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awakeshedreams · 3 years

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sugar and spice ( 1 )

pairing : resident bad boy!jjk x model student!reader

setting : highschool!au x stepbrother!au

summary :

a messy highschool!au x stepbrother!au where model student reader who has quite a few dirty little secrets sees her world take an unexpected turn when her mother comes home one day with an engagement announcement, to the father of none other than the school's resident bad boy.... Jeon Jungkook.

genre : smut, for laughs, kinda pornish, slow burn with collosaly overwhelming sexual tension

rating: soft m ( for now ) due to adult content

warnings : unconventional relationship of sexual nature, tropes and clichès, teenagers partaking in porn-esque activities, made up things with made up people happening in a made up world, don't like don't read XD

wordcount : 2.3K

a/n : i've been fighting in a long standing war and I have lost. the man known as jeon jungkook had his foot on my neck for years and today, I have finally submitted to my fate and surrendered to his reign.

yes. after a hundred years, i'm writing again. specifically, writing for bts. particularly, writing for jungkook. its been a long time coming.

life just took over and I transitioned into an adult and kind of grew out of the state of mind I was in before. but. sigh. jeon jungkook has been tormenting me the whole time. it was only a matter of time before i relapsed honestly.

so here I am again. in mind, body and spirit, a different person from who I was before but still the same in the sense that with the way bts have my whole heart, jk will always be the demon in the corner of my room that I invite to bed for a cuddle even though it's (probably really) not good for me.

do not misconstrue. I love him more than I can say. but. sigh. he has me in a chokehold, loves. please try to understand where I'm coming from.

anyways, enough with this ranting. you all came here for the nitty gritty so let me not hold you hostage with my dilemma rambling any longer. here's to the first bts fic i've posted in literal years. introducing- sugar and spice.

1 2

Unless they told someone, no one would have been able to guess it.

At school they were complete strangers.

She was the nice head girl with a clean record, all smiles and straight A’s. He was the mysterious bad boy with a track record, all tatted up with bruised knuckles.

She wore plaid skirts with neat pleads in them and pastel sweaters with bows at the collar. He wore jeans with rips in them and leather jackets with studs.

They couldn't have been any more different.

As far as anyone was concerned, they existed on two extreme ends of a vast spectrum.

What they didn't know was that they shared a dirty little secret.

You were a girl with many dirty secrets.

For instance, you used to sell nudes online. It was a side hustle you did.

Not because you needed money.

Your mom was a renowned doctor so there was more than enough of that in your life.

Not because you needed validation from people online either.

Even without the constant compliments and the praises you knew you were visually blessed with a pretty face and a nice body too.

All things considered, you simply thought you had a nice pair of tits and you took pictures of them sometimes.

Posting the shots you snapped online came much later when you heard about this website where people were getting paid crazy money for posting racy things.

‘It’s just so degrading…’ It was one of your friends, June, who sneered, pretty nose scrunched up. She fixed her long ponytail and rolled her brown eyes while looking in the mirror at her locker. ‘Who would do such a thing, am I right?’

She said this, but June was the girl who has slept with more boys than she could count on her two hands. And those were the ones she told you about.

Like every other time, you said nothing. Even when it carried on to lunch with the rest.

‘Pretty desperate if you ask me.’ Mei the stellar track runner shrugged casually as she stretched her limbs like routine.

‘Where are their parents?’ Nina the library nerd shook her head in disapproval as she fixed her glasses so it sat right on the bridge of her nose.

‘Um… I don’t think it’s … appropriate… to talk about ….’ Kiko the one who always carried a cross and bible around mumbled into her sleeve.

All your friends spoke of it in derision and repulsion of course. This was a school for proper children so they were proper girls. At least they were supposed to be.

Regardless the conversation sparked a curiosity in you.

So you made an account and uploaded your first picture. Nothing bizarre. Just your tits in a pretty lace bra.

You made sure to keep your face out of the frame because that was the smart thing to do and you were nothing if not the smartest student in school.

In all honesty, you weren’t expecting anything out of it. In fact, in between work with student council and tutoring your juniors with finals right around the corner, you even forgot about it for an entire month.

It was by a complete whim that you decided to open the app while you’d been unwinding at your desk following a tedious day at school.

To say you were amused by the response you found waiting for you would have be a grave understatement.

You were staring at the four figure digit that now sat in your bank account.

Reading through the comment section was even more interesting.

There were all sorts of people there who had all sorts of things to say. Ranging from honestly sweet to downright dirty.

You had never been brought to tears laughing in her life before until then.

It was just so funny to see people misbehave and lose their minds over a pair of tits.

From then on it just sort of became a thing.

But that wasn't the worse of your secrets.

You were making a name for yourself on the crude web months later.

The next step was naturally to move from making taking pictures to making videos. Since you was already in too deep you didn’t see why not.

So you upgraded and opened another account. An amateur one where your touched yourself for an audience.

You were no prude.

You might have never been touched by a boy before but you had touched yourself plenty times. Stress and frustration came hand in hand with being head girl. Since you couldn’t quite vent it out at the annoying troublemakers at school, this was your second best option.

Third was watching porn, but that was mostly when you were extremely bored.

But that wasn’t where that little endeavor ended.

Later on it became a lot more risqué.

It all started when your mom hit you with a marriage announcement.

She met a guy on her business trip who she really liked and she was convinced he was the one.

Your mom had a tragic history of being a bad judge of character.

You’ve had this conversation at least five times since you became old enough to understand that boys and girls who were just friends didn’t kiss and sleep with each other.

Most times, it felt like she was doing it because she thought you needed a dad around.

You might have once, when you were younger and your mom was too busy with work to be there. But she worked from home these days and you were soo busy with school to worry about things like that.

This time it was like she was doing it for her. You were glad.

Your mom looked genuinely happy when she spoke about this guy.

Who were you to get in the way?

She spent almost the whole weekend in the kitchen. It was the longest you’ve seen her in there in your entire life.

She was excited for the dinner on Sunday.

Mr Jeon was the name of the chosen man.

He was coming over with his kid. A son, his only family. His wife passed away years ago.

You wore the dress your mom picked out for you, something cream in color and off the shoulders that brushed your knees. She looked pretty in her champagne dress. It was different from the office slacks and loose blouses you were used to seeing her in.

You stood by her at the door while the guests came through.

Lifting your head from a polite bow, you found herself staring straight into an achingly familiar pair of glinting dark eyes and went completely still.

‘Sweetie,' Your mother said sounding delighted, a soft hand on your stiff shoulder. 'This is Mr Jeon and his son Jungkook.’

Ah. Fuck.

‘Jeon dear, this is my daughter. Isn’t she lovely?’

Dinner was a mild affair, with small talk and the occasional clinking of cutlery on fine china.

From the outside looking in, you probably looked the picture perfect family already.

Only if no-one looked close enough.

Arms crossed, tongue in cheek. Your discomfort could be detected from miles away.

The two adults were oblivious.

The dark eyed boy with the slightest wave to his nape touching, brow grazing, ear covering onyx hair sat across you though; he took note of this with a passing glance and wordlessly returned to his food.

Jeon Jungkook had a countenance that betrayed his reputation.

Even though you’ve never talked, you knew plenty about him and you were sure he knew a lot about you too.

You went to the same school.

Dressed as he was in a crisp white dress shirt buttoned at the wrist and dark tailored pants with a fine belt on, it might have been hard to tell what kind of person he really was.

You lifted her gaze from your plate to look study him wordlessly, idly twisting the noodles with your fork.

People either called him the black sheep or the dark cloud but for you, Jeon Jungkook was the school’s resident lone wolf.

He smoked in the secluded areas on campus, sometimes playing his guitar. Beat up people who got on his nerves, sometimes using his guitar. Slept in class the rare times he was there, many times on his guitar.

Being his senior, you had never seen any of any of that for yourself. But you received plenty reports weekly to come to a sound conclusion.

There was no way people hated him enough to join hands in solidarity and make this all up.

It was quite the contrary actually. He had an alarming number of fans.

On the surface level you couldn’t see why. Most times you saw him, he looked bored out his mind and honestly, intimidating.

Maybe it was the tattoos. Or the ripped skinny jeans. Or the leather jackets with studs.

Maybe it was the domineering height and fit frame and structured face.

Maybe it was the intense dark eyes or the silky ruffled hair.

Even then, you failed to see the irresistible appeal in him. All those things that made him up only added to his unapproachable aura.

Bottom line was, he was bad news.

You didn’t want to be a spoil sport.

But how much of a thug your mom’s boyfriend’s son was shouldn’t be something that would make her like him less.

They were both their own people. Right ?

It was just that you just didn’t want her to be shocked and devastated if something happened later. When it happened.

Yet it seemed the serious conversation would have to wait.

After dinner your mom suggested you head to the living room to chat over wine and cheese.

You stayed back to do take out the dishes.

Earlier, your mom had stood to do it instead at first.

‘Don’t bother with that, dear.’ She reached for the plates in your hands. ‘Let me do it.’

‘It’s okay, mom.’ You smiled a little. ‘This is your night. I’ll meet you in the living room.’

'Sweetie...' Your mom looked close to tears. ‘But there’s so much of it…’

‘Jungkook,’ his father's voice had cut through the moment. He was a serious man in a crisp suit with a stoic countenance. His voice was just naturally authoritarian without him trying ‘Give her a hand.’

Jungkook stood, almost robotically.

‘It’s fine.’ You said. Politely. Nicely. Tightly. ‘I can handle this much.’

You left without another word.

That had been moments ago and now you were done with cleaning.

You stood at living room entrance for a while, taking in the scene.

The two adults were exchanging moon eyes and whispering in each other’s ears at the love seat.

Jungkook was sitting on a solo seat, but he was on his phone, completely unbothered by what was happening.

Your mom seemed to think it was the perfect time to pull out the photo album right then and there upon seeing you.

It was embarrassing but at least you knew you didn’t have to worry about the pictures spreading at school.

Jungkook was looking, picking up a picture occasionally to rove over, but he wasn’t the type to do that.

He also wasn’t the type to stare but you felt his glance shifting to you and lingering multiple times.

Once, you caught his eyes and he just stared at you across the coffee table wordlessly with a curious tilt to his head, idly flipping a picture of you dressed as a knight in glitter shining armor for Halloween at eight in his hands.

Honestly, it was starting to get annoying.

But you endured. For your mom’s sake.

Your alarm went off at exactly ten.

As subtly as you could, you excused yourself with an apology to the guests, saying you weren't really feeling well.

In hindsight you probably should have used a better excuse.

Your mom was notorious when it came to worrying, especially when it comes to your health.

Also, you probably should’ve locked the door before undressing just for good measure since people were over.

But in the moment, you were too busy setting your camera up where you were kneeling on the floor at the foot of the bed to be concerned about that.

That day you were testing out a new toy.

Distractedly, you took note of a couple of people asking you if that was your boyfriend’s shirt you had lifted over your tits.

You ignored them.

Couldn’t a girl own an oversized tee without getting any flack?

Trivial comments like that aside, a good majority of the audience are fawning over how wet you were and how perfect you bouncing tits look being played with.

Your head fell back and your eyes fluttered shut.

You were sitting there, knees raised to your chest and legs splayed, your gushing pussy in full display where the toy was stuffed deep into her tightness, vibrating pleasantly.

‘I’m close…’ you mumbled throatily, squeezing your tits and pinching your stiff nipples in between your moving fingers. You moved your hips move faster, feeling the toy buzz against fluttering walls. You took a hand off one of your tits to rub at your engorged clit. ‘Fuckfuckfuck…’

Deep in your high, you didn’t hear the door open and close with a foreboding click.

You only heard your name being called by a deep, smooth voice through the heady haze.

Instantly you stilled.

When you snapped your head to look over her shoulder Jungkook was there, hands in his pockets, leaning against your doorframe with his sleeves drawn up to his elbows, muscle roped, inked skin on full display.

When he tilted his head to the side a little, appraisively, you dared to say as a quaking chill ran down your spine and your entire body felt like it was about to burst into flames, a bit of his hair fell over his face.

His eyes were like two black in the dark as he took you in, dragging his gaze up and down your exposed body languidly.

In the back of your mind, you wished the ground would part and swallow you whole.

‘Your mom,' he starts, capturing your attention wholly, dark gaze finally flickering to your face, his voice suddenly lower, hoarser. ‘She sent me over to check on you.’

It took you a moment to realize where you were, who you were, who he was.

It was like a bucket of cold water had been dropped over your head.

Jeon Jungkook, the school's resident trouble maker, soon to be your step brother, just walked in on you fingering yourself in in front of a recording camera.

Well. Yeah.

You gulped.

You were royally fucked.

depending on the response I get I might ( most probably will ) delete this. not because I'm ashamed of my work. because I'm embarrassed of myself. I really swore to never write again and here I am. sigh. yes, I have seen my previous works and noticed just how terrible they were and this is a big reason why. so sorry for putting you through that. a million apologies.

also, that's right. I have adopted a new style which might not be to everyone's liking. another reason why.

anyways, if you liked this filth ( i know it seems mild but I can tell you it's very likely gonna get worse ) please idk uh... fuck this isn't ao3. hm.

like and drop by in the ask box if you liked it and want to see more. it makes me happy. its like serotonin fuel to me.

have a nice day. see you next time ( maybe ). stay fresh. yeah. 💜💜.

#bangtan #bts #bts angst #bts fluff #bts imagine #bts scenario #bts smut #bts au #jeon jungkook #jungkook scenario #jungkook imagine #jungkook smut #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts high school au #jungkook high school au

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hrina · 3 years

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Be Sweet, Pt. I

PAIRING: Harry x Reader RATING: M (minors dni!) WORD COUNT: 6k

hey everyone! here's part one of my new enemies-to-lovers series :) this fic will be five parts in total, but i'm only posting the first part on tumblr. you'll be able to read the rest of it on patreon if you wanna sign up!

as always, reblogs and feedback are very much appreciated. i love hearing your thoughts! enjoy.

~*~

August 27th, 2021

“Who’s opening tomorrow?”

Ella scrubs a wet rag across the table closest to the door. You cast a furtive glance up at her, flipping absentmindedly through the jumble of papers on the counter in front of you. Nick’s messy scrawl catches your eye, and you pause, reading the haphazard comment written at the bottom of the page.

Customer requested a very specific shade of pink trim. See back for details.

You flip the order, scoffing at the Pantone strip taped to the other side. The square labelled Quartz Pink has been singled out, encircled in bright red. Jesus fucking Christ.

“Alice and Olly, I think,” you say, shoving the form to the bottom of the pile.

“That’s good,” Ella grunts, returning the napkin holder and the sugar dispenser back to their spots on the table. “And you’ll swing by sometime during the afternoon?”

“Yeah,” you say, drumming your fingers over the papers. “I’m gonna help Olly in the back. You know how much he hates dealing with fondant.”

“How could I forget?” Ella rolls her eyes, smiling to herself. You grimace when she tosses the damp cloth in your direction. It lands on the counter with a loud splat! You nudge it away with your elbow, shaking your head.

“Gross.”

“You’re gross,” Ella says.

“I’m lovely,” you reply. She grins.

“Where’s Alex taking you tonight?” you ask, changing the subject. Her eyes light up instantly, and she clasps her hands together against her chest.

“It’s a surprise,” she says, giggling girlishly.

You groan. “I hate surprises.”

“It’s a good thing he’s not your boyfriend, then, isn’t it?” she retorts. You snicker, and she continues: “He told me we should stop off at home to change, though, so I’m guessing that wherever it is, there’s a dress code.”

“Ooh, fancy.”

“Right?” She twists her wrist, peeking at her watch. “He should have been here by now. It’s already a quarter past seven.”

“The hospital is just down the street,” you remind her, organising the mountain of orders into a neat stack. “Give him another five minutes.”

She nods. You spin on your heel and push through the door leading to the backroom of the bakery. The large space is split into two sections: on your right, there’s a wall of ovens, and a cluster of metal racks filled with pale, unprocessed dough. On your left, tables and counters lined with all sorts of decorating necessities—piping bags, spatulas, scrapers, turntables. You make your way toward the small cabinet perched against the nearest wall and pull out the top drawer, sliding the orders inside. Olly should have no trouble locating them tomorrow morning.

When you return to the front of the shop, Ella is locked in a passionate embrace with a gangly, dark-haired man. You recognise him immediately.

“Doctor Dao,” you call out, resting your elbows on the counter. “Did you at least wash your hands before putting them all over my best friend?”

Alex and Ella break apart swiftly, but he keeps one arm wrapped around her waist. “Hey, cookie,” he says, flashing you an apologetic grin. “Didn’t see you there.”

You arch one brow, lips curling into an amused smirk. “I’ll say.”

Only then do you catch sight of the other man lingering by the door, and your smile quickly morphs into an irritated frown. Harry is watching you with twinkling eyes, like he knows the effect his presence has on you. How could he not? You don’t try to hide your disdain, especially when it comes to him.

“Harry,” you say curtly, lifting your chin in stubborn acknowledgement.

He brings two fingers to his temple—a mock-salute. “Sweetheart.”

You clench your jaw. God, he makes your blood boil. Rather than responding, you turn back to Alex, who is now smoothing his palms over Ella’s silky brown hair. “You’re late,” you tell him. “You were supposed to be here when we closed.”

“Sorry, cookie,” Alex says, and he sounds like he means it. “My last surgery of the day had a few…complications.”

You purse your lips as the annoyance melts away. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” He nods, blowing out a heavy breath. He looks tired. “We figured it out.”

“That’s good.”

Alex directs his attention back to Ella, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss to the tip of her nose. “You ready to go?”

“Yeah,” she replies. “Just let me grab my bag.”

“Cool,” he says. “You don’t mind if we drop Harry off at his place, right? His car is fucked, apparently.”

Ella’s grey eyes widen. She peers over her boyfriend’s shoulder at Harry. “What happened?”

Harry waves away her concerns, chuckling quietly. He tugs on the collar of his blue scrubs, and you can’t stop your gaze from trailing across the plethora of tattoos inked into his arm. Your nose wrinkles at the sight. He looks ridiculous. What kind of doctor would agree to don such outrageous body art?

“He’s being dramatic,” Harry says, shooting Alex a pointed glare. “My car’s at the shop right now, but I’ll have it back by tomorrow evening at the latest.”

“Oh.” Ella relaxes. “Okay, that’s great. Babe—” She turns to Alex. “—when are our reservations?”

“Eight-thirty,” Alex says. “Plenty of time.”

“Awesome,” she chirps. She scurries around the counter and playfully bumps her hip against yours. “My purse is in the back. Give me one second.”

And then she’s gone.

You stare at Alex, fighting a clever smile. “Tonight’s the night, huh?” you murmur, quiet enough so that there’s no chance of Ella overhearing.

He beams, shouldering his knapsack and dragging his sweaty palms down the front of his shirt. His scrubs are a light purple, you note. The shade compliments his dark skin.

“Yeah,” he replies, gnawing anxiously on his bottom lip. “She’ll say yes, right?”

You scoff, rolling your eyes good-naturedly. “Of course she will.”

Just then, Ella bursts through the door, her leather purse swinging wildly against her waist. “Alright!” She claps once, striding over to you and planting a wet, sloppy kiss onto your cheek. “I’m off.”

“Bye,” you say, wiping her saliva from your face with the back of your hand. “Have fun.”

Alex waves at you as she tugs him out of the bakery. “See you later, cookie.”

You wink. “See you.”

Harry is the last one to leave. He glances at you momentarily, the corners of his lips quirking up into a smug smile. The look makes you bristle. He’s absolutely infuriating.

“Got any leftover almond croissants?” he asks. Silent laughter taints every word.

You point to the exit. “Get out.”

He bows his chin in farewell, approaching the door. “Sweetheart.”

“Asshole,” you reply flatly. Now that your friends are out of earshot, you’re under no obligation to tolerate him. Sometimes, you find yourself actually craving his company, just so you can drop the pretence and really give him a piece of your mind. You’re a mature adult, and you won’t ruin a social gathering because of one presumptuous dickhead, but everyone has their limits. You don’t owe him shit.

Harry chuckles to himself, and you clench your fists at your sides. He shoots you one last maddening smirk before disappearing out the door. You rush forward, latching it swiftly and ensuring that the sign against the glass reads ‘CLOSED’. Once you’ve successfully locked up, you march into the back of the shop, plucking your own purse off one of the metal counters and tugging it over your shoulder. You shut the light and return to the front, scanning the clean tables, the empty display cases, the shades drawn over the windows. Shards of the sunset stream through the cracks in the blinds, casting orange stripes along the floor.

All clear, a voice in your head whispers, and you sigh.

Finally—you can go home.

August 28th, 2021

Quick, frantic knocking rouses you from your sleep. Blearily, you sit up on the mattress, knuckling at your puffy eyes. The hardwood floor is cold against the soles of your feet when you climb out of bed. You shiver.

The insistent clamour continues as you pad down the hallway. You tug at the hem of your worn, baggy t-shirt, concealing your midriff. Ella wastes no time after you open the front door, surging past the threshold and vaulting herself into your arms.

“He proposed!” she squeals as the two of you stagger backward. You freeze, remembering Alex’s plans from the day before. His apprehension, too—the way he wiped his clammy palms against his scrubs and anxiously dug his teeth into his bottom lip. Shock ebbs and flows through your veins for a fraction of a second, but then you’re sweeping Ella into a tight hug, rocking your bodies from side to side.

“Oh my God,” you say. Excitement festers beneath the murky exhaustion clouding your mind. “He did it.”

Ella steps back, brows knitting together in bewilderment. “You knew?” When you nod, she scoffs, aiming a half-hearted swat at your bicep. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“Why the fuck would I tell you?” you retort, rolling your eyes at the demand. “Come on. Let’s see it.”

A bright grin stretches across her lips, and she holds up her left hand, wiggling her fingers keenly. You spy the ring resting on the fourth digit: a simple platinum band topped with a large, clear diamond. Grey morning light bounces off the gemstone, and it winks at you as if it knows something that you don’t.

“Gorgeous,” you breathe, gripping Ella’s wrist to bring her hand closer. You scrutinize the ring carefully, smiling to yourself. “He’s got good taste.”

“Doesn’t he?” she gushes, beaming like an idiot. You beckon her into the kitchen, and she collapses onto one of the tall stools positioned in front of the marble island. A quick glance at the digital clock on the stove reveals that it’s only eight in the morning. You groan, rubbing gentle circles against your temples.

“I was hoping I’d get to sleep in today,” you say, lips curling into a wry smirk.

Ella shoots you a sheepish, apologetic smile, sliding her purse off her shoulder and placing it on the counter. “I’m sorry, cookie. I couldn’t wait.”

“I’m just kidding,” you tell her, floating around the room to prepare a pot of coffee. “So…how did he do it?”

She launches into a frenzied retelling of the night before. Alex brought her to the same restaurant they’d visited four years ago on their first date. They ordered their food and made conversation. Things proceeded as usual until the end of the meal, at which point Alex set his napkin down on the table and excused himself to the restroom. Two minutes later, the waiter arrived with the bill. Ella accepted it graciously, scanning the thin paper and pausing at the question scrawled at the very bottom of the slip. When she snapped her head up, searching for her boyfriend in the crowded dining area, she found him kneeling a few feet away from her chair, a small velvet box nestled securely in his steady hands.

“I started crying immediately,” she tells you, groaning at the memory. “I couldn’t keep it together. It was so embarrassing.”

You toss your head back and laugh. Despite the crimson blush staining her cheeks, she joins in. The coffeemaker beeps, signalling that the pot is ready. You fetch two mugs from the cupboard and fill them with dark liquid. Ella accepts her drink eagerly, blowing cool air across its surface. You grimace as she takes a tentative sip—you’ve never understood her penchant for unsweetened black coffee. Sugar and cream are a must.

“I’m so happy for you, El,” you tell her, stirring a small spoon around your mug. “You’re going to be the most beautiful bride.”

Her eyes grow damp. You snicker quietly, reaching across the island and swiping your thumb beneath her bottom lashes. She catches your hand and kisses your knuckles softly, clearing her throat.

“Will you—?” She releases a shuddering breath. “Will you be my maid of honour?”

You stiffen at her request. Her gaze rakes over your face, like she’s searching for any clue as to how you might respond. At last, your shoulders sag in relief, and an ecstatic smile splits across your cheeks.

“Of course,” you say, voice thick. Tears gather in your own eyes, but you blink them back furiously. “I would love nothing more.”

She sets her coffee down and skirts around the counter, yanking you into another bone-crushing hug. You grin as she presses a handful of sloppy kisses to the side of your head. Her elbow knocks against your abandoned mug, and a few drops of coffee spill down the side of the cup. You laugh at her enthusiasm, pulling back and sweeping your hands over her silky hair.

“It’s probably way too soon, but have you guys started discussing anything?” you ask, arching one eyebrow.

Ella flushes pink, averting her gaze. “Um…when we got home, there wasn’t really much of a discussion going on.”

You cackle, poking at her ribs. “Oh, he gave it to you good, didn’t he? It’s a miracle that you’re not limping right now.”

“Be quiet,” she yelps, stamping her eyes shut.

You lift your hands and shoot her a teasing smirk. “I’m not judging, okay? If anything, I’m living vicariously through your various sexual conquests. It’s been months since I last got any action.”

“Maybe that should change,” Ella says, folding her arms over her chest. “You and Harry could probably fuck out your frustrations. His dick is huge, apparently.”

You balk. “Ella!”

She shrugs, grey eyes widening comically. “What? Alex told me!”

You snort, but say nothing. She watches you cautiously, examining your features for any signs of acquiescence. Any indication that you might actually be considering her lewd suggestion. You almost gag.

“Why do you hate him so much, anyway?” Ella asks, flicking an invisible speck of lint off her shoulder. “You’re not still hung up on that fiasco with the almond croissant, are you?”

“I’m not doing this with you again,” you say, and she sighs.

“Okay, I’m sorry. But can you at least try to be civil while we plan the wedding? For my sake.”

After mulling over her words, you slouch in defeat. “Fine. But only for you,” you say, throwing a stern finger in her face.

She beams. “Thank you.” Something dirty flashes behind her pale eyes. “And if you do end up sleeping with him, I want all the details.”

You shove her gently and scoff. She laughs.

“Honestly,” you start, shaking your head, “it doesn’t matter how huge his dick is. I’d rather walk across hot coals than let somebody like him climb into my bed.”

“What makes you think it wouldn’t be the other way around?” Ella snickers. You glare at her, but she just steps back, raising her hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, fine. Have it your way. But I’m expecting you to find someone in time for the big day. Don’t let your plus-one go to waste.”

You roll your eyes, thoroughly unconvinced. “Noted.”

September 2nd, 2021

“Olly!” you call, sticking your head into the backroom. “Ella and I are going on our lunch break, but Leyla will be here in, like, twenty minutes. You going to be okay by yourself until then?”

Olly doesn’t even bother looking over his shoulder, too busy piping little flowers along the sides of the rectangular cake laid out in front of him. He lifts one hand, waving away your concerns before running his palm over his short blue hair. He buzzed and dyed it just last week after claiming that he couldn’t stand how the long brown curls stuck to the nape of his neck. It took a few days to get used to the change, but now that the initial shock has faded, you have to admit that he looks great.

“Yeah, that’s fine,” Olly says, putting the finishing touches on the cake. He sets his piping bag down and turns toward you, wiping his palms against his red apron. His left ear bears a swirl of shiny silver piercings. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Thanks,” you say, flashing him a small smile. He returns it, and then you’re spinning on your heel and letting the door swing shut behind you.

You find Ella waiting outside the bakery. She urges you along, and you squawk at her impatience.

“What’s the rush?” you ask, falling into step with her as you both amble down the sidewalk. “We have forty-five minutes.”

“I don’t want Alex’s sandwich to get cold,” she explains, holding up the small paper bag clutched in her right hand. You snort.

The two of you make it to Ridgefield Hospital in record time, mostly because Ella grips your arm and gives it a forceful tug whenever you start lagging behind. You walk through the automatic doors, ignoring the row of ambulances parked outside. The secretaries sitting at the front desk shoot you a few distracted smiles—they’ve all grown accustomed to your frequent visits by now.

Ella babbles endlessly as you enter the elevator, pressing the button for the fifth floor and waiting as the metal doors slide shut.

“I want to ask Alice and Leyla to be part of the bridal party, but I’m scared the guys will feel bad if Alex doesn’t choose them as his groomsmen. Like, I think they’d understand, considering I work with the girls and we’re all pretty close, but I don’t know.” She nudges you with her elbow. “What do you think?”

“I think you should do whatever the fuck you want,” you tell her, shrugging. “It’s your wedding. And I don’t think Olly, Marcus, or Nick will mind if they’re not part of the bridal party. Olly doesn’t care about that stuff, and Marcus and Nick already have their hands full with their jobs at the bakery. Plus, they know Alex has his own friends—not just the ones he’s met through you.”

Ella nibbles on her bottom lip, her head bobbing in agreement. “Yeah, you’re right.”

You lay a placid hand on her shoulder. “You’re already overthinking this. You’ve only been engaged for a week. Enjoy it.”

She shoots you a grateful smile just as the elevator dings and the doors glide open, and the two of you step out onto the hospital’s paediatric floor. It’s a stark contrast to the other sections of the building. Instead of barren white walls, these ones are painted with all sorts of pretty, colourful decorations—flowers, rainbows, sunsets, animals. A massive sign in front of you denotes the different divisions on the floor and where to find them: the ICU, the operating rooms, the palliative unit, the psychiatry wing, and the oncology department. You and Ella turn right, making the familiar trek to Alex’s office.

“He should be on his lunch break, too,” she says. “Unless they paged him for another emergency surgery.”

You hum in response.

Sure enough, you find Alex at his desk, twirling a blue pen between his fingers as he pores over the stack of papers in front of him. Ella knocks gently against the open door, and his face lights up when he spies her standing in the threshold. He moves quickly, crossing the room in five long strides, and plants a searing kiss onto her lips. You look away, rocking awkwardly on the balls of your feet.

“Hey,” Alex murmurs after he and Ella break apart. That’s when he notices you behind her. “Hey, cookie.”

“Hey,” you reply. You toss your thumb over your shoulder. “I’m just going to—you know, the usual.”

He nods.

The last thing you see before you turn around is Ella holding up the brown paper bag, and Alex’s face splitting into a bright, easy smile.

You meander through the halls, trailing your fingers over the rich artwork covering the walls. The end of the corridor cleaves in two; you turn left and enter a large atrium. The ceiling is high and peppered with skylights. A small cafeteria sits off to the side, clusters of families chatting and laughing together as they eat. Children sprint around the space, their arms outstretched. Some of them are dressed in normal clothes—others don pale hospital gowns, their skinny legs bared for all to see. You wrench your attention away from them, fixing it instead on the far wall.

Slowly, you cross the room, surveying the vibrant handprints stamped against the plaster. There has to be hundreds of them, you think. They vary in size—some are so tiny you could cry. Colour becomes scarcer the higher you go—the youngest children are too short to reach those levels, obviously—but still. The sight takes your breath away. You visit this mural every time you find yourself at the hospital, and every time, you unearth a new detail that you hadn’t noticed before.

You walk along the length of the wall, dragging your fingertips across the dry, smooth paint. Purples and pinks and oranges and blues. Reds, greens, yellows, browns. Each handprint is a person—a pair of little feet that scuffled over this very floor, a blank story that had yet to unfold. Briefly, you wonder how many survived whatever illnesses plagued them, and how many succumbed to their conditions. The thought makes your throat grow tight with emotion, so you quickly shove it aside.

Ten minutes pass before you’re leaving the mural behind and heading back the way you came. You’ve just rounded the corner when a strong, solid body barrels into you. You grunt at the impact, smacking one palm against the wall to steady yourself.

“I’m sorry,” you start, lifting your head to meet the stranger’s gaze. “I wasn’t paying—oh.”

Harry smirks, his green eyes glittering with mirth once he recognises you. You purse your lips, wishing the ground would just open up and swallow you whole.

“Harry,” you say, nodding stiffly.

He folds his arms over his chest. “Sweetheart.”

His brown hair is tousled, and his biceps strain against the white button-up adorning his torso. Black slacks cover his legs, and he’s wearing a pair of pristine leather shoes, ones that look like they might’ve cost a month’s worth of rent. Your teeth grate together noisily. The sound echoes in your ears.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asks, as though the two of you are old friends. You want to scoff—you’d rather stick your hand in an oven than make idle conversation with him.

“Visiting Alex,” you say tightly, stepping back. “Ella brought him lunch.”

At that, Harry straightens. “Ella’s here?”

“Yes.”

“I wish I’d run into her,” he murmurs, pinching his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger.

You throw him a scowl. “Asshole.”

Harry cocks one eyebrow, tilting his chin haughtily. “Forgive me if I prefer her company to yours. At least she doesn’t treat me like I’m some insufferable bastard.”

“Maybe if you stopped being such an insufferable bastard, I wouldn’t treat you like one,” you shoot back, planting your hands on your hips. You tense as Harry’s gaze rakes down your body—head to toe, like he’s sizing up an opponent. His nose wrinkles in disdain, and you fight the urge to deliver a sharp, backhanded slap across that pretty, perfect face.

Harry opens his mouth, and you brace yourself for whatever retort he has prepared. What comes out is nothing overtly nasty, but it is enough to make you want to shrink away and curl into yourself until you wink out of existence.

“You smell like yeast,” he says, and tosses in a derisive sniff just for the added effect.

You recoil as the words slam into you, blinking in shock.

Asshole. Rude, arrogant, condescending asshole.

“I own a bakery,” you grit out. Harry shrugs, but says nothing else. Your lips flap wordlessly as he pushes past you, his shoulder bumping against yours. You watch him go, massaging the tender spot on your arm with shaky fingers. Your eyes fall to his ass for only a moment before skittering away, and a hollow laugh catches in your throat.

What a fucking prick.

September 17th, 2021

“Attention, everyone!” Ella stands at the head of the table, clinking her fork delicately against her glass. “I wanted to make a little toast.”

The conversation around you tapers off into silence. You sit back in your chair, focussing on your best friend. She looks splendid in her pretty blue dress, her dark hair twisted into an elaborate knot at the nape of her neck. She peers around the room, chewing nervously on the inside of her cheek. When her gaze locks with yours, you grant her a tiny, encouraging nod.

She beams, her next words imbued with renewed enthusiasm. “I wanted to thank all of you for coming here tonight to celebrate our engagement with us.” She holds out her hand, and Alex presses a gentle kiss to her knuckles. “We’re so grateful to be sharing this milestone with such a wonderful group of people.”

You inspect the other guests gathered around the table. To your right sit Alice and Leyla, the first employees you hired when you were trying to get your business up off the ground. It’s odd seeing them like this—poised and elegant, looking nothing at all like they do during the long, arduous shifts at the bakery. Alice’s blond hair has been fashioned into an intricate braid, and Leyla’s brown eyes are lined with dark kohl and smoky eyeshadow. They clean up nice, you must admit.

Next to Leyla: Ella’s older sister, Hillary. They have the same piercing grey eyes, though Hillary’s hair is a shade lighter. You didn’t miss the sour expression that trundled across her face when you waltzed into Alex and Ella’s condo. She’s jealous, you think. Jealous that Ella chose you as her maid of honour instead of her. You’ve been ignoring her resentful glares for the better half of the night, letting her bitterness pass over you like a cloud. Whatever her problem is, it’s clear that the issue lies between her and her sister. You’re not getting in the middle of that.

It doesn’t help that she’s been fawning over Harry all evening. Upon witnessing her coquettish behaviour, you glanced at Ella, brows raised, but your best friend just rolled her eyes and yielded a helpless shrug of her shoulders. At least the attraction didn’t appear to be one-sided—that would have been humiliating, you think—because Harry gave as good as he got, chuckling sincerely and flirting right back. You had to suppress the urge to retch, and sent out a quiet prayer of gratitude when Ella and Alex sat them as far away from each other as possible at the beginning of the meal.

On the opposite side of the table: Alex’s groomsmen—Milo, Sasha, and Connor. You’ve been in their company a few times, mainly on birthdays and other special occasions. According to Alex, they all met when Milo accidentally vomited during their very first anatomy lesson at medical school. Milo insists that the putrid smell of the cadavers was simply too awful to bear, but everyone else claims that he just couldn’t stand the idea of being so close to a dead body. No matter the truth, the story always makes you giggle. The four of them have been good friends ever since.

The five of them, you remind yourself as your gaze settles on Harry, who is lounging in the chair directly across from you.

Harry—Alex’s best friend. Harry—Alex’s best man.

You wanted to rip your hair from your scalp when Ella broke the news. Several images flashed through your head all at once. You and Harry inching rigidly down the aisle, arms linked. You and Harry donning the same colours, your gown complimenting the spry flower pinned to the lapel of his suit. You and Harry flanking Ella and Alex while they recite their vows, glaring daggers at each other behind your friends’ backs. Even now, the mere thought of it has you biting down on an exasperated groan.

You don’t realise that you’ve zoned out until the faint quirk of Harry’s mouth catches your eye. You blink once to yank yourself from your daze, and clench your jaw when you find him staring at you with an amused look on his face. He places his elbows against the arms of the chair and clasps his hands together. Unmistakable smugness emanates from him, as if he somehow managed to crawl inside your mind and saw exactly what you were envisioning. Your nostrils flare, and you fix your attention back on Ella, who has reached the end of her speech.

“Cheers,” she says, holding up her glass. The champagne inside sloshes and fizzles temptingly. Would she allow you to chug the entire bottle, if you asked?

Everyone around the table mirrors her movements, raising their own drinks and touching them together lightly. Quiet, delicate clanking fills the room, and the friendly chatter resumes. You nudge Ella with your elbow, shooting her a proud smile. “That was great, El.”

She beams. “Thanks, cookie.” She then picks up her fork and motions to the plate in front of her, piled high with seasoned chicken and steaming, roasted vegetables. “Let’s eat.”

~*~

“Are you sure you’ve got him?” Alex asks Sasha, gesturing to the very inebriated Connor wobbling at his side.

Sasha wraps one arm around their friend, letting Connor rest his full weight against him. He bares two rows of perfect ivory teeth, flashing a wicked grin. “Yeah. Besides, I’ve been meaning to pay him back for the shit he pulled at the barbecue last month. There’s a Sharpie in my car.”

“You’re going to draw a dick on his face, aren’t you?” Alex muses.

“Obviously.”

With that, Alex bids them both farewell, shutting the door and heaving a dramatic sigh. Ella approaches him after a moment, hooking her chin over his shoulder and murmuring something indiscernible into his ear. He chuckles softly.

“Didn’t peg you as the voyeur type, sweetheart,” a low voice says from behind you.

You jump, whirling around and coming face-to-face with Harry. He’s got a green washcloth slung over his left shoulder—the shade brings out his eyes, a traitorous voice in your head whispers—and his arms are folded neatly across his chest. Your gaze falls to the collar of his black button-up, where he’s undone the first two discs, leaving his sternum exposed. Tendrils of ink peek out from beneath the dark material.

You frown and take a step back, putting distance between your bodies. “You’re such an asshole.”

“So I’ve heard.” His lips twitch, and he rolls up his sleeves. “Now, if you’re done ogling them like a lovestruck puppy, I could use some help in the kitchen.”

You grit your teeth, but follow him into the other room. Harry grabs the rag hanging over his shoulder and holds it out for you. You snatch it from his fingers without a word, and the two of you take up residence in front of the sink. Harry plunges his hands into the soapy water, rinsing the dishes thoroughly before passing them to you. You stand as far away from him as possible while you dry each plate, your movements stiff and choppy. This is not how you wanted to finish off the night, but Alex and Ella spent the entire day preparing the food, and it was delicious. The least you can do is spare them the hassle of tidying up.

The tense silence eats at you, until you feel like you might explode. Unable to bear it any longer, you hastily blurt, “Saw you getting pretty cozy with Hillary before dinner.”

Immediately, you want to kick yourself. Where the fuck did that come from?

Harry snorts, shrugging coolly. “We’ve hooked up a few times, but it’s nothing serious.” He shoots you a mischievous grin. “You jealous?”

“Of Hillary?” you scoff, rolling your eyes. “Please. The woman’s standards are practically underground. Why else would she be interested in someone like you?”

Harry scowls, and hot satisfaction surges through your veins. Yes, the taunt was mean, but no, you don’t care. “You’re a real bitch sometimes, you know that?” he says.

You flash him a petty, insincere smile. “Only to you.”

He squeezes the yellow sponge nestled in his right hand, scrubbing it forcefully across a dirty plate. “Maybe you should find someone to hook up with. It might help get that stick out of your ass.”

“I have better things to do,” you sneer, narrowing your eyes.

“Better than sex?” He chokes on a derisive laugh.

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“Like…things!” you snap, fingers curling into tight fists. “I run my own business, for God’s sake. And I’m going to make Ella’s wedding cake.” You announce the last part proudly, hauling your chin into the air.

Harry, however, looks unimpressed. He shakes his head, blowing out a heavy sigh. “Uh-oh.”

You pause. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He shrugs again, but you detect a hint of malice behind the action. “It’s just…I’ve seen the way you decorate cakes. Ella might be better off going elsewhere—you know, to an actual professional.”

Son of a—

“That’s rich, coming from you,” you say, motioning to the mismatched tattoos littered across his arm. “What would you know about professionalism? It looks like you let a preschooler doodle all over you.”

Harry bares his teeth in a feral grin. “Deflection. I’m not surprised.”

You bristle at his words. “Asshole.”

“You’ll need to get a bit more creative with the insults, sweetheart. I’m growing bored.”

“Is that so?” you say. “I think ‘asshole’ suits you just fine. Maybe you should have become a proctologist instead of a paediatrician.”

“At least I pursued something I was good at. I’m not sure if you can say the same.”

“You fucking—”

“Everything okay in here?” Ella asks, floating into the kitchen. You spin around to conceal your anger, placing your hands against the counter and inhaling deeply. You roll your shoulders back and slap an artificial smile onto your face before turning once more.

“Everything’s fine,” you say, and fake a yawn, covering your mouth with your palm. “I think I’m going to call it a night. I’m exhausted.”

Ella’s bottom lip juts out into a pout. Her red lipstick has faded, leaving only a stain of scarlet in its wake. On cue, Alex walks into the kitchen behind her, setting a steady hand on her hip and cocking his head to the side. “Hey. Everything okay in here?”

You nearly snort. Fucking soulmates.

“All good,” you tell him, nodding brusquely. “I’m just going to finish up with the dishes and head home.”

“Okay.” Alex presses a soft kiss to Ella’s temple, murmuring something about needing to get out of his stuffy clothes. You whirl, drying the last of the plates with frantic, shaky fingers. In your peripheral vision, you spy Harry watching you, but the stupid bastard must possess some scrap of self-preservation, because he keeps his mouth shut. You say nothing else as you whack the rag down onto the counter and stride out of the room.

You don’t miss Alex and Ella’s hushed whispers at the other end of the hall, but a little voice in your head tells you not to interrupt them. You halt at the front door, snatching your purse off one of the metal hooks mounted on the wall. You’re in the middle of putting on your shoes when you hear it:

“I was hoping we could arrange a truce, you know.”

You twist around, palm flying to your chest. Harry is standing a few feet away, his hands still wet with the water from the sink. He clasps them together and ducks his head, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d almost think he was ashamed.

Something vile bubbles in the pit of your stomach. You gnaw on the flesh of your cheek, trying to reel your emotions back in. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of witnessing another outburst.

“Keep your fucking truce,” you spit, and wrench open the door. You shoot him one last withering look before stepping out of the condo and slamming it shut.

#be sweet #harry writing #lmao you can tell i've given up on posting my writing on tumblr cus i don't even tag it with the typical fic tags anymore 😭

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jackalgirl · 3 years

Text

Telling vs. Showing

I had posted an excerpt from the Turkey City Lexicon a while back, about "Telling Not Showing", which is one of those things that writers are recommended not to do.

Violates the cardinal rule of good writing. The reader should be allowed to react, not be instructed in how to react. Carefully observed details render authorial value judgments unnecessary. For instance, instead of telling us "she had a bad childhood, an unhappy childhood," specific incidents--involving, say, a locked closet and two jars of honey--should be shown.

I was thinking about this the other night -- and I stress that it came to me by itself, please please don't anyone think I'm calling you out on this, because I am not -- and thought it might be fun* to provide an example. Stick around (under the cut) if you're interested.

* I lie. Aethel and Felix told me to write this, and woke me up early to do so. Fine. I'm done, you two, may I please go get some more coffee? Thank you.

Telling

Felix found Aethel in the galley, reading one of Max’s books. He made a face, wondering why she was reading it. When he’d first met her, it probably would have never occurred to him to ask her why — she’s weird and more than a little scary — but he had come to understand that she put all that weirdness and scariness to service in the way she cared for people, and he knew she cared for him, so he sat down and asked anyway. She looked, he thought, a little relieved to be interrupted, which did not really surprise him. She was very much willing to tell him about it, and in fact confirmed his suspicion that she found the text…how did she put it? Tedious. But she was reading it to better understand the way the people in the Order think, so she was determined to read it anyway. Good luck with that, he thought, and got himself something to eat out of the fridge.

versus Showing

Felix found Aethel in the galley, a book open before her on the common table and a line between her eyebrows. It must be one of Max’s books, he thought. He sat down and she looked up. Perhaps he was imagining it, but it appeared to him that she had a look of relief on her face. “Watcha readin’, Aethel?” He asked her. When he’d first met her, it probably would have never occurred to him to ask her a question like this — she’s weird and more than a little scary — but he had come to understand that she put all that weirdness and scariness to service in the way she cared for people, and he knew she cared for him, so in this particular moment, he hadn’t hesitated. “One of the vicar’s books on Scientism,” she said, confirming his guess. He made a face. “Ugh. Why? You’re always arguing with him about it.” And driving him nuts. Another point in her favor, actually. “It’s important to him,” she said. “And what’s more, it’s important to this colony. It would be foolish for me to dismiss it. I want to understand it better.” Felix gestured at the book. “Is that helping?” Aethel let out a sigh. “Alas, no. It is tedious.” “That’s why I like serial books,” Felix grinned. He tilted his head. “Why is it, ah, tedious, though?” “The author uses words like a collector,” she said. “But not like an artist.” Felix tilted his head and his expression must have told her he didn’t get it — I don’t get it — because she leaned back and looked thoughtful for a moment. “Do you remember the Sprat Fancy party in Byzantium?” She asked. Felix felt his face screw up again. “It was awful.” At first, Byzantium had impressed him. It was so clean! But eventually he realized it was as full of trash as the rest of the Colony — just higher-class trash, is all. Plus, the people there were always looking down on him — worse than the crew of the Groundbreaker, if that was possible. Or worse than the crew had been, before I helped Aethel fix the heat. Now they liked him well enough. But in Byzantium, nothing the crew had done had changed the Byzantines’ attitudes towards them. Their disdain is baked in, Aethel had said at the time. And speaking of baking, Aethel said, “do you remember the food?” “Ugh. Do I ever. The prettiest food you ever saw. Tasted like shit, though.” “What would those people have thought of a Boarst Pocket?” Aethel asked. “Ha!” Felix drummed the table with his hands in amusement. “They’d hold up their noses, for sure. Something that plain and simple?” “And yet, it is delicious?” “Yes,” Felix spoke with the conviction of a dedicated cultist. Aethel nodded. She tapped the pages in front of her. “This book is like the food in Byzantium. It is concerned about its appearance, and about all the different colors it can show you — it is very pretty. But it tastes like shit.” “So why are you eating it?” Felix asked, then remembered she’d answered him earlier. “Because you want to understand the system,” he said. She nodded. “I think of it as reconnaissance,” she said. “At some point, I’m going to have to deal with Order people who are higher ranked than Max. I need to understand what they think — or at least, what they’re telling people they think, which may not be the same.” “I wouldn’t be surprised at all if they all turned out to be a pack of hypocrites,” Felix said. “I’ll bet it’s all a show for power.” “Perhaps it’s not all a show for power,” Aethel suggested. But then she relented. “But yes, I tend to think that in the end, that’s the Order’s primary goal.” All that talk about Boarst Pockets made him want one, so he got up and got one out of the fridge. “Would you like one, boss?” He said, waggling the packet, knowing her answer in advance: “No thank you, Felix,” she said politely. He chuckled to himself. I don’t get how she can like spratwurst and not like boarst. Some things just defied understanding. I hope she has better luck with that book.

I liked writing this, because it gave me a little epiphany for another scene (the "Sprat Fancy" party) and an opportunity to put Sprat Fancy magazine into the actual fic, as opposed to it remaining as something of a joke.

[ Image description: cover of "Sprat Fancy", showing an adorable pink-splotched, white sprat from above, looking up at the camera with her gorgeous black eyes. Text reads: "Sprat Fancy Magazine - your guide to Halcyon's Fancy Sprats" and "Volume 22, Issue 8, 2 bits" with article leads: "Sacred Beasts: The Role of Sprats in the Faith", "Refuge: Keeping your precious sprat safe from marauders (and hungry neighbors)", "Ooo La La! Jolicoeur Haberdashery releases an all new line of fancy sprat fashion! Get a sneak peak of the latest on the Byzantine spratwalk!", "Place Your Bets: Your comprehensive guide to this season's All-Colony Fancy Spratstravanaza - who's in? Who's out? You may just be surprised by this year's contenders!" and a corner flag: "Ask Doctor Sprat". The cover image is captioned: "'Bakonu' by Captain Pearl Jenkins. With this large beauty take 'Best in Show' from Lord Reginald Kim III?" End ID. ]

Sometimes, having to write stuff out like this (especially between major scenes) is really daunting, because it generally doesn't come to me all at once like the major scenes do. I know, right from the get-go, that this is going to be a time-consuming process (I call it "sausage making"), and it's scary when I don't immediately see a clear way forward or understand how it will turn out. But I find that once I get going, the characters are happy to cooperate. And it's always worthwhile, because most of the time, I get some kind of revelation or epiphany (as above) that makes the story better, or maybe it's just neat and makes me giggle. But that's reason enough.

This is part of the pros of showing versus telling, in addition to giving the reader more to discover, understand, and react to on their own (rather than simply telling them how to react, which is what you want to avoid). The obvious con is that it takes so much longer. I would think that telling would be useful in contexts where you just don't have the column space, or are limited in the number of words you can provide. And I think it could also be useful -- used judiciously -- if you're deliberately trying to hide something from the reader.

But if you've been telling instead of showing because the amount of work you can see in front of you daunts you (or you just can't envision how it's going to go), I can only say: give it a try. You'll be surprised at what the characters are just waiting to tell you, if you only give them the chance.

#writing #the outer worlds #the journeyman #fanfic #telling not showing #showing not telling #also bathos #turkey city lexicon

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genshin-obsessed · 3 years

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hi pocket! moth here, and as promised, i'm giving you word after word after word after word....

i got cicada to type some stuff down too since he also wanted to send something to you in congratulations!! <3 <3

----moth

congratulations on 6k! you're really rad and i genuinely think that you deserve all this support and love, it's just really nice to see that you've progressed so quickly and smoothly! you've put a ton of effort into things your write, your events, everything! your interactions with your anons are just so nice, and that's all because you're an amazing person!

when i joined the genshin fandom, you were one of the first blogs that i had run into, and that's pretty neat. at first, i didn't follow you, since i wasn't really used to your writing. but as i kept on encountering your works, i eventually grew accustomed to it- and i like your writing style! v swag :)

your oc, toxin, is just- perfection. i like the whole background thing, powers, but the fic i liked the most was the one where toxin attempts to poison you. my imagination can just run wild from there, picturing out what the character did after running out to go after toxin, but for zhongli's case how he took care of you + what he did after.

you, pocket, are a wonderful person- if you receive hate, you don't deserve it! 6000 seems like a large accomplishment, and it must've felt really nice to hit that number. a great person like you deserves the world, but the world may not deserve you. your presence alone on tumblr is practically a blessing, and i'm grateful for everything that you've wrote! not only that, but you've helped me become bolder and interact off anon. i think that's pretty neat, genuinely.

i'm sure many others think the same: ilysm(/p) pocket! even if i fall out of the genshin fandom(which i most likely won't bc of XIAOOOOOOOOOOOO <3 <3 <3 <3), i'll still revisit your blog. reading over your works always makes me crack a smile, whether it's angsty or not. your ability to write is amazing, and some of your works had even inspired a few of mine!

a collab with a person like you is like a dream come true. i look forwards to future interactions, and hopefully they're all positive! i support you no matter what, and you can't change that, hehe.

-your local xiao simp,

moth.

----cicada

hello, i believe you've never interacted or heard of me before? i go by cicada online, a friend that appears on moth's blog every now and then. they told me about your 6k followers, and i think that's pretty neat. to be honest when you told moth that you'd do a collab with them i was happy they chose you, since you're a really good person. pocket, thank you so much for everything you've done for me, moth, all of us- i cannot express my gratitude towards you, and i am proud of that because i can usually express my gratitude to others within words. however, since my gratitude towards you is off the charts, i cannot form it in words. regarding the collab, i will attempt to help moth with angst, however my help might not be needed. i thank you deeply, for fueling my everyday energy to get up. reading through your works gives me so much serotonin, and i appreciate that greatly. have a good day or night, perhaps afternoon, mx. pocket.

-cicada.

----any last words before we go sleep?

moth - ily, pocket! /p

cicada - thank you, congratulations. (note: get your well deserved rest, pocket.)

----goodnight, good morning, good afternoon wherever you are ! !

ok so like i genuinely started crying at this and I don't normally get very emotional. You both left me speechless, so that's one of the reasons why I'm taking so long to respond T^T

I'll split my response here to the both of you!

its kinda long- sorry xD also can I just call yall "the bugs" cuz its just so cute ;-; your names are adorable-

Moth, you are such a sweetheart. Like I said earlier, I'm not someone who gets very emotional! But your words brought tears to my eyes (tears of joy ofc) and it took me a while to respond because every time I saw what you'd written, I'd just have this giant smile on my face. I'm really glad you chose to follow me and I'm so happy you chose to talk to me! I always try to be fun and welcoming so that people who do wanna interact can do so, but I get it, there are so many people here it can get daunting.

But I'm glad you reached out! I'm so happy to have a friend like you! Ima be honest, the first few times you sent something in off anon, I was like "o.o they forgot anon-" BUT NOW LOOK AT YOU! Thank you, I really appreciate it. I'm actually pretty self-conscious about my writing but I try to do my best and post- even though I don't like what I've written, so your words really do help me! You're the type of reader every writer wants. Seriously!!

Ah, Toxin! Yes, I've had her as an oc for such a long time and then I finally perfected her! She's been in so many fics of mine and she's finally getting the recognition she deserves!! I'm glad you enjoyed that fic, it's one of my faves! I planned to do a p2 with some other characters but held off cuz I thought people would get bored- yet here you are, sparking my will to write it again!

I still can't believe I hit 6k! Honestly, that's so many people!! and they all like me and my stuff!! it's really hard to believe- there are days I think its a dream >.< silly, I know xD actually, when I first joined tumblr, it was because of BNHA and I saw this writer who had 10k followers at the time and I just was like "that's not even possible" yet here I am- 4k away T^T

I genuinely hope Xiao keeps you here, but if you have to leave for another fandom that's ok too! I can only hope we'll meet once again there too! I think some people in life are meant to be friends and are just meant to know each other! And I'll hope you're one of them! Cuz you're one of the awesomest friends I've had and I love you as well (/p)!! <333

Cicada, omg haiii!! I've heard very little about you since Moth took FOREVER to tell me there's another writer hidden back there!! I'm glad I got a chance to talk to you, even if it's like this! I'm not sure how much you know about me >.< seems like a lot so I'm sorry that I don't know that much about you!

Thank you so much, you're so very sweet and I can't express how happy your words made me. For a long time now, I always wake up and wonder how I can make my friends smile or laugh, and now that's extended to this blog. To hear how happy my writing makes people brings me so much joy that even I can't express it. I know there are many people out there who have lots of things to deal with in life and to know that my writing's helping them through that fuels me to write more!

I'm so glad I can do the same for you! We may not know each other- or maybe it's mostly on my end- but I still want to make you smile! I want to make everyone who stumbles upon my blog smile as well! Life can get hard and it feels so impossible sometimes but if I can give someone the energy to go on, then I'm pretty content with my own! Thank you for reading my works and thank you for telling me this because it really did make me happy.

Aw, thank you, I hope it's not too much! Though I specialize in angst (at least, I like to think so), I wanted to give Moth the opportunity to try! I'll do my best to make the fluffiest fluffing comfort you've ever seen!! Or uh something like that ^w^"

I really do hope that you and I can talk more so I can get to know you! Oh! And that google form- it was super adorable ^w^

You two are too kind and you best believe I'm saving this lil ask <3 you both very well made my entire week (along with that meme anon with those cute memes) and I'm sending you both hugs!! or cookies ^w^ whichever you prefer!

Also, it was nighttime when you sent this and now its 3am >///< i need sleep-

#🌸─ pocket tries #✧ ─ moth #✧ ─ cicada #you're both so sweet #this is one of my favorite asks #<3 #never change #you two

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rixxy8173571m3w1p3 · 5 years

Text

Phoning Home

The idea for this fic came to me after I called an old friend of mine on the phone. Let's just say I felt a little vulnerable and got emotional, but they're a good friend, so I didn't mind. For my other fics check out my Masterpost.

In this fic the reader and Rick get a bit honest over the phone

__________________________

The funny thing about cell phone reception was that if you stepped into certain parts of your house, you'd lose a bar or two. Though, for whatever reason, it seemed Zeta-7 always had perfect, steady reception; which you thought could've been attributed to the 4 slot chip holder behind his phone battery. Well, with that kind of reliability, you never had trouble understanding him on the other end of a call unless there was background noises like laughing or something blowing up; usually the latter. So, for the most part, it was like having him right there, but not really, and you stressed that when you heard it in his voice; you stressed how important he was to you and how much you missed him. "It's so nice to hear your voice. I feel like it's been forever since I've seen you."

"I-I know." he agreed, light exhaustion coloring his voice. "It's been a-a-a busy couple of weeks hasn't it?"

"You're telling me." you sighed as you glanced at the photo the two of you had taken a few months ago; taken on the night he had assumed you two were about to break up, and you had tried to be mature; all of which you did just to impress him; how silly it was of you, but how lovely an evening it had been. "It seems as though this is all we can do anymore; just talk on the phone and hope that the other person isn't lonely."

"Are you lonely?" he inquired; his voice taking on that particular soft, sweetness which would have almost been alluring if other words had been used instead.

"I want to say I'm not," you started because you wanted to be better than that; to prove that you could be more mature than your years, "but usually I can't. I guess I am."

"I'm s-sorry mi corazón."

"I mean," you tried to reason, "I try to tell myself that it's only temporary and that the work you're doing is much more important than my own feelings, but I feel as though we're on two different worlds, on different planes, and are destined to be apart. I know how silly that sounds, but it's how I feel sometimes. Goodness is it…am I wrong to feel this way?"

"No, you're not. Boy," he confessed, guilt laced in his words. "I - I feel as though I've neglected you."

"No, that's not true at all. You've taken very good care of me."

"Have I? I allowed you to get lonely, and I don't know how I-I-I can forgive myself? Y-you're everything to me."

"As you are to me." you softened; tears biting the back of your eyes. "You're so important to me, that it's like I'm missing a part of myself when you're not here."

"Gosh," Zeta-7 sniffled, pausing for a moment to collect himself before he continued. "y-y-y-y-you don't know how hard it's - how I-I really want to be there with you. All I see all day are lab specimens and m-my own face…that is the faces other Ricks. How I've lasted this long is beyond me, but I believe it's - it's because I think about you."

You sat up on your couch, ready to listen. "What do you mean?"

You heard as he set down something heavy; maybe a book or a beaker full of some concoction. "Do you remember when I said that I sometimes wish I could carry you in my pocket, and have you look after me all the time? Well, I um - I like to imagine that I really do. Th-that you're so small and precious that I can't let you out of my sight or else…"

"Or else what?" you wondered, being both intrigued and warmed by his thoughts.

"Or else someone better suited might take you away from me."

You couldn't have thought of anyone better suited than him. Over all these years, there had been a few guys including an old friend from high school, but they had never been enough. You had other interests in mind, but when Rick came along, it's as though something inside you woke up. In the beginning, Zeta-7 was so shy and easily hurt, and even now he thought you could've had anyone when all you ever wanted was him. "What would you do if someone tried to take me away? Whether in your imagination or in real life, what would you do?"

"I wouldn't let them, unless - unless you wanted to go, but I wouldn't want you to go, not after how long I've waited f-for you. I know I'm being selfish, and I-I should stop rambling but you make me so happy; the happiest I've ever been. How can I not think of you?"

His earnest, sincere nature wasn't lost on you. You had to pause, and take a moment to find your words, let alone a steady train of thought. He truly was lovely; what a shame that he thought so lowly of himself. "I mean, there are a plethora of things to think about."

"Gosh, it's neat to think about experiments and all, but I'd rather - it's mighty swell to think about you."

You placed a hand over your heart, realizing that you didn't feel so bad anymore. In fact, amidst the conversation you found that you had done something similar to cheer yourself up; imagine that he would be somewhere about the house; cooking, cleaning, tinkering, or napping on your couch; ready to greet you with smiles and kind words whenever you were in the room. "I see. I think...no," you blushed, "I do understand what you mean. I think about you all the time too. I'm sorry for worrying you. I should probably let you go now."

"Wait, b-before you go, there's something I wanted to tell you."

"Alright."

"I read something not that long ago and I thought it was fitting. It goes like this: 'Si nadie sabe ni p-por qué reímos,'" he softened, "'ni por qué lloramos; si nadie sabe ni por qué v-vivimos, ni por qué nos vamos; si en un mar de tinieblas nos movemos, si t-todo es noche en derredor y arcano, a lo menos, amemos; quizá no sea en vano.'"

"Rick, that sounded lovely, but while I've been trying to learn a little Spanish, I don't understand. What does that mean?"

You heard a familiar sound, and behind you, a portal opened, and he stepped through; from head to toe, he was covered in a hazmat suit. With a lighthearted chuckle, he cleared his throat and you swore you could hear his blush, through his mask. "It - it means in more or less words that despite whatever happens or might happen, th-that I love you."

Those words which he always meant, but rarely said struck you with such a force that you couldn't help but be relieved and the burble of laughter which escaped your throat was not contained. And as much as you wanted to hold him, you knew that if he was wearing all this gear, it was for a good reason. "Oh Ricky, I would kiss you if I could."

"I-I'm not supposed t-to have left and might get in trouble," he confessed, "but I had t-t-to come here in person to tell you that. How else could I prove my worth as y-your boyfriend? As a man?"

Standing as close as you could, you smiled up at him; unaware of his own struggle in wanting to hold you, but not being in a condition to do so. "You prove it to me all the time as you had just now. Why I couldn't ask for anyone better. Thank you, dear, really thank you for being with me."

He stretched out his arm, nearly touching your cheek with his gloved hand, but stopped and allowed it to drop to his side. "I'm - I'm sorry, but I hav-"

"To go? It's okay, I understand."

Rubbing his arm, he informed you, "I'll be back soon."

As always, like a ghost, he would go away; not knowing when he should return, but knew that he was never far whether you wished it or not. "Alright."

He turned around, unhappy that he'd have to leave you alone again, but before stepping through the portal, he mentioned. "After this assignment is done, I'll take an extended vacation, and w-we'll go wherever you want."

There were a great many places which you thought of and wished to go, but if anything else, one thing proved true. "As long as you're with me," you confessed, with a hand pressed over your heart. "then I'll be happy because when I'm with you, it's like coming home."

"Me too. More than you'll ever know."

Fin

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ziracona · 4 years

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What has been your favorite ilm chapter to write? Your least favorite? Do you have any interesting fun facts that were in cut pieces? I love this fic and the research put in is astounding. You put so much love into this. I'm glad to have been a reader :)

Thank you so much for asking this, and I’m really happy you have liked it! : ) Researching all kinds of wild stuff has been one of the most fun parts. (I’m holding the start of the answer to each question you asked, bc I talked about the first one for a while lol).

I do have a favourite chapter! I think to read, it would be a lot harder question, and there’d be a bunch of chapters tied, but as an author, my favourite chapter is most definitely Speak for the Dead. I have a lot of favourite moments and chapters, but that’s the one I’m most proud of. There’s a really rare thing in writing I call “script perfection,” which is not like, a perfect script in comparison to other scripts, it just means the version of the script that got shot/published was the best version of that particular script there ever could have been. It’s incredibly rare, and very hard to do. Even with films and shows I love, usually there will be seconds, sometimes minutes, off and on, that are the best version of those seconds there could have ever been. And the rest of it is great! It’s maybe the second or third or eighth-best it could have been, and that’s still super impressive--like man--eigth-best is still so close to 1st, eigth best is freaking phenomenal. It’s something to be really proud of. But that’s as high as it almost ever gets. For anything. Only extremely rarely is an entire script at 96% or above on script perfection. (I would say for reference that Galaxy Quest and The Incredibles are two such films).

It isn’t the most important part of a script or a story at all. Not by a huge amount. The quality of the story itself is. I have plenty of films that never hit 90% or above script perfection that I still prefer over films that did (like, Galaxy Quest is an amazing film, and I’m in awe that it hit that level of refinement, but I still like The Two Towers, which definitely did not, better. Because Sam’s speech at the end of it is enough to power me for a whole year). But it’s still such a rare thing. And god, it’s hard. Any kind of media is done on some kind of budget (be it financial or energy or both), and time constraint, and also it’s just not easy to do. Again, true-final-draft achievement (which is probably a better name for this bc it’s less confusing) is far from the most important or valuable aspect of a film, or play, or book, and it’s not necessary to make a story amazing. But it’s still always /so/ cool to see. It’s cool to see a nine minute continuous stretch of it even, on screen. And out of all the chapters I’ve written, the only one I think hit true-final-draft at least 96% or above, was Speak for the Dead. And that’s not embarrassing or anything. It’s wild. And I’m super proud of that. I’m proud I got even one. Because a lot of even my favourite books don’t. They just have perfected scenes, and a lot of them, but are not the best draft they could have been. Which does absolutely nothing to negate their worth as phenomenal books, but. I’m really, really proud of Speak for the Dead, and very happy with myself for having been able to do that at least once. I kind of treasure that.

It’s also a special chapter to me, because I had it only very loosely outlined/planned for at all, and it kind of came together on its own, and everything just came together and fell into place just right, and this chapter I had been really unsure of before starting turned into my favourite one in the entire fic. I like what I write, and I enjoy reading it myself, but there’s a line in Speak for the Dead where Tapp is trying to explain everything to Meg, about himself and his past and his family, and he’s been going through this like, awful mass of confusion and trauma and guilt and regret that’s all come to a head in this one day, and he’s found out who Amanda is and can’t deal with that and the person he knew, and the way Sing died, the choices she went on to make, and there’s so much even he doesn’t understand about how the world is falling apart around him, but somehow he figures it out enough to say it to Meg. And he has a line: “You’re supposed to stay late and work the extra eight hours overnight to catch the killer so somebody doesn’t die; you’re not supposed to go home to your family and give your kid a hug. It’s not as important, in an equation. It was my responsibility. And I didn’t get that the other job had its own set of rules. That the cop’s supposed to let the bus with his partner fall, but the dad’s supposed to let the fifteen people go and save his kid—he’s supposed to go running through crowded subway tunnels chased by gunmen, consequences be damned, to get them away from where his kid’s hiding. I didn’t get it. I don’t know why. I loved him right, but I didn’t act like it, because I thought I was doing the right thing. But if everybody’s just numbers, you lose anything that matters, no matter how high the numbers go up. And you don’t realize until it’s way too late that you do just as much good really helping one person you signed on to protect as you could have ever done bouncing off the lives of a hundred people who go on to be the next Jigsaw.”

And like. I fucking love that line. God. It’s such a hard thing to articulate, what he’s going through in that moment, and I try, but I think I often don’t do as good a job. But every time I read that last line it’s like a gut punch. And I really love it. How the fuck could you possibly feel after going through the experience he’s just had? It’s such a specific, indescribable kind of big, whole-world-view devestating.

There’s also a lot of really sweet moments with Meg, and Adam drugged and injured but trying really hard to help, and it’s a super understated chapter in a lot of the moments? Tapp’s one of my favourites to write, because of the way he thinks. He tries so hard to be lawful good in a world where there’s just no law at all anymore. And he’s older by far than anyone else, and thinks about the world that way. Honestly, it’s one of the most serious chapters. It’s less graphic than say Proven or The End of the Line, but it deals with some very not remotely fantastic and not pretty themes. It’s heavy. But I like the way it tells itself. I enjoy working in references when they make things fun, or better, or more meaningful, and I got to do that a lot. Plus, it gave Ace and Tapp a bunch of one-on-one time they didn’t really get on-screen as much in any of the rest of the fic, but I really loved it. The way they try to look after the people they care for, and how they understand each other. I just really fucking loved that chapter. Also, Tapp beat someone to death with a reverse bear trap that was still attached to his head so he could save Meg from dying in a way that would be super lastingly traumatic, and if that’s not the most metal thing I’ve ever heard? I really love Tapp. And I love that he sticks to the things he does. Meg never learns what Amanda was going to do to her, not in fic, not after. And Tapp does change how he does things are talking to Meg at the end of that chapter. Tapp’s the one who immediately says they can’t go public with any information on Rin until she’s passed on, even though it could really help them prove their case and hypothetically better protect the world, because he’s not willing to see a kid forced to revert to being violent and feral against her will in self-defense, or locked up in a government black site to get that. He did good. Life has not been kind to this poor man, but thankfully, Meg Thomas has.

Least favourite? Way harder. Hmmm. Always whichever one I wrote most recently 😂

In complete seriousness, I don’t think I have one? I have like 6 I consider “slightly-less-interesting” than the rest, but I don’t have one I hate period, or just dislike a lot. Uhhhh. If I had to pick one right now, I’d say Core Essentials, because I haven’t read it in over a year and don’t remember it as well as many others, and of the small number of chapters in the “Damn, been a hot minute, huh?” group, it’s the one I remember the least. This rating may change next time I actually read it, lol.

Hmmm. Interesting fun facts in cut segments. In the original draft for Shrouded, Claudette went into Philip’s basement and got a really good look at the other side of the wall, through one of the cracks, and saw the Entity and almost gave herself a panic attack. The other side of the basement wall was described as looking like the sun, like just looking at light, but only at first, and then there was movement like a snake coiling or some huge creatuer deep underwater sliding across your vision, too big to see, but alive in there in the middle of the light, and moving around, and it horrified her. It was extremely creepy but pretty cool.

The original draft for The Wraith included Philip experiencing fragmented audio memories from Signifying Nothing/his time with Vigo & co. while he was mostly unconscious. It was really cool and I forgot because I haven’t read it in forever, but it hinted at /way/ more of the plot to those past events. I really liked the draft, but ended up changing it into what was published because I’d never done anything with his memories before, and I didn’t want to disorient the reader too much (probably a good call, but it was still a neat scene in the OG form).

It’s not in the fic, but canonically, after leaving the survivors camp at the end of The Wraith, Philip came up with his plan to leave himself a message in the bell, and then called the Entity. Trying to talk his way out immediately failed, and it was shitty to him and pissed him off, and Philip had considered what might work on something like the Entity before calling it, and knew he was dead either way, so he tried to fight it. More to see if it would work than anything. He knew he would forget it even if he did, but sometimes impulses lingered, and it was possible if it worked, it would help him think of it again. He used his blood and drew a protective symbol against demons on his palm without it noticing, then rushed it, and it wasn’t scared of him so it didn’t give a fuck, but he smacked it with the charm and that actually succeeded in burning its talon (very little, but enough to cause it actual pain) and it flipped out and got extremely angry, and immediately stabbed him through the skull, which is why he returned with that chunk of his mask gone and has a scar on his forehead now. Originally, I was considering writing some of the events between The Wraith and Dawn from Philip’s POV, but decided it was much better sticking with the survivors and their uncertainty completely. Got to live in the anxiety baybeeee.

I’m sure there’s more but you activated my trap card asking about Speak for the Dead - a special interest- and I already made this long, so I should stop for now. Thank you again so much for asking! I hope my answers made sense are we’re at least kinda enjoyable to read. 💙💙💙

#ask #anonymous #in living memory #in living memory (fic)#writing #ilm spoilers #this was so fun and im glad i had an excuse to go writing meta haha. the one part of college i miss :’-)#thanks! 💙 it was really sweet. and fun to answer!#long post

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