#I’d love to write more broader

[rodolfoparras]

Spot Drabble coming tomorrow 🫶🏻 and then I’m

Coming for this man

[cbeargyu]

the one he waited for

summary: when you’re finally forced to confront the simmering attraction between you and jungwon, your brother’s best friend, the result is unexpected. one late-night encounter, charged with tension, ends up crossing a line neither of you thought you’d dare. what started as a playful game turns into something deeper and more intense, and now there’s no going back.

pairing: jungwon x noona!reader

genre: smut, romance, age-gap, angst, forbidden love, emotional tension.

warnings: age gap (reader 4-5 years older), explicit content, sexual themes, dirty talk, masturbation, first-time sex, light power dynamics, vulnerability, emotional complexity.

wc: 5,3k

notes: heeeeey🩷 these days i’ve been feeling really attacked by jungwon😩 i can’t stop thinking about him, so i thought i’d write a fanfic with this theme because i saw a tiktok where he calls a fan "noona" and plays along with it😶‍🌫️

you met jungwon when he still had milk teeth and scabby knees.

you were in the third year of secondary school, hormonal and vaguely annoyed at the universe, when your little brother sunoo came home one day dragging behind him a skinny, quiet boy with a backpack twice the size of his torso.

“this is jungwon,” sunoo had said, already halfway to his room. “he’s new. his mom knows mom. we’re partners for the science project.”

you barely looked up from your textbook, muttering a polite hello. but he looked at you.

really looked.

his eyes lingered longer than they should’ve for a kid his age, wide and curious and—something else. like he wasn’t just seeing you, but memorizing you.

“hi,” he said softly, his voice still uncertain, his ears already turning pink.

you didn’t think much of it at first. boys were shy around you sometimes — older cousins’ friends, classmates, the occasional awkward neighbor. you thought it was just a phase of growing up. you didn’t realize that for jungwon, it wasn’t a phase. it was the beginning.

he started showing up more often after that. friday afternoons. saturdays. sometimes sundays if their homework was especially hard (or if he just needed an excuse to see your face again).

you'd come out of your room to grab water and find him sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, trying to focus on sunoo's babbling explanation of mitosis while accidentally glancing at you every ten seconds.

he never spoke to you much. when he did, his voice cracked. or he stumbled over his words. once, you asked him if he wanted juice, and he stared at you like you’d just proposed marriage.

“uh—um—y-yeah,” he stammered, hands fumbling with the hem of his hoodie, cheeks flushing deep scarlet. “please. i mean—if—it’s okay—if you’re not—like, busy.”

you almost laughed. but you didn’t.

because something about the way he looked at you made your heart ache a little. it wasn’t gross or inappropriate. it was… earnest. innocent.

like he genuinely thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

and the thing is — you noticed.

you noticed the way he’d sit up straighter when you entered the room. how his voice would drop an octave and crack embarrassingly. how he’d peek at you from behind sunoo’s head, then quickly look away when you caught him. how his hands would shake a little when you passed him a cup or brushed too close.

you never teased him for it. you never said anything.

because in some quiet, maybe slightly selfish part of your mind… you liked it.

you liked being admired. being seen. being felt that intensely, even if it was from the shy, blushing best friend of your little brother.

he was always respectful. always sweet. he never crossed a line. but his crush on you clung to the air like perfume. soft. warm. obvious.

years passed. you graduated. life got louder. messier. you dated. you worked. you kissed boys who didn’t love you and left

boys who didn’t deserve you.

jungwon grew taller. broader. his face sharpened. his voice deepened. but every time he came over — during holidays, birthdays, random reunions — he still had that same look when he saw you. like his chest couldn’t hold everything he felt at once.

you pretended not to notice.

but god, it was hard.

especially when he started looking at you like he wasn’t thirteen anymore. like he could actually handle everything he felt.

and one night, everything shifted.

you hadn’t heard from sunoo all day.

which wasn’t particularly rare — he was in his second year of university, constantly juggling late-night study sessions and social events, and had recently started going out more with his friends. you figured he was just having one of those wild friday nights. until your phone buzzed at 1:14 a.m.

sunoo [1:14 AM]: noonaaa pls come get us jungwon threw up i’m fine but he’s dead pls don’t tell mom

you sighed, rolled your eyes, grabbed your keys and slipped into the hoodie you always used for midnight emergencies — not that you were ever planning to see anyone during them.

you pulled up in front of a too-bright, too-loud, too-packed house on the edge of campus and texted sunoo to come out.

a few minutes later, the front door opened and there he was — clinging to the arm of someone taller, broader, effortlessly holding him upright. for a second, you didn’t recognize him.

then he looked up.

and there he was.

jungwon.

but not the jungwon you remembered.

this jungwon wasn’t a boy.

he wasn’t wearing baggy jeans and awkward energy and hope in his eyes.

this jungwon was all jawline and collarbone, his black t-shirt clinging to a chest that clearly spent time at the gym. his hair was longer, messier, falling in soft waves over his forehead. his eyes met yours — steady, quiet, focused — and for the first time, he didn’t look away.

he didn’t flinch. didn’t stammer.

he smiled.

“hey,” he said, voice deep and low, still warm but heavier now, mature. “sorry about this.”

you blinked.

that’s your voice? you wanted to ask. that’s how you talk now? that’s how you look at me?

sunoo groaned beside him. “i’m fine, but jungwon had like three shots too many. we tried to leave earlier but he threw up in the bushes.”

jungwon grimaced slightly. “traitor.”

“shut up, you begged me for water and called me ‘hyung.’”

“i was being polite.”

“you’re not polite, you’re pathetic.”

they bickered all the way to the car, sunoo practically collapsing in the back seat while jungwon climbed into the passenger side. you could still smell the alcohol on both of them, but jungwon didn’t reek. he smelled like a faint trace of expensive cologne and something else—soap? mint? you couldn’t place it, but it was… grown-up.

he glanced at you while you drove. quiet at first. but his eyes didn’t stray.

“thanks for coming,” he said after a moment, voice softer. “i told him not to call you.”

you shook your head. “it’s fine. better me than some drunk stranger.”

he chuckled under his breath. “you’ve always saved him. guess you’re still saving me, too.”

your hands tightened a little on the steering wheel. you tried not to look at him. you failed.

“you’re different,” you murmured. “you look…”

“older?” he offered.

you smirked. “yeah. and bigger. like—buffer. you work out?”

“a bit,” he said, smiling like he knew exactly what you were thinking. “i’m doing physical education. planning to specialize in rehabilitation and injury recovery. so, yeah. kind of have to stay in shape.”

you blinked. “you’re studying physio?”

he nodded. “yeah. i like the idea of helping people heal.”

and fuck, that sounded more attractive than it should’ve. something about his voice, his posture — he wasn’t trying to impress you. he was just being.

“you?” he asked after a pause.

“i’m freelancing right now,” you said, eyes back on the road. “graphic design. branding mostly. and some small business stuff. it’s boring.”

“no it’s not. it’s so you.”

you glanced at him.

he smiled again, but this time it was smaller. less polished. more personal. like it belonged to a memory — of juice in plastic cups and teenage crushes and the way your laugh used to make him drop his pencil.

“you remember a lot for someone who barely talked to me,” you teased.

“i didn’t talk because i knew i’d say something dumb,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “but i watched. a lot. i—used to like you. a lot.”

the air between you cracked. just a little. a thin fissure running through the quiet, letting in something hot and unspoken.

“used to?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

jungwon looked at you.

his eyes weren’t shy anymore. they were steady. unwavering. burning.

“no,” he said.

“not used to.”

the living room was still, dimly lit by the glow of the microwave clock from the kitchen. you had tossed extra blankets on the couch for both of them, with sunoo passed out flat and snoring softly on the floor, limbs sprawled like he'd been dropped from the ceiling.

jungwon had taken the couch without protest, pulling a hoodie over his t-shirt and curling into it like he thought it would keep him safe from the memories clinging to your home.

but he couldn’t sleep.

it wasn’t the couch. it wasn’t the faint buzz of the refrigerator or the thin light seeping in from the streetlamps outside.

it was you.

he could still smell your perfume on the blanket you'd handed him. he could still hear your voice from the car — the way you said he’d changed, how you looked at him like maybe you saw it, maybe you noticed it.

he stared at the ceiling for an hour. two.

and then quietly stood, careful not to step on sunoo as he padded toward the hallway.

he didn’t expect to run into you.

not like that.

you were just stepping out of the bathroom, your hand tugging lightly at the knot on your robe. it was short — too short. soft grey cotton, the hem brushing high on your thighs and clinging to your hips like it had something to prove. your hair was down, still slightly damp from a shower, curling a little at the ends. your legs were bare.

he froze.

you blinked, mildly startled, but your eyes flicked down his body before returning to his face, amused.

"couldn't sleep?" you asked, your voice low from sleep but edged with curiosity.

jungwon swallowed, gaze darting once to your thighs before he caught himself.

"yeah. uh—couch's kinda stiff."

"mm," you nodded, stepping past him. he stayed still, hyper-aware of the way your shoulder brushed his chest, the smell of your skin so close he could taste it. “or maybe something else is keeping you up.”

he didn’t answer.

you turned, leaning against the hallway wall, arms crossed — and the movement made the robe ride up even higher. his eyes flicked to the exposed skin, then back up to yours. caught again.

you tilted your head. “jungwon…”

“yeah?” his voice cracked. once.

you smiled slowly, wickedly, like you were enjoying how nervous he looked.

“why do you always look at me like that?”

he tensed. “like what?”

“like i’m the only thing in the room.”

he stared at you, wide-eyed, lips parted, like you’d just spoken the deepest truth of his life. and maybe you had.

“i—i don’t—” he started, then stopped. sighed. “i didn’t mean to.”

“but you do.”

he dropped his gaze.

“you’ve been looking at me like that since you were fourteen,” you said softly, stepping closer. “don’t think i never noticed. the stares. the blushes. the way you used to stop talking mid-sentence if i walked into the room.”

he exhaled shakily. “you… knew?”

“of course i did.” you leaned in a little. “and now, you still do it. except you don’t blush anymore.”

he met your eyes. something flickered there — fear, maybe. frustration.

desire.

“you’re playing with me,” he said quietly.

you smiled, not denying it.

“you’re my brother’s friend, jungwon,” you said, tone playful, like that meant something. “you’re younger. i’m just—curious.”

his jaw tensed.

“is that what i am to you?” he said, voice sharper now, wounded. “just a curiosity? some dumb kid with a crush you can tease?”

you didn’t answer. not immediately.

but he stepped forward — two full strides — until he was right in front of you. taller now. broader. not afraid to get close.

“i’m not a kid anymore.”

his voice had dropped, rough at the edges. his gaze was steady. no hesitation now.

“i’m twenty,” he said. “i’ve lived on my own. i’ve seen things. i’ve felt things. i’m not that shy little boy who got nervous when you bent over to get something from the fridge.”

your breath caught.

“then who are you?” you asked, whispering.

he leaned in, lips brushing your ear as he replied.

“i’m a man who’s wanted you for years.”

goosebumps.

your knees nearly gave out.

he pulled back, watching your face, waiting to see if you’d laugh again — if you’d keep playing.

but you didn’t.

you just stared at him, lips parted, chest rising and falling a little too fast.

“show me,” you murmured.

he didn’t say anything.

he didn’t need to.

you turned without a word and walked to your room, knowing he would follow. his footsteps were quiet but quick behind you, like he was afraid you’d change your mind if he hesitated too long.

the moment you closed the door behind him, he stood still—eyes flickering over the space like it was holy, forbidden. like he was stepping into something he’d only ever imagined.

and you could feel it. the weight of his stare. the breath he held in his lungs.

your robe was still loose. still too short. your skin was warm and dewy from the shower, soft and smelling like lavender soap, and you knew the scent would drive him mad. it already was—he was staring at the curve of your collarbone, the hollow between your breasts, the smoothness of your thighs peeking out from under the edge of the fabric.

“sit,” you whispered.

he sat on the edge of your bed like he was being summoned to a throne.

you stood in front of him. close. close enough that your knees brushed his.

he looked up at you—eyes dark, lips parted, fingers gripping the mattress like he needed to hold on to something real.

“do you still want this?” you asked.

he nodded. fast.

“use your words, jungwon.”

“yes,” he said, voice hoarse. “yes. i want you.”

you climbed into his lap slowly, deliberately, straddling his thighs, your hands on his shoulders. he gasped softly at the contact, at the weight of you, at the way your robe parted slightly, revealing more of your thighs and a glimpse of black lace underneath.

“you’re not a kid anymore,” you whispered, brushing your nose against his. “you’re not just sunoo’s friend.”

he nodded again. “i want to be yours.”

your heart clenched.

you kissed him.

soft at first—just the press of lips, the taste of him, the trembling hesitation of years of longing finally touching skin. but he moaned, low and needy, and his hands flew to your waist, pulling you closer. you felt him hard against you already, pressed between your bodies.

“fuck,” you breathed against his mouth. “you’ve been holding this in a long time, haven’t you?”

“so long,” he whispered. “you have no idea.”

your fingers slid into his hair, tugging, and he gasped again. you kissed down his jaw, to his throat, sucking softly just below his ear, feeling his breath catch against your shoulder.

his hands slipped under your robe, palms hot and desperate against your thighs.

“can i…?” he asked, voice shaking.

“anything,” you said.

he pushed the robe off your shoulders slowly, reverently, like he was unwrapping something sacred. his eyes widened when it slipped down your arms and pooled at your waist, baring your chest to him. his breath caught—completely still for a second—just staring.

“you’re so fucking beautiful,” he whispered.

you smiled, tugging his shirt up and over his head, revealing his lean, toned torso. his skin was golden, smooth, his shoulders broader than you remembered, his body hard from years of growing and becoming.

he wasn’t a boy anymore.

he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier. and when he pulled you down to the bed with him, the last thread of restraint snapped.

your robe came off completely.

he looked at you like you were everything.

and then he worshipped you like it.

“have you…?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper as your fingers trailed down the line of his abs.

he looked at you, cheeks already flushed, lips kiss-bitten and raw. he nodded slowly.

“yeah,” he said, swallowing thickly. “i’ve been with someone. once.”

you raised an eyebrow.

“but it wasn’t like this,” he added quickly, reaching up to touch your face. “it was nothing like this.”

you leaned into his palm. “what was it like?”

he hesitated, then let out a soft laugh. embarrassed. “fast. awkward. i couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

you blinked.

he looked away, like he wasn’t sure he should have said that out loud. “i mean… i used to—fuck, i used to jerk off to the thought of you. all the time. your voice. your thighs. the way you looked at me like you knew i was nervous. it was fucked up, i know. but i couldn’t help it.”

your lips parted.

your stomach clenched.

your thighs pressed together automatically at the confession, at the heat in his voice, the hunger. the honesty.

“how many times?” you whispered, voice low against his jaw.

he groaned. “so many. i’d get home from hanging out with sunoo and lock myself in my room. sometimes i couldn’t even make it through dinner.”

you let out a soft, breathy laugh. “god, jungwon…”

“i want to make it good for you,” he said then, serious again. “i want to make you feel everything. like you deserve.”

you kissed him before he could say anything else. kissed him hard. slow. deep. your tongue dragging over his, sucking softly on his bottom lip.

“show me,” you murmured against his mouth. “you’ve waited so long. show me how much.”

his hands shook slightly as he slid down between your legs, kissing down your throat, your collarbones, between your breasts, taking his time. his breath was warm against your skin. reverent. worshipful.

“you smell like heaven,” he murmured, nosing against your stomach. “like soap and heat and you.”

you arched up for him, and he pulled your panties down slowly, dragging them down your legs, eyes fixed on your pussy like it was something sacred.

“fuck,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “you’re soaked.”

his fingers ghosted over your folds, trembling.

you caught his wrist gently, eyes on his. “you can touch me, jungwon. it’s okay. you’re allowed now.”

that seemed to snap something inside him. his mouth was on you seconds later, licking into you like he needed it to live. he groaned when you gasped, when you tangled your fingers in his hair and cried out his name.

he was eager. hungry. desperate to please.

and when you finally pulled him up, breathless, your thighs shaking, he looked at you like he was about to break.

“please,” he whispered. “please let me fuck you.”

you nodded. pulled him down. reached between you both and helped guide him to your entrance, feeling the weight of him—thick, hard, pulsing.

he slid in slow.

inch by inch.

his breath was ragged. yours was gone entirely.

you both gasped at the stretch, the warmth, the way your bodies fit like they’d been waiting all this time to do this.

he buried his face in your neck, panting, whispering your name over and over like a prayer.

“so tight,” he groaned. “so fucking wet. fuck—i’m not gonna last if you keep clenching like that.”

you moaned at his honesty, at the way his voice cracked, at the rawness in his tone. he started to move, slow at first, dragging his hips back and then forward again, pushing deep, grinding into you.

it was good. better than you expected. it wasn’t just sex—it was years of longing, of wanting, of watching each other from opposite sides of a line neither of you had dared to cross.

until now.

“you feel like everything,” he whispered, fucking into you harder now, deeper. “i dreamed about this. every night. every fucking night.”

“then don’t stop,” you gasped, wrapping your legs around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “fuck me like you’ve waited for it.”

and he did.

he fucked you with devotion, with hunger, with shaking hands and eyes wide open so he wouldn’t miss a single expression on your face. something dark, something feral flickered in his gaze.

and just like that, the fear in his shoulders melted, replaced by heat.

he kissed you again, harder now, and without pulling out, he rolled you on top of him, hands gripping your thighs.

“ride me,” he whispered, voice low and broken. “please. i need to see you.”

you slid up slowly, his cock dragging along your walls, then sank back down, making both of you moan.

“fuck,” he gasped, fingers digging into your hips. “you feel—so fucking good. fuck—fuck—please don’t stop.”

you moved above him in reverse cowgirl, hands on his thighs for support as you rode him slow at first, then faster when you felt his cock twitch again inside. he sat up, chest against your back, mouth on your neck, groaning your name like it was a spell.

“you’re so fucking hot like this,” he muttered, his hands gripping your ass, spreading you open so he could watch his cock slide in and out. “i dreamed about this. every fucking day.”

when you started to clench again, he lay you on your stomach gently, pulling your hips up, and slid into you from behind—deeper, harder.

doggie style hit different with jungwon.

he was more confident now, more vocal, panting above you, whispering how tight you were, how wet, how you were making him lose his mind.

you pushed your ass back on him greedily, and he groaned, one hand gripping your waist, the other on your shoulder to keep you steady as he fucked you harder.

“you like this?” he rasped, pounding into you. “you like being fucked like this? like you’re mine?”

you moaned something between yes and his name, your voice breaking with every thrust.

he leaned down, his chest against your back again, fucking you hard and deep.

“you’re mine now,” he whispered against your ear. “you’re not gonna fuck anyone else after this, right?”

“no,” you gasped. “just you. only you, jungwon.”

and then, after you both came again, shaking and breathless, he didn’t stop.

he took you in missionary one last time—slow, deep, eyes on yours the entire time, his forehead resting against yours as he kissed you between moans, whispering how beautiful you looked, how long he’d waited to love you like this.

“you’re everything,” he whispered, voice cracking as he pushed in deep one last time. “you’re everything i’ve ever wanted.”

he stilled with a broken gasp, arms trembling around your body as his hips jerked forward one final time, deeper than before, his breath hot against your neck. the way he moaned your name—desperate, shaky, reverent—sent a shiver through you that tangled with the warmth blooming low in your stomach.

you felt it when he came.

thick, pulsing inside you, filling you up so suddenly that his whole body tensed, and for a second he looked stricken—terrified even—his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, "shit, i—i came inside. i didn’t mean to. fuck—"

your fingers combed through his hair gently, trying to calm the frantic rhythm of his breathing. you tilted your head to look at him, his flushed cheeks, his wide, guilty eyes.

"it’s okay. i’m on the pill. i’ve been on it for years." you murmured, your voice soft but sure.

he blinked at you, his brows furrowing. “really?”

you nodded, your thumb tracing his cheekbone, then the corner of his parted lips. “yeah. you’re fine, baby. you don’t have to panic.”

his shoulders slowly relaxed, and something shifted behind his eyes—like he was letting himself believe it was real. that this wasn’t a mistake. that you wanted him just as much.

then he kissed you again—slow, deep, grateful—still buried inside you, still catching his breath.

you didn’t move. neither of you did.

just stayed tangled like that, in your sheets, in your skin, in something that felt too big to name yet too fragile to let go of.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered after a pause. “i wanted to last longer. i thought i would.”

you smiled, brushing his damp hair back from his forehead.

“you did better than i expected,” you teased, lips grazing his jaw. “besides… we’re not done unless you are.”

he looked at you, eyes dark and hungry again.

“i’m not done.”

you didn’t know how long you stayed like that, bodies pressed together, chests rising and falling in sync. his heartbeat was still racing beneath your palm, but it had softened now—steady, grounded. there was something so beautifully boyish in the way he clung to you even after, like he couldn’t believe he got to touch you like this. like you might disappear if he let go.

“you’re warm,” he mumbled sleepily against your collarbone.

you smiled, your hand sliding slowly down his back. “you wore yourself out.”

“i didn’t think…” he trailed off, his lips grazing your skin again. “i didn’t think it would feel like that.”

“like what?”

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes. “like i belonged to you.”

your breath caught.

you didn’t answer right away. you just cupped his jaw, kissed him soft and deep, like a thank you and a promise rolled into one.

his hand brushed your side, then your thigh. tentative. reverent.

you felt him growing hard again, slow and unhurried, pressing against your hip with the same nervous need that had always burned quietly behind his eyes.

but there was no rush this time.

just heat, and quiet hunger, and the kind of tension that settles deep in your bones.

you shifted slightly, tilting your hips as you reached between you and wrapped your fingers around him, making him gasp softly against your mouth. his hips jerked into your palm, and he whined—high, breathy, desperate.

"you’re still so sensitive," you whispered, teasing your thumb over the head, slick and flushed.

he nodded, eyes fluttering shut. “but i want you again… i want to make you feel good.”

“you already did.”

“not enough.”

his voice cracked on the last word, and that was all it took.

you rolled him onto his back slowly, straddling his hips, your movements smooth and sure as you lined him up again. his hands gripped your thighs like he didn’t know where to touch first, overwhelmed, eyes wide and starry as you sank down onto him with a quiet moan.

he was deeper like this.

closer.

“fuck,” he choked, watching you like he was in awe, like he couldn’t believe this was real.

you rode him slowly at first, your hands on his chest, grounding yourself in the rise and fall of his breath. his mouth dropped open, fingers digging into your waist as he tried to hold back.

but you could tell he was unraveling.

every time you circled your hips, every roll forward, every clench around him made him twitch inside you, made him moan through gritted teeth.

"you’re doing so well," you murmured, leaning down to kiss his lips, his jaw, the hollow of his throat. “look at you. fucking me so good…”

he whimpered, bucking up into you.

“tell me you’re mine,” you whispered, lips brushing his ear.

“i’m yours,” he groaned, like it hurt. “i’ve always been yours.”

you shifted your angle, riding him harder now, chasing your own release as his hands scrambled to grab your ass, pulling you down with every thrust.

“i can’t—fuck—i’m gonna cum again—”

and when he came again—louder this time, broken and raw, with your name falling from his lips like a confession—you let go with him, your walls tightening around him, pulling him deeper until neither of you could breathe.

you collapsed against his chest, trembling, kissed his sweat-slick skin as his arms curled around you.

he held you like you were his.

because in some quiet, undeniable way—you were.

sunoo wakes up with a throbbing headache and the taste of cheap vodka in his mouth.

he groans dramatically, rolls over, and nearly falls off the couch. “i’m never drinking again,” he mumbles, as he always does, before drinking again next weekend.

after peeing for what feels like an eternity, he shuffles out into the hallway—barefoot, hoodie halfway on, hair looking like he fought a raccoon and lost.

and then he hears it.

a door creaking shut.

your door.

his eyes narrow.

he walks to the kitchen. there’s a coffee mug on the counter. another one in the sink. two mugs. okay. maybe you just wanted a second cup.

he turns around.

jungwon walks in, freshly showered, wearing one of your oversized t-shirts that says “girlboss energy” on the front.

sunoo blinks.

jungwon blinks back.

“morning,” jungwon says, casual. too casual. the shirt hangs halfway down his thighs like a nightgown and he has the audacity to stretch — arms over his head, shirt lifting just enough to show hip bone.

sunoo stares.

“...is that my sister’s shirt?”

jungwon pauses. “uh. laundry emergency?”

“we were only here for eight hours, what did you—never mind.” sunoo rubs his temples. “why do you smell like her shampoo?”

jungwon opens his mouth. closes it. shrugs.

“you two didn’t—” sunoo cuts himself off. “wait.”

his eyes go wide.

jungwon picks up a banana and starts peeling it like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “you want some eggs?”

“don’t change the subject!” sunoo screeches, pointing an accusatory finger. “did you fuck my sister?!”

jungwon freezes. the banana droops sadly in his hand.

then, very quietly, he says: “define ‘fuck’.”

sunoo screams.

sunoo sits at the kitchen table, staring at the two of you like you’re both guilty of murder. well, not just murder—incestuous murder.

you and jungwon are trying to act as normal as possible, but neither of you are fooling him for a second.

you’re stirring your coffee like it’s the most casual thing in the world, and jungwon’s sitting there, still wearing your t-shirt and acting like this is just any ordinary morning.

“so,” sunoo starts slowly, trying to piece everything together like it’s a bad detective show. “you two didn’t—you know...”

you raise an eyebrow at him, innocently. “didn’t what?”

“You didn’t,” he waves his hand dramatically, “kiss or… touch… or—anything?”

you pause for a second, and then you smile. a sweet, innocent smile that screams “i know what you’re thinking but i’m not going to confirm it.”

“sunoo,” you say calmly, “that’s not what happened.”

jungwon chimes in, voice a little too smooth. “yeah, we were just—uh, talking. you know. bonding over childhood memories and stuff.”

“memories, huh?” sunoo squints suspiciously. “so that’s what you’re calling it now?”

“uh, yeah?” jungwon looks way too casual about this. “like how you and i used to play video games when we were little?”

sunoo shakes his head. “but you—you're wearing her shirt.”

“well, the other option was wearing your dirty laundry,” jungwon smirks. “you really want that?”

sunoo looks horrified. “okay, no. no. i’m done with you two. this is too much.”

but then, you—ever the calm, collected one—lean forward and say in that smooth voice of yours, “sunoo, it was an accident.”

jungwon nods. “accident. i slipped… into your sister’s bed.”

sunoo, completely done with everything, slowly places his face into his hands. “god, i’m going to need therapy after this.”

you grin, leaning back in your chair with a teasing glint in your eye. “don’t worry. we won’t make it a habit.”

jungwon’s eyes widen in panic. “wait—no, i—”

“too late, jungwon,” you tease, crossing your arms. “your secret’s safe with me... for now.”

sunoo’s head jerks up, horrified. “you two are going to keep doing this?!”

you and jungwon exchange a glance, smirking.

“maybe,” you reply, a sly smile playing at your lips. “depends on how you feel about getting a new roommate.”

sunoo glares. “this is not happening.”

and just like that, you both vanish into the living room, leaving sunoo alone to spiral into a panic attack while jungwon pretends he’s completely unaware of the emotional damage he’s causing.

the sound of sunoo yelling from the kitchen echoes for a while.

but you and jungwon? you just laugh and relax. it’s been a long night, but the chaos has only just begun.

[jobean12-blog]

Donut: The Hole Story

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x female reader

Word Count: 969

Summary: When you stop at your favorite donut shop to grab some sweets on the way home from work they only have one left of your favorite flavor so you do what any other person would do...even though it's your husband's favorite too.

Author's Note: This is just because. We recently got some donuts from one of my favorite shops nearby and I just love writing about our fave guys with sweet things! If you wanna to check out the donut place you can find their website HERE. Thank you all so much for reading! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰

Warnings: fluffy sweetness and fun

*All text messages in italics*

You: I’m on my way home Buck! Going to stop at the bakery, I want something sweet 🥰

Bucky: Ok doll face. And I got somethin’ sweet waiting for ya at home 😉😏

You: I know and I definitely want some…but I also want a Dough donut 🍩I’ve been craving it all day 😁

Bucky: Want me to come and get you on my bike? I can leave now and I’ll take you right to Dough❤️

You: I’m already half way there but I hate to miss a ride with you…take me after we have dinner and donuts? 😍

Bucky: Of course doll, be careful, love you❤️

You: I will love you too, see you soon!❤️

Bucky: AND DONUTS!🍩

You: YAY DONUTS!🍩

Before you even get the door of your apartment open Bucky does it for you, filling the frame with his broad shoulders and even broader smile.

Your greeting is cut off when he grabs you around the waist, tugs you inside, shuts the door- all in one smooth and quick motion- and presses you against it, his body caging you in while his lips cover yours.

“Mm you taste extra sweet,” he murmurs when he pulls away to let you breathe.

“Hi Buck,” you giggle.

He kisses you again, cradling your cheek in his hand and softly grazing just under your eye with the sweep of his thumb.

“Really sweet…” he whispers against your lips.

“Wait a second…” he mutters.

He kisses you again.

“Did you…?”

And another kiss.

“You ate one already didn’t you?!” he grumbles.

He pulls back with wide blue eyes, his mouth hanging open to match.

“Ate one what?” you ask, feigning perfect innocence with a bat of your lashes.

His mouth chases yours and his body keeps you pressed to the door.

“A TOASTED COCONUT TOO!”

“BUCKY!”

“IS THERE ANOTHER?” he asks with an accusatory tone as he frantically pats you down.

“Do you think I’m hiding the donuts in my clothes?” you laugh with a raised brow. “Or are you just trying to cop a feel?”  

“I’m always trying to cop a feel,” he winks before his expression morphs back into suspicion.

You bend down and grab the box you unceremoniously dropped to the floor when he pulled you into the apartment.

He takes it from your hand and narrows his eyes, holding the box covetously close to his chest.

With one more kiss to your lips he rushes off to the counter and rips open the top of the box. He stares at the full box of twelve donuts for several seconds before meeting your eyes.

You walk over and wrap your arms around his waist from behind.

“See? A full box of donuts!”  

“But…” he starts, grabbing your arm and pulling you under his to bring you around to face him so he can kiss you again. “There’s not toasted coconut!”  

You shrug with nonchalance and smile sweetly. “They were all out. It is the end of the day so…”

He studies your face and tightens his grip on your waist.

“No they weren’t. There was one left and you ate it on the way home!”  

Your shoulders lift to meet your ears in another act of indifference and you try to turn in his arms so you can grab a donut.

“No,” you answer. “I wouldn’t do that. But I’d like one now.”  

You manage to wiggle your way around and look down at the donuts, tapping your cheek as you try to decide on which one to eat first.

Just as your hand reaches out for a blueberry lemon the top of the box shuts.

“BUCK!” you squeak. “What the heck!?”

He pushes the box to the other side of the counter and in another smooth move that’s too fast for you to fight he has you turned around and seated atop the surface, trapped by his body.

You cross your arms over your chest.

“Can I eat my donut please?” you huff.

“Not until you admit you ate the one toasted coconut left on the way home,” he counters with a smirk.

You lift your chin defiantly but you don’t answer.

“I knew it!” he shouts. “I can’t believe you ate it without waiting to share with me!”

You try and scooch off the counter so you can eat another donut but he doesn’t let you move.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he simpers.

“I want a donut.”

“You already had one doll.”

Your lips press together and you scowl.

“I can’t believe you’re denying me donuts Buck!”

“I just wanna hear you say it doll.”

“And if I don’t?” you challenge.

“No donuts.”

“You wouldn’t!”

He waggles his eyebrows. “Try me baby doll.”

You grunt and punch him in the chest.

He just smiles.

“I can’t believe you Barnes!”

He doesn’t budge and just stares with a triumphant grin.

You stare right back and slowly your lips curl into a smirk as an idea forms in your head. Without another word you press your chest to his and wrap your legs around his waist, gently rocking your hips. Your arms circle his neck and you run your fingers through his hair.

His fingers dig into your skin before slipping under your shirt and slowly inching higher.

Your fingers slide from his hair and down over his shoulders then bunch into his shirt to tug his lips closer.

“A distraction?” he hums. “Really?”

“I don’t see you trying to stop me,” you whisper.

Your fingertips dance lower, tracing the waistband of his jeans.

“No,” he murmurs. “Why would I ever want to do that?”

“And I’ll just have my donut after I have you.”

“That’s what you think,” he says right before kissing you, easily distracting you with his hands, lips and everything that's him.

@hiddles-rose @randomfandompenguin @lizette50 @goldylions @blackwidownat2814 @kmc1989 @buckysdollforlife

[xx-dinah-writing-xx]

Could you write something about Tom Taylor maybe smut?

Wreck me sweetly

Tom Taylor x reader

smut 18+, mdni warnings: praise kink, oral (f receiving), teasing/edging, possessiveness, dirty talk, cockwarming (implied), riding, nipple play, overstimulation, marking/bruising (implied grip), breeding kink (implied), rough sex, position changes (cowgirl → missionary), romantic/filthy dynamic, boyfriend!Tom energy

A/N: Hey! So this is officially my first-ever Tom smut. And don’t get me wrong, I love that blonde dude. But I had no idea how to write this without making him seem shallow. Like, I’ve got Matt fixed in my brain as this dom-y, gentlemanly pleaser. But he is also 42, single, and probably out here being a kinky little menace with the hookup culture he has. It makes sense for him. But Tom?? I was lost. No idea. I had to vibe and hope for the best. BUT I LOVED IT NONETHELESS. Just forgive me if it feels a bit out of character. If you have thoughts, like how you imagine Tom is during sex, tell me!! I’m so open to suggestions. I’ve got like 7 more Tom smut requests lined up, and I want them to be perfect. 

————

It starts like most nights with Tom. Casual, unassuming, a blur of laughter and clumsy affection that builds into something far more consuming. You're both curled on the couch, your legs tossed across his lap, his fingers absentmindedly stroking your shins as a half-finished episode plays behind you. You haven’t registered a single word of dialogue. He hasn’t either. His eyes keep dropping to the curve of your throat, to where your oversized tee has slipped off one shoulder, and his fingers have gone slow and intentional.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day,” he murmurs without looking away, voice low and hot against your skin as he leans in to kiss the spot just below your jaw. “All fucking day.”

You tilt your head, pulse jumping. “Yeah? What were you thinking?”

“That if I had you under me right now,” he says, dragging his lips across your cheekbone, “I’d keep your legs wide open. Just like this,” He shifts you, parting your thighs easily, guiding one over the back of the couch so you’re splayed for him. “Not let you close them. No matter how much you beg.”

The words go off like a spark in your spine, shooting straight down. Your breath catches, and he sees it. Grins, smug and boyish, dimples showing even as his gray eyes darken. He knows exactly what that tone of voice does to you. You’re both young, yes, but you’ve been together long enough to know how to ruin each other sweetly.

“Take it off,” you whisper, fingers tugging at the hem of his hoodie. “Now.”

He obliges, pulls the hoodie over his head in one fluid motion, hair mussed and wild, jaw flexing as he looks at you. He’s bigger than he was at eighteen, broader, more defined, years of training etched into his arms and stomach. But his eyes are still soft when he looks at you. Filthy and soft, somehow. As if he wants to worship and break you in the same breath.

You slide your shirt off too, and he groans. “Fuck, baby. You didn’t wear a bra?”

“I didn’t think I’d need one,” you say, teasing, shifting your hips.

Tom moves so fast it makes your head spin. One moment he’s staring, the next he’s between your thighs, pulling your panties down with both hands, gripping your knees to keep you open for him. “You never need anything,” he mutters, gaze locked on the slick already glistening between your legs. “You look like this for me every time.”

Your back arches when his mouth touches you. Just the tip of his tongue at first, barely a tease, then deeper, wetter, messier as he groans against your skin. He laps at you like he’s starving, like he’s been dreaming about this all day, just like he said. Your thighs tremble, hands flying to his hair, grabbing at those blonde curls as he sucks your clit between his lips.

“Tom!” you gasp, hips jerking.

“No,” he says, pulling back with a smirk. “Told you. Keep your legs open. Don’t move.” He leans in again, slower now, dragging his tongue in long strokes. He edges you with that maddening control, lets you get close, then backs off. Again. And again.

When you whimper, he only smiles. “You gonna be good and take what I give you?” he asks, voice gone gravel-deep.

You nod furiously. “Yes, please, just, fuck, please.”

“Good girl,” he praises, crawling up your body. His mouth glistens with you, and he kisses you anyway. Slow, filthy, making you taste yourself on his tongue as he grinds his hard cock against your core.

“You gonna ride me?” he asks, breath hot against your ear. “Wanna see how desperate you are.”

You scramble to your knees, nearly shaking, and straddle him. He sits back, watching with parted lips as you reach down to line him up, thick and pulsing, the head of his cock leaking pre-cum as you press it against yourself. He groans low when you sink down, inch by inch, stretching around him until you're seated fully on his lap.

“Jesus Christ,” he rasps, hands gripping your hips so tight you’re sure there’ll be marks later. “You’re fucking soaked. Look at that, look how good you take me.”

You move slowly at first, rolling your hips in lazy circles. His eyes drop to your chest, to the bounce of your breasts every time you grind down. He can’t decide where to touch, one hand travels up to pinch a nipple, the other slipping between your legs to rub soft circles on your clit while you ride him.

It’s filthy and sweet, desperate and playful. He moans your name like it’s sacred, then swears when you clench around him. You both talk through it, gasps of praise, “you feel so fucking good,” and “don’t stop, just like that,” and “you’re gonna make me come,” whispered through half-lidded eyes.

“On top of me, yeah?” he pants. “Wanna feel it, wanna feel you come on my cock, baby. Milk it for me.”

Your fingers grip his shoulders, nails digging in as you bounce faster, the slick sound of skin against skin filling the room. The knot tightens low in your belly, and when it breaks, it takes you down with it, your orgasm crashing through you with a sharp cry. Tom holds you through it, kissing your shoulder, praising you endlessly.

“That's it, baby. So good for me. So fuckin’ pretty when you fall apart.”

You barely recover before he flips you onto your back, staying inside you the whole time. He fucks you harder now, chasing his own high, whispering all the things he wants to do next, bend you over, tie your wrists, come on your stomach.

“Where do you want it?” he asks, breathing ragged.

You whimper, “Inside, please. Fill me up.”

His thrusts grow frantic at that, hips slamming into you. “Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he groans, and then he’s coming, deep and hot, spilling into you with a broken moan as he buries his face in your neck.

Afterward, the room is quiet except for your breathing. His weight is comforting on top of you, his skin warm and slightly sweaty. You run your fingers through his hair, calming the mess you made of it, and he kisses the inside of your wrist.

“You wreck me,” he says softly. “Completely.”

You smile. “You love it.”

He lifts his head, grinning that lazy, boyish grin you fell in love with. “I really fucking do.”

And when he kisses you again, slow and deep, you feel it, that heady, messy, real kind of love only people your age can live in fully. Young, wild, and in each other’s skin.

[astro09-13]

Ticci Toby HCs 02 [Lengthy]

More Toby HCs because I enjoyed writing the last ones. Going to be a bit yappier this time and share some broader topics. [No relevance to Kastoway's 'canonical' Toby or the 'Slendermansion'] General: - I can see Toby intentionally freaking kids out in school using his CIPA. I’d like to think he wasn’t bullied in elementary school, instead, the kids would find him super cool. He’d let his classmates stick his arm with sporks during lunch and he always won at mercy, no matter how red his hands got. He was never afraid to climb as high as possible on the monkey bars because he didn’t have to worry about the pain of falling. Eventually, his mom informed him that he needed to be more careful and reminded him that though he couldn’t feel the pain, the injuries would still affect him. He stopped using it as a superpower and what used to be a fun quirk became a tedious chore as he frequently had to get check-ups to make sure he wasn’t still seriously hurting himself. - He loves Halloween! Not only was the cool autumn weather perfect for his favourite sweaters, but he also had a whole day where he didn’t have to worry about people staring at his bandaged hands or questioning his jerky movements. Anything and everything is normal on Halloween. - He also loves spicy food. The burn of capsaicin is the closest he gets to feeling pain so he always loads up on the strongest hot sauces he can find. The Operator & Being a Proxy: - Toby’s schizophrenia is entirely due to The Operator’s influences. He only begins to suffer from symptoms of schizophrenia once The Operator has decided he would be joining his proxies. It was inconspicuous enough due to his slew of other medical conditions as it didn’t seem too strange that he would suddenly manifest something new as he aged. - Once The Operator locked onto him, Toby would be set to replace Tim as the head of the proxies. His generally calm demeanor, ability to obey, and lack of bloodlust filled all the gaps in Tim’s leadership. Unlike Tim, Toby, seemingly, follows The Operator because he genuinely believes he is punishing those who deserve it under his guidance. - Tim makes sure that Toby is aware of his disgust for him. Never missing an opportunity to poke the bear, Tim belittles and mocks Toby- similar to how his high school bullies used to treat him. In some extreme cases, Tim will “accidentally” cut or burn Toby while dealing with victims. Though aware of Toby’s CIPA, this is still somewhat cathartic for him.

[olympeline]

Gonna post my thoughts on the Hetalia Nations Revealed AU. Always a fun one to chat about. (￣▽￣)

We call it an AU but it’s actually pretty accurate. The part about nation-people not being a secret, I mean. I recently reread the webcomic and canon leans into NPs being public knowledge. Obviously their bosses are aware of them, but there’s lots of strips where NPs interact with members of the public as well. There are strips starring humans who don’t recognize their NP (that one soldier in France, Lisa, Davie, etc.) but they’re fewer in number. We all know Heta-canon is flexible so, for this post, I’m coming down on the side of “people know.” Here’s how I headcanon it all working:

Nation-people are common knowledge to the extent it would be really weird if you met someone who wasn’t aware of them. It would be like talking to a guy and he says he’s never heard of religion. Like, any religion. In the whole world. Not even the concept of it. You’d be all: “Whaaa?? Man, how?? Did you grow up under a rock?” It’s like that for NPs.

NPs are more than human and so aren’t too bothered by us. In a nice way. They still love their citizens but it’s not a relationship between equals. More benevolent demi-deities existing alongside the mundane. This is where I differ from some interpretations of this AU, I think. I can’t see the NPs as being weak and helpless around their people. They’re partially representations of the Earth itself and nature is much stronger than humanity. Like that panel where Francis was getting harassed by historians? Only happened because he allowed it. NPs let humans get close to them when they choose, but they can lose them if they wish. That’s what France did when he’d had enough. The historians blinked and he was just gone. Slipped away like a breath of wind. Leaving two very disappointed academics to continue their argument, lol. The only exceptions are their bosses. NPs have to obey any direct order given by them.

Have to, have to. Compelled in the old fae-like way. NPs are completely under the control of whoever’s running their country. The one who has the final say is the head of state, but they can and do delegate if someone else holds the true power. Kiku directly obeys his emperor, for example, but the emperor obeys Japan’s Diet. So the Prime Minister gives Kiku his orders through their symbolic ruler. If a country’s government is overthrown then that control passes to the new ones in charge. NPs don’t get any choice in the matter, sadly for them. When an NP starts obeying the “other side” then the writing’s on the wall that the regime change has succeeded.

They aren’t considered fully human and so don’t have the same rights and privileges we do. I’d imagine there’s been many high profile court cases about stuff like this in the modern era. Just what an NP can be ordered to do by their bosses before it becomes abusive, how culpable they are for crimes committed by their nations, etc. “The Nation of [x] vs. Nation-Person [y] in the case of Historical Crime(s) [z].” I don’t think much would have been accomplished over the years, lol. No country is going to let their NP go to a foreign prison. Plus the NPs always have the “magically compelled” defense to fall back on. So no progress, just lots of debate. NPs are considered somewhere between guardian deities, ordinary people, and “things” in the broader public consciousness.

Yes, they have social media. No, it has not always gone well. I bet after a few instant-major-historical-event cases of careless and/or hot-tempered NPs calling their bosses assholes on twitter, NP accounts were mass nuked. They were reinstated only after their bosses gave them loooong lists of subjects they weren’t allowed to talk about. Afterwards their posts were all fluff about hobbies and personal interests. Doesn’t stop foreign governments, economists, gossip channels, NP enthusiasts, and curious people combing through every tweet, post, and video to try and guess what the NPs are “really” talking about. So many conspiracy theorist channels, oh god. Even thinking about it is making me tired. 😂

NPs have two homes: a work address and a personal one. The former is usually located in their capital and is either where their boss lives or close by. So Alfred has a home at the White House, Arthur has one on Downing Street, etc. However most NPs don’t consider these their real homes and only spend time there while doing government work. Ordinary, if nice, houses and apartments out among their people is where they like to live. These can decorate them to match their personalities the way they can’t official residences. They use their power over the land to make sure no humans can find these sanctuaries unless the NP wants them to. Stops NPs being swarmed by paparazzi, tourists, and fans 24/7.

De-anoning to say it was me that sent @forsoobado137 the money ask. So just repeating what I said there. All countries put their NP’s face on their money. Along with the state’s name, the NP’s human name, and a picture of the actual land they represent. The money can have other famous people on it too, just on the other side. Governments have been doing this since money was invented and some of the only surviving visual records of ancient NPs are pictures on coins.

Any human being knows an NP and the country they represent just by sight. Unless it’s somewhere they’ve never heard of. Then all they know is that they’re looking at a nation-person. I imagine it would be considered a huge faux-pas to let it slip you don’t know an NP’s country name. Like telling a Holywood A-lister you don’t know who they are at a red carpet event. 😭

NPs have many default jobs, mostly related to their governments. One of them is being in their nation’s armed forces. They’ve always done this ever since the first age of empires. They even led armies and were seen as good luck charms in the past. Soldiers tend to make up the bulk of the humans the NPs remember most fondly. The relationship between Francis and Joan of Arc is one of the best known historical examples. Whether an NP actually enjoys their time in the military depends on their personality. Which is in turn influenced by how warlike the actual country is and has been. If your NP falls in battle, it’s one of the worst war omens possible.

Speaking of death, I headcanon that NPs can die from illness or injury. Or at least their human bodies can. They’re tougher than we are, but not unkillable. They’ll come back so long as the nation itself survives. True death for an NP is reserved for when the civilisation they represent stops existing. If an NP dies in a foreign country, they’ll crumble to dust and regenerate somewhere deep in their heartlands. The place they were originally “born” from the earth. Only a select few very high up in government know the location of their NP’s birth/rebirth place. This also happens if they die on home soil and their body is destroyed. If they die at home and their body is okay, they’ll heal and wake up after a few hours. If the country isn’t doing well it takes longer for its NP to come back.

Speaking of countries not doing well: NPs get sick either when their economies go bad, or when there’s an epidemic among their citizens. A lot of European NPs can chalk some of their early deaths up to the Black Death. When an NP get “depressed” it’s code for a financial fever. Nothing can be done but keep them comfortable until the economy picks up.

Hetalia is so fun to post about, my god. Such a prime series for theories and headcanons. You feel me, gamers?

[katieaki]

hii, i'd love some country recommendations if you feel like it! 💓

I feel like this looks like I sent myself an anonymous message so that I could make my recommendations. I feel like I’m being set up. BUT since you asked:

I can’t recommend Dolly Parton enough. She was my entry point to country music. If you’ve never really given her a listen, you might have an idea of a kind of plasticky pop country, but I beg you to listen to her 60s and 70s albums. Jolene & Coat of Many Colors (the albums) are just beautiful. She has this VOICE that just knocks your damn socks off. She is so REAL. I could go on and on about Dolly. She’s so much more than her reputation. Some of her early songs are so progressive and sadly still relevant (Just Because I’m a Woman). She’s also very FUNNY! Give I’ll Oilwells Love You a listen. Something that I love about country music is that it has a reputation for being like “trucks, trains, mama, prison, cheating, etc”, but in the album Blue Ridge Mountain Boy (my fav(?) Dolly song btw), she has a song about being a child in an abusive orphanage and burning it down and killing the staff & one about a tornado coming. J.J. Sneed, a song from the album Joshua, is from the POV of half of an outlaw couple who’s been betrayed by the other half & guns him down. It is obvs meant to be a man & woman, but I feel like there’s no pronouns (she’s addressing J.J. directly through the song) and J.J. is gender neutral. You know, if you need to do mental toxic dyke cowboy AMVs and need material.

Which leads me to this: I got into country music via blues rock and rockabilly in college because I LOVE story songs. IMO Tom T. Hall is THE story song guy. He has such a fun and unique narrative voice. There’s also a tendency to sing old traditional ballads, like murder ballads, which really works for me. Loretta Lynn does a great In the Pines and Dolly has Banks of the Ohio on Blue Smoke (the album that made me a Country Fan).

I have a big playlist that is like, almost 4 hours long. It’s what me and my spouse put on every time we drove anywhere for like, many years, and every single time the next song comes on, it’s always like “WOW this is a great song” as if we don’t know what’s on the list. It’s a good, all-around, pretty accessible playlist. These aren’t necessarily my most favorite songs of all time, but it’s the perfect playlist to put on while driving or cooking or hanging out. I think it also has a pretty broad variety of subgenres, but is probs mostly 60s-early 80s, tending toward Outlaw country, I guess.

Here’s a playlist of (mostly) country music (mostly) cheating songs (from the POV of the injured party).

Here’s all of my published character playlists, most of which are, obvs, country-heavy.

Here’s a few other broad playlists I made to play in the background while I have dinner parties or whatever.

One

Two

Three

Here’s a playlist I made for a friend who was looking for an introduction to country. This is all pretty upbeat and nice without a lot of difficult-to-listen-to voices (I love weird and funky voices, personally.)

These are my recommendations if you’re new to the genre and wanna jump in. I think it’s a lot broader than one might realize, so depending on what you usually listen to now & what you like about that, you can probably find a little niche in there that works great for you!

Trio: Dolly Parton, Linda Ronstadt, and Emmylou Harris (beautiful ladies singing beautifully together)

Wanda Jackson (very cool pioneering woman rockabilly singer!)

kd lang’s country western album Reintarnation (!!!!!)

Patsy Cline has a beautiful, lovely voice. A really easy sidestep into country if you’re already kind of a ~vintage lady singer~ fan.

Lavender Country: THE gay country band/album

Sorry for the sermon, I’m writing this on a quiet hour on the desk at work. I could go on and on and on & I’m sure I’ll think of a million other things I wish I’d have said as soon as I post this. I hope you find something you like! Thanks for asking!

[maybe-boys-do-love]

SOTUS S: The Secret Four-Act of Love Between Us

Five episodes into SOTUS S, I wanted to cry. Nothing tragic had happened. The major plot climaxes were nowhere near. If I'm honest, I had felt pretty indifferent to the sequel series up to that point. Its more expensive production elements, relaxed pace, comedic sound queues, broader characterizations, and blatant callbacks to the original series seemed more akin to  cash-grabbing commercial projects that followed in SOTUS's wake. Some were fun and some fell flat, but those series lacked the show's layered writing or direction. By the end of episode 5, however, something shifted. It continued to surprise my narrative expectations from there on out, offering new ways to appreciate many other BL series due to the clarity of its formal structure. This review is my attempt to understand how and why. 

SOTUS S doesn’t primarily operate by the most prominent Western storytelling rules—the three act or five act structures that build toward a culminating conflict for a climax before an exhaustive resolution. Nor does SOTUS S make as much of an attempt to blend its structure in with the Western storytelling rules as its predecessor did. Instead, it’s a striking example of the Four-Act structure (from hereon: 4Act) that developed in China and spread to Japan, Korea, and Southeast Asia as noted by @kimyoonmiauthor. It’s prominently used in Japan by manga, anime, novelists, and game creators under its Japanese name Kishotenketsu. If you’ve heard about “the three episode rule” in which you have to watch the first three episodes of an anime before passing judgment, that’s often unknowingly related to the principles of the 4Act structure. 

Rather than refer to the Kishotenketsu model here, however, I’d like to use the four parts as defined by the original Chinese poetic form in Adeline Bindra’s explanation for the Savanna Post:

Qi– Bringing into Being

Cheng– Understanding

Zhuan– Changing

He– Drawing Together

I’ve found these definitions more helpful for understanding than the Japanese terms and their English translations, like “introduction,” “twist,” “development,” etc, which have meanings in the Western tradition that differ from they’re use in the Asian narratives. 

Some caveats:

1. I’m an American just trying to figure this out from my own experiences with Asian media and others’ writings about the structure and cultures that utilize it. There’s a ton of Orientalism in writing about the subject of the 4Act structure, and I try my best, but I can’t promise I won’t accidentally slip into some of that rhetoric.

2. No single culture’s a monolith, so not every writer in the cultures will use these structures the same or at all, and the different cultures referenced here—Thai, Japanese, Chinese, Korean—also differ dramatically between one another, and so do their approaches to the 4Act. 

3. Cultures have been interacting and changing forever. Shakespeare included a reference to a Christianized translation of the Buddha’s story in Merchant of Venice, for one example. Asian influences have been a part of Western writing for a long time and vice versa. Western media’s pervasive throughout the world. Inevitably, you’ll see shared aspects from intermingling as well as convergent development. My goal is not to essentialize any people, culture, or story, only to isolate in this instance the feature of the 4Act in SOTUS, which has well-documented Asian roots. 

4. This is a narrative structure not a moral guide on how one should live life at all times. Some writers claim ethical, political, and philosophical implications for its use. However, you get to be the judge of when and how to use it in your perspectives as an audience, creator, and a human being just making it through in the world. 

5. Thai culture has its own specific traditions around this structure and other plot structures that I’m not focusing on here simply for lack of info in English. I’d love to hear more about that from others more knowledgeable than me. Is it taught in schools or writing classes? Does it relate to other Thai dramatic structures? I don’t have the answer, but my mind is inquiring to anyone who does!

6. As with all my posts, feel free to message me about or correct me on mistakes or add more context where I falter.

Hopefully in isolating and differentiating the 4Act model as much as possible from the Western model here, I can demonstrate the latter’s importance to SOTUS S and many other BLs. From here, I’ll try to do a side-by-side comparison of the elements of that 4Act structure with SOTUS S. Spoilers abound for SOTUS S along with several other BLs.

Qi: Bringing into Being 

Premiering in 2018, SOTUS S offered audiences one of the first examples that I know of a BL live-action  about an unequivocally established couple. That fact necessitates a model distinct from the traditional romantic arc you’d find in guides like Romancing the Beat by Gwen Hayes and graphed below by Jenna Harte. 

With an established couple, the whole first act of this three act structure is useless. Our pair already met and they like each other. We already watched them fight through this whole mountainous arc to achieve their romantic HEA (happily ever after for those unaware).

Here’s where our 4Act comes in. Qi, our first act, rather than setting up the characters with some spark the protagonist will have to deal with later on, focuses more heavily on establishing the environment the characters exist within. It's less pressed about setting its conflict into motion. As Jay Six explains helpfully in his self-published book, A Practical Guide to: Kishotenketsu, “The story often starts by establishing a detailed, richly textured world. This focus on observation allows readers to immerse themselves in the environment and the characters, setting up a deep connection with the narrative.” In SOTUS S, that means we get domestic fluff with gentle implications about Kongthob and Art sleeping together. We wander the campus to see Kongpob’s friends in the engineering faculty, now in their third year and in the position of hazers (distinct from the American concept for anyone who’s unfamiliar) to a new set of freshmen. We greet Arthit’s friends at the bar. Then, we follow Art to the new setting of an engineering firm where he’s beginning employment after an internship. You will be taken aback if you, like me, expected all of these characters and settings to be relevant to the action throughout the series. 

I have a brain trained to expect the beginnings of a story to provide a clear impetus for a central problem, as if the story ought to have an on-switch that starts the gears of the narrative turning. My first instinct when it became apparent SOTUS S had not done that was to ascribe the emergences and dissipations of certain elements at the university as service to fans of the original series—let them get a taste of the characters, coupledom, and little university scenes they loved before moving onto the meat of the plot. 

That’s a natural expectation when you’re used to stories focusing exclusively on conflict and individual power. Each piece of the story should link to their effort toward their goal. Bindra describes the ‘dharmic structure’ of the Western narrative arc: “The character is pursuing a specific Dharma, a ‘path’ or ‘way,’ toward a tangible end goal.” Whether they succeed or fail matters greatly under this framework. 

In opposition is the ‘Karmic structure,’ where characters “simply go about their lives until they are forced to react to some bizarre, unforeseen circumstance.” All the elements matter in the Karmic structure but not as a set of stairs the protagonist climbs or a steady accumulation of coins to pay off in the end. The general environment has a larger role to play and the individual has less responsibility in the events that unfold, which impacts the opening. Anaea Lay’s description explains the emphasis on thematic development in the beginning over a Western plot ignition.

“You are much less likely to run into an “inciting incident” or similar in this introduction than you would in an X-Act structure. Instead, what you’ll find are the themes and images the work will be using. You aren’t here to find out what kind of wild ride you’re about to engage in; rather, this is setting you up for what argument or ideas you’re about to witness.” 

That’s why anime fans have a three-episode rule before deciding on their engagement with a series. Those first three episodes have no obligation under the 4Act to indicate the adventure that’s about to occur. 

In the first episode we see Arthit stumble through a disorganized orientation to his first day at work, joining the procurement department at an engineering firm, a stepping stone towards a role at the company more suited to his interests. During an early meal out with his new coworkers, he misses the opportunity to share his relationship with his coworkers. His nervousness is palpable in the moment, and Krist shines in portraying Arthit’s acute anxiety realistically throughout the show. The fear of homophobic reactions isn’t made explicit, but the subtext can’t be ignored with the dramatic music, forlorn expression, and greater context. 

Yet, the show is generous enough to present a moment of possibility, too, where Art seems about to share about his partner before getting interrupted. Bravery isn’t a singular character trait, the scene suggests, but a fleeting feeling dependent on circumstance and luck. It renders the ‘coming out’ narrative that emerges for Art a bit different—less individual and insurgent than the classic western coming-out narrative in, say, The Birdcage or Love, Simon. He has legitimate interests in the appropriate setting, occasion, and timing to maintain positive relationships. He didn’t lack courage as much as he missed the proper moment. 

I’m not of any kind of Asian descent, but these were major values in my personal family culture. I only came out to my family once I had a partner and a cousin’s new same-sex partner came up in conversation at the dinner table. My family simply didn’t discuss internal emotional states, straight or queer, my parents didn’t kiss in public or in front of me and my sister, so bringing up a sexual identity without any outward indicator of my own sexuality didn’t make sense. 

And before anyone jumps to the conclusion that this was some deeper issue of generational repression, know that plenty of research backs up this collectivist-oriented relational style as a broader Appalachian cultural norm (which my family exists within). While no culture exists totally on one part of the spectrum, it like most East and Southeast Asian cultures gets categorized as a high context culture, which prioritizes interpersonal relationships and draws on less direct verbal and nonverbal communication strategies to artfully maintain them when possible. Further research, much of it collected in the fascinating book, Between Us: How Cultures Create Emotions by Batja Mesquita, frames psychological well-being not in a single universal way of interacting, but in interactions and understandings that align beneficially with one’s surrounding culture. 

“I’m working [at the company] already,” Arthit in bed advises Kongpob, “but I still have to learn to adapt.” There’s the crux of Arthit’s story in SOTUS S: how can he find proper alignment of his own unique characteristics to integrate himself within his new work culture, in a department he had little desire or skills to master? Protagonists in a 4Act are responsive rather than goal-oriented. With the same acknowledgement that you can’t control the circumstances you’re born into, they don’t have control over the problematic circumstances they are thrust into by the karmic plot. 

Arthit makes a great 4Act protagonist in SOTUS S. He isn’t the strict senior disciplinarian from the opening of the original series, nor is he the warm, open character healed by that show’s happy ending. The senior is now the nervous junior at the firm, eager to please and conform—these latter traits providing continuity with his original characterization. The junior, Kongpob, is now the authority, the head hazer at the university. These role-reversal topics were already thematically relevant in the first series, but SOTUS S makes them more explicit, bringing us into new territory and depicting an alternative view to linear character growth. 

Kim Yoon Mi describes both Japan and Korea introducing a story’s main topic (not to be confused with main conflict) in the first act of this structure and then developing it more deeply in the second, which SOTUS S seems to do. Each character and story element, including the protagonist, is a trickling mountain stream feeding into a larger river of theme rather than plot. In line with that metaphor, some of those elements will evaporate or branch off before reaching the deep reflective pool where the story concludes. We’ll come to see as we reflect back how solidly the show in its first act laid down its thematic foundations: the dynamics between memories of the past (like university life) with the press of time, the blurry lines between private and public, the formation and maintenance of relationships, the privileges of status, and all of them weighted by pervasive queer anxieties that the writing elegantly restrains itself from stating outright. The next act of the show elaborates on all of this, but not in the direct sort of development Western stories prioritize.

Cheng: Understanding

If viewed from the perspective of a three-act hero’s journey, the second act of SOTUS S runs into some major problems. Here’s a graphic from author Patricia Morais (that I particularly like for its regrouping dip) explaining that structure:

Under this model, we could maybe think of Arthit’s failure to come out to his coworkers as the central inciting incident that must be resolved by the end of the story. If you’d like to be more generous, we might instead identify the incident in episode 2 to identify Art’s tag-along meeting with his overly-friendly coworker, John, and a representative from one of their materials’ providers. Then, our main plot focuses around the eventual plastic crisis for the company as the main conflict that will need resolution. However, the fact of dual plotlines that never merge hopefully encourages you to question the familiar expectations of a three-act structure or hero’s journey. Otherwise, you’ll come away from the show believing a lot of fat could’ve been trimmed off in the editing process.

In episodes 2 through 5, SOTUS S has some elements on which action can rise toward a major climax point. John shirks work off onto Arthit over and over again, for example, and another coworker, Earth��who for me so far in my BL viewing is the most grounded female character I’ve seen, not to mention my favorite—slowly reveals her kind heart behind her diligence. On the relationship front, Ai-Oon is running himself ragged trying to balance his work and relationship, losing his patience with Kong at one point when he shows up to the company with a food delivery. 

But many other points don’t add to the plot the way they ought to for a hero’s journey. We get introduced to a few freshman, like Khaofang, whose crush on Kongpob gets gently denied, and Day, resistant to Kongpob’s enlightened initiation rituals, thus igniting the persistence of class president Tew. Neither of those freshman will contribute to the main plots for Kongpob and Arthit. On the faculty beach trip, now paired with tree-planting to skirt the stricter regulations, M and May finally confess their feelings percolating since last season for one another. After these confessions in episode 4 and a discussion of internships at the start of episode 5, they will not reappear until the last episode of the series.

So why include them? I showed charts for the Romance Plot and  3 Act structure above, but let’s look at a visualization of the 4Act from writing coach Anaea Lay.

You’ll notice some key differences. The line isn’t really progressing upward, for one. It also changes width in sections and even color by the end? I’ll discuss our squiggly twist and color change later, but for now let’s focus on our second act for cheng, Understanding, or “development” as the above chart has it.. We have this bold line emerge because the point of the second act, as Lay explains, is to create density, flesh out the topic, enrich it. 

Instead of building up a structure or walking up a mountain path and overcoming obstacles along the way, the cheng stage kneads the narrative into interlocking thematic explorations like the structure of gluten in bread dough. Japanese writers refer to it as ma, a kind of slow infusion through time and spaciousness. You can develop a 4Act narrative with intensification, sure, and that will appear pretty similar to the three-act development stage—I personally think Hunter x Hunter arcs provide fantastic examples of second-act intensification strategies in a kishotenketsu model, and The Campfire team do a fantastic job of explaining how the series, Shogun, uses the 4 Act with escalating pressure in this stage. Yet other strategies also exist. 

SOTUS S chooses to spread out its thematic question during this phase: to different plots, different people, even different times. Tew and Day, for example, who interact the least with our protagonists’ struggles out of any characters, nevertheless reiterate the values of persistence and faith as people develop ties. Despite Day’s overt resistance to the SOTUS rituals, Tew returns to him again and again, tuned into unstated signs of the freshman’s painful past, like his status as a transfer student, and subtle acts of participation in the events, indicating a secret desire for belonging. Art’s new coworkers provide another example of how much we truly know about others’ inner workings just based on first impressions. 

Perhaps the most direct evocation of the main thematic tension occurs not with KongArt, but with M and May who only receive episode 4 for their story. As the freshman walk across their wrists to go receive their gear emblems, May finally demands clarity for feelings simmering since 2016. I’ve slightly shortened the exchange for brevity.

May: “You never bother to tell me your feelings directly.” M: “Do I have to say it out and tell you to make you understand?” May: “I don’t want to assume things.” M: “What I said on the stage…I meant you.” “You know…what it means, right?” May: “I don’t know, M. You could think of me as a close friend.” M: Well, I…like you. I like you more than a close friend. I want to be your boyfriend. I told you my feelings directly. Now it’s your turn to tell me your feelings. May: Are you crazy? There are so many people here. How can I say it?

It’s gorgeous naturalistic dialogue, stuttering and ambiguous, between two reserved characters! Reducing them to their role in the main plot, however, would render the characters and scene meaningless. M and May simply don’t contribute to the issues at Ocean Electric or KongArt’s relationship. They're an indirect illustration of the show's themes.

Indirect communication is central to SOTUS S. We see Kong and Art, open to their friends and on campus but conflicted in how open to be with their affection in public, bridge the gap through indirect displays: a conversation about liking the sea! shared taxi rides! an indirect kiss they share on an Oishi bottle! These coded romantic encounters can be downright erotic. The West doesn’t even have the concept of an indirect kiss, which is emblematic of the kinds of context that one can miss. 

The show layers on reason-upon-reason for keeping affections nebulous: personal temperaments, professionalism, financial precarity, collective belonging, cultural mores on PDA, and societal homophobia, too. The show lays these issues out indirectly. For example, Art’s coworkers Som-O, Durian, and Cherry (the kind of lovely overtly queer character SOTUS did so well, played by Gun Korawit) all skirt the line of appropriate workplace conversations and behavior as they gossip and fawn over new employees. The tension of their flirtations against our knowledge about the fears and hidden relationships at the office is thick, but no one will really confront them directly about how close their speech and actions how they stress those in the closet, nor how close they come to sexual harassment.

Instead, other occurrences will cause them to reflect on behaviors. Cherry, for example,  addresses his own behavior and his subordinates’ after news about Arthit and Kongpob becomes public. Cultures with high-context communication approaches utilize actions, behaviors, and symbols to convey messages rather than verbal specificity, so passive statements and unrelated events are seen as more effective in encouraging behavior change than direct communication about the issue. That’s why the 4Act structure and the indirect elaboration of ideas that occurs in the second-act align culturally. It doesn’t force its issue on the audience.

The most indirect formal element from my perspective occurred with the use of the ‘special scenes’ at the end of each episode, and they fully blew my mind by the time I realized how they were operating. I assumed these flashback scenes to KongArt moments were meant to give the fan-girlies the cute moments between the cute boys and their throwbacks to the og series. That’s how they often seem to work in other BLs. Stupid me, underestimating the series and fan-girlies, whose desires can be as multifaceted as any film critic or academic. The flashbacks at the end of each episode, in addition to their sweetness, emphasize moments of public affection between our main couple, but even more than that they intentionally throw us back in time, breaking up the linear story and a linear trajectory for Arthit’s comfort with public affection. 

The special scenes aren’t simply detached scenes, they’re narrative switchbacks, forcing us an audience to meander like a river in the story. Kim Yoon Mi describes a major element of the East Asian 4Act: “While time is going forwards, the character is returning to a previous point in their life, re-examining it–or forced to reexamine it.” I described the original series as propulsive and unrelenting in its tempo and plotting. SOTUS S, on the other hand, is nostalgic and reflective in both content and its structure. 

Arthit, tired from a day of work, rushes to his alma mater to catch the end of the flag ceremony. “When I get to see the atmosphere like this again,” he confides, “it’s like the fuel tank in me is filled. This can fill the feelings I have lost. My tiredness is gone. I have the strength to go back to work now.” For another example look at the contrast as episode 6 ends with Kongpob standing in an apartment hallway alone after an argument with his boyfriend. The show suddenly cuts to a past moment when Arthit let himself fall asleep on Kongpob’s shoulder in the back of a taxi. When we feel broken, worn-down, or lost, when we undergo big life changes, returning to our memories gives us an opportunity to repair ourselves and cherish the relationships we’ve made. 

Meandering is the shape of easing—mountain roads that reduce the gradient of a climb, water seeking the least resistance. SOTUS S and its narrative structure explore these shapes. In addition to the purpose of nostalgia for its characters, it uses its position as a sequel to address why returning us to an older work might be emotionally useful and why an indirect path through time and our journeys might be nourishing. After the steady fabrication of its attachment to the original series in the first and second acts, the third act shift is all the more potent.

Zhuan: Changing

In the sixth episode, Kongpob joins Ocean Electric as an intern with the encouragement of his father, the CEO of a manufacturing firm Arthit has met and impressed without realizing his relationship to his partner. Kong had left the required internship applications to the last minute, at ease with the connections his wealth and father’s position in his field of study offer him. And with Arthit’s packed work schedule (not to mention Kong’s impish romantic fantasies that only stress out his partner), our nong doesn’t disclose his decision. Art is shocked and appalled when his boyfriend walks into a meeting and gets introduced as the new intern.

The show also introduces new central characters to the cast in the fifth and sixth episode, which is far too late for introductions of main characters in a traditional Western narrative approach. Wad, whose privilege as the nephew of Ocean Electric’s head honcho mirror Kong’s background, joins the procurement department. Another intern, Nai, also joins the proceedings. These characters and their softly-treaded dalliances at Ocean Electric fill in the space left as the story mostly abandons the university and all but two supporting characters we met there.

I've read complaints about that split in SOTUS S, the university-centered plots in the first half overtaken by the corporate setting. Personally, the viewing experience gave me a sense of how ephemeral life is. Four months pass by in a flash and Arthit’s no longer the junior at the office. The university storylines fall away like cherry blossoms or autumn leaves. If that sounds too poetic for you, I'd recommend you stick to the first series and its fantastic linear storytelling (and you can ignore the poetic elements that elevate it, while still enjoying the show). SOTUS S puts its indirect storytelling strategies at the forefront. That’s why I find SOTUS S such a great example to look at the 4Act. The overt shift here makes it hard to square with the continuity of traditional Western dramatic structures.

In the third act of a 4Act structure, the audience comes to understand a new perspective on the proceedings that the first two acts offered them. The Japanese term for it “ten” gets directly translated to ‘twist,’ but that term is so heavily associated with some plot-oriented ‘gotcha!’ moment in the western canon: 

a new piece of evidence in a trial! 

the sheriff is in cahoots with the robber baron! 

Voldemort’s on the back of his head! 

There are many reasons to view two of the most celebrated Western film twists, Star Wars’ paternity reveal and dead Bruce Willis in The Sixth Sense, as blendings with the Eastern third act’s Change. The overt declarations made by characters to render the twists apparent to audiences in those instances along with the instrumental role the change plays in the character’s journey is rooted in Western storytelling. However, the impact it has on how the audience interprets the story, both preceding events and the purpose of the story as a whole, is more akin to the kind of change that occurs in the Eastern model. The zhuan or Change here is less emphatically about a reveal of information and more about a change the audience experiences in their type of engagement with the story. 

Youtuber ‘Pause and Select’ relates the change in the 4Act structure to space. Discussing Attack on Titan, which has the exceptionally clear spatial limit of tightly packed city walls, he explains it as a ‘parallax view,’ a shift in perspective for the audience. Going further, he asserts that the third act shift is NOT meant to be a last-ditch event or realization that aids the story in reaching the conclusions we expected it to reach based on the first two acts. Elle Woods finding out her boss is a skeeve and then taking over to use her knowledge about perms in trial to prove her client’s innocence is a great western ‘twist’ and climax, which includes every feminist element Elle has come to stand for in her development at Harvard law school and brings about the expected conclusion of her success at overcoming all her obstacles to truly become a successful lawyer. However, it does nothing to change the audience’s perspectives about the story’s goals as a female empowerment legal comedy.

 “What matters,” Pause and Select argues about the 4Act change, “is that a breakdown, whether you are a reader or writer of [the 4Act structure], ultimately demands coming to a conclusion as to what you think the structure is trying to do.” The emphasis there is mine. A well-constructed 4Act aims to dislodge expectations about the very nature of the narrative it's telling in its third act. At its most obvious, this could be a genre shift—a romcom becomes a tragedy—but it might also be a change in whose perspective the story takes (Peaceful Property), which character is masterminding the events (a favorite of writer/director Park Chan-wook, like in The Handmaiden), or an expansion of who the audience is meant to feel empathy for (a fav strategy of Miyazaki, like in Laputa, Spirited Away and Princess Mononoke). A common romantic Kdrama trope of this kind, I hear, is the revelation that the characters previously knew each other. No matter the shift, thematic motifs will remain (a good reason to pay attention to indirect elements!), but the plot-type possibilities and full extent of the theme’s message can utterly transform. 

When viewers use Western frameworks to complain about the poor build-up or the introduction of unexpected elements into the second half of BL series, the complaint often comes from a place of ignorance. I’ve even heard unfounded conspiracy theories about studio interference regarding the sense of the unexpected in these sections! When viewed with the goals of the 4Act in mind—and here we ought to note the Korean 4Act model, the giseungjeongyeol, which splits its 4Acts more evenly than the Japanese kishotenketsu, as Kim Yoonmi points out—an audience’s experience of disruption that begins around episode 6 of a 12 ep series can be a sign of successful storytelling and a chance to reevaluate what you assumed the story was going to be.

No wonder I found myself getting weepy around episode 6. Time itself is the core focus of SOTUS S. By the end of the second act in episode 5, the hazing rituals we endured for fifteen episodes in the og had flashed by and completed. I began to fully appreciate the breadth of how SOTUS S intended to instill the experience of no longer being what you were before, the experience of merging into the realm of adulthood where the flowing expanse of life is no longer broken into semesters or organized into class years nor the safety of their forcibly forged friendships. It's an exceptional feat of storytelling to induce that subtle emotional experience for an audience.

With that shift, the problems and consequences shift as well. A third act often introduces an entirely new obstacle. The boss of Ocean Electric announces the yearly product design competition, and the shady dealings of certain employees suggestively simmering in the first half rise to the surface. In a Western telling, the series could’ve easily started right here. It brings the conflict, the battle between good (Earth and Arthit) and evil (John and Som-O), along with the slight moral grayness of Todd to keep it interesting. The pace and tempo of the scenes pick up, especially when the shit hits the fan/the cheap plastic hits the production line. It thrills with the same surge that ran through a majority of the original series. Is this conflict what the story’s about, though? 

Some people have described the 4Act as a conflictless plot structure. That’s baloney! You’ll see battle after battle after battle in shonen manga, like Naruto, Dragon Ball, One Piece, and Jujutsu Kaisen, all organized by the principles of The 4Act. SOTUS S shows off its ability to instill conflict with Ocean Electric’s design competition, too. The difference between the 4Act and the Three-Act or hero’s journey derives from the latter’s centralization of a single conflict compared to the former’s use of diffused conflicts—diffused in the sense of multiple conflicts spread out without a center, and, as I’ll explain for the last act, diffused in the sense of de-escalated. 

The issue of the competition is one conflict beside a number of other dating conflicts, with KongArt’s the most prominent, none of which directly impact each other in terms of plotting. In this section, Todd slowly falls for Earth, who gently turns him down (again, with writing and a performance by Proud Oranicha that solidify Earth as a uniquely naturalistic female character in a genre known for campy female caricatures). The other new intern Nai (Nammon) and head of Production, Yong (Guy Sivakorn) begin the most discrete of bromances, or maybe something more…, until Nai feeling slighted draws back. And KongArt have it out about Kongpob’s surprise internship decision before making up, allowing Ai-oon opportunities to show his growing comfort in his secret bf’s surreptitious seductions in public.

And let’s all appreciate that the boys continue to engage in versatile powerplay dynamics with their displays of affection! 

To properly center a single conflict for a Hollywood version of SOTUS S, all of these individual tensions would end up relating to one another—perhaps Todd and Nai become bitter about their rejection and join John’s plot to win the competition. Then, as a last ditch attempt to gain support for their own team’s entry, they discover and out KongArt’s secret relationship. Plenty of other options could take place, but the point is that they’re meant to be set up like that meme of ever-increasing dominos, building upon one another to create an even greater singular conflict. Instead, we see jealousies that come to nothing, slights that characters move on from without involving others. SOTUS S lets the different conflicts exist independently to separately emphasize the main theme: relationships take time, dedication, communication, and faithfulness to develop and maintain as people’s circumstances change.

The company beach outing provides the landscape for many of the relationship dramas to come to a head (and strikes a narrative beach episode beat with foundations exceeding the BL genre) before things go awry. If I’m honest, elements of Western Romance plotting seem to predominate this last portion of the third act: a false HEA (happily ever after) at the beach, disaster as the bad plastic goes on the line, and true crisis as office busybody, Durian, outs Kong and Art by sharing pics of them kissing from the beach trip. Then episode 12, as second-to-last episodes in romance series are wont to do, offers us a separation of sorts and a long dark night of the soul for Arthit before he arrives at his self-realization. It’s a beat integral to the 4Act and the Romance arc, but in the 4Act, despite its sometimes momentous occasion, the self-realization is secondary to the initial perspective-shift in terms of expected emotional and overall engagement from the viewer. Art announces he’s dating Kongpob in front of the entire office at the intern send-off. In the romance arc, the self-realization and confession change everything. The villains like Lady Catherine are dispelled; the curse on the beast breaks, Here, though; Love Wins! But here, we de-escalate.

He: Drawing Together

The 4Act sensibilities in SOTUS S resurface after the culmination. Arthit finally announces his relationship in front of the whole office, but no character stands-in for homophobia for him to confront. John was fired earlier for his fraud without a big to-do from the office. No one sings “Ding! Dong! The witch is dead!” In fact, a few of our office gossips get together to discuss John and Arthit but keep interrupting one another before landing on any consensus and finally move onto a point unrelated to our plot. The central issues for KongArt are simply not the center of everyone’s lives and neither love nor coming out were the battle Arthit and we as an audience expected them to be.

Where we might expect fireworks in other structures, the 4Act often brings a sense of pacification. No matter how significant a conflict might seem, the 4Act story structure is not built around a conflict’s upswell and subsequent victory. Patricia Thang explains for Book Riot, 

“Whether it is open-ended, whether our characters didn’t go through real development or growth, whether we realize nothing much actually happened at all, it doesn’t matter that much in kishōtenketsu (and is what, in my humble opinion, makes it great). What matters is that the various elements from the different acts of the story come together in a finale, as climactic or as muted as it may be.”

A 4Act story does not attempt to fix but to accept an uncontrollable universe. It's a diplomatic process when division otherwise threatens.

The Chinese character for the he fourth section, 結, apparently refers to the tying of a knot, which presents quite the opposite picture from the ‘reckoning’ expected in Western conclusions. The word ‘reckon’ in addition of its meaning 'to tell a story' etymologically refers to ordering items in a straight line. Instead of straightening out a tangled problem, the 4Act story aims to create an elegant tension between two dissimilar opposing parts by the end. 

We can look at a comic panel illustration of this structure from @stilleatingoranges to try and understand it further. Here are the first two acts:

In the first act, the qi, the ‘bringing into being,’ we see a character selecting a soda at a vending machine. The soda plops into the machine’s outlet. In the second act, the cheng, the Understanding, the character grabs the soda from the machine, continuing the story in an expected way without any hitch. There’s no clear obstacle or goal presented here. If we had to guess what will happen in the third act, we might say she’ll drink the soda. If we think the story needs a problem, she might have received the wrong soda. If we knew a twist was coming, we might guess she throws the can. Here’s the third act of this story:

We do not know this character. We don’t know this setting. This is a particularly demonstrative example of the third act, the zhuan, the Changing, because it shows how this act shifts the audience’s perception of the environment and point of this story. It’s not necessarily a twist in what the characters know and expect—we still have no idea about what they’re thinking and/or they’re relationship at all! It’s a twist for the viewer and what they assume they know and expect.

I’ve left out the final panel in my post so that, before you peek at the fourth act—the he, the Drawing Together—of these panels, you can take the place of a writer/creator and consider some ways these two disparate sections can come to coexist in the fourth panel. The girl might walk past this new isolated boy as she downs her soda. Maybe we see him watching as she opens the pop and it sprays all over her. Then, it brings out topics of impatience and embarrassment. You can probably think of more creative versions than me. The final panel the original artist chose to depict has the woman giving her soda to the newly introduced character. These are all acceptable conclusions to the 4Act as long as they reunite the world of the first two acts with the unexpected element of the third act. If you remember the blue color in the final section in the 4Act chart, it’s this combination of elements it represents. It might be helpful to think of the first two acts shaded yellow, with a suddenly blue third act, and a green fourth act.

For SOTUS S, Kongpob is back on campus in the final episode, reuniting us with the first and second act setting and characters from which the third act leapt away. He’s with his friends who’ve learned their own lessons and formed their own relationships during their internship semester. Arthit is back at his office sans intern-boyfriend with the offer of a new job in his preferred department. He turns down for the time being to support his own team instead. Durian goes to apologize to Arthit for leaking his photo, but he interrupts her before she can. It’s already forgiven. He tactfully offers her the opportunity to save face. 

I’ve seen these sorts of non-apologies across BL. They often ignite many audience member’s consternation who argue the characters didn’t deserve forgiveness for whatever harm they caused because they haven’t demonstrated a change in their behavior or fully acknowledged their wrong-doing. Unlike some other views of forgiveness, though, they often center around Eastern philosophical goals like the Indic-derived concepts of upekkha (translated as equanimity) and karuna (translated as compassion), for example. The latter is even considered a primary rasa, or aesthetic principle, in classical Indian theories of the arts that have persisted in importance into the cinematic era according to its wiki entry. Both are also part of the four heavenly abodes in Theravada Buddhism, the primary religion in Thailand. Rather than creating a world where those conditions don’t occur, these values focus on an individual’s ability to understand and remain balanced in the face of worldly conditions defined in the atthaloka dharma as “gain and loss, good-repute and ill-repute, praise and censure, pain and happiness.” Good and bad come and go, but one isn't meant to overly celebrate or grieve them. People and events are not meant to be ‘fixed’ in this view but understood.

Arthit’s forgiveness of Durian who continues her gossip demonstrates the understanding he gains in the story. As I said at the beginning, Arthit’s main goal is to adapt to his new environment. It’s a spiritual journey in which he achieves a new-found state of harmony within himself and with his group without directly engaging in conflict in the form of confrontation.  

The happy-ending version of the 4Act emphasizes reconnection in the relationships between members of a group, which is why the structure works especially well for a romance about an established couple. For each episode, the Japanese BL What Did You Eat Yesterday, about an older couple who live together, uses the 4Act effectively for its characters to grow in appreciation of each other. While Western stories have struggled to tell stories about established couples, the structure most Japanese iyashikei (slice-of-life genre) utilize works beautifully!

In Thailand, you can see the influence of SOTUS S in Aof Noppharnach’s two series about established couples, Still 2Gether and Dark Blue Kiss. He borrows the structure and even elaborates on subtle motifs in the series, like financial privilege, memories and public documentation through photographs, and invisibility of legally unrecognized and closeted relationships (conveyed in one of my favorite moments in all of the SOTUS series as KongArt transform into silhouettes inside a tunnel in a ‘special scene’). Then Aof blows these elements up into full foregrounded spectacles like Kao’s photographic birthday surprise for Pete or Tine’s walk down memory lane through saved vids and photos of Wat. Then, Aof can focus on subtext that’s more philosophical in his own series: “Love has no form,” Pete theorizes at the end of DBK. Lit Phadung and the rest of his writing team for SOTUS S were never so explicit as to put that theory into the script, but it’s all there in the details. KongArt might re-form their established relationship, bringing it ‘out’ into the view of the office, but it’s contrasted by all the ambiguous relationship endings running parallel to them. 

Those relationships don’t feel incomplete, at least to me. Open endings are a staple of the 4Act structure. It requires the acts to reconnect, but does not require problems to be resolved or questions to be answered. Instead the 4Act emphasizes structural and thematic unity and harmony, even for what we might call unhappy endings in romance. For a recent and clear BL example, The On1y One ends with its romantic leads separated in a similar vein to how they began the story while one of them literally re-ties the circle of a broken couple bracelet as he asks his beloved to return to him in a non-diegetic voiceover. Then the series cuts to a glass pitcher of lemon-water we’ve watched shatter over and over throughout the episodes, now whole and unbroken, as the other answers him. Our fourth act endings, done well, challenge a dualistic view. The two contrasting halves circle around to reconnect without one winning out over the other. Compared to a Western resolution, it might seem like these are unfinished loose ends, but they can be better understood as a satisfying tension or an equipoise. The On1y One ending refuses to accept that people are either together or apart, that time is either past or future. 

If separate narrative ends are looped together in elegant knots, what does this mean for the ‘coming out’ narrative with its journey that requires opposing forces and a protagonist to move from one side to another: in to out, private to public, even straight to queer? Well, in BL you often end up with a version of queerness that resists identitarian approaches. Art, in the most dramatically built-up moment in the series, makes a public statement about dating Kongpob…but he already did this coming out in the original series and he continues to rebuff his boyfriend’s flirtations afterwards. (It’s a part of their sexual foreplay as much as a part of Art’s shame.)

SOTUS S and much of BL depicts coming out as something done again and again cyclically as you enter into new environments or an act that’s not entirely manifesting (think Bad Buddy’s ending). And sexuality is not so simple as defining a gender one feels attracted toward, nor having pride or shame about those feelings. These are aspects of our relationships with ourselves and with others that even after making them public will still remain private, not fully knowable to others—both shared and secret. 

Drawing My Own Thoughts Together

Maybe I’m wrong. Throughout writing this, I nearly abandoned the project. I’m no expert in the history of Eastern media or storytelling, and especially not Thai—I’ve only dove into their BL. I can see how you could line up SOTUS S with a Western hero’s journey or romance plot. In fact, more so than other Asian national film traditions, at least according to the authors of Thai Cinema: The Complete Guide, the Thai media industry has a history and aesthetic interest in mashing genres and global influences into heterogeneous, palimpsestic concoctions. Multiple structures can and do coexist in these works.

I also became aware of how flat I and the resources had to render Western storytelling to illustrate the points about the 4Act. The differentiation between the two region’s approaches becomes much more murky when we bring in nuanced and celebrated works because they flesh out the bones more fully, relish ambiguities and ironies about their own nature, bring in broader influences, and take an interest in the unexpected. The structure’s often harder to pick apart. The goal, I’ve found while writing, is not to be wrong or right about the structure of the series here, but to educate myself and hopefully a few others about an influence of which we could learn more to fully appreciate what we’re watching. 

I was not surprised when after watching the series, I found an instagram post of the screenwriter and director Lit Phadung teaching different film structure approaches at a university. SOTUS S, in my view, simply can't be interpreted as a whole unless you are willing to see how its structure operates differently than the Western arc. It patiently weaves its medium and story about the office closet into an expansive pattern rather than mounting an epic battle between right and wrong.

Rather than take my words for right or wrong, I hope this gives others some threads to follow and thread in a web of info and interpretations. I know some tumblrinas I’ve connected with over BL and some with whom I’ve yet to connect have language skills, literary knowledge, and personal experiences to add on to what I’ve attempted to present here. Despite the prevalent mentions of kishotenketsu and the 4act as a structure used by Miyazaki, Kurosawa, and Bong Joon Ho, as well as a device in manga, anime, and Eastern literature traditions, there’s a dearth of well-sourced break-downs and explanations in English, scholarly or otherwise. This was simply my attempt to bring together information about the model in a BL context.

Throughout, I’ve highlighted specific Western blindspots I’ve noticed in criticism of BL shows: the perspective shift at the top of the third act, the slow development, the blanket forgiveness, among other things. A show can use these strategies and still be unsatisfying, don’t get me wrong. However, viewers miss the point when they frame the dissatisfaction using Western storytelling expectations. I’m insistent that we’ve gotta develop our language and perspectives to describe the intentions and breadth of what these shows aim for along with deepening our understanding of why.

It’s not limited to how we watch SOTUS S or Asian dramas. One of my favorite films, Junebug, which earned Amy Adams her first Oscar nomination, is a family drama set and filmed in the American South by a writing/directing team from the area, but inspired by the films of celebrated Japanese director Yasujiro Ozu because of how similar his style seemed culturally to the southerners they grew up with. Obviously, cultures beyond Asia emphasize these values and it behooves us to understand how to communicate with and within them, especially when a tendency exists to assume those communication values are inherently conservative. In fact, there are moments in all of our lives when we might need to emphasize social harmony, compassion, slow development, or karmic paths over dharmic ones, and the reasoning can be as progressive as any revolution. 

One of the moral values at the core of 4Act structures is appreciating our belonging to one another. “Strive at first to meditate upon the sameness of yourself and others,” reads Shantideva’s writing about the concept of karuna in The Way of the Bodhisattva. “In joy and sorrow all are equal; Thus be guardian of all, as of yourself.” Perceived cultural differences between values and plot structures need not be perceived as so separate. Queerness maybe doesn’t need to be ‘the other.’ Relationships and coming-out don’t need to be a battle. We can change and remain the same at once. SOTUS S and stories like it that use the 4Act demonstrate how art and events in our lives can come along to expand our perspectives without requiring we blame ourselves or others for not realizing it earlier. It holds wrong and right together, difference and unity, without flattening them into assimilation. Two distinct parts held together, which is, after all, the shape of a couple.

Tagging some other SOTUS fans who've kept the passion alive while i worked on this @thebroccolination @dropthedemiurge @doublel27 @moutheyes @ginnymoonbeam

[thepenultimateword]

Your stuff is so good!! You should write a villain x weapon designer civilian snippet :0

Thank you, thank you, friend! Also, I’m loving the idea of that dynamic, so here you go!

CW: Weapons, unconsciousness, knockout gas

...

“Move and I’ll blow your head off.”

The ridges on the gun's metal barrel dug sharply into Civilian's hand, but they managed to keep their aim and voice steady as they pointed both at the villain in front of them. The criminal was currently backed up against the train doors, hands in the air, gas mask dangling nonchalantly off two fingers.

The villain raised their brow. "What are you some sort of hero?"

"No talking."

"I've never seen you before. I thought I'd met all of the agency's sentinals in white. Though you're not exactly dressed for the position. Maybe you're not--"

"I said no talking!" Civilian barked, taking a step forward and jerking the gun forward menacingly.

"Ok! Ok!" Villain said. They raised their hands higher. “Touch-y.”

On any other day, Civilian would have been like the other passengers, huddled up together in the far corners of the train or pressed back tight in their seats, as if they could disappear by mere force of will. But today, Civilian had been tasked with transporting their newest prototype to the agency for a demonstration. An electro-pulse gun that they’d tested on no less than five watermelons the night before. They were well acquainted with the damage it could do. They’d ripped the thing from its protective case without even thinking.

“I’ve already alerted the heroes to your location,” Civilian said. “So there’s no point in fighting anymore. Stay still until the next station and you’ll be arrested in one piece.”

“You alerted the heroes?” The villain raised both brows high. “How? I jammed the cell signals over the next twenty miles. Unless…” They grinned. “You have some other form of contact. You do work for the agency, don’t you?”

“Have you listened to a thing I've said? No more questions!"

“You’re the one who keeps chatting, darling. What? Nervous?”

Yes. And no. Their body was alight with adrenaline, every nerve a buzzing, quivering charge, and yet at the same time, they were surreally confident, gut numb and mind blank.

Villain pushed lightly off the doors with their elbows, taking a small, probing step forward. “Would you even really shoot?”

“You really want to try me?"

“You heroes make a lot of talk but not much action. What, don’t you have a code? 'Do no harm' or something like that? Besides, you're so cute." Another step forward. "I don't think you've ever been in a fight, let alone killed someone, so why don't you just--"

Civilian aimed the gun at the ceiling and squeezed the trigger. The energy projectile punched through the metal with ear-splitting BANG! The passengers shrieked. Villain knocked back against the doors with a thud.

The wind whistled loudly overhead as the air whooshed over the new gap in the roof, and after that shot, their ears might as well have been stuffed full of cotton, but even if they couldn't quite measure their own volume, they fixed the gun back on Villain's head and drove their point home.

“I’m really trying not to traumatize all these lovely people with the visual of your head exploding, and honestly, I’d really rather not kill you. But if you press me…if you doubt me, you’ll be dead faster than you can question me again.”

Villain gripped their mask abit tighter but their expression remained smooth and their posture loose. They whistled a long low note. “You’re something else, gunslinger. When this is all over, feel free to look me up anytime.”

“Fortunately, I don’t frequent prisons.”

“Me neither." Villain flashed a broader grin, full of white teeth and pocked with a dimple on one side. "Looks like we have something in common.”

The train screeched, the deceleration sending everyone lurching a bit to the right. In that exact moment, when Civilian's gun swayed a few centimeters off target, the villain's free hand shot to their belt.

"Hey!" Civilian shouted, stumbling a little as the train came to a complete stop. Villain tossed something small and round to the floor. Ping! Ping! It bounced twice, rolled a little into the aisle, and exploded in a cloud of cool fog. No not fog. Gas.

Civilian immediately turned their face into their shoulder, tipping the gun even further off target. The whole train car shrieked while Villain calmly pulled the gas mask over their head, obscuring the beginnings of an infuriating grin. Civilian opened their mouth to launch another threat but immediately choked on the sickly sweet gas. It raised around them so rapidly, they could barely see the nose of the weapon let alone, Villain. Not to mention...everything was getting sorta...slanty...

"S-sleepin'gas?" they slurred.

"I was never here to harm any of you." Villain's muffled voice seemed to come from all directions, echoey and distorted.

Civilian fell to one knee. Was it normal to feel like their head was buzzing?

"You made a really cute gunslinger, though. Like a western sheriff. Or an outlaw. Bet you'd be good in a holdup."

The train doors hissed as they opened. As some of the gas slipped free, they caught a glimpse of the Villain's shoulder as they darted out onto the platform.

The gun suddenly felt so heavy in their arms but they forced it up anyway. The barrel tipped to and fro, and their finger trembled on the trigger. They wanted to risk a blind shot, but there could be dozens of people standing outside on that platform. If they hit anyone else...

Their vision blurred, then blackened. They barely managed to set the gun down on the metal floor before passing out over top of it.

When they awoke, they were in the agency medical wing. They recognized it immediately by its obnoxious orange bedsheets and, well, Keith. Sort of hard to miss a giant, shining man in hero-white scrubs.

Civilian slowly pushed themselves upright. Their head throbbed with the movement, and they let out a rogue groan.

Keith turned away from the figure two beds down, covered from head to toe in bruises and now enveloped in their own cocoon of white luminescence.

"Civilian!" Keith beamed, light glimmering off his teeth. "You've regained consciousness! Any pain?"

Civilian rubbed the bridge of their nose. "Just my head... Was I hurt?"

"Not necessarily." Keith pressed both large hands to the sides of Civilian's skull. Civilian closed their eyes as they healer's glow wrapped around their head. Warmth trickled over their face and under their skin, ebbing the pain away little by little. "Just a very large dose of some sort of gaseous anesthesia. Luckily, there have been no long-term consequences so far. The ventilation created by the hole in the roof probably lessened some of the potency. Your handiwork?"

The events on the train rushed back all at once. They pulled out of Keith's grasp.

"Did we get them?" They looked rapidly around their bedside. "Where's my pulse gun?"

Keith stepped back and leaned against the empty bed beside Civilian's. "The gun is in weapons testing, I think."

"And the villain?"

"No. They escaped. We arrived just moments too late before they must have blended with the crowd.

Civlian threw themself back against their pillows with a heavy sigh. "Great."

"You still helped. You stopped Villain from completing whatever they originally planned and provided many citizens with immediate medical treatment by calling us in."

"Oh yeeeeah, I'm sure the whole team was just dazzled by my competence and quick-thinking. Especially when I couldn't hold Villain in place on anything but a moving train."

Keith frowned. "You don't need the title to be a hero."

"Thanks, Keith, that's really nice and heartfelt, and I'm sure you believe it, but seeing how you do have the title, and no one in power here thinks the same, it doesn't really mean that much to me."

Keith frowned but luckily didn't argue any further. Civilian knew they were being rude, but they really didn't need anyone else telling them that they were special the way they were. That they could do good their own way. That being a hero didn't even matter that much. It mattered a whole lot to them. And now they'd practically proven the entire agency right.

"What were they even doing on that train?"

"Robbery?" Keith shrugged. "Knock out the passengers and loot all their valuables."

"Alone?" Civilian traced the lines of the ceiling panels with their eyes. "They didn't even have a bag. How much could they have gathered if they planned on knocking out an entire train?"

"We don't know they were alone. They could have easily had accomplices posing as civilians throughout the train."

"True... Does the agency have a file on them? Tall, skinny, long black coat, annoyingly perfect eyebrows. Didn't show a power."

"I could look...but I'm not supposed to share that sort of info outside of other heroes..."

"Come on! What was that whole, 'you don't need a title' nonsense?"

"It wasn't nonsense! You are a hero! Just...not a legally sanctioned one."

Civilian sat back up and lowered their voice. "Come on, Keith. I'm not going to do anything; I'm just curious. You don't even have to give me the whole file. Just take a couple pictures of anything you think might also be on the news."

Keith grimaced.

"Please? I was so close today. So close to being what I always planned to be... Just let me chase that high a little longer. Then I'll go back to the weapons lab and never mention it again. Promise."

Keith inhaled a long breath, letting it out in a loud, irritated sigh. "Ok, fine. But don't bring it up to anyone. Ever. And I'm only giving you the first page."

Civilian's insides sank a little; they weren't sure what a first page of a villain file looked like, but they could assume it wasn't much. But they couldn't really be picky, so... "That's fine. Just the first page is perfect."

Keith looked like they had hoped that detail would deter them, but he continued on. "It might take awhile. I'm a hero, but I'm a healer, so no one is expecting me to march into the files room and request info on villains."

"That's ok, I can be patient. I work in weapons, remember? That's like the ultimate test in being patient."

Keith slid a hand over his face. "Ok. I'm also going to need more detail than 'annoyingly perfect eyebrows.'"

[bluedalahorse]

Felice Week Poll: Who should be Felice’s S4 Love Interest?

Posted for YR characters month, hosted by @youngroyals-events.

This is part analysis, part poll.

I have contradictory emotions about the way Felice’s brushes with romantic relationships are handled in Young Royals.

On one hand, I like that Felice’s storyline does so much to center friendships, especially her friendship with Sara. I’m aromantic, so these kinds of stories that privilege friendship matter to me, especially in stories where there’s a heavy emphasis on a romantic plot.

On the other hand, we never see Felice in a fulfilling romantic and/or sexual relationship. Neither August nor Wilhelm treats her 100% great, and we are informed that many other boys have crushes on her, but we never get to see her enjoy casual moments of flirtation or fun.

Unfortunately, these writing choices don’t exist in a vacuum, and also I can’t help noticing that Felice’s story falls into a broader trend of Black characters frequently being unlucky or unchosen in romance. Martha Jones and Bonnie Bennet are other characters who are emblematic of this trend, but the more you look, the more you see it all over.

I highly recommend watching Princess Weekes’s videos where she discusses this trend in more depth with examples from lots of different TV shows. She does an especially good job of addressing how people will say “but isn’t it empowering for a female character to be strong on her own, without a romance?” For white female characters, who are often sheltered and framed as delicate by the patriarchy, forgoing a romance is often empowering. On the other hand… for Black female characters, it’s different. Black women and girls are often discouraged from showing vulnerability or softness and often end up as the unlucky leg of a love triangle, so it’s a departure from the status quo to actually have Black female meaningfully engage in an onscreen romance!

Which is why, in some parallel universe where YR gets a season 4—or at least in more fanfics centered on Felice’s POV and set in the future—I’d love to see her get to have a storyline where she falls in love with someone and they love her back in return. Big swoony teen drama first love stuff, like we get to see Simon have with Wilhelm and Sara have with August. Maybe with a little less in the way of princely drama, but I think you know what I mean. It doesn’t have to be a love story where we assume the relationship lasts forever, and it doesn’t have to undermine Felice’s friendships. Simon getting together with Wilhelm doesn’t undermine his friendships, after all, and Sara and August aren’t together at the end of the series. The point is it should be significant. Let Felice feel the big feelings! Let someone else also feel them back for her!

(I’m also in favor of Felice having an aro or ace storyline as long as it is explicitly named as such, although that isn’t the focus of this post. It is the focus of my fic Doubles Over Couples though.)

So with all that established, I now ask you…

I left off options where Felice would be breaking up an existing ship (wilmon or stedrika) or dating a character we assume to be gay (Nils or Marcus, who both I guess could be bi, you never know.) But you know what? If that’s your jam, go ahead and tell me in the tags. I hold nothing sacred after all.

You can also tell me why you chose the character you chose in your tags. Maybe you have an idea for giving a character a lot of development and taking their arc in a new direction. (Like, idk, why not envision a story about Felice and Alexander?) If you do, I’d love for you to share it and tell me the arc you have in mind.

Please reblog the poll for reach! This should be fun.

[strifesodosweek]

Let's do the time warp Strifesodos Week again!

UPDATE: Spin The Wheel!

First off - for anybody new here:

What the heck is Strifesodos Week??

A whole week to celebrate the relationship between Cloud Strife & Genesis Rhapsodos - From the Compilation of Final Fantasy VII. Stories set in any part of the timeline are welcome, as well as totally out there AUs and Crossovers of any kind. 

Are there any rules?

Only a few! 

Keep your story focused on the relationship between Cloud and Genesis. Background relationships between them and other characters, like AGSZC or anything else should stay that way, in the background. There are a lot of stories of all the guys together but not as many with just these two so this fan week is important for adding to the ecosystem (and, frankly, enriching our enclosure okay??)

NSFW is totally acceptable, just make sure you tag everything appropriately wherever you choose to post it

When you make a post here on Tumblr put a little @strifesodosweek so that I can make sure you’re shared here for everyone to see! If you post on AO3 please add it to the collection so that everyone can find it there as well!

You must write the fic specifically for the event, using the prompts you get!

Please share this so other people can know its happening to participate!

So where are the prompts?? Right HERE!

Well, we’re going to do things a little bit differently this year! Instead of having one specific list of prompts that everyone is assigned each day, we're going to work together to create a whole wheel of prompts! Some I came up with myself, most I'll be choosing from submissions, and I will smash them all together so that everyone has a much broader range of things to choose from.

I only have a few guidelines I’d like people to adhere to for this, and they are as follows:

Spin the wheel seven times + one do-over if you get one that you really hated or have no idea for

You’re free to do the prompts in the order you were randomly assigned or whichever order you want, I’m not a cop

Since I’m not a cop, I can’t stop you from just choosing what you like from the list instead of spinning, but it would be a lot more fun for everyone involved if you played along the way the system is set up :) 

How about we come up with a prompt list together, just like last year but a little bit to the left. Click here to submit up to five prompt ideas for the list. I'll choose at least one from each person or more if I really really love it. Deadline to submit prompts is MAY FIRST!

[azus-reyan]

The pros and cons of direct vs poetic writing styles.

There are two poles in the spectrum of writing styles.

There’s the direct writing style on one end, and a poetic, flowery voice on the other.

It’s good to know what lies in the corners, even if you want to settle in the middle. And maybe find your sweet spot. 

Before we compare the pros and cons of these antithetical writing styles, let’s quickly define both, so we’re on the same road. 

Direct writing:  This style is active. It’s clear, brief, and bufferless as it gets straight to the point. It’s famous for the use of common language and simple word choice. 

Poetic writing: This is a long, description-filled style, in love with decorations and flourishing language. It’s wordy and famous for the use of poetic devices like alliteration and assonance. 

Pros of direct writing style

Clarity: Little room for misunderstanding, on the reader’s part.

Accessibility: The simple language allows for a broader readership.

Compatibility: You can write across various forms and genres.

Cons of direct writing style

Generic: your writing might become flat and unimaginative, courageless.

Dim: Your writing is so simple that it won’t be remembered, and won’t stand out.

Boredom: The chance of becoming bored with your writing because you’re not allowing yourself to experiment.

Pros of a poetic writing style

Mood: It’s perfect for setting the mood for the reader.

Uniqueness: You'll have a better chance of standing out.

Memorable: Kind of like wearing a red hat over a uniform to stand out.

Cons of poetic writing style

Difficulty: You won’t reach the wider market, owing to your meandering, uncommon writing style.

Pace: Too many words and sentences can make your writing drag, boring your readers.

Ambiguity: Readers might walk away with a different image than you intended. 

Are you a direct writer or a poet? Maybe you fall somewhere in between. I’d love to know.

Stay tuned for more on this topic tomorrow.

[fatalism-and-villainy]

I have to say, one place I diverge from a lot of other Julian Bashir fans on here is that I just don’t agree that the character was on the whole poorly written or handled, or that “the writers didn’t know what to do with him.” Bashir has… one of the strongest arcs in the entire series, imo. Not the absolute best - that would be Sisko’s, and Kira’s was more richly in dialogue with the premise and themes of the series - but certainly close.

He gets centered in a variety of different kinds of stories, many of which tie into the broader story arcs of the show (the latter of which is more than I could say of, for example, Jadzia or Ezri). His early character flaws are developed seriously later on, with his arrogance in particular being interrogated and shown to be a reflection of an inner insecurity that’s self-aggrandizing in its own way. And he gets a backstory and family relationships that put those traits into context. His heroic traits are allowed to blossom and come into play in weightier situations as well, with him often being positioned as the sole voice of morality amidst corruption or defeatism. His system of ethics is tested and stretched to the limit - things like kidnapping and torturing Sloan, or even just recommending that the Federation surrender to the Dominion, are things that he never would have done in the early seasons, but they still feel of a piece with who he is and what he’s been through since the beginning and what he fundamentally values (namely, preserving as many lives as possible).

Like, I saw someone on one of my posts say that his character was diluted in later seasons and there was “nothing left of him” by the end of the show, and I completely disagree. There are things I would change about the focus of season 7 in general, but “Chrysalis” and “Inter Arma Enim Silent Leges” and “Extreme Measures” were all great showcases for the different facets of his character, including the darker sides of him. And he gets to play a key role in the resolution of the war.

When I think of characters who were underserved by the narrative, I think of… definitely Ezri, and I’d say Jadzia as well. Honestly all of the women were undermined in some way by sexist bias in the writing, even Kira. But even Quark I think gets a much more disappointing ending in “The Dogs of War,” where he just doubles down on his worst traits and actually does feel like he regresses after the show’s hinted at character development for him.

So it’s a bit surreal to me to see these critiques levied at Bashir’s writing, because honestly one reason I love him is because of the depth in his writing.

[georgescitadel]

George R.R. Martin on the process of creating A Game Of Thrones

Part 1

It is all very well to talk of novels and novellas, sextets and trilogies, but when you come right down to it, those are only the boxes. The size and shape of the box does not matter nearly as much as what goes inside it; that is to say, the story. A story has a beginning, a middle, and an end (usually in that order). It must not be drawn out beyond its proper length, but neither should it be truncated so as to fit into a certain number of books or a certain number of pages, What is the “proper length” for a story, one might ask… but the answer changes with every story. It is not something that can be decided beforehand, or determined by some formula. It is something you learn along the way, during the writing, for it is only during the writing that a story truly comes alive.

A Game of Thrones certainly came alive for me, when I finally cleared away most of my remaining Hollywood commitments and sat down to work on the book in earnest in 1994. I had been away from the world and characters tor some time, but they had not grown cold on me. Far from it. No sooner did I plant my butt in front of my computer than I fell right through to Westeros. The world grew broader and deeper and more complex, the plots unrolled smoothly, the characters began to haunt me night and day. Sentences became paragraphs, paragraphs became scenes, scenes became chapters. I was not printing hardcopy, so there was no pile of finished pages growing beside my desk, but I could see the files multiplying on my hard drive. I had 300 pages, 400 pages, 500 pages, 600 pages… and I had a problem.

It was the spring of ’95 when it finally dawned on me. I was fast approaching the 800 pages that I had estimated as the length of the finished book, but most of my large cast of characters were nowhere near the places they were supposed to be. Oh, Dany was… I had always meant to hatch those dragon eggs at the climax of my first volume… but she was the only one. For the rest, the end was nowhere in sight. I did not see any way I could possibly wrap up everything else I’d planned in the pages remaining to me.

“Very well,” I told myself, “I’ll go a little over. This is not television. A few extra pages will not matter. Fantasy readers love big books, after all.” On I wrote, and on. I reached 800 pages, and passed by without slowing down. Page 900 came and went. As I approached 1000 pages I gulped, for that big round number had an awful weight, but I pushed past all the same. There had been other 1000 page books, after all. A Game of Thrones grew larger, and still larger. I had 1100 pages, 1200 pages, 1300 pages… and my problem had become a crisis. For even at that length, the end of the first book was still hundreds of pages away. I looked at what I’d written and thought about what I hadn’t written, and realized with a sense of mounting horror that I was headed toward a 2000 page manuscript.

- George R.R. Martin, A Clash of Kings Limited Edition Introduction (2002)

[bookie-bookdust]

Okay one more and then I'm retiring this post!!!

For you @galaxiasgreen 🥰

This is my dark shadow trio fic I work on veryyyyyy slowly and am deeply in love with but am also TERRIFIED of posting. It's also very taxing to write. Seb breaks MC out of Azkaban (with a time turner and he's just a tad bit loony from using the damn thing so many times), and Ominis is hired by the Ministry to capture them. It's so angsty and ahgeagwjagwlahgiawel okay okay:

“You’re awake.” I whipped around, back slamming against the wall. Sebastian held up his hands, eyes flicking to the candlestick suffocating in my grip. “Tell me now. I need answers.” My free hand was up by instinct, ready to cast a blasting spell with my ancient magic. What I’d taken from the repository all those years ago crackled in my chest, hissing wildly as it unfurled from its hibernation. It demanded use. Power. I attempted to summon it forward, but it only buzzed, drunken. He nodded, scrubbing his face. “Yes. Answers, I know.” He paced a moment before stopping. “How are you?” I blinked at him, readjusting my grip on the candlestick. How was I? What sort of question was that? “Old.” He laughed, and the sound made me jump. I’d missed that sound. He used to laugh in my ear when he’d sneak up behind me at Hogwarts, when we’d slip into caves or revel over camps we destroyed, when he’d press his lips to my neck… Something pierced my heart, and I chewed the inside of my cheek. Merlin, how could any of this be real? Now that I was out of Azkaban, I could see him better. He was taller, broader chested with strong shoulders. His freckles were more defined. Handsome with a touch of that boyishness still present in his face. It made my fingers twitch. But he also looked tired, haunted, dark circles bruising those hazel eyes. I wanted to reach for him, to scrub at the dark spots, but there was no way he still felt the same. Ten years was too long to be gone. He sighed, that glint drowning as his mask slipped. “Without you around to keep me in line, I’m afraid I’ve made quite the mess.” “That isn’t how I remember it. I was your worst enabler.” I quirked an eyebrow, and he smiled. “I missed you,” he murmured. “I always miss you.” He stared at me as if I’d disappear, and I was sure I looked back at him the same. I let that sadness soak me, baptizing me. “They come when I think of you. The dementors. Every time.” His face paled, jaw working as he surged forward, pulling me into a hug. I slammed into his warm chest, fumbling awkward limbs until I could get a hold of myself. This. This was what I missed. A cell of my own creation, Sebastian’s arms around me, fingers digging into my hair and back. I let myself return the hug, let myself inhale his comforting smell of smoke and parchment. Let myself feel his heartbeat. Real. This was real. They couldn’t take him from me. Not again. “Do you want something to eat?” he asked, leaning back to study my face. This close it felt like I stared straight into a burning fire. That was how it always felt with Sebastian Sallow. As if he was a flame, and I the firewood meant to be eaten up. It hurt. My eyes prickled, but I didn’t loosen my hold. I couldn’t. Not again. Not ever.

okay bye!!!!

[bitchslapblastoids]

so we’re doing the sappy year-end affectionate thing, yeah?

I spent most of my phandom years feeling like a barnacle under a ship that d&p were steering and you were all the actual passengers of. During the time I spent lurking, it felt like fandom culture had changed so drastically that re-entering in any active way would be terrifying. But then I finished writing a phanfic that I’d originally started in 2015. And then I posted it and some people liked it. And meanwhile, I had already been feeling complicated feelings about the lack of engagement with fic and writing across all fandoms. And doubly meanwhile, things just kept getting more and more unhinged in the Dan and Phil universe, and I just wanted to yell about it. So I finally caved, made this blog, and stopped being a hypocrite who whined about how fandom wasnt interactive anymore while I wasn’t actually interacting myself.

The difference between lurking and participating in the ecosystem was that I realized I was a bit wrong. Bc people on here don’t just taketaketake; there is a wonderfully supportive fabric of celebration for creative works, of kindness and warmth towards one another. It’s a small community, but so alive!!

All my weird-kid traits that I keep compartmentalized and tightly managed (read: suffocated) as I cosplay daily as a somewhat normie-adult suddenly had somewhere to thrive and be externalized again. I gained access to this universe that i get to be a tiny cocreator of that is full of delight and silliness and warmth and hilarity. It stood in such contrast to my irl world that has been in flux - moving away from somewhere I loved and people I loved, coping with new peaks of mental illness in my family, building a life in a new city that felt (feels) lonely so lonely, falling victim to my own depressive self isolation habits. but here was an outlet, and suddenly my mind was a creative place to be again. It had been a while since that had been true.

and then tit happened and while I have known for a long time that concerts are the single most euphoric experiences in my life, I’ve always gone alone and anonymous and relished in the presence of unspoken community around me, the experience that feels religious and sacred, sharing in some rapturous devotion to an artist and their music and then all parting ways afterwards. But tit was something new. I’d seen Dan and Phil before, all the times. But never as someone actively embedded in the community enough to actually speak to people. When I bought the tickets, I intended on being fully invisible at my shows. Months later when I actually went, one of the most joyful parts of the experience was all of you, talking to people around me, seeing phannies in the flesh, and yelling on here about it all. It was truly euphoric. When I say it was bouying, I mean it. I felt high for days.

The people I’ve befriended on here or whose ideas and work and vibes I just absorb through their presence on my dash have reminded me how to see beyond the restraints of cookie cutter daily life, how to be radical and loving and how to embrace weirdness and love those parts of yourself, but how to openly love them in other people too; how to signpost that you’re an open recipient for someone’s weird, that their weird is safe around you. Dan and Phil have always done that too, haven’t they?

I started to think about all the people whose brightness and brilliance has touched me in some way on here this year, and the list was immediately too long to even hold in my brain. But probably if you’re reading this, you’re one of those people. Thank you for being around and sharing who you are 🩵

Sometimes I still get a little sad about the level of engagement fic gets vs other creative endeavors on here. But being a part of this renassiance and sharing in a mini writing community within this broader phannie ecosystem has been sooooooooo rewarding. I’m deliriously happy to get to know such an incredibly creative and generous and passionate bunch of humans.

happy 2025 phumblr!! i think we better buckle in for another wild fucking ride. 🧡🧡🧡