#non-linear changes

[rustingroots]

the patho 3 prologue alone has me thinking all kinds of thoughts......... i'm just...

[maliro-t]

i'm pretty sure it was some josh sawyer interview i watched ages ago where he said something about knowing that pentiment 'isn't for everyone' and talked about that framing in general since it's such a niche project, and he was like, well yeah, it's not for everyone. neither is call of duty.

and it truly gave me so much peace lol. like ohhhh. yeah. 'objective' media assessment is nothing to me

[staygoldsquatchling02]

If you told this awkward kid 8 years ago that they would be legally recognized as the silly name their best friends called them, they probably wouldn't believe you.

But now I can I proudly say that I have been legally recognized as Newt Cameron for 2 years as of today. It may not seem like much but the day I figured out my name was so refreshing. I felt like something actually fit into place. Every year I get one step closer to making that silly kids dreams a reality. Sure things have been rough and there are people I wish were still here to see me grow, but all of these struggles that I get past are just more things to add on to the art piece that is me.

So I just have to say this, Happy Name-change Day to me and I can't wait to see what else will change before the next one.

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[good-night-space-kid]

I just had a very weird dream where I for some reason had to write a novel for a class and I wrote a gay wwi story and then it got published without my knowledge using my preferred name. Then my grandpa kept asking me if I had published something using a different name and I was both like ???? no?? And still not acknowledging my other name. Then I was in an airport and they were selling my book and it was apparently selling well because there was a soap themed after it but regardless I had never chosen to publish it. There was so much plot in this dream

[prokopetz]

why do you think indie metroidvanias specifically take so long to make, and is there a solution that you'd like to see them go for? (i know that would likely mean a compromise of some kind, but like, you know)

The reason why is fairly obvious: the classic metroidvania formula makes it very easy to fall prey to unintentional scope creep and is a positive nightmare to QA.

Non-linear progression gating based on precision platforming challenges where the player's basic moveset is constantly changing means every little thing needs to be rigorously tested in every part of the gameworld, carefully checking every room with every combination of abilities the player could conceivably possess for a wide range of failure states.

Is there some combination of abilities that allows the player to get into this room, but not out of it afterwards? Is there some combination of abilities that allows the player to do things in an order you didn't expect? Does that variation in sequencing in turn create situations where the player can end up somewhere without an ability you had assumed was required to get there? And so forth.

Even once you've got everything tested, it's not over. Every tiny change during development, even as small as adding or subtracting a couple of percentage points from the player character's jumping height or walking speed, can potentially have a domino effect that introduces a whole new set of failure states. It's not a pretty picture!

As for solutions, the one most solo or small-team metroidvanias end up adopting is to put a damper on the exponential QA explosion by linearising progression. If you haven't flipped the right switch or visited the right room, the door simply doesn't open, the progression-critical cutscene simply doesn't trigger, and so forth. Even big-name metroidvanias often make judicious use of this one: for example, Super Metroid has certain doors in the early game that just arbitrarily will not open until you've collected a couple of specific items from the game's combat-free introductory area.

The trouble with this approach is that if you use it to the extent that's necessary to keep your QA responsibilities at a manageable level for a small team or solo developer, you functionally end up with a linear, level-based platformer that makes you walk from one level to the next. Whether this disqualifies a given title from the "metroidvania" label is a demarcation problem I'm not interested in litigating, but folks who expected a more open world experience are quite understandably going to be disappointed.

The approach I'd prefer more indie metroidvanias take is to keep things under control by limiting their scope. Not ever damn thing needs to be the next Hollow Knight; many classics of the genre can be completed in well under an hour with good routing even without employing modern speedrun tech. Similarly, some of the best indie metroidvanias are those with the smallest maps; Alruna and the Necro-Industrialists, probably the best example of open-world map design of any metroidvania published in 2024, has a map that's scarcely twenty by twenty screens, and its routing is downright fiendish.

(One of my perennial probably-never-gonna-happen projects is to design a full-featured metroidvania targeting a two to three hour casual playthrough whose entire map can fit on a single screen while remaining at a vaguely playable zoom level, in the style of titles like 1 Screen Platformer.)

[astrologydray]

Ruler of the 2nd through the houses

when you track the ruler of the 2nd house through the houses, you’re looking at how you make money, where your values lie, what you prioritize, and what brings you a sense of security and self-worth.

1st House 🏡:

I am the resource.

Your body, presence, or identity is a source of value. You might attract wealth through personal branding, entrepreneurship, or just being YOU. Confidence = currency. You naturally radiate value, but must learn to own it.

2nd House 🏡:

Born to build.

This is a powerful placement for money, stability, and long-term growth. You naturally know how to build wealth and manage your resources. You’re probably very grounded and value quality over quantity. Shadow side hoarding, fear of change, or stubbornness.

3rd House 🏡:

Money through the mind.

Your voice, ideas, or communication skills are your goldmine. You might make money through writing, teaching, media, or even tech. You value curiosity, mental stimulation, and versatility. Prone to having scattered energy or difficulty monetizing ideas. Your Strength = quick thinking, adaptability, networking = resource magnet.

4th House 🏡:

Home is the foundation of wealth.

You could inherit money, make money through property, or work from home. Emotional security and family support directly affect your money flow. Your values are deeply rooted in your upbringing.

5th House 🏡:

Creative currency.

You attract money through self-expression, creativity, pleasure, or even romance. Think artists, performers, designers — or people who monetize their passions. You value joy, fun, and being seen. Shadow side here = risky money behavior; tying worth to external validation.

6th House 🏡:

Work = worth.

You build wealth slowly and steadily through dedicated effort, skill development, and service. You might work in healing, wellness, administration, or service industries. You value discipline and reliability. Overworking or tying self-worth to productivity may be a problem for you. Relax and give urself grace.

7th House 🏡:

Money through others.

Your values and income may come through partnerships, collaborations, or clients. Business and romantic relationships affect your money deeply. You value harmony, balance, and reciprocity. Be careful of falling into financial dependency or people-pleasing around money.

8th House 🏡:

The wealth alchemist.

You’re drawn to shared resources, investments, and transformative wealth. You might make money through occult work, finance, psychology, or sex-related fields. Power, trust, and depth play a big role in your money story.

9th House 🏡:

Expand to receive.

You attract abundance through travel, teaching, spirituality, law, or publishing. You value freedom, knowledge, and growth. Belief systems around wealth are HUGE here — mindset is everything.

10th House 🏡:

Public success = personal wealth.

You may gain money and security through career, status, or reputation. You value ambition, recognition, and doing something that matters. This placement often pushes you toward visible leadership or high positions.

11th House 🏡:

Money through the collective.

You earn through networks, innovation, tech, or social causes. Think online businesses, group work, or digital platforms. You value progress, originality, and future-oriented thinking. Be careful of being overreliance on external validation or digital platforms. Your unique ideas, group alignment, big-picture wealth building is where it’s at.

12th House 🏡:

Mystical money flow.

This is the most non-linear placement. You may make money through spiritual work, healing, art, or behind-the-scenes roles. Money may come and go mysteriously, and your values are more ethereal than material.

[hannieween]

gambler | heartbreaker series | c.sc

Plans do not always come to fruition. That was one of the hardest truths that Seungcheol had to come to grips with.

✧ pairing: choi seungcheol x female reader ✧ genre: angst, fluff, smut (MDNI) ✧ aus: established relationship, boss seungcheol, gambler cheol, bartender reader ✧ word count: 14.9k

✧ warnings: descriptions of depression. cheol is possessive, mentions of therapy, alcohol consumption, smut with plot, daddy kink, dom seungcheol, sub reader, reader is on birth control, big dick seungcheol, unprotected sex, creampie, breeding kink, jealousy, exhibitionism: sex in the workspace, they have a voyeur. dirty talk. pet names: love, pretty, baby, angel (hers) babe, boss, daddy (his)

›🎧: ghost – baekhyun | amnesia – kai | losing game – leo | love is banned – gemini | can we talk again – purple kiss | i'm fine – d.o | night view – monsta x | mood – dpr ian | rainy days – v | last night – jxw | sapphire blue – jiwoo

✧ thank you to @hhaechansmoless and @coupsiedaisee for proofreading this for me ♡

› series masterlist – general masterlist – taglist

✧ author's note: i cannot for the life of me not insert myself into my fics. some of the story beats in this one are too close to my heart. might be the most personal one so far so pardon the angst ? this chapter is an emotional roller coaster if i do say so myself

✧ author's note pt. 2: this chapter is told in a non-linear way. so it has a lot of time skips. you're warned. bye ✌🏻

✧ disclaimer: minors DO NOT INTERACT. this post is intended for 18+ readers ONLY. please have your age stated in your blog description and try not to look like a bot please 🙂

part v

Two years ago 

Plans do not always come to fruition. That was one of the hardest truths that Seungcheol had to come to grips with. No matter how much effort or heart he put into something, sometimes it still wouldn’t be enough. 

But what he could never reconcile, was that he had lost you. 

Even though, deep down, he knew that he wasn’t entirely to blame for the breakup, the thought haunted him. He could’ve done more. He should’ve fought harder. He had always feared he would lose you someday, as if something so good was never meant to belong to him.  

Still, the day you left felt wrong. He replayed it in his mind ten times, twenty, a hundred. Every word you said, every change on your face, everything leading up to the end. He should’ve done this, he thought, his stomach twisted painfully. He should’ve said that. He fell into an endless spiral of what ifs, mourning the version of his life where you were still in it. 

He missed you.

Turning over in bed, he wrapped an arm around a pillow and sighed. He couldn’t even cry anymore.  

It was four in the morning. He knew before he even checked his phone. He had become an expert in tracking the time spent in silence, in ignoring the missing calls, and unread texts from friends trying to reach him. None of it mattered. 

His eyelids felt heavy, but sleep was no escape. In his dreams, he always found you. Flashes of secret glances across the library tables, the way you’d lift your head just to peek at him—smiling shyly because he always caught you looking. Other times, the dreams turned into nightmares, reliving the abrupt ending of what you had together, the last moments before you walked away. 

The pad of his finger hovered over the shared folder on his phone. He swallowed hard, the familiar knot twisting in his stomach. 

Apparently, you had forgotten about the folder. The folder where your photos were automatically backed up. Seungcheol never moved a single thing, as though keeping it untouched might preserve his last connection to you just a little longer. Before you noticed and end that too. 

One week after the breakup, you erased all the photos of you together. Every trace you had together was erased on social media. But somehow, you had forgotten about the shared folder. Or maybe you missed him too. Maybe you wanted to hold on a little longer.  

At first, he avoided his phone entirely, pretending his phone didn’t exist. But then—something happened. 

One night, the folder updated.

Seungcheol felt a pain so sharp, he was sure it would kill him. Seeing your name on his screen made the pain in his chest tighter. He stopped dead in his tracks, bringing a finger to press on your name, he held his breath.

Updated a minute ago

His heart had pounded in his ears. He braced himself to see you to be wrecked all over by the sight of your face. 

But no. The photos weren’t of you. They were of the sky. A sunset, painted in soft pinks and burning oranges.

That was the first night of his downward spiral.

He almost felt embarrassed by what came next. He didn’t fall to his knees. He didn’t scream or break down sobbing. 

Instead, he checked the folder every single night. Waiting. Hoping. Not for the sky. Not for another sunset or sunrise. 

For you. 

It soon became his addiction, this quiet, but self-inflicted torment. The nights without an update were the worst. Just like this one. The thought of you realizing he still had access to the folder made him sick to his stomach. Maybe you had figured it out, maybe that’s why the updates had stopped. 

Seungcheol locked his phone and tossed it somewhere in the tangled sheets. 

Were you as lonely as he was?

Staring at the ceiling, he let the memories play again in his head. It was a dangerous game, replaying his own heartbreak like a song stuck on repeat. 

Why did he like hurting so much?

If he could only hear your voice again. But he made a promise to himself: no matter how bad it got, no matter how much it tore him apart, he wouldn’t reach out to you. He wouldn’t do that to you. 

His hand groped blindly for the whisky bottle on his nightstand, but he met nothing but the empty glass. 

The phone buzzed somewhere in the sheets. He went rigid. The vibrations drummed against his ear. He ignored it at first. 

But what if it was you?

The knot in his stomach tightened unbearably as he reached for his phone, his heart slamming against his ribs. His fingers fumbled through the sheets, desperate searching. 

The aching feeling inside him was soothed at the moment he saw your name on the screen. Relief flooded his chest—you were still there. He even felt rewarded, in some twisted way. You always updated him around this time. 

But the relief was fleeting. 

The pain returned a thousand times worse. 

He shot up too fast, dizziness crashing over him, not just from the alcohol, but from the sheer force of you. Blood rushed to his head, leaving him unsteady. 

There you were. Your eyes. 

He could read it in them instantly—you were sad. That was undeniable. But there was something else too, something softer. A glint. Catching in the pale morning light that bathed your face. Maybe it was hope. 

Seeing your face for the first time in what felt like a lifetime was brutal. The image blurred. His vision swam. The phone slipped from his fingers, landing somewhere on the bed as he pressed his hands to his face. Don’t cry, don’t cry, he repeated, a strangled sound muffled against his palms. 

He should have stopped you from leaving.

It was seven in the morning when he finally surfaced from the spiral. 

Sunlight leaked through the cracks in the curtains, stabbing at his tired eyes. The bedsheets were tangled around him. Clothes were scattered across the floor—abandoned, forgotten. The whole room was a mess, but none of it compared to the mess inside his heart, his head. 

Still, he sat there. A near catatonic state. Eyes open but seeing nothing. 

He could not keep living like this. 

His chest felt heavy as he reached for his phone. Seungcheol scrolled through a hundred and fifty-seven texts from Jeonghan before typing two words. 

I’m fine.

His fingers hovered over the screen. Switching tabs to see your face one more time. And with a pause of hesitation, he opened his phone settings, hitting the hard reset button. 

He had to let you go. 

It was nine in the morning when he heard an urgent knock at the front door. He had gotten good at ignoring that too. But this time, he went to get it. He already knew it would be. 

The door creaked open. “Hi,” Seungcheol croaked, realizing he had not spoken to a living being in days.

Jeonghan’s head snapped up from where he had been staring at the ground. He didn’t speak. He didn’t have to. The way his shoulders tensed, the caution in his every movement, it told Seungcheol everything. 

Jeonghan entered the apartment, gaze flitting over the place—the place Seungcheol once shared with you. Your things were packed into moving boxes, stacked in the corner, waiting to be sent back to your parents’ house. 

His stuff was in moving boxes too.

Because there wasn’t a single corner of this place that wasn’t haunted by you. So, he had to let go of that, too. 

Seungcheol had to take life’s lessons the hard way. Plans do not always come to fruition, yes. But that could also mean that he had the chance to make new plans. Or at least, that is what the therapist told him.

Breakups are hard. 

After moving to a different neighbourhood, Seungcheol quit his office job. Then, in what everyone around him thought it was a fit of madness, he purged his entire life of you. He got new clothes. He died his hair, he let it grow. He re-did the piercings in his earlobes. He got a new phone. 

If burying his past self meant forgetting you, he’d dig that grave himself.

“Are you sure about this?” 

Changkyun leaned against the counter, arms crossed, eyes flicking to the money stacked neatly between them. 

“I’m sure,” Seungcheol replied, tone flat.

Changkyun clicked his tongue, tilting his head. “It’s a big investment.” 

“One I’m willing to make.”

The money had been purposed for something else once. Something permanent. Something that, at one point, had been his future. 

It was the money he had saved to start a life with you. Now, it lay before him in neat stacks, repurposed for something else entirely.  

“I’ll tell my guy,” Changkyun shrugged, unconvinced. Then, a pause, a frown. “What exactly are you planning to do with the place?” 

Seungcheol knew it was a gamble. This plan might fail. This plan might succeed. He did not know for certain. But he wanted to say that at least say he tried it. 

With every fiber of his being, he wanted this.

“I’m turning it into a bar.”

Starting a new chapter in his life felt odd sometimes. Even if he had made it forbidden to think of you, he would wonder if you felt the same too.

Breakups are odd.

This new chapter of his life had him rewriting bits of himself that once included you in some way. It was seeing things with brand new eyes.

As the plan of opening a bar was in the works, new opportunities were falling to his lap. Jeonghan decided to take the offer of co-owning the bar, thus absorbing part of the investments too and making it a little bit easier to open it sooner.

Also, it was gaining some traction. People would stop and ask what the old pizza place would turn into.

“I have a friend that might be a good addition to your bar. He’s clever, and made for this, he’s kind of a night owl,” Changkyun mentioned one night in passing, looking around the place with an impressed look on his face.

“Bring him in,” Seungcheol nodded. He had been thinking of putting up hiring ads somewhere, but he kept pushing the task out of procrastination.

However, Changkyun’s friend was a true blessing in disguise. The guy turned up the following day as Seungcheol was putting up the shelves where he meant to display bottles of whisky and rum.

Crossing the doorway with a curious look on his face, he knocked on the countertop to draw Seungcheol’s attention over the loud hammering.

Upon looking at him, he knew it was Changkyun’s friend.

“You are?” Seungcheol pushed his eyebrows up.

The guy was about to utter something, but after hearing Seungcheol’s dry words, he just stammered: “Jeon Wonwoo.”

Seungcheol made no follow-up comment whatsoever, the moment dragged on silently, he arched his eyebrows higher this time.

“I-I’m here for the job offer. I’m a friend of Changkyun’s,” he explained, pushing the rim of his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“Have you ever managed a bar before?”

Jeon Wonwoo nodded his head once. “Yes.”

“Right. Come here tomorrow at five. We can cover all of the details then.”

Seungcheol felt glad he took that leap of faith. Most nights, he would walk around his bar feeling proud to have come this far and have a successful business all by his own. 

He felt glad that the pain in his heart was starting to heal. 

Breakups are funny. Because sometimes—though not often—he would wonder what you would think of him now. And when he did, he surprised himself. The thought of you didn’t hurt anymore. Seungcheol had nearly forgotten the sound of your voice, the way you used to say his name. 

Two years had passed since that night. Two years of nothing but himself. The bar had become his whole world—the buzzing sounds of conversations over loud music, clinking noises, people laughing filling the silence where your voice used to be. The people he met now became small anchors to keep himself afloat and not think of the ghost of you. 

He had built something from the ground up, he found something that was entirely for his own. 

Even if he dared to think of you, it no longer felt like a punch to the gut. The weight of missing you, the constant need to look for you everywhere he looked was no more. The pain had grown dull, the memory of you something distant. Seungcheol had, at last, moved on. 

Or he thought he had. 

The busier he kept, the better. That had been his mindset for the past two years, and time had passed in a blur. And if he let himself be honest, he’d have to admit that he was content with his life. 

Seungcheol sank into the lounge chair in the living room, a heavy sigh slipping past his lips as he reclined against the soft leather. A glass of whiskey rested on his thigh, his fingers loosely curled around it.

Silence reigned in his apartment, a stark contrast to the loud buzzing noise from the bar, it almost left him feeling overwhelmed. It was three in the morning—the usual time he got home after another long night at the bar. By now, it was routine. Second nature. 

He licked his lips, shutting his eyes for a moment. It was one of those rare nights when his mind drifted where he didn’t want it to, wandering down a path that always led to you. Were you alright? If so, were you loved?

In the darkness behind his closed eyelids, he saw you. He saw you sitting across the uni library, smiling because he caught you looking at him. His grip tightened around the cold glass, a flicker of something sharp twisting in his chest. 

Seungcheol exhaled slowly, opening his eyes to take one generous gulp from his glass. The whiskey burned deeply, it was sharp and smoky, lingering in the back of his throat. He looked at the bottom of his glass, thinking of pouring another to quiet down his thoughts before going to bed. 

After all this time, he shouldn��t be thinking about you. 

But it was impossible to stop now. He tilted the glass on his fingers very slightly, his gaze unfocused. He remembered the way your fingers used to trace shapeless patterns on his skin, the quiet hum of your voice in the mornings, the way you would giggle in between morning kisses. Seungcheol wondered if you still did that, if someone else was on the receiving end now. 

His chest tightened, the pain so hard that he had to take another large gulp of whiskey, deciding to pour another one. He had convinced himself he’d moved on. But nights like this, when the world seemed to stop and his thoughts were so loud they buzzed in his ears, he wasn’t so sure. 

Because even after all this time, even after building himself a life in opulence and arduous work, he still thought of you. 

He leaned over the coffee table, pouring more whiskey into the glass and the half-melted ice spheres. The apartment was too quiet, too still, so much so that he felt a prisoner to it. Like somehow the stillness was to blame that he was thinking of you. 

Seungcheol tilted his head back against the chair, swallowing hard to try to dissolve the feeling coiling around his throat. Staring at the ceiling, the grip around the glass of whiskey loosened, right before he allowed himself to remember. 

It was a late night. You were curled up on his couch back at his old, tiny apartment. You were currently fighting sleep while waiting for him to finish looking over something. Seungcheol was working late, going over some accounts from his old office job. He didn’t remember what had him so busy, but it didn’t matter now. What he remembered about that night was that you refused to go to bed without him. 

You were staying over at his apartment, he doesn’t remember the reason why. But you were slightly irritated that you were staying over, and he was working on some accounts. 

“Just a few more minutes,” he had told you, glancing over the stack of papers. 

You had hummed something in response, your eyes already slipping shut. 

When he finally had set the papers down, you were already deeply asleep on the couch. Seungcheol sat down beside you, and you had barely stirred, except that some seconds later, you had leaned into him, your body instinctively seeking out for him even in sleep. 

Seungcheol had smiled to himself, welcoming you in a careful, but loving embrace. The seconds passed, but he made no move to carry you to bed yet, he enjoyed the peace and quiet moment with you. 

It was nothing special. It was just a regular night. And yet somehow, it was everything he ever wanted. 

And now, he was sitting alone and in silence. 

Seungcheol let out a quiet scoff in amusement, and regret. 

Funny, the things you miss.  

The next morning, he woke with a sharp inhale. His neck felt stiff from the awkward angle against the headrest of the couch. A deep groan left him as he blinked lazily, the morning light spilling through the window made him grimace a bit. 

Running a hand down his face, he groan, his brain feeling sluggish and struggling to catch up with the fact that he had fallen asleep thinking about you. 

Seungcheol hated falling asleep on the couch. It always left him feeling unrested, and disorientated, like he’d lost track of something. 

The now empty whiskey glass sat in front of him on the coffee table. He wanted to lay the blame on the alcohol, but deep down he knew that he had just gone through a moment of weakness. 

The memory of you still clung to him, like an echo refusing to leave his mind. Even out of his life and far away from him, you were still stubborn. Still refusing to leave, branding a mark within him deeply. Irritation flared beneath his skin, making his blood boil. He didn’t have time for this, not today, not ever again. 

He pushed himself up, his steps taking him straight to the bathroom to have a shower. Even as the scalding hot water hit his back, the weight in his body refused to leave.  

It didn’t matter. He had a job, he had a bar to run. And if there was one thing that he’d learned in the past two years since that, it was that staying busy kept the ghosts at bay. 

For now. 

The bar was barely active with the first tasks of the day. The kitchen was getting ready, the noise from the staff moving around, the clatter of glassware carried all the way to the front of the bar.

The tables were vacant, everything was tidied and ready for the day ahead. Wonwoo, who was sitting on one of the booths was already active and sorting out what tasks needed to be done before the first costumers showed up. 

The bar had a unique smell every morning before opening hours. The low humming noises from the staff gearing up for the day, everything around him felt like home to Seungcheol. Work, it was what grounded him. At least it usually did. 

But today, the weight of the restless night clung to him, the ghost of you still following him wherever he turned to. 

“Rough morning?” 

Seungcheol glanced to the booth that was pushed all the way back. “Didn’t sleep well,” he replied to Wonwoo. 

“Yeah, well,” Wonwoo sucked in a breath slowly. “That makes two of us,” he exhaled. 

Seungcheol sat down on the booth too, crossing his arms on the table. He rolled his shoulders before sitting back on the seat, brush those thoughts away, he told himself. 

“What do we have today?” Seungcheol nodded to the notes sitting beneath Wonwoo’s hands. 

“Let’s see,” Wonwoo began, skimming through his notes. “We have suppliers coming in two hours. I have a newbie to show the ropes to. And we haven’t paid the Haze boys yet,” he mentioned aloofly.

“I already did last night,” Seungcheol replied quickly. 

“Got it,” Wonwoo said as he checked the reminder off. He lifted his head, looking at Seungcheol, but then something else caught his attention. “Oh, the newbie is here.”

“Hi,” a tiny voice replied in the background.

He should have listened to the alarm bells in the back of his head, the ones screaming at him to pay attention to that voice. But Wonwoo was already moving, an eager smile on his face, Seungcheol, and he should’ve noticed that too.

Seungcheol may have forgotten the sound of your voice. But he would never, never forget your face.

And in that moment, he wished he was seeing a stranger. 

Because the way your expression froze, the way the light in your eyes dimmed, told him everything he needed to know.

He was seeing a ghost. 

It couldn’t be you. You were on the other side of the planet. This had to be a joke. A dream. A nightmare.

The shock hit him so hard, it left an echoing pain in his chest, so deep he nearly dropped to his knees. His breath turned shallow. The floor beneath him suddenly felt unsteady, he almost began to think that the entire place around him had turned against him, showing him a mirage of you. 

The following moments were a blur. He made up some dumb excuse—he didn’t even remember what he had said—and ran away from the bar, barely registering Wonwoo’s confused look as Seungcheol made his exit to the nearest bathroom. 

There, leaning face-first against the door, his hands braced against the cool surface, he had to make a choice.

He could pretend to not know you at all. Accept you in his bar, his safe haven and keep his distance like a stranger. 

Or he could refuse. Tell you to look for a job elsewhere. 

The first choice meant keeping you close while never going near you. 

The second meant losing you all over again. 

It was another gamble.

But there was one thought he couldn’t shake, no matter how hard he tried. Why on earth were you looking for a job? His mind reeled uncontrollably, he lost track of his surroundings, his body. Months before you broke up with him, you had taken on a part-time job—but that was different. That had been your choice, something temporary. 

This? This felt like something else entirely. 

Seungcheol had cut off all contact with you, so he had no idea about your family either. He never imagined that you had been cut off, this time completely. 

Even after years of not seeing your face, he could still read you perfectly. One glimpse, and he noticed the dark circles under your eyes, the slight off-color on your cheeks and lips. You were tired. Worried.

When he finally mustered the strength to move, he went back to the bar. And there you were—sitting in the same spot he had occupied moments before. 

Something happened. Something baffling. 

He felt his heart and mind split between the person he used to be and the person he was now. 

For a moment, it was as if time had folded in on itself, pulling him back to the first time he saw you sitting in the library all those years ago. He remembered the way he felt then—the quiet pull of intrigue and fascination, the way he used to watch you from a distance before he ever worked up the nerve to ask you out. 

You were the prettiest girl he had ever laid eyes on. 

And God, he had missed you.

Every cell in his body screamed at him to move, to go near you. His fingers twitched with the impulse to reach out, to touch you, to prove that you were real and indeed not a ghost. It was almost funny—how the world stopped the moment he saw you, yet in his mind, everything was happening at light speed. 

He felt angry at you for showing up in his life like nothing happened. He felt angry that with one look at you, his life came apart. 

And then, realization settled deep in his chest. 

If he let you walk away now, he would wonder about you every day. Again. And he refused to go through that a second time. 

So he took another leap of faith.

Present time 

“So?” 

“So, what?” you asked slowly as you tied the apron behind your back. 

Jeon Wonwoo was leaning on the countertop, elbows planted, phone in hand. “You spent weeks playing me for a fool,” he said with a sheepish smile—one that he didn’t quite hide all the way as he stood upright, rubbing the tip of his nose with his knuckle.

“Listen,” you begun with a light chuckle, eyes flickering around the room in case Seungcheol was nearby. “I was just curious, and-,” 

“I get why you did it,” he said, lifting a palm and shaking it dismissively. 

“Oh. Then why—”

“I think I am owed an apology,” Wonwoo muttered, crossing his arms over his chest, a sly grin tugging at his lips.

“I am sorry,” you said dumbly. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. And that I… took advantage of that and snooped a bit.”

Wonwoo tilted his head back slightly, the grin growing on his face. “I don’t want a verbal apology.” 

You gaped at him. “Why do I feel like I’m not going to like where this is going?” 

He pursed his lips—the same look he always had when he was toying with a cheeky idea. “One day I’m going to ask a favor from you. And that is how you’ll repent.” 

“That’s blackmail,” you pointed, narrowing your eyes at him. 

“No different from you playing dumb and ask me questions about your ex for weeks,” he rolled his eyes. “So?” 

“Are you being serious, Wonwoo?” 

“Dead serious.” 

You sighed, looking around one more time. The bar was already in open hours, but it was still early to have a lot of customers, to the exception of the ones who regularly showed up within the hour of opening. 

“Fine,” you gritted. 

Wonwoo let out a soft chuckle, returning to his task behind the bar. “I do forgive you,” he said. “But I will ask a favor from you. Soon.”

“Gee, thanks,” you muttered, throwing your arms in the air. “I’m at your disposal, I guess.”

“It’s just something I need help with, no big deal,” he shrugged.

“Is it about… work?” You grabbed a dishcloth, pretending to clean the nearest cup.

Wonwoo tilted his head, considering his words. “Yes and no.” He chuckled lightly, but his gaze lingered a beat too long.

“I hate the suspense,” you said, trying to keep your voice flat.

“And I hate being lied to,” he shot back, though his smile was small, almost amused. “I’m keeping the suspense until I claim that favor.”

“Sure.” You rolled your eyes, knowing full well you were pressing his buttons.

“So you’re not even going to deny it?” Wonwoo’s smirk stretched as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“Would it make a difference?” You sighed, already regretting every choice that had led to this moment.

“Not really,” he admitted, tilting his head. “But I figured I’d give you a chance to redeem yourself.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Is it going to be like this now?”

“Blackmail is suddenly very acceptable now that I found you out,” he said sweetly, but the glint in his eyes told you he was enjoying this way too much.

“Wonwoo.” You shot him a warning look.

“Fine, fine.” He laughed, raising his hands in surrender. “But you have to admit, this is a fascinating situation. The two of you, playing strangers while making eyes at each other when you think no one’s looking—”

“We are not making eyes at each other,” you snapped, a little too fast.

“Oh?” His grin widened. “Must I remind you how I found you two out?”

Your stomach twisted. You sent a quick glance around, making sure no one was close enough to overhear. “Look, you wouldn’t understand—”

“Exactly why wouldn’t I understand?” His smirk faded, his voice quieter now.

You hesitated, your gaze dropping to the checkered floor. The real reason felt too raw to say aloud. You had spent weeks toeing around Seungcheol’s life without stepping directly into it, and Wonwoo—whether he realized it or not—had been your connection to the pieces of him you hadn’t been brave enough to face. You needed to know how broken he had been before you could allow yourself to be closer again.

“Because I hurt him too much,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I was scared to come back into his life. I was ashamed.”

Wonwoo studied you for a long moment before exhaling, his teasing demeanor softening. “Why did you come back?” he asked, like he was peeling away the last layer of the truth.

Your throat tightened. The answer had always been simple, but saying it out loud made it feel so much heavier. You lifted your gaze to meet his. “I never wanted to leave.”

His expression shifted completely, the guarded amusement replaced by something much quieter. “I get it,” he murmured, stepping closer. His hand landed on your shoulder in a reassuring squeeze. “Hey. Don’t worry,” he said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “This doesn’t make me think badly of you.”

You let out a slow breath, nodding. “Thank you,” you muttered, offering a small smile.

Wonwoo winked before stepping away, getting back to his task before opening hours. But something in the way he left made you uneasy. He wasn’t entirely done with this conversation.

And worse—something told you that whatever Wonwoo was holding back also had to do with Seungcheol. 

It was a slow day that day, only a handful of customers walked through the door, and the hours dragged on. But with the end of your shift approaching, you found yourself more relaxed than eager to leave. 

For once, the guys had behaved. No teasing, no snooping, almost like some rule had been put in place to avoid the subject. You suspected that Seungcheol had something to do with that.

Not that he had much time to show for it. He’d been busy—placing orders, making phone calls, handling payments, coordinating deliveries for the kitchen, and making sure the bar was stocked with everything it needed. And, most importantly, he had taken on the task of training the new hire, Chan.

Chan was in his first week. He was younger than you, bubbly, and had a good attitude. But he’d made one mistake on his very first day. Wonwoo, as a way to get his payback, had decided that Chan would shadow you in some of the complicated tasks, like how to operate the system, or the terminals. 

Having him as a shadow was fine. Except for one thing. 

“You’ll be shadowing her,” Wonwoo motioned to your direction. 

“Hi, there,” you said, offering a quick wave. Then you turned around, resuming to tending your tables. 

Chan barely hesitated before muttering under his breath, “Jesus. She’s fucking hot.” 

Wonwoo tensed up, coughing lightly. “Shut up,” he muttered, throwing a look over his shoulder. 

You thought of turning around and just shut the guy down. But unaware of the silent warning, Chan remained completely oblivious. Especially to the fact that his new boss, Seungcheol, was standing right behind him. 

Seungcheol’s jaw was tightly clasped, deciding to say nothing and looking away instead. Chan unfortunately, remained oblivious and exceptionally bad at hiding his attraction to you. 

And this shift was no different. Chan remained completely unbeknownst to the fact that he had walked straight into dangerous territory, and even more surprising still, he didn’t realize that Seungcheol had him in his sight.

The moment Chan started following you around the bar, Seungcheol just happened to stick around more. At first it wasn’t as evident, since he was normally in the bar doing inventory, paperwork, making calls, he practically lived here. But today, he was suddenly very hands-on. 

“Here, let me show you,” Seungcheol said, stepping in just as Chan was having a hard time learning how to use the shaker. Seungcheol took the shaker from his hands with a practiced ease, his presence instantly noticeable. “Watch carefully. You want to get the grip right, or you’ll make a mess.”

Chan nodded eagerly, completely missing the way Seungcheol’s gaze flickered toward you for a fraction of a second. You did not miss it.

Your stomach tightened, breath hitching slightly. You were sure you saw Wonwoo’s lips curve slightly, what solidified your shame was the gentle nudging of his elbow as you passed beside him. 

This battle continued throughout the shift. Whenever you were nearby, Seungcheol was there too—adjusting bottles, correcting a pour, explaining to Chan how things were done. At one point, you reached for a glass at the same time as Seungcheol, your fingers barely brushing his. A brief, fleeting contact, but enough for you to catch the smug look on his face. He didn’t smile, but there was something flashing across his features. Like he knew exactly what he was doing.

You narrowed your eyes at him. He just raised a brow in silent amusement, using his tongue to brush the smile that was beginning to form on his lips. 

And Chan? Completely unaware. It was almost as though he felt proud that it was the boss who was showing him the ropes. 

However the most perplexing thing was that Seungcheol made no obvious move to show Chan that you were his girlfriend. Years ago, he wouldn’t have hesitated to use a hand on your waist, pulling you in for a kiss. Or he wouldn’t have hesitated to call you love or angel in front of everyone.

Seungcheol loved claiming what was his. So the fact that he was not doing so openly made you feel obfuscated. 

“He’s making a point,” Wonwoo said as he walked past you at the bar, muttering just loud enough for you to hear. 

You raised your gaze to meet his. “A point?” you asked dumbly. 

Wonwoo grinned, motioning with the tip of his nose at situation happening across the bar—Seungcheol was talking with Chan. The conversation happening so far away that it was very difficult for you to hear. 

“Oh, this is nothing,” you said, sighing heavily. 

Seungcheol spent the rest of the shift hovering. And it became almost funny to you. It wasn’t that obvious, but every time Chan made a move to get close to you, somehow Seungcheol found a way to intervene. 

Whenever you bent over to pull out something from the fridges, Seungcheol intercepted Chan’s line of sight smoothly. Or whenever you stood on your tiptoes to grab a bottle from the shelf, Seungcheol would call for Chan, asking a dumb favor like passing him a lime, or changing the song playing on the speakers. 

You were turning toward the liquor shelf, reaching for a bottle on the top rack when—

“Careful.” 

Seungcheol’s voice came from just behind you, making you freeze instantly in place. His arm was already extending past you, fingers curling around the bottle with ease. His chest pressed against your back and as he retrieved it, you swallowed hard, heart racing at the way his warmth wrapped around you. 

“I had it,” you muttered, turning around on your feet. 

Seungcheol had a smirk planted on his face. “Sure you did,” he said smoothly, his eyebrow quirking up slightly. “Just wanted to help.”

You rolled your eyes, biting your bottom lip to keep you from smiling at him. “Uh-huh.”

Seungcheol leaned towards you, and you instantly sucked in a breath. “What, you don’t believe me?” 

“Is that what you’re doing with Chan?” you countered, unable to step away, his whole frame was caging you in. 

Seungcheol tilted his head, arching his eyebrow. “I’m doing my job.” 

You had nothing to reply to that. Despite Seungcheol engaging in a petty rivalry against Chan, he was doing his job. 

Seungcheol noticed, a sly grin appearing on his face as he sent a glance across the bar. Chan was looking your way, dropping his gaze as soon as you locked eyes with him. “This guy,” Seungcheol hissed. 

Your face started to heat up. “Seungcheol,” you muttered as he motioned towards Chan. 

He turned back, an innocent look on his face. “What?” 

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?” he asked, blinking innocently at you. 

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever you’re thinking, just don’t.”

He grinned, slow and knowing. “I’m just implementing a strict focus during training,” he shrugged with ease. “Can’t have the new hire looking at my girlfriend on his first few days when he should be learning the ropes, right?” 

You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Seungcheol.”

“Relax,” he chuckled, pushing off the counter. Then, with an absolutely infuriating wink, he added, “Just having some fun, baby,” he said quietly. And just like that, he strolled off, leaving you to wrestle with the fact that he was definitely enjoying this. 

And worse? So were you.

The usual end-of-shift routine was unfolding. Seungcheol had actually finished his tasks more than an hour ago, and he could’ve gone home already—if he wasn’t your boyfriend. And your ride home.

Somehow, nobody had thought to tell Chan that you were with the boss. And it was too embarrassing for you to just come out and say it. Besides, a small part of you enjoyed the primal reaction Seungcheol had every time Chan so much as looked your way.

So, instead of leaving, Seungcheol kept himself entertained at the pool table, practicing his shots while sipping a beer. Every now and then, he sent glances around the bar. Casual glances, but noticeable—making sure Chan was keeping his comments about you to himself and his eyes on the task at hand.

You were rinsing out a glass when Wonwoo returned from taking out the trash. “Alright, boss,” Wonwoo called. “We’re clocking out!”

Seungcheol was bent over the pool table, eyes locked on the white cue ball just ahead of his stick. He nodded once before executing a smooth shot. “Alright. See you tomorrow, guys. Thanks.”

The door swung shut behind them, leaving just the two of you in the bar. You set down the last piece of glassware to dry on the rack. Washing your hands, you sneaked a glance at Seungcheol, who was biting his bottom lip as he lined up another shot.

“What?” he asked, sensing your scrutiny.

“Nothing,” you huffed, smirking as he looked far too smug about it.

Seungcheol laughed under breath. “You always do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pretend you’re busy when you don’t want to answer me.”

You exhaled, rolling your eyes before walking around the bar and grabbing a cue stick from the rack on the wall.

Seungcheol arched an eyebrow. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, gathering the pool balls inside the triangle again.

“No,” you replied simply. “But why didn’t you tell Chan about us?”

Seungcheol shrugged. “The topic never came up.”

“You could’ve told him instead of stalking him like he was about to steal your food,” you teased, cackling at your own description.

“It was better this way,” he said easily. “Doesn’t mess with the workflow, and he keeps his cheerful attitude.” He paused, his gaze narrowing just a little. “He didn’t make you uncomfortable, did he?”

You rolled your eyes at him. “Please. He barely even spoke two words to me. He’s harmless. While you on the other hand?” you huffed, leaning over the table to line up the first shot. “You glared at him all night.” 

Seungcheol smirked, leaning against his cue stick. “I don’t glare.” 

You made your shot, sinking a striped ball into the corner pocket. “Oh, you definitely do.” 

He hummed, pursing his lips. Then he step closer as you moved to take your next shot. “I was just making sure my bartender didn’t get distracted.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “By what?”

“By some new guy staring at her.” 

You rolled your eyes, shaking your head. “That is a non-issue,” you pointed, refocusing on your shot. “I could’ve told him I’m with someone, call it a day.” 

Seungcheol didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he reached out, he ran his fingers down the line of your back just as you were bending down, and placed his palm firmly on the small of your back. 

You hit the cue ball a little too hard, sending it bouncing off the rails without hitting anything else. 

Seungcheol chuckled. “Someone?” he inquired, arching one perfect eyebrow. “Not me?” 

You deadpanned at him. “You know what I mean,” you huffed. 

He tilted his head, feigning innocence. “And what do you mean?” he pursed his lips. “Would you have told Chan that you’re with someone instead of just telling him you’re with me?”

Your brows furrowed, straightening up. “What kind of question is that?” 

“A valid one,” he smirked, taking his shot, sinking two balls in quick succession. “You know what, maybe telling him your boyfriend is also his boss would destroy that confidence he has.”

You laughed at him with reluctance. “You’re being kind of a prick.”

Seungcheol didn’t deny it, laughing with you. “Maybe.” He circled the table, standing just behind you now. His voice dipped lower, teasing. “But I think you like it.”

You exhaled, tilting your head back slightly to look at him. “Like what?”

He leaned in just a fraction, enough for his breath to brush your ear. “That you drive me crazy.”

Your throat went dry, breath hitching almost audibly. 

Seungcheol pulled back, his smirk lazy and triumphant. “Your turn.”

You exhaled, gripping your cue stick a little tighter. “Take it back. You’re being a huge prick.”

Seungcheol smirked, stepping back just enough to let you focus, but you could still feel his presence lingering close. Dangerously close. “You haven’t denied it.” 

Rolling your eyes, you lined up your shot, determined not to let him win. You hit the cue ball, this time sinking a solid with a satisfying thump. You straightened and turned to him smugly. “The answer is no. I don’t like that my boyfriend gets all jealous and possessive as soon as he sees other men glance my way.” 

Seungcheol hummed, nodding slowly. “Maybe I should try a little harder, then.” 

You shot him a look. “You should try harder… at the actual game.”

He laughed under his breath. “Alright. Let’s make it interesting, then.”

You arched an eyebrow. “Interesting how?”

“A bet.” He leaned on his cue stick, watching you closely. “If I win, you owe me something.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “I don’t even know what that means, but it sounds like trouble.”

Seungcheol grinned, his heart palpitating with eagerness. “Absolutely.”

You considered for a moment. Winning against Seungcheol was always satisfying, but the path to losing against him… well, that was dangerous territory. “Fine,” you conceded. “But if I win, you owe me something.”

Seungcheol’s eyes glinted with interest. “Deal. What do you want?”

You pretended to think. “An entire week without you messing with me at work.”

He gaped at you for a second. “A whole week?” he huffed, running a hand through his blond hair. “That’s nearly impossible.”

“Take it or leave it.”

Seungcheol sighed, shaking his head. “Alright, alright. And if I win…” He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “You have to go on a real date with me.”

You blinked, thrown off. “A… real date?” you asked dumbly. 

He shrugged. “You know. Something other than stolen moments between shifts or late-night car rides home.”

“That’s...” you arched one eyebrow. 

Seungcheol smirked. “What? Afraid you’ll lose to me?” he challenged. 

You huffed. “No. Afraid you’ll cheat.”

“I would never,” he said, eyes twinkling with mischief. 

“Babe, we live together,” you emphasized. 

“And? We haven’t gone out on a date in…” he lifted his gaze to the ceiling. “Two years and a half,” he said.  

Your heart clenched, realizing he was right. “Fine. Let’s play.”

Seungcheol stepped aside, motioning toward the table. “Ladies first.”

You lined up your shot, focusing harder than before. If you were going to beat Seungcheol, you needed to be unstoppable. 

But just as you were about to strike, Seungcheol muttered, “You know, I really should’ve told Chan.”

You hesitated, glancing up. “And what exactly would you have told him?” 

“That you’re already spoken for.”

Your grip on the cue stick tightened. “Spoken for? That’s one way to put it.”

He nodded, looking way too pleased with himself. “Now I’m beginning to think it would’ve saved us all a lot of trouble.”

You rolled your eyes, returning your attention to your shot. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are. With me. Playing pool. After hours.”

You ignored the way your stomach flipped at his words and finally took the shot. The ball sank into the pocket, and you straightened, feigning confidence. “And?” 

Seungcheol chuckled, moving to take his turn. “Oh, baby.” He leaned over the table, eyes locking onto yours just before he took his shot. “You’re terrible at hiding your emotions from your face.”

“I’m not,” you rolled your eyes, again.

“You have a tell,” he said smugly. “You always have.”

You hated that he was right. 

And you really hated that you were probably about to lose this game. And not because of a lack of skill, but because Seungcheol was too distracting for you. 

The way his sleek black T-shirt clung to his body, the posture he adopted as he leaned on his cue, the way his dark jeans hugged his ass. Not only that, but his fucking attitude was driving you crazy. 

“So what?” You placed a hand on the table before leaning over. “It’s not like we’re playing poker.” 

“If you’re keeping us a secret, you might want to work on that poker face,” he mused, tone smug. It was then when you should’ve realized his game. 

You scoffed. “I’m not hiding anything, Seungcheol,” you said, not fully thinking through how that might sound. Your tone resounded across the table, high and swollen in condescension. 

Seungcheol’s smirk deepened, just as you took your shot, only to miss horribly. “Not just bad at hiding your emotions, but bad at pool too.” 

He didn’t even give you time to recover. Seungcheol stepped up, leaning over the table to take the final shot, sinking the last ball into the bag. Game over. 

Seungcheol straightened, casually planting the cue stick in front of him, both hands gripping the top as he leaned on it slightly. You tossed the cue stick on the table while he just cocked his head to one side, then he smirked. 

“Prick,” you gritted, trying not to smile as his smirk widened on his perfect face. You crossed your arms over your chest, going around the table to meet up with him. “You know I wouldn’t hide our relationship.”

Seungcheol turned around, putting the cue stick away back on the rack. “What made you hesitate, then?” 

You gaped at him, having nothing to say. You thought about what you told Wonwoo. About feeling ashamed, where did that shame extend to? Did it go so far as to make you feel unworthy of Seungcheol’s forgiveness? 

“Mmn?” he hummed, taking one slow step towards you, effectively eliminating the space between you. 

“Cheol,” you breathed, bringing a hand on his chest to stop him from pinning your body back against the table behind you. 

“What’s happening, baby?” he cooed softly. 

You blinked. He wasn’t smirking anymore—just watching you carefully, waiting. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “I didn’t think telling Chan about us would matter. So I didn’t do it.” 

Seungcheol’s lips twitched into something small and satisfied as he wrapped his arms around you and lifted you, helping you sit on the rim of the pool table. You were now face to face with him, his eyes scanning the features of your face. 

“I think you enjoy it,” he muttered, his voice low and raspy. 

“Enjoy what?” you asked meekly, feeling small as his body practically still towered over yours. 

Seungcheol dipped his head to meet your lips, except that he didn’t kiss you right away. “Seeing me get jealous,” he whispered, his lips brushing yours in the process. 

“Yeah. A little,” you replied in the same manner, a light smirk spreading across your lips. 

“You know, that’s a dangerous thing to admit.”

Your smirk deepened. “Why? Gonna punish me for it?”

He smiled, finally pressing his lips against your own. The kiss was quiet, quick, but you could feel the immediate need for more. You hummed into the kiss, slipping a hand on his nape to pull him closer—to feel the warmth radiating from him, the mixture of his jealousy and the playfulness of it all. 

The world outside was quiet. And something about this moment felt different, but also so familiar. It was as though you both were young again—sharing rushed kisses in the quiet of the library, or making out in secret places. 

But the difference was that you didn’t have the need to hide anymore, at least not entirely. Despite you and him being back together fully, there was no fear of you getting caught or not. 

Seungcheol pulled back, but just slightly. His breath fanned gently over your lips as he smiled. “You didn’t tell Chan we’re together because you knew it would make me jealous?” he asked, the tone sounded genuine, but tiny. 

You made a motion to shake your head. “I don’t know,” you replied, your tone low, almost like a breath. “I just didn’t.” 

“Mmn,” he nodded, pressing his lips to yours. Then with a triumphant air, he whispered. “I win.”

You had forgotten that you were playing pool—that you were playing a game at all. You succumbed to the delicious taste of his kisses, pressing his lips to yours lightly at first. Then his full lips slowly locked with yours, creating a wet smacking sound as he pulled back. 

“You might’ve won, but I—” you touched the tip of his nose with your fingertip. “—never lose,” you cooed, smiling sweetly at him.

Seungcheol pulled back, biting his lip as he looked at you like he wanted to say some quippy retort. But instead, he switched his hands from your waist to your thighs, pushing them apart and grabbing them so he could scoot you closer to the edge of the pool table.

“You know what?” he sighed with a smile, an eyebrow quirking up. “Maybe you do need a little punishment.”

You smiled, humming in delight. Seungcheol slipped his fingers beneath your chin, holding you gently before giving you a featherlight kiss. “But I really want to fuck you right now.”

Your skin came alight with excitement, making you shudder slightly. A sigh slipped past your lips involuntarily. “What’s stopping you?” you whispered, almost afraid you would break the quiet ambience of the bar—the low humming of the fridges, the buzzing of the neon lights that you’d said you would turn off, but forgot.

His hand left your chin, moving to thread your hair through his fingers. “You tell me, angel,” he replied in kind, an amused grin on his face, he enjoyed toying with you.

He softly pulled on your hair, leaning your head back as his lips trailed down your jawline. Your mouth parted, silently moaning as his lips touched the spot below your earlobe. “Cheol,” you muttered.

“Mmn?” he hummed at the sound of his name leaving your lips. “Do you want it, baby?” he asked, his low and raspy tone pouring into your ears.

You wanted to answer, but words just ceased to exist. All you wanted—all you needed—was his hands on you. And Seungcheol knew it all too well.

His hands travelled from your parted thighs to your butt, squeezing lightly as he sighed through his nose. As he did this, his lips kept trailing down your neck with light kisses, each one more delicious than the last. You felt his smile as he reached the dip of your clavicle, knowing that it would elicit a louder moan from you.

“Here?” you squeaked. You grabbed onto his shirt, arms wrapped around his shoulders as he started to push you back onto the table.

“Yes, here,” he answered, the upper half of his body hovering over you as you lay back on the table. Seungcheol smiled, “Unless you want to wait until we get home.”

“Uuuh,” you closed your eyes. Seungcheol slipped a hand beneath your white tank-top, his touch warm and confident as he hiked the fabric up your tummy. His fingers grazed the line of your bra, making you swallow hard.

“Maybe I should make you wait,” he whispered, close to your lips so you felt his breath on you. “That’s the punishment you deserve.”

“No, please,” you whined, linking your arms around his shoulders. Pulling him closer, he crashed his lips with your own, kissing you harder, fervently. Seungcheol chuckled into the kiss, sending a shiver that nearly vibrated in your bones.

“I need to hear it, baby,” he murmured, creating smacking noises with each ardent kiss he propped on your lips.

His hand moved from the center of your belly to the underside of your torso, and slid under your back to command it to arch for him. You deepened the kiss, outlining his bottom lip with the tip of your tongue before pulling back. “Take me here,” you whispered sultrily, a rush of adrenaline going through you.

Seungcheol paused for a brief moment, making you think that he would follow his plan of punishing you, to make you wait. But he pulled back, a sweet grin painting his beautiful face as he looked at you. Then it hit you—all of the moments shared in the past with him, moments like this, moments that felt like breaking the rules, crossing the line.

But you felt safe, all the times he touched you, or kissed you, you felt like it just made sense.

“Are you ready?” he asked playfully, the corner of his lip curving up slightly when all you could muster was a nod. After getting your silent permission, his hand inched upwards on your back, unclasping your bra with efficiency.

The next moments happened hurriedly. Seungcheol started discarding the pieces of your clothing one by one, kissing your lips like a hungry man, barely stopping for air. You mumbled out some incoherencies about wanting him right then and there, but you were too caught up to actually make sense of your own words.

Seungcheol giggled into your lips, the sound only making your blood dance beneath your skin. He was getting rid of your bra, after he had gotten your tank-top out of the way. The bite of the cool surface beneath you made your skin prickle.

But he just sighed at the sight of you, dipping his head to kiss your collarbones again. His wet lips made a trail of light kisses, from the nook of your collarbones down your chest. He kissed your breasts gently, getting soft moans out of you as each kiss felt even sweeter.

You grabbed his blond hair with one hand, keeping your other hand flatly on his lean back. “Cheol,” you sighed.

Your eyes fell out of focus. The sight directly in front of you was stark compared to the stars and colors you saw every time you closed your eyes. Hanging from the ceiling was a lamp, forming a warm yellow pool around you. It hurt to stare at, but Seungcheol was a far better sight.

He pulled back, standing up right. A sigh escaped him as he started taking your sneakers off without looking away from you. You were half naked, torso bare, your hair forming a halo around your head.

Your sneakers fell on the floor, one after the other and you got ready to push your hips up for him just as his hands approached the waistband of your jeans. “Hurry up,” you mumbled, a playful giggle bubbling in your mouth.

Seungcheol clicked his tongue, slapping a hand down your hip before continuing to undo the button and zipper of your jeans. “Patience, baby.”

Then painfully slow, he hooked his fingers on the waistband of your jeans, grabbing your panties too and then started pulling them both down. You planted your feet on the edge of the table just to push your hips up for him to slide down your jeans and panties altogether, letting them drop to the white and black checkered floor.

You sat up on the table, going to grab for the black t-shirt he wore to tear it off him. But Seungcheol caught both of your hands linking his fingers with yours to keep you from undressing him.

You whined pathetically, to which Seungcheol only replied with a joyful giggle. He closed the gap between his lips and yours, kissing you swiftly.

“Behave.” He said, the word coming out of him raspy. “Behave or this ends now.”

A whiny exhale escaped your lips—a complaint that you couldn’t form properly in time. You knew that Seungcheol was a man that loved doting on you, but you also knew that he could keep his word, specially if it meant to punish you.

He loved it—seeing you all whiny, pouty, and pathetic for him. He loved knowing everything that made you subdue to him, every caress, every kiss, and where to place them.

Without any other word, Seungcheol sank down to his knees, his hands leaving yours to grope around the inside of your thighs, pushing them gently. You leaned back on your hands, parting your legs for him.

Your heart palpitated frantically at the sight of him, his hands keeping your thighs spread for him to bury his face between them. He started slowly, making his way with gentle kisses that he littered all over your inner thighs.

“Easy,” he reminded you, a twinge of playfulness in his eyes as he blinked up to your face. His eyebrow twitched up slightly before he dipped his head to run his tongue on your skin.

The feeling of his tongue so close to your pussy sent you in a frenzy, quickly making you forget where you were. You moaned loudly—lewdly, gearing up for the sweet pleasure that would ensue.

You heard a soft gasp—a smile that painted his lips, right before he licked a fat stripe between your folds. The moment you felt his tongue slide on your wet pussy, you instantly dissolved into pleasure. He started teasing you, licking you up and down, drinking you in, lapping at your wetness eagerly.

Slipping a hand on the back of his head, you tangled your fingers around the soft strands of his blond hair. His tongue reached the top of your mound, stopping before trapping your clit between his soft lips. You moaned louder, indicating to him to continue, but soon the bar filled with the sound of your moans.

Seungcheol sucked lightly at your clit, pressing his tongue on the swollen bud before he started moving it from side to side, very softly, gently, as though he were fearful he might overstim you quickly. But it only made your pleasure higher, making the rest of your body go numb, leaving your mind blank.

You nearly froze in place—sitting down at the edge of the pool table, one hand steading you, the other holding his hair. You tried to hold the angle of your hips for him, for his mouth pleasuring your pussy. His tongue kept the side to side motion on your clit, only picking up the pace but slowly, taking his time with you.

Your moans were soft, airy, and he responded in low hums as though telling you how much he loved your taste, the way you sounded. You imagined then how the scene would look from afar—Seungcheol on his knees, pleasuring you as you sat wholly naked on the pool table of his bar.

“Fuck,” you gritted, closing your eyes as you tilted your head back in utter, sweet pleasure. “Cheol, don’t stop. Please, daddy,” you mewled, not caring how pathetic you sounded—because you were close.

And he knew, he knew that you were toying on the line of your release. But he didn’t switch the pace of his tongue, he didn’t stop sucking lightly at your clit. He only kept going, and going, and going.

It was the steadiness of his tongue on you that finally pushed you to the edge. Your orgasm was sweet, like gentle waves washing over you. And your moans were just as sweet, crying out his name as you came apart on the table, taking deep breaths as your climax reached higher, and you couldn’t breathe anymore.

You relished the waves of pleasure consuming you, the way they gently subsided, leaving your body languid. You thread back his blond hair with your fingers, just as he gave your pussy a couple of kisses, giggling playfully as you twitched at the feeling.

The next moments happened in silence, fluidly. Seungcheol slipped a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head back to plant a kiss on your lips. You parted your mouth for him, just as he deepened the kiss, moving on your lips expertly. He hummed as your fingers searched at his belt blindly, unfastening with one swift move.

Just as you were undoing his pants, Seungcheol broke the kiss, crossing his arms down his belly to grab at the hem of his t-shirt, taking it off in one motion. He kissed you again, as if he would die if one more second passed without his lips on yours.

His breath hitched audibly when your hand reached beneath his boxers, your fingers circling around his girthy cock. You shuddered in anticipation when you felt how hard he was for you, humming into his lips as your hand rolled over the tip of his cock, feeling the wetness of the precum gathering in his slit.

“Hurry,” he echoed, making you giggle lightly.

 You pushed his boxers down, getting his cock out. Seungcheol leaned forward, his forehead bumping with yours lightly as you started rolling your hand on his hard cock. He swallowed hard, grunting a little as you scooted closer to him, guiding him to your pussy.

“Baby,” he whispered, a twinge of desperation echoing in his voice.

You whimpered slightly at the feeling of his cockhead nudging in your entrance as you pushed him with your fingers, every inch stretching your walls deliciously. “Seungcheol,” you mewled.

He placed his hands on your ass, holding you in place as he sank inside your walls, exhaling deeply. “I love you,” he mumbled. It sounded as though he’d been dying to tell you those words, as though he’d been dying to feel your warmth.

“I love you,” you replied, your tone merely above a whisper. You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of having him inside you, stuffing you full. 

His hand found your cheek, the pad of his thumb slipping beneath your jawline to steal a kiss from your lips. Seungcheol started moving his hips with shallow thrusts, as though he wanted to pair his thrusts with the slow movement of his lips on yours.

But then it soon changed—with a raspy groan, the pacing of his hips took a greedy speed. His hand left your cheek, quickly returning to your ass, where he held you as his hips started snapping against you faster.

You gasped, a hand found his shoulder while the other was flatly planted behind you on the table. You parted your legs more for him, leaning back slightly so he could take all of you—take whatever he wanted. You loved seeing him like this—the carnal desire overpowering him, making him nearly feral.

His jaw was tightly clasped, his eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head back slightly. “Fuck,” he gritted.

You knew something had shifted in the air. What was once flooded with just your moans alone was now accompanied by the sound of skin slapping skin, low quiet groans from Seungcheol, and the squelching sounds of your dripping pussy.

The calculated rutting of his hips quickly took over you, and for a moment, you wanted to get lost in him. Seungcheol was utterly glorious, covered in a sheen layer of sweat from his forehead to his collarbones, a lazy smile spreading on his lips as he noticed the glazed look in your eyes.

You slowly lay back on the table, until your back was pressed on the cold surface. Seungcheol quickly grabbed your thighs, hooking them over his shoulders without slowing down the careless rutting of his hips.

The feeling became addictive, Seungcheol knew exactly what to do to bring you closer to the edge. He placed his hands on the table, at the height of your waist, pressing your thighs to your chest as he bent over. The rutting of his hips became deeper, making you feel the length of his cock, the tip hitting one spot that made you crazy. Quickly your moans became airy, until they were mere gasps.

“Fuck,” he gasped. “I need you to come, baby,” he urged with a low tone.

“I’m there,” you sighed. “Fuck, daddy. Please come with me,” you said with an embarrassingly honeyed tone.

Seungcheol gritted his teeth, a low grunt coming from him that told you just how close he was too. “Want me to cum inside you, baby?” he asked with fitful breaths.

You let out a whiny sound through your lips. “Yes, yes, please,” you gasped, succumbing to another sweet wave of pleasure. And then, before you could even think your words through— “Put a baby in me, Cheol.”

He gasped, his gaze snapping to your face. “You want that?” he asked breathlessly, his hips buckling against you. “Want me to make you a mommy?” 

The pleasure was so overwhelming, so sweet that you could barely talk. You nodded, blinking the tears away from your eyes to see his face.

His mouth parted, a silent moan escaping before the thrusts of his hips went languid. “God, angel,” he groaned helplessly. “I'm cumming,” he whispered, right before the features of his face relaxed, his eyelids fluttered shut, a vein on his forehead popping out as he came with you.  

Seungcheol groaned loudly, and you could tell by the depth of his thrust that he was cumming a lot inside you, filling you up. The thought drove you crazy, it nearly made you ask him to go again—to stop only when you were indeed pregnant. A shudder invaded you, making you whimper slightly.

He gave you a couple of sloppy thrusts, easing your legs gently from his shoulders to let you rest. You were both breathing hard, your ears buzzing as you tried to steady yourself. But the realization of what you said started sinking in. Seungcheol sighed, an eyebrow twitching up as he gave you an inquisitive look.

“What?” you whispered innocently, biting your bottom lip to avoid smiling.

“You’re cruel,” he pouted, standing up right so he could pull out of you, placing a hand on your belly as he pulled his hips from yours.

You shuddered at the loss. “Why?” you blinked up at him.

“Because—,” he giggled meekly, avoiding your eyes. “—you know what saying that does to me.”

You responded with a giggle of your own. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, sitting up on the table as he handed you your panties. 

But then—a loud, metallic snap. The shutting of the back door resounded from the back to where you and Seungcheol were. You winced in alarm, a hand quickly going to grab your tank-top.

Seungcheol quickly backed away, his hands steading you before you could make another move. “Stay there,” he cautioned, tucking himself back in his pants. His demeanor was so final that you had no choice but to ground yourself there.

He hurried to the hall that led to the back door, not bothering to put his t-shirt on. You sat on the edge of the table, with nothing to hear but the loud drumming of your heart. But he came back just as quickly, hand ruffling his hair, and a confused look on his face.

“It was Chan. Apparently he forgot his keys,” Seungcheol explained, walking up to where you sat still.

“Oh,” you uttered, frowning in confusion. “Did he…”

“Hear us? See us?” Seungcheol sighed, placing his hands on his hips. “Probably,” he cocked his head to one side then the other. “Most definitely.”

Your gaze fell out of focus. “How long had he been here?” You asked dumbly, but then, realization hit. You narrowed your eyes at him. “You knew he was here.”

Seungcheol’s gaze met yours. “I didn’t know for sure,” he shrugged, hands still parked on his hips. “I heard noises. Only a few of us have the key to get in and I know Wonwoo closed the door on his way out.”

Your mouth fell open. “So he never left?”

He nodded, blinking slowly. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow,” he said, placing himself between your legs again, hands finding the border of the table.

You gave him an incredulous look. “You wanted him to watch,” you said, wanting to muster up the slightest bit of annoyance at him. But his grin made it difficult for you to make any more accusatory remarks at him.

“I didn’t expect him to stay for so long,” he said, starting to chuckle at your expression in utter disbelief. “I thought he would just walk out but eventually I forgot,” he said, his eyes turning into half moons as he continued laughing.

You pushed one of his shoulders. “You forgot?!” you exclaimed, aghast.

“Baby, I don’t think you know,” he said, his tone rising as though he had discovered something.

You rolled your eyes. “Know what, exactly?”

He inched closer to you, taking advantage of your perplexion to grab your face with his hands. “You don’t know what you do to me,” he muttered, his tone gruff and low. “You don’t know how good you sound, how good you feel,” he sighed, his eyes coasting over the features of your face. “All I could focus on was you.”

“So you’re telling me that you just forgot that Chan was just down the hall?” you asked in utter confusion.

“Eh—,” he laughed airily, “kinda?”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re unbelievable, Choi Seungcheol,” you accused.

Seungcheol smiled at you giddily, bringing a hand to the back of your head to prop a light kiss on your lips. He let out a light sigh, giving you another small kiss. “Let’s go home.”

Your heart fluttered at the sound of those words, a swarm of butterflies dancing crazily inside your stomach. “Okay,” you whispered.

Instead of moving, Seungcheol stayed there, with his forehead pressed against yours. “You owe me a date,” he muttered.

“I do,” you replied in kind, pressing your lips slowly against his.

“How about tomorrow morning?” he asked, laughing lightly at his own urgency.

“You got it, boss,” you said, pulling back to see that smile painting his face. 

And for a moment, it was as though you had never left. Or at least that was how that fleeting moment felt.

The next day, morning light filtered through the curtains, painting soft, pale lines across the floor. The faint scent of Seungcheol’s deodorant lingered in the air, mixing with the scent of your shared bedroom. He had just finished showering after a workout at the gym downstairs, just as he always did every morning.

You were getting ready for your date—a quiet breakfast at a place of his choosing. He’d assured you that you’d like it. There was still some time before you had to leave, so you busied yourself with organizing your stuff—the small collection of your belongings you had brought into his apartment.

Right now, you were meant to be figuring out where to put your socks. You’d forgotten about them, still tucked away in your suitcase. After a moment of procrastination, you picked one of the drawers and started placing them inside, separated from Seungcheol’s.

“Baby,” he called from down the hallway. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

“Mm, yeah. Okay,” you agreed shortly.

It was impossible to ignore the looming feeling that it was odd to be living with Seungcheol. After so many times of wishing to go back to him, you were finally cementing something together.

You opened the first drawer, making space to transfer the clothes from your assigned drawer, carefully arranging his in the process. 

That was until your knuckles brushed against—a velvet, square box buried beneath a apile of socks and underwear. At first, you thought to move it aside, to tuck it into a more secure corner of the drawer. But as your fingers curled around the soft fabric, you didn’t really think about what you were holding. Instinctively, you lifted the box, intending to open it. 

Then, realization hit. 

A sharp breath lodged into your throat, and your hand snapped away from the lid, flying instead to your mouth to stifle an abrupt, overwhelming rush of emotion. A cold shudder ran through your body, weakening your knees, forcing you to stumble back and drop on the edge of the bed. 

“Baby?” Seungcheol’s voice drifted down the hall. “What’s wro–,”

But he stopped. Standing in the doorway, his eyes locked onto the small box in your hand. His expression didn’t shift, but the air in the bedroom grew thick and impossibly heavy. 

Without a word, he took three steps forward, sinking to his knees in front of you. 

“What’s this?” you asked, swallowing your fear, forcing yourself to meet his face.

Seungcheol didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his eyes flickered between your face and the box, reading every emotion weighing down across your features. His voice, when he finally spoke, was barely above a whisper. 

“Did you open it?” 

You shook your head. But the weight of the moment pressed down on you, crushing, suffocating. His reaction alone told you everything you needed to know. You knew this box. It resembled the ones he had given you before on anniversary dates or on your birthday. This one was slightly different. The ones before were small, elegant, wrapped in significance. This one was more deliberate. More final. 

“Baby, look at me,” he murmured. A warm hand cupped your face, and you choked on a sob at both the tenderness of his touch and the slow, painful realization of what lay inside that box. 

For the first time, Seungcheol seemed at a loss for words. You could see the war harboring inside him, the regret, the hesitation, the fear. But his first instinct wasn’t to come up with explanations. His thumb brushed softly against your cheek, his hands cupping your face again to ground you, steadying you. 

You sucked in a shaky breath. “Seungcheol, what’s inside it?” 

Seungcheol’s expression softened, his head tilting to one side when he saw your eyes begin to brim with big tears. “I need you to know something first,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. “When I bought this… I never imagined we wouldn’t be together.”

His fingers curled around the box, as though he could somehow protect you both from the truth inside it. As though he wanted to protect you from the pain he went through. 

“What is inside it?” you pressed again, unable to bring your voice any higher. 

He exhaled sharply, resigned. He locked his gaze to yours, and you slowly got to see how in your eyes he found strength, his breath steadying. His lips parted, but he didn’t need to speak. The answer was already hanging in the air between you. 

“Is it a ring?” Your body trembled as a sob tore through you, pain uncoiling in your chest, sharp and almost unbearable. “Please, Seungcheol, if it’s a ring—,”

“Yes,” he replied with a gentle tone, but you could feel the weight of the grief that he tried to keep away. “It’s a ring,” he admitted, watching you, reading every flinch, every breath. He took in all the pain that you showed. “It was meant to be yours.”

Your throat tightened painfully. “When?” the question left your lips before you could stop it, as though knowing the exact moment would somehow soften the burden. 

Seungcheol let out a tiny, soft breath through his nose, as though composing himself too before facing the shock that his next words would bring you: “For your twenty fourth birthday.”

Your face twisted as you brought a hand to cover your mouth again, a painful sob tearing through you, ripping through the quiet grief looming in the room. Just days before your twenty-fourth birthday, you had left him. That night, you spent your birthday in a different country, alone.  

“Baby, please, listen to me,” he muttered in a raw voice. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he reached to grab your hands. “Everything happened the way it did for a reason. It took me a long time to accept that.”

You could barely hear him over the ringing in your ears. The ache in your chest spread through your entire body, making your head pulse. Tears burned as they slipped down your cheeks. 

“But we’re here now,” he continued, his voice steadying even as his hand left yours and found your cheek again. “And we’re moving on. I wish things had been different for us, but we weren’t ready.”

“Why didn’t you say anything?” you asked in a tiny tone. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, you knew that if you did, the expression on his face would only shatter you completely. 

His breath hitched as he suppressed a sob. “Because I couldn’t let that be the reason you stayed. I couldn’t do that to you,” his tone was shaky, and by the sound of it you knew that he was crying.

His words landed like a punch to the gut. You turned to him then, and the sight nearly broke you. His dark eyes were glassy, fearful. But even through his own pain, his first instinct was to comfort you—to hold you together. That was Seungcheol. Always looking out for everybody else before tending to his own wounds. 

“All the time we lost….” You whispered, your throat tightening. “I could’ve stayed. We could’ve—,”

The words caught, breaking apart before you could even finish. Your mind spun, flashing through every possibility. Every what if. If he had proposed, you would’ve said yes. No hesitation. No doubt. Right now, you would be married. Living a different life. No sleepless nights. No endless aching. No running away, no trying—and failing—to forget him. 

His fingers curled around yours and the velvet box, gripping it like it was the last piece of a life you had both left behind. 

“But we weren’t ready,” he said, his voice was quiet, but firm, steady even as his own emotions still warred inside him. “I didn’t want to keep you here. I wanted you to keep going. To chase your dreams.”

“And what about what I wanted?” Your voice cracked as the question left you. Your mind was fogged under the pain you were carrying for years. It reverted you back to all of the times you said this to him, but now—now it felt like the first time you truly wanted an answer from him. 

His jaw clenched, his lips pressing together in a hard line. He was hurting, too. You could see it in the way he kept his breathing controlled, but deep, like that would dissolve the pain you were also feeling inside your chest. 

“Baby,” he whispered, the word soft in his lips, pleading. “We can’t keep letting this be a problem.” 

He was right. You knew he was right. But you were stubborn.

“I can’t be here right now–,” you mumbled, wiping your tears with the back of your hand quite harshly. You pushed yourself up from the bed, making him stand abruptly too, his eyes widening. You knew that look. “I need to think. I need some fresh air.”

His stomach twisted painfully when you motioned to the door. “Wait–,”

“I’ll be back, I just...” Your lip quivered, and your tone thickened as the tears kept coming: “This is too much for me. I just need to be alone for a moment.”

Seungcheol stood rigid, watching as you hurried out. The sound of the front door snapping shut sent a shudder through him. And then—everything came flooding back. The feeling that had wrecked him when you left years ago. The pain. The abandonment. The heartbreak. He had sworn he would never feel that again. 

But there he was. Breathing hard because the pain made him incapable of doing anything else.

You walked out. You left again.

“Wait,” he muttered, his instincts taking over. In a second, he was making his way towards the front door, and then the elevator, pulse hammering in his ears as he hit the button once, then twice— 

“Come on,” he gritted through his teeth. “Come on!” His palm slammed against the button until the doors finally parted to him. 

The moment he stepped outside of the building, his world spun wildly. The air felt think, suffocating. His heart stuttering like crazy, he felt dizzy. 

Where did you go?

His hand snapped to his pockets, no phone. His stomach dropping when he realized that you hadn’t taken yours either. “Fuck. Fuck!” the words escaped him in a frantic breath as he shoved his hands through his hair. Think, Seungcheol. Calm down.

You could’ve gone to the park, he reasoned. Without another thought, he hurried off, crossing the street without a care. His feet pounded against the pavement as he sprinted in direction to the park, cutting through the people strolling down the sidewalk. His chest burned, his mind raced. 

Frantically, he scanned the park, weaving through the crowd, searching through the sea of faces. 

And then, his heart clenched. A weight lifted from his heart so abruptly it almost made his mind spin again. 

There you were. 

Sitting on a swing, head leaned to the side, staring at the ground. Your fingers brushed under your eyes, wiping away your tears swiftly. The slight sway of the swing, the way your shoulders curled inward—it was all so painfully familiar. 

For years, Seungcheol had believed that he had taken the hardest blow. He was the one who stayed. He had to rebuild on the ashes of what he had lost when you left him. While you—you walked away. He had convinced himself that you had suffered less. 

But now, he saw it. 

The weight of your dreams slipping through your fingers. You raised your gaze when a small child ran across the sandbox, releasing a cry of joy as his mom chased after him. You let your gaze fall to your lap again. 

Guilt churned inside him. 

Slowly, Seungcheol approached, each step forcing him to steady his heart. When your eyes finally found him, they softened at the sight of him as he finished approaching you and sat on the swing next to yours.

“I’m sorry,” Seungcheol muttered, swallowing a lump of anxiety in his throat. “I know you said you just needed air but... I had to make sure.”

You nodded, sniffing. “I get it,” you whispered shakily. “That’s okay, I was heading back anyways.” You shrugged, it was a small gesture. A tell.

And Seungcheol caught that. “Do you need more time?” he asked, releasing a sigh, as if the weight of all his past fears had made a fool of him again. “I can go back inside. I’ll be waiting for you there.”

“Okay,” you murmured, rubbing the back of your hand to wipe your tears, still looking at your shoes. “I’ll be there in a moment.” 

“Okay,” he echoed softly, slowly rising from the swing. But just as his fingers slipped from the cold metal chain, yours caught his hand—your soft smaller fingers curling around his, stopping him in his tracks. 

He turned back, encountering the sight of your teary eyes again. His gut twisted. 

“Wait,” you whispered. “Stay. Please?” Your gaze dropped for a moment. “I’m sorry. I panicked,” you released a shaky breath, searching for words. “Can we… talk about this?” 

The knot in his throat loosened, relief rushing through him. “Of course.”

You were still sitting on the swing, so he knelt in the sand before you, leveling himself with your gaze. His heart clenched at the sight of you—rosy cheeks, swollen lips, dark lashes clumped together from the tears you have shed. 

Seungcheol didn’t know where to start. This was a mess, and deep down, he had known something like this would happen the moment you walked back into his life. 

“Seungcheol,” you finally started, your voice quiet, but fragile, “why didn’t you tell me you had a ring?” 

The question was one that you had asked before. But it still made his chest tighten. 

“When I broke up with you, you could’ve told me,” you took in a big breath, trying to steady yourself.

Your hand was still gripping his, so he simply shifted, threading his fingers with yours. “I didn’t want to hold you back,” he admitted. “If I had told you I had was planning to propose, you would’ve stayed. And your plans, your dreams… I wanted you to have the chance to fulfill them.”

Your face crumpled. Eyebrows knitted, lower lip trembling. “I was miserable, Seungcheol,” you whispered, your eyes brimming with sorrowful tears. “I had to give you up to go after those dreams. But what I wanted—what I really wanted—was to start a life with you. I wanted kids, I wanted… everything.” 

“I’m sorry,” he choked out, lowering his gaze, feeling ashamed. “I wasn’t ready. You were right about that. I let myself get caught up in dumb things—I thought I wouldn’t be enough for you. That I couldn’t give you the life you deserved.” 

Seungcheol used to think that his mistakes were what led him to losing you. Slowly those mistakes turned into regrets. But when he looked at you now, he didn’t see mistakes. 

He saw the love of his life. The girl who had stolen his heart upon first sight. The one who made him feel alive, who made him feel like he was himself again. 

Reaching into the pocket of his sweats, he pulled out the small velvet box. His fingers trembled as he placed it in your hands again, wrapping your fingers around it. 

“You have always been the one I wanted,” he whispered, voice shaking, tears slipping freely now. “From the moment we met, I knew it was you. It’s always been you.”

You curled your fingers around the small box he placed in your hands, you looked at it for a second before lifting your gaze to meet his. 

He held on tighter, his eyes wide—fear flickering in them. “This is how sure I am,” he whispered. But if you decided to open that box right now, he wouldn’t hesitate. He was ready now.  

You raised the box in your hand, outlining the sides of the lid with the tip of your trembling fingers. The knot in your stomach tightened. “Not like this,” you whispered, lowering the box to your lap. “I don’t want you to propose to me like this,” you could barely bring yourself to mutter those words. 

The summer night breeze brushed the nape of your neck, cool against your heated skin. A slight shiver ran through you. And Seungcheol noticed. He always noticed. He looked at you longingly, as though seeing you in the back of his head too, a distant memory reverting him back to those uni days. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet somehow, his love for you hadn’t faded. 

Slowly, you reached out, cupping his cheek. Your cold thumb brushed away the tear that had slipped down his face. His breath hitched slightly at your touch, but he welcomed it. 

“I love you, Seungcheol,” you said, your voice barely holding back emotion. “But I want us to do it right. We still need to rebuild some things in our relationship before we take the next steps. Maybe… maybe we should wait a little.”

Seungcheol caught your wrist, pressing a long kiss to the center of your palm. “I want that too, baby.” He murmured, pressing another kiss there. “I want us to be stronger than we were before. Let’s wait, then.” 

“But only a little,” you added with a sweet, tearful giggle.  

His chest swelled at the sound. “You’re the boss,” he smiled, and it was that smile, soft at the corners, making his dark eyes gleam. It reminded you of every reason you had ever loved him. 

“Come on,” he said, standing up and slipping the box back into his pocket. “Let’s go home.” 

Home. 

For so long after you left him, that word had lost its meaning. You thought that you’d never get that feeling again with anyone else—the safety, the familiarity. There is no one you trusted more than him.

But you did now, you felt it again. 

You took his outstretched hand, rising to your feet too. Walking side by side through the park with him toward the apartment where you were building something new with him. Something stronger. 

You were home again. 

✧ author's note: life is funny because i started this draft on nov 9 2023 and so much has happened ever since. i thought i'd never understand what going through a painful breakup would feel like. but now i do. and i also know what moving on feels like. funny, huh?

this chapter was shorter than i initially planned though, i hope you guys enjoyed it (?) haha idk, it was really heavy on the angst and i let this draft sit for months and months i feel guilty about that

also, an addendum: in the previous chapter, jeonghan makes a reference to the fic city lights chapter 9 and lights out chapter 1 for those that may not know. for those who do know, i kind of skipped the timeline by a looooong mile haha. but idc, i just wanted the angst and to torture hannie w some heartache

anyway,

✧ STAY TUNED FOR PART SIX !! ✧

PREVIOUS CHAPTERS | BUY ME A COFFEE? (●'◡'●)

© TO HANNIEWEEN — I DO NOT ALLOW TRANSLATIONS, CONTINUATIONS, REIMAGINATIONS OF MY WORKS OR THEIR REPOSTING ON OTHER WEBSITES.

[phantomrose96]

The conversation around AI is going to get away from us quickly because people lack the language to distinguish types of AI--and it's not their fault. Companies love to slap "AI" on anything they believe can pass for something "intelligent" a computer program is doing. And this muddies the waters when people want to talk about AI when the exact same word covers a wide umbrella and they themselves don't know how to qualify the distinctions within.

I'm a software engineer and not a data scientist, so I'm not exactly at the level of domain expert. But I work with data scientists, and I have at least rudimentary college-level knowledge of machine learning and linear algebra from my CS degree. So I want to give some quick guidance.

What is AI? And what is not AI?

So what's the difference between just a computer program, and an "AI" program? Computers can do a lot of smart things, and companies love the idea of calling anything that seems smart enough "AI", but industry-wise the question of "how smart" a program is has nothing to do with whether it is AI.

A regular, non-AI computer program is procedural, and rigidly defined. I could "program" traffic light behavior that essentially goes { if(light === green) { go(); } else { stop();} }. I've told it in simple and rigid terms what condition to check, and how to behave based on that check. (A better program would have a lot more to check for, like signs and road conditions and pedestrians in the street, and those things will still need to be spelled out.)

An AI traffic light behavior is generated by machine-learning, which simplistically is a huge cranking machine of linear algebra which you feed training data into and it "learns" from. By "learning" I mean it's developing a complex and opaque model of parameters to fit the training data (but not over-fit). In this case the training data probably includes thousands of videos of car behavior at traffic intersections. Through parameter tweaking and model adjustment, data scientists will turn this crank over and over adjusting it to create something which, in very opaque terms, has developed a model that will guess the right behavioral output for any future scenario.

A well-trained model would be fed a green light and know to go, and a red light and know to stop, and 'green but there's a kid in the road' and know to stop. A very very well-trained model can probably do this better than my program above, because it has the capacity to be more adaptive than my rigidly-defined thing if the rigidly-defined program is missing some considerations. But if the AI model makes a wrong choice, it is significantly harder to trace down why exactly it did that.

Because again, the reason it's making this decision may be very opaque. It's like engineering a very specific plinko machine which gets tweaked to be very good at taking a road input and giving the right output. But like if that plinko machine contained millions of pegs and none of them necessarily correlated to anything to do with the road. There's possibly no "if green, go, else stop" to look for. (Maybe there is, for traffic light specifically as that is intentionally very simplistic. But a model trained to recognize written numbers for example likely contains no parameters at all that you could map to ideas a human has like "look for a rigid line in the number". The parameters may be all, to humans, meaningless.)

So, that's basics. Here are some categories of things which get called AI:

"AI" which is just genuinely not AI

There's plenty of software that follows a normal, procedural program defined rigidly, with no linear algebra model training, that companies would love to brand as "AI" because it sounds cool.

Something like motion detection/tracking might be sold as artificially intelligent. But under the covers that can be done as simply as "if some range of pixels changes color by a certain amount, flag as motion"

2. AI which IS genuinely AI, but is not the kind of AI everyone is talking about right now

"AI", by which I mean machine learning using linear algebra, is very good at being fed a lot of training data, and then coming up with an ability to go and categorize real information.

The AI technology that looks at cells and determines whether they're cancer or not, that is using this technology. OCR (Optical Character Recognition) is the technology that can take an image of hand-written text and transcribe it. Again, it's using linear algebra, so yes it's AI.

Many other such examples exist, and have been around for quite a good number of years. They share the genre of technology, which is machine learning models, but these are not the Large Language Model Generative AI that is all over the media. Criticizing these would be like criticizing airplanes when you're actually mad at military drones. It's the same "makes fly in the air" technology but their impact is very different.

3. The AI we ARE talking about. "Chat-gpt" type of Generative AI which uses LLMs ("Large Language Models")

If there was one word I wish people would know in all this, it's LLM (Large Language Model). This describes the KIND of machine learning model that Chat-GPT/midjourney/stablediffusion are fueled by. They're so extremely powerfully trained on human language that they can take an input of conversational language and create a predictive output that is human coherent. (I am less certain what additional technology fuels art-creation, specifically, but considering the AI art generation has risen hand-in-hand with the advent of powerful LLM, I'm at least confident in saying it is still corely LLM).

This technology isn't exactly brand new (predictive text has been using it, but more like the mostly innocent and much less successful older sibling of some celebrity, who no one really thinks about.) But the scale and power of LLM-based AI technology is what is new with Chat-GPT.

This is the generative AI, and even better, the large language model generative AI.

(Data scientists, feel free to add on or correct anything.)

[mnemonicpneumaticknife]

I believe Harry, through some wibbly wobbly timey wimey explanation, is aware of the events of Year of Hell and Timeless, just not on a conscious level.

evil harry kim in lower decks is so perfect to me. he learned megalomania and blowing himself up from the best btw

[reignpage]

WRITTEN WORKS

Non-smau works of various lengths and themes Mostly of JJK Happy reading.

Gojo Satoru

The Other series

The Other Man + The Other Woman + The Other Side

In which your husband loses his memory and forgets you

Star-crossed series

Finders Keepers Lights Show Movie Night ★ Bubble Bubble ★

In which alien!reader crash lands in front of Gojo and your life with him begins all while, slowly but surely, learning what it takes to be human

Dog-Eat-Dog World ★

In which you are dating Siberian husky hybrid!Gojo

Pathetic piner

In which Gojo is a little simp

Whisking it all I II ★

In which Aspiring pâtissier!Gojo is your pastry class rival

Spread 'em ★

In which you peg Gojo

Geto Suguru

Best Friends Forever ★

In which you and your bff indulge in feelings you definitely shouldn't

The Best Kind of Remedy ★

In which herbalist boyfriend, Geto, has just the thing to cure your ailments

Choso Kamo

So Mean! ★

In which you just can't help but tease your boyfriend during sexy time

Help me step bro! ★

In which there are new additions to your family and one of them is irresistibly hot and he has his eyes on you

Best roommate ever ★

In which your roommate is a massive pervert

Night crawler ★

In which your boyfriend sleepwalks

Toji Fushiguro

Just a Quick Stop

In which you always knew it wasn't a lasting thing

Give it to me ★

In which he gives it to you good

Sweet Revenge ★

In which your husband and your sister are horrible people and single dad!toji is here to help you out in more ways than one

Lying to himself

In which your boyfriend claims he won't miss you when you're away for work

Working hard

In which you're not a great gym buddy

In Sheep's Clothing ★

In which wolf hybrid!toji shows up at your door during a rough snowstorm 20k

Big Stretch ★

In which chiropractor!toji meets a pretty client he can't help but want to loosen up a little more than others

She's Crazy But She's Mine ★

In which everyone wonders why hockey player!Toji is dating weird girl!reader

Nanami Kento

Hauntings we don't face

In which there's a ghost in your house

First friend

In which your daughter has an imaginary friend

Bear Necessities ★

In which you are married to brown bear hybrid!Nanami

When the night changes

In which Nanami realises you've become a part of his life (pre-relationship)

Sew it begins I II ★

In which Tailor!Nanami has taken a liking towards a new client

Bottoms-up ★

In which your husband lets you peg him

Husband!Nanami series

Birthday Boy Bath time ★ Mornings Missing you Office-r! ★ Rest Up Doctor's Orders ★ Cravings ★ Baby brain Dad bod Loss Clogged ★ First words Snip snip

Non-linear slice of life fics of husband!nanami and his wife

Sukuna Ryomen

College student!Sukuna 1:03: first kiss 2:35: late night cravings 21:47: his dirty secret ★ 18:05: locked folder ★ 20:38: rainy days ★ 9:35: what's the rush? ★ 23:54: three's a crowd ★ 13:04: cancelled classes ★

In which he's both a pervert and a sweetheart (kinda but not really at all) to his little college friend!reader in a modern au

Sukuna in Wonderland ★

In which you're on a quest with your rival and you both have to deal with the freakiness of this world 17.2k

You've Ghost to be Kidding ★

In which you've moved into a new home and right into the arms of a horny ghost

A Cursed Series

Encounter Mercy Forest

In which you find yourself bound to dragon!sukuna

Good God he's huge

In which you recount all the silly goofy ways Sukuna uses his true form against you

Shoko Ieiri

No Rest For The Wicked ★

In which you and your girlfriend tire each other out

Multi-Character

His Loss, Their Gain

In which you get stood up and they step up for you (pre-relationship)

Munchkins ★

In which the jjk men eat pussy

Perverts ★ Perverts II (dead dove do not eat) ★

In which the jjk men are different kinds of perverts (pre-relationship) + (established relationship)

A man's place ★

In which you have a 3sum with Utahime and Shoko, leaving Satoru out

Slumber

In which the men react to you being in a coma

Their fantasies ★

In which the jjk men think about their deepest desires

Miscallaenous

COD Konig ❥ Restrained Beast ★ Simon Riley ❥ Homecoming ★

[nwfairy]

“That Boy is a Monster,”

Can I scream louder about the commission that I’ve been sitting on from @scurvyboy ? Seriously this makes me giggle and kick my feet.

It’s 1992; Nirvana owns the airways. The Cold War is declared over. There are riots in LA. It’s the last year of the Bush Presidency. Cursed with a dark hunger, Fiddleford McGucket returns to Gravity Falls for the first time in almost a decade. He has changed, the home of his friend has definitely changed. The hum of what lies beneath has not. The night is dark and full of terrors, but Stanley Pines does best when Luna hides her face. It has been a decade since he took his brother’s place. That decade living in Gravity Falls has taught him a thing or two about patience and routine. The howling of the blood calls to them both— the portal thrums in their bones calling to fix their mistakes— and—

Chapter 2 (well it’s the fourth chapter but the story does some weird non-linear shit so it’s the second chapter) just dropped!

[wiisagi-maiingan]

Just found out that the "five stages of grief" weren't actually about grieving other people at all, the theory was created when psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross was working with terminally ill patients and used those terms (denial, anger, bargaining, depression, acceptance) to refer to the non-linear coping methods people use when faced with their own deaths.

I don't know why I'm surprised, a lot of these sorts of things are deeply misunderstood and misrepresented, but knowing the context really does change its meaning and just makes it make sense in a way it doesn't when applied to grieving other people.

[nadekofannumber1]

Also

These old ass charts I made b4 I had all the translated novels and could thus finish still actually work pretty well

They aren’t perfect but are a good line to consider what I speak on. (obviously I’d move some of these things around even for things I had read at the time)

Musubi simultaneously sets plot points but can’t be adapted before specific plots unless the adapting parties wish to push specific advertising or bottle concepts (which first season of oms is trying to do with it being a yuri centric season)

Zenka mermaid shouldn’t be adapted before Karen ogre, and if one wanted to use it as an ending stake of a point it shouldn’t go before bonehead either. But if they wanted to split musubi across the second season for no reason I could see it ending up being adapted before at least one of those arcs solely because of the fact it would likely get adapted early for the sake of making it so they could adapt the other successive arcs (also for the whiplash of araragi thinking he’s free from Gaen and very soon in the successive season he laments that he couldn’t actually escape her and just feels like bc of who he is he was bound to crawl back to her and become a fed)

Nozomi golem is an interesting one as it’s set fate for Ougi Disappointed many but also the other major allusion they use is “how is Nadeko doing in the future?”. But because it doesn’t set the Nadeko plots and doesn’t make conclusion it doesn’t have any hard restrictions I’d put on its adaptation. It just can’t be first and can’t be last, and since it works better before mitome wolf bc that has hard conclusions and has more required arcs I’d put on it. I wouldn’t even say suruga bonehead leads to it yet because that is going towards a plot that can as of writing be currently comprehended. I guess it makes sense before ougimono but like, not bc their individual stories intersect but because of the nature of both arcs simply existing and alluding to others.

Mitome wolf likely shouldn’t be adapted before tsubasa sleeping. Tsubasa sleeping sets itself as a path towards the state of tsubasa in Mitome wolf

Tsuzura human shouldn’t be adapted before sodachi fiasco because it’s unfathomably cruel to do so. To reap the rewards of sodachi’s development without seeing her shine in her arc (which is one of the best) is wrong in a way that hurts me. Otherwise if I’m to state the obvious it should not be adapted before the rest of musubi.

Musubi is an end point but is written before monster season so it fundamentally can weave between it however it wishes. But if they wanted to shorten it at all for the sake of compartmentalization I think that it would work fine next to the shinomonos if they wanted to keep it all in order or if they wanted to pull an ova on the side. Its pretty much fine however you dice it

My greatest fear is if for the second half of oms they shorten it just to put the shinomonos in there and carry over the successive marketing. Cutting arcs in ways that make everyone mad just because they made a promise to adapt it all and said they’re doing 2 seasons.

Karen ogre works better before amari and Zenka mermaid. This is because Karen ogre is an arc that builds on Karen’s character development and showing the reward before the arc is gonna throw off the enjoyment of said reward (like how sodachi fiasco rewards the sodachi in Nademonogatari and her later appearances)

Tsubasa sleeping works better before shinomono 1 and Mitome wolf, despite its vampire focus I think that it’s something that is fine to adapt after shinobumonogatari solely if you are operating on a belief they should try and subtly build to shinomono 1 by progressively mentioning more and more things about vampires.

Sodachi fiasco worked better before Nademonogatari but that bride is crossed so before ougimonogatari and tsuzura human.

Suruga bonehead is in a weird position but I’d say it works best before ougimonogatari and before Zenka mermaid.

Im simply listing the arcs left because while I did have theories for if they did simultaneous adaptation (some of which are partially right in the sense that Nadeko draw and Shinobu mastered pull towards shinomo and are similar rungs that benefit from an off season novel’s contents that draw too it.) they don’t matter speculation wise currently.

I don’t see them changing the order of the rest of the monster season arcs though, because of how they’re written it doesn’t make sense to do so, they even hold and binding glue called the Nadeko parts. If you take the Nadeko parts off it will make other side allusions made in the main story make less sense, this also happens if you change their order. Moving Amari before yoi doesn’t work bc of the nadehomelessness incident being mentioned and in ougimonogatari they mention that Nadeko has left the house already. There’s more to go on about but to keep it brief these are stories that don’t benefit from changing around the order on first view. (like watching kizu and tsubasa family next to each other before tsubasa tiger)

Pretty much if you consider all this info and the work load required to make it, you just assume they’ll adapt the arcs before shinomono with the extra arcs left sprinkled around to hype towards it, with musubi considered more optionally if they want to increase workload that bad (shaft moment). Either their promise of two seasons is true (and some arcs are cut out for finality, or they delay a lot) or their promise of 2 seasons collapses and it becomes more than that (depends on the delays they may experience and if they pull a magireco).

The two seasons thing could also be a false memory, but the rest still stands

I’m pretty convinced the way they’re gonna break up the episodes for next season is that they’re gonna sprinkle the rest of the waza episodes around for the sake of keeping up the feeling of an ongoing narrative abt Shinobu and deathtopia via consistant character appearance to have the feeling of buildup maintained. In the sense that yoimono has decent amount of Shinobu appearance but Amari and ougimono have less and if they wanted to engage in the flow of Shinobu posting to be constant for the build to shinomono in the way Nadeko’s appearances would be, they’d probably put them around there for the sake of hype.

However that is subject to change depending on how they do musubi which I can see them do a direct run through, sprinkling it next shinomono, putting individual episodes next to the 3 arcs b4 shinomono specifically to max them out for the vibe (most evil option) or doing an ova.

I think that for the rest of oraka putting sodachi fiasco as an opener to the next season and putting suruga bonehead some point after but before ougimono (I’d say that between yoi and Amari is likely bc of digestion time but also the fact we don’t have that second resolution and if you put it directly next to ougimono its gonna feel like they’re hyping towards a plot that isn’t actually gonna be resolved soon but doing that is nisio core so I’d accept it. But realistically because of the overarching Gaen izuko subplot that comes to a head by shinomono it makes sense to perform that same build up as a parallel. Really I think the best time to look at those arcs is in novel order but we can’t do that now, big signs that say look at Gaen plot will probably be successionally happening bc of this. So I think getting it in early has its merits esp if they’re going with buildup)

[wendichester]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT FOR AN ANGST DRABBLE

Reader with heavy religious trauma x Castiel. I'm curious how their dynamic is and how reader deals with the resurfaced memories

｡𖦹°‧ sanctuary isn't a place,

summary. the lord, heaven, belief... these aren't exactly good terms within you. that is until you meet castiel. he changes everything.

pairing. castiel x reader genre. soft angst

wordcount. 674

notes / warnings. heavy religious trauma themes, memory flashbacks (non-linear), mentions of childhood emotional abuse tied to religion, feelings of unworthiness, internalized fear of divine punishment, anxiety/panic, crying, confrontation with faith

You don’t mean to flinch when he enters the room.

But you do.

It’s small—barely perceptible—but he sees it. Of course he sees it. Angel of the Lord and all that.

“Are you alright?” Castiel asks, voice low like a prayer too afraid to echo.

You force a smile. One of the fake ones. The kind you used to wear like armor back in Sunday school when the pastor’s wife asked how you were and the only honest answer would’ve gotten you grounded for a month.

“I’m fine.”

You're lying.

There’s something about him—always has been. The coat, the eyes, the presence. It's not him specifically. It's what he is.

Divine.

Holy.

Everything that used to haunt your nightmares, wrapped in trench coat and blue eyes and sincerity so pure it makes your skin itch.

You sit on the edge of the motel bed, fists clenched in your lap like a kid in confession. The room is too quiet. Too heavy. The silence carries weight, like incense in an old church—cloying and choking, perfumed with expectation.

He doesn’t sit. Not right away. He just tilts his head, studying you in that quiet way of his. No judgment. Just concern.

“You’re uncomfortable around me.”

It’s not a question.

You don’t deny it.

“I’m not... trying to be,” you whisper. “You’ve never done anything wrong. It’s just... complicated.”

Castiel steps closer. Slowly. Like approaching a wounded animal. Like he knows. And maybe he does.

“Is it because of what I am?”

You nod.

Your voice wavers. “You remind me of them. Not you—but the way they talked about angels. About God. The way they made me believe I was broken. Dirty. That I had to earn love or I’d burn for eternity.”

Your breath hitches. The words taste like old fear, dragged up from the pit of your gut.

“They used God like a weapon,” you continue, voice cracking. “Turned prayers into shackles. I used to be so scared all the time. Scared to think the wrong thing. Feel the wrong thing. Be the wrong thing.”

You’re crying before you realize it. Quiet tears that slide down your cheeks without drama. Just… grief. Old and rusted but still sharp.

And Castiel—he doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t offer some holy fix-it speech or throw out scriptures like bandaids.

He sits beside you. Carefully. Leaves enough space so you don’t feel caged.

“I was told once,” he says softly, “that angels are warriors. Messengers. Instruments of God’s will. But... I’ve learned that we can also be witnesses. To pain. To injustice. To humanity.”

He glances at you then—so gently it hurts.

“You deserved love. Not fear. Protection. Not punishment.”

Your lip trembles. “I used to pray so hard. Every night. Begging God to fix me. Or at least answer me. Tell me I wasn’t going to hell. That He didn’t hate me.”

A long pause.

Then: “Did He ever answer?”

You shrug. “Not until now, I guess.”

Castiel looks almost startled. “You think I’m the answer?”

“I don’t know,” you admit. “Maybe you’re just the first one who didn’t make me feel like I had to be perfect to be worthy of love.”

That cracks something open in him. You can see it—in the softening of his features, the way his shoulders dip, like even he can’t carry the weight of what’s been done in the name of Heaven.

“I am sorry,” he says, and it sounds ancient. Like he’s apologizing on behalf of every divine being who ever let you down.

You believe him.

You look at him then, really look. Not at the angel. Not at the vessel. Just him. The one who’s chosen over and over again to stand with humanity. With you.

“You don’t scare me,” you whisper. “Not really.”

His gaze is steady. “Good. Because I would never harm you. Not in the name of Heaven. Not in the name of anything.”

And when he tentatively reaches out—offering, not taking—you let him hold your hand.

Because this time, the touch isn’t a chain.

It’s sanctuary.

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fic rec ask game

Inspired by the bug me for fic recs ask game. Send an ask with a number and get a fic rec!

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