMCA. Saw doesn’t teach children, he already explained. Saw wants serious students.

So Jyn watches Bodhi stand in front of the mirror covering the far wall and watches him hold his blade in different positions (four, six, seven, eight — she heard Saw name each one). She watches him flick his wrist and smack Saw’s blade (beat, she repeats in her head) and watches him turn his wrist and push Saw’s blade away when he attacks first (parry).

She watches this go on for an hour, and afterwards, when Saw looks away to talk to some of the parents, she knicks a spare blade and a spare mask and dares Bodhi to fight her.

It doesn’t take long for one of the parents to point her out (adults can never be trusted). But she doesn’t see it at first, too busy stabbing Bodhi, or trying to — she’s sure she’s hit him plenty on his arm, because she’s reenacted that laser sword fight from Space Clash enough times to know how it’s done.

“Jyn,” Saw says behind her, “What are you doing?”

She whirls around, staring up at Saw through the grated black mesh of the mask. He’s looking down at her, arms crossed, and he sounds mad. But she doesn’t look away or back down, even though he’s really tall and sometimes the other kids get scared when he’s angry. (She doesn’t. She’s not scared of anything.)

“Fencing,” she says.

Saw stares back at her for forever, and she gives back an eternity because she plays this game all the time. She can win.

What she doesn’t know then, but Saw does, is that she will win.

He shakes his head. “Not like that,” Saw says.

“But I can fence,” Jyn says, “I can be serious.”

“Serious fencers,” Saw says, “aim for the heart.”

That stops her next words. She glances at Bodhi for a second, who shrugs, and then back at Saw.

“Ready?” he says, gesturing for them to continue. “Allez!”

Oh, if I had all the time to write, I would finish this before the Olympics... I guess I still have half a year. Maybe it can still happen!! As it is, I don’t actually have much more of this written (just plotted). I fenced for five years at the local YMCA, plus just a little in college (sadly my university didn’t have a team, so I could only fence when I was able to get back home). I miss it dreadfully. Every now and then I dabble in researching clubs down here to fence, but it is so expensive and time consuming. So much to do! So little time! So I thought I’d just write about it to scratch that itch. Basically the gist is that Jyn is an Olympic fencer, and she fences foil (because that was my weapon and I’m incredibly biased) while Cassian fences epee. Aaaand look at that, now I’m rambling on about fencing. (I’d give y’all lessons if I could, do not get me started) On to the next!

Nat Geo AU

“You seem quiet,” Cassian says quietly, still reading what she’d refer to as a tentative draft of their piece.

She shrugs.

His eyes flick up to her face just briefly and he misreads the regret on her face. “Do you miss it? Your time with Saw?”

She’s startled into a laugh. “You mean war correspondence?”

His nod is almost imperceivable, but he knows she pays close attention.

“No,” she says, perplexed.

“Not as much action out here.”

He’s worried she’s bored. As if she could be, at his side. “I almost had to wrestle a crocodile for your life yesterday.”

He grants her just the tiniest crook of a smile. “I was safe in the boat.”

“That croc was sizing you up,” she says, thinking of a large crocodile that they’d thought had been resting serenely on the river bank, before it suddenly splashed into the water right next to their boat, towards Cassian’s perch at the railing. “I saw the glint in its eye. I know the look.”

“I’m sure you do.” He snorts. Then he gestures towards her pad, where he’s highlighted a phrase. “This one — for the headline.”

She takes it and reads what he’s chosen. “You know it depends on what Kay likes.”

“He’ll like that one.”

The premise is that Jyn and Cassian work for National Geographic (or rather, Rogue Geographic) and are assigned to cover a conservation project headed by Ezra Bridger and the crew aboard the Ghost. I’ve only managed to write an intro scene about Jyn and Cassian finishing up their previous project (entirely, entirely self-indulgent and based on my honeymoon). I was hoping to finish and publish this in January, buuuut I got way distracted by an epic post-war fic that @allatariel and I are working on, which I think we may have started plotting in 2019, though I’m not sure -- and at any rate, the NatGeo brings us to six so you’ll just have to wait for the next word on that ;)

WELP THAT’S IT.

Thanks for reading!

TAGGING: Anyone who reads this and wants to do it. Yeah, you. You who were hoping you got tagged? I’m tagging you. You’re it!

#my writing #tag meme #fic update #writing update #wips #the latest with liz

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jaerie · 5 years

Note

I would encourage you to continue writing. The issue here is not with weird and dark fics- I enjoy your weird and dark fics. The issue is fics with underage elements. Avoid these, and there’s not going to be the issue that happened over the Big Bang fic. No one is saying you can’t write weird stuff- they’re just wanting people to stop writing fics having to do with minors/underage characters. That’s the issue here. I encourage you to keep writing the weird. Just avoid that.

I wasn’t going to answer any asks about this,but I started to think that it is important to state where I’m coming from andthat this is not a snap decision I’ve made just because I’m upset. I also received another ask this morning thatmade a good point about my own fandom/fanfic history. So here we go.

Is the underage factor really the issue here? At the end of the day, I don’t think it is.

I’ll tell you what happened to me in regards tothis specific issue. I was at work and tumblrwas open on my browser from the day before. I said “oh a new big bang and I know who did the art! I’m going to likethis post to look at when I get home”. Honestly, based on the picture, I thought it was going to be a kid fic wheretheir child looked like Louis. I camehome to anons asking me to address my involvment and accusing me of being a nasty person, that I was going to beblocked and blacklisted for my involvement in this post, etc. I hadn’t even read the summary of this ficyet at this point (you can see this from the first ask I answered saying “thewhat fic?”) and then thought it was a Benjamin Button-ish idea.

The underage issue quickly went from being a “we’reconcerned about the content of this fic” to “adult fans are fucking disgustingand shouldn’t be here”. I then watchedas a mob went after my friends and me just because we are adult fans writingadult content or “playing victim” by defending that our adult content is properly tagged, etc.

Full disclosure- I’m 34. I’ve never claimed to be otherwise. I didn’t enter this fandom until 2 weeksbefore Harry turned 20. I wasn’t a partof the fandom when he was a minor. Ihave a career and a life outside of this fandom. I’m a normal person who has always enjoyedcreative writing as a hobby.

I have beenon both sides of this situation in my life with a few key differences. I started reading fanfic when I was probablyabout 13. This was in the days of AOLchatrooms and fics on geocities pages. Backthen I remember lying about my age and pretending to be older to RP and accessfics that, in retrospect, were not appropriate for my age. The difference? Back then you didn’t know you didn’t want tosee something until you’d already seen it, until you’d already read it. But none of us ever caused a fuss about it becauseit would have taken away our access to everything. We just quietly closed that page and moved onto the next because we knew we weren’t supposed to be there in the first place. (whether because of our parents or because weknew they were older fans, whatever the reason)

Now AO3 has a wonderful tagging and warningsystem to safeguard people from seeing what they don’t want to or shouldn’tsee. But what happens? People disregard this and instead come afterthe creators for publishing something they are personally offended by. Not only do they attack the creator, theygrab a megaphone and proclaim that if you don’t agree with them and jump ontheir bandwagon then you are just as bad as they personally think this creator is. In this fandom, this is becomingmore common and people are quick to jump on this bandwagon without looking atthe facts for themselves or forming their own opinion because they are afraid of being labeled and judgedfor questioning whether or not it’s a legitimate cause. Worse yet, being attacked themselves.

Since the internet has become a part of dailylife for everyone means the number of legitimate threats has also increased. It is true that there are nasty and disgustingpeople in the world and they’re all on the internet now. When I was lying about my age in AOLchatrooms as a 13 year old, my parents were upstairs having no idea what an AOLchatroom even was. Since these threatsare now known, I’ve seen hover parents/teachers/etc create a controlled environmentto protect minors. However positive thismay be in many instances involving protecting minors, I also see it creating amindset that it is every adult’s job to protect and shield minors. Is it my job as an adult to protect minors? In some cases as an adult with morals and asocial obligation, absolutely! On aplatform that has multiple warnings about explicit adult content beforeaccessing it? No. On my adult tumblr account that states I’m anadult posting mature content? No.

Yet here we are. Because this is really the issue, isn’t it? That we aren’t protecting the minors?

Now we’ll get to why I made the decision Idid.

Over the last 6-9 months especially, I have received an increasing number of comments/asks accusing me of bestiality, of “givingrapists ideas”, of “encouraging rape culture”, just to name a few (I’m saying these in a nice way, not how I actually received them). It is obvious in many of these cases thatthese people have not read my fics. Manyof them cite things that directly contradict what is actually in the fic sothey very obviously did not read the fic. They are trolls who go through the rape/noncon or similar tags and harassthe authors and accuse them of terrible things without warrant for some self-righteousgreater good they think they’re serving. I laugh some of them offfor their ridiculously inaccurate arguments, I delete some of the comments whenthey obviously haven’t even read the fic, I respond to some of them when I getangry and can’t bite my tongue.

But they all pile up in the back of my mindwhere they start making me question myself and what everyone is thinking ofme. Does everyone think this? Do people think the themes of my fics are areflection of me as a person? Do peoplethink my fic topics mirror things I do in my real life?

I do not know the author of this particular fic,but I can say with a fair amount of confidence that they aren’t molestingchildren or are someone that people need protected from. (I’m not addressing theactual fic, I haven’t read it, I’m just saying it this way because of howpeople reacted) Why? Because I’m not raping and castrating peopleor fucking animals. People don’t need to be protected from me as a person for writing fictional scenarios that make them uncomfortable.

But in the list of things this most recentgroup of people believe minors need protecting from, rape/noncon, bestiality,etc are on that list. If I’m alreadygetting hate from people assuming things about my fics and me as a person, whenis someone going to launch a similar campaign against me? I’m not just someone getting anon hateanymore. I’m on their hate list. I’ve been labeled as a disgusting adult. If they are going to go to our twitters,etc to find things to hold against us, it’s just a matter of time before someonedecides to use one or more of my fics against me.

The massive scale that I lost followers and receivedhateful asks showed me how influential this small but vocal group is on thisfandom. I have ALWAYS over tagged andover warned when it comes to my fics but that doesn’t seem to matter rightnow.

I don’t WANT to stop writing for this fandom, Ihave 24 WIPs in my google docs that I’m really proud of and want to finish. Icried writing that last night and I cried this morning waking up to all the wonderfulmessages from people not wanting me to go. I hope that someday it will be safe for me to return. But right now, I don’t feel it’s safe for me torisk that type of character assassination or hate campaign that will leave myreputation a smoldering mess over a hobby I enjoy.

I will still continue to write, it will just be in places that are notso hostile and threatening right now.

#Anonymous

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morenerdthanperson · 5 years

Text

Five steps for dealing with writer’s block

I recently just got into a new writing schedule which is much more intensive than any I’ve ever been in before, and have found that, as a consequence, writer’s block has become much more of a problem for me. I’ve been learning how to manage it, however, and thought I might share my process!

Step #1: Take a break from writing and do something else.

It’s not a coincidence that, as soon as I started working more intensely on my WIP, writer’s block became much more of a problem. Sometimes, you need extra time-- time which, in my case, I would’ve spent doing other things in the past-- to think through whatever problem is stopping you. Other times, your brain just needs some time to recharge.

Either way, close your document and do something else. Take a walk. Read a book. Watch an episode of your favourite tv show. Make a sacrifice to the gods. Draw. Anything, as long as it’s not directly related to your WIP! (You know, like screaming at a wall in frustration.)

If the writer’s block is really serious, stop for the day and promise yourself to come back with fresh eyes tomorrow (just make sure you actually do)!

Step #2: Don’t obsess.

Thinking that you’re wasting your time by not using it to write, and that you’re useless for not being able to continue with your WIP momentarily, is only going to stress you out and place you into an even worse mindset for writing.

A couple of days ago, I told myself that if I couldn’t write then I would do research on the publishing process. It was a terrible mistake: all obsessing over the publishing process did was make me anxious over whether my WIP is even worth writing (note to self, and everyone struggling with the same question: if it makes you happy, IT ABSOLUTELY IS) and sent me into an insecurity spiral.

Forget about your WIP for a bit! Do step #1!

Step #3: Write your problem down (on paper).

I know I just said “don’t obsess”, and I mean it: do this after you’ve had your break and you’re not stressed out anymore.

Write down your problem on a piece of paper, then write bullet points or make a mind map with ideas for your solution. As an example, the other day I was struggling to write an action scene. I didn’t know where to place it geographically, how many people would be involved, anything except for the fact that I needed my protagonist to save another character’s butt in this scene. So, at the top of the page I wrote “what is their mission’s objective?” then made a list of all the things it could be: raid an enemy weapon cache, rescue some hostages, or do a prisoner exchange.

Once I chose a goal for my characters from that list, I was able to make another list of all the things that could go wrong in their mission, and from there craft a scene where my protagonist does, in fact, save that other character’s butt. Writing things by hand, while often a slow process, forces you to think in a slightly different way than when you’re typing, and this often yields ideas for me.

Step #4: Make sure your problem isn’t earlier on in the WIP.

If the paper thing isn’t working, then it might be because you’ve backed yourself into a corner without knowing it. Take a look at where you’re trying to get to, then look over previous progress: did chapter 10 force your characters into a situation that doesn’t make sense, or won’t allow you to work in the plot points you need? Has a badly placed line of dialogue, or whole conversation between characters, made it difficult to continue developing their relationship in an organic way? Sometimes, looking at the overall structure of your WIP can point at certain problematic points, and by fixing or rearranging them to serve the story’s purpose, you might finally figure out the scene you’re trying to write, or that it doesn’t need to exist at all!

Step #5: If all else fails... move on!

Scenes don’t write themselves, but if you’ve spent five days trying to get words onto the page with no results, it might be time to leave that scene, or outline for a book, or whatever, alone for a while and work on what comes next. If you’re struggling to write a chapter, write the next one instead.

I’m a writer who sits halfway between planning and pantsing, so while I have an idea of the overall sequence of events in my books, I usually discover plot points as I write them. Sometimes, if I continue and write scenes set after the troublemaking one, I will discover plot points retrospectively and finally have the right knowledge to write a scene.

As an example, I had immense difficulty writing a chapter that ended up being heavy on exposition and having no direction. I hated it, but moved on, and a couple of chapters later I discovered that in order for a relationship between two characters to develop as I wanted, I had to add in a scene right where the trouble chapter took place (this trouble chapter ended up being the action scene I had to plan by hand above, DAMN YOU CHAPTER 14!!!!!).

I hope that this will be able to help someone <3

#writing advice #writer's block #you'll be fine!#it happens to everyone!#death to chapter 14 #actually no I love chapter 14 now #yay!

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13eyond13 · 5 years

Note

if someone wants to be a writer what are the advices you give him/her to be good in writing?

Ooh, a very good question! I’m certainly no writing expert myself, there’s SO MUCH I have to work on with my own writing, and I usually spend way more time procrastinating on it than actually practicing it these days, but it’s something I think about constantly and strive to improve upon myself, so I’ll give it a shot.

ADVICE I ALWAYS TRY TO GIVE TO MYSELF WHEN THINKIN’ ABOUT STORYTELLING:

1. WRITE THE STORY YOU WANT TO READ, BUT SOMETHING THAT OTHER PEOPLE WILL HOPEFULLY BE ABLE TO ENJOY, AS WELL. Think of a question you have about life or a weird scenario or a relationship that you really want to answer or investigate, and then try to answer that question or explore that intriguing thing as honestly as you can. Doesn’t matter how big or small or serious or silly it is, if it’s an interesting question mark to you then it probably will be interesting to someone else, too. People generally read stories because we want to learn about ourselves and the world around us in some entertaining way. When we see things in stories that remind us of ourselves or other people we know, or that are tackling topics and concepts we’ve often wondered about ourselves, that’s when we really get emotionally invested. And if you can’t wait to find out what happens next in your own story yourself, that will really compel you to keep putting your butt in the seat to write it!

2. WRITE HOWEVER FEELS MOST NATURAL TO YOU, AND DON’T CONSTANTLY COMPARE YOUR OWN METHODS TO EVERYONE ELSE. Some people like to meticulously plot out their whole story before they begin, and some people like to just wing it and see what sort of weird surprises come out. Both approaches are valid, and so is a mix of the two! Play around with it and see what helps you get words down on paper the easiest. It won’t always be effortless, but it shouldn’t feel like a punishment or a horrible chore that you dread every time you sit down to create, either.

3. MAKE TIME FOR CONSUMING LOTS OF GOOD STORIES. Watch cool movies and TV and read books and comics and carefully observe all the people you know in your everyday life. Absolutely everything is a useful learning opportunity if you want it to be. Pay close attention to the world around you, because it’s all inspiration, even the mundane stuff. It’s those little realistic moments that really give stories life and weight and make people pay attention to what you’re saying as having a spark of truth to it. Get in the habit of describing the things you’re observing to yourself, too, because that’s what writing is. The more you read / watch / experience the more you will internalize the art of storytelling and start figuring out what is good and what isn’t, what feels cliche and lazy and untrue and what feels real and moving and fresh. If you think a story really sucks, don’t just zone out, figure out exactly why you think it sucks, too!

4. MAKE TIME FOR CREATING YOUR OWN STORIES WITHOUT OUTSIDE INFLUENCES OR DISTRACTIONS, TOO. Develop a routine and make it a habit and create your own cozy rituals around the act of writing. Whatever puts you in the best mood for it and keeps your head-space open for clearly visualizing your imaginary world.

Personally, I get very inspired by reading other people’s stories, but they also distract and block me from writing when I’m trying to create something of my own. Everyone is different, but I know I need to keep these two things (story-consuming and story-creating) pretty separate, or else I start doubting everything I try to write and picking it apart way too much. Figure out what kind of writer you are and structure your time and your work-space accordingly.

5. GET TO KNOW YOUR CHARACTERS REALLY WELL. The characters that are the easiest to write and the most fun to read are the ones that the author knows well and understands inside-out. Every single character should want to gain something and/or be afraid of losing something, or else they will be flat and boring. If someone only exists purely to be a love object or an opponent to another character and they don’t display any sort of inner life or personality outside of that role, it will show, and they will not be very relatable or compelling.

If a character is feeling really flat or you’re having a hard time getting inside their head, two great first questions to ask yourself are: “What would this character be doing right now if they weren’t involved in this specific plot?” And: “What would they be doing if they could do absolutely anything that they wanted to do in the world?”

Sometimes you won’t understand a character or how they need to develop or the main conflict / goal of your characters or story at all until you write more scenes with them or even get to the very end of your story, but that’s what second drafts and rewrites are for! You can always go back and clarify all that stuff later, adding more depth and streamlining stuff and cutting things out as you see fit.

6. DON’T GET TOO SAD ABOUT YOUR CRAPPY ROUGH DRAFTS. They’re going to suck at first most of the time. Just keep chugging and tweaking things and keeping a positive mindset, it will definitely not be perfect in the first try! I’ve often saved many versions of things I’ve written and then been shocked when I go back to the early drafts at how much worse they used to be. That’s why we have rewriting and editing and getting feedback from beta readers.

7. SAVE EVERYTHING YOU WRITE. Even if you decide to cut it out of your story because it’s not working right, it can almost always be used again for something else in the future. Maybe you wrote a great description that doesn’t suit the tone of the story, or a funny conversation that doesn’t add anything useful to that particular scene. Put those unused bits into a scrap folder and dig them out to use again somewhere else, either in the same story or a different story altogether.

8. WRITE DOWN YOUR IDEAS FOR YOUR STORY AS SOON AS YOU GET THEM. Keep a little memo pad app on your phone or carry a notebook around. It’s easy to forget those useful little nuggets again later if you don’t.

9. DON’T WRITE ANYTHING YOU WOULDN’T FEEL COMFORTABLE READING OUT LOUD. If it would be way too embarrassing to read to even your most ideal and nonjudgmental reader, then it’s probably a bit over-the-top and should be reworked until it feels more natural and more honestly “you.” I forget where I originally heard this little piece of advice, but I love it and think it’s a good one to keep in mind (mostly because I used to do that a lot, and still do sometimes, lol)

10. FIND SOMEONE YOU TRUST TO GIVE YOU HELPFUL CONSTRUCTIVE FEEDBACK ON YOUR WORK. Beta readers are so important! Ideally it should be someone with a good sense of spelling/grammar and an eye for detail who also understands and enjoys your writing and the things you care about, and is also good at articulating exactly why something is/ is not working well yet. This can be scary and embarrassing sometimes, but if it’s the right person doing it they will both encourage you and help you grow by giving you good honest suggestions for things that can be improved or changed. We often don’t even realize all the things that aren’t coming off well in our own writing after staring at it so long, but that fresh pair of eyes is often very good at picking it out for us, and they’re just trying to help us write the best story we can.

11. FINALLY, there are so many great resources for learning about storytelling online or at your library!

Here are a few YouTube channels on the subject that I really like:

-Lessons from the Screenplay (my favourite): [X]

-Every Frame a Painting (mostly about visual storytelling, but still a ton of great lessons): [X]

-Alexa Donne (a published fiction author with decent practical advice): [X]

-Ellen Brock (an editor with good practical advice): [X]

A few books on the subject I’ve read and enjoyed:

-Reading Like a Writer by Francine Prose

-On Writing by Stephen King

-Bird by Bird by Anne Lamott (thank you to @translightyagami for the rec!)

And here is my collection of writing advice that seemed pretty legit from Tumblr:

writing advice tag [X]