#when i get sad i write like a melodramatic book-writer

[yourfavepookiebear]

I really need a new friend tbh

It's not that I don't like my friends rn, but they just never answer me

The irl ones too. Like I text them but they never answer. I text my bff (I honestly don't don't know if I can call her that anymore) and she never answers, not a day later not a week later not a month later not a year later. Never. She wasn't like this before, and she's not that busy at all, so obviously it means she must be doing it on purpose for whatever reason she has.

You never asked nor did anyone else, but the reason I text so much is because I need to distract myself from the present.

But when no one, absolutely none out of all the 9-10 or so close friends I have answer, it leaves me pondering. My thoughts inevitably wonder, and I find myself drowning in them. I don't like that. I don't like thinking. I don't like pondering. I don't like being silent. But I have no choice.

I finish my work, my studies, my homework, my chores, and everything else, but realizing I have no one at all leaves me wondering, pondering and wandering endlessly, infinitely.

And, just as expected, the conclusion my mind comes to is that 'no one likes me' hence 'the reason why they never answer is because they do not appreciate you, nothing about you is good or particularly pleasing, which means you are not worth their time.' And eventually leads to me distancing myself and ghosting them just 'like they did to me'.

Therefore, I stay silent. As much as I hate to, I keep silent and my gaze stays downcast. I don't listen to anyone or anything, I don't answer any question or message, I don't talk, I don't smile, I don't laugh, I don't joke around, I don't draw, I don't write. Nothing. At that state of mine I am only vast nothingness, completely empty and devoid of any emotion whatsoever.

If you knew me, you'd also know that when I am 'sad' (silent), everyone else around me is sad as well.

I do not need to focus to notice how my ears are ringing and no one needs to put me under a microscope to know that silence is my way of weeping.

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

starting a tag game for writers

Hi, it's Asmi! Okay, so, I've seen so many people afraid to start/continue writing because they're afraid it'll be garbage. And it's so sad how much joy and creativity is getting lost because of that fear. I've written utter shit before, and looking back on it is actually hilarious, and also, it's a reminder of how far I've come as a writer.

I really, really want people to be less afraid of the written word and of creating, and to get rid of that aura of mystery and elitism that often covers the writing process. Writing is messy and it's hell and it's torture. And it's amazing.

So here's the tag game:

Give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you love [fiction, non-fiction, from different works or the same, from completed stories or poems or WIPs, from yesterday or ten years ago] that you love. If that seems hard, even one will do. It doesn't have to be perfect. It can just be something silly that gives you joy.

And give me three lines/paragraphs that you've written that you dislike and find shitty. Anything at all as long as you wrote it. If you think it's ridiculous or absolute fucking garbage, even better! That's the point of this game. To see that we all write good things and bad things. Yeah? You can do this. And remember that both these categories are subjective.

I'll start. It's not as scary as it seems, I promise.

Things I've written that I find shitty:

The first man grabbed him by his collar, pinned him against the wall of the cave in which they were standing, and spat, “It doesn’t matter what you’ve done before. If the Queen’s not in the graveyard tonight, King Baza’s going to plan a most delightful execution for you. And even if he doesn’t, you being his nephew and all, I will arrange an accidental blowing up of your house when you are, tragically, inside.” [discount wall slam scene courtesy of 2016 Asmi, you're welcome]

“Overreacting?” said Dextor in disbelief, staring at Jay like, ‘What is wrong with you, dude?’ [sigh. my serious-scene-writing left a lot to be desired.]

“Don’t go,” I said, fighting tears. “Please, don’t leave me, too! You’re all I have left.” Strange thoughts for a child, but I meant every word. She looked at me with anguish. “I am sorry, Phil. Believe me, you are all I have, too, and this hurts me more than it does you. You’re like my son.” [I'm hysterical rereading this melodramatic shit, which was NOT the intended effect]

Things that I've written that I love:

He dropped the books onto a nearby chair and pulled her into his arms as he’d been longing to do all day, the smell of blueberries and hair product and her. The books she was holding were pressed against his chest, and he didn’t care. Why did he need to love the stars when he could love her, why did he need to look up at the sky for answers when they were right there in his arms? [I love this because when I first wrote it, I thought it was romantic, but I realised later that the boy, Ant, is aroace, and it doesn't change a thing about this scene, except that their love is platonic]

"Maybe being happy is the best that we can do. Maybe that’s more than most people manage, anyway.” They stood in front of the entrance, over puddles that reflected all the broken skyscrapers and the colours of the street and the grey-yellow sky. “Whatever you do with your parents,” she said. “Don’t let your guilt get in the way of doing ballet. It’s not wrong to be happy. It’s not.” [This is from the book I finished and I published, and I just really like this paragraph. It's not my favourite, but it makes me smile.]

The last you may leave wherever you please, wherever it is birds land to die. [A line from a poem I wrote in 2022, I like the rhythm]

(It took effort to find ones that I wanted to share, oof. If you find this difficult just know you're not alone. I usually like my writing, but turns out it's hard to take something you created and go hey, look, I'm proud of this. But we can do it.)

Alright, of course anyone who sees this is welcome to join, and tag the writers you know so we can all be uh writerly together :") but to start it off, no pressure tags @howmanyholesinswisscheese, @1800ineedshelp, @queermarzipan, @thescholarlystrumpet, @madfangirlontheloose.

Oh, and also tagging @neil-gaiman, @dduane, @drchucktingle just because maybe if you see this and join in, new writers will find comfort in knowing their role models have ups and downs, good and bad days too :")

Have a lovely day, everyone, and keep writing.

[gardensnakie]

Who's better at poetry, Stranger or Sunny?

I automatically assume that Sunny would lean more onto the drawing side of art rather than writing, let alone poetry. I think it depends on how people see the character because based on Canon occurrences, Sunny takes a lot of inspiration from the outside world, like from comic books and movies when he dreams. He creates new adventures and scenarios that would lead most to assume that he would be a good writer if he practiced. In addition to his more darker thoughts, and his sad poem skill, it seems possible he'd be good at it. But the thing is, Sunny has trouble identifying how he feels, that includes speaking and even writing those feelings down. If he were to attempt to journal anything for those 4 years that he was stuck in the house, that would ruin the world he created for himself where mari didn't die. With how much he was repressing his feelings, trying to organize them into words would be a long shot. That's why Sunny turns to drawing, in can be incoherent as he wants without directly including the thing he wants to ignore. (And sunnys drawings are cool, I'm a sucker for violent, surrealism art) Even after the truth, I think sunnys poetry would be good and cool to read (I'm not sure, I'm no critic but I'd like to think sunnys poetry would be very vivid, sometimes incoherent) His poetry would be for his eyes only, I don't think he'd actively try to get better at it but use it as a way to be less stressed.

With rare access to pen and paper, Stranger has a lot to say but speaks in a cryptic way as a way to hold back. Of maybe it's because Omori/Sunny refuses to hear anything of the truth that Stranger is simply cursed to never say it out loud. Or maybe Stranger doesn't want to frighten them away and chooses his words carefully in order to keep him from retreating further into repression. I like to think about the second possibility. Stranger is capable of altering his words in a vague, but concise way to lead, question, or warn The Dreamer. He also has access to the Lost Library and practically most of the horrors residing in Blackspace. Every idea is different down there, it changes constantly, the abstract rooms and delusions is a gold mine for inspiration. Horrible inspiration, actually. (Kinda reminds me how most artists are troubled in some way, "thank you for the trauma, I need it for my art" kinda way)

Stranger had been down there longer since Sunny avoided blackspace as much as he could. Who knows? During that time, Stranger must've talked to himself a lot. He may speak strangely, not really using the words 'I feel' because spiraling is far too easy in a quiet place like that. He can't really draw. With personified fears and ideas from The Dreamer in all those rooms, Stranger doesn't want to draw them again as a mean to express his own feelings. How can you express the hell in your head when there is hell all around you? So melodramatic. At least Sunny sat in denial, surrounded by color. Stranger reminds me of someone doodle silly things, at least draw something where he hoped to be instead of living in darkness. Though, it'd probably make him more sad, so he'd abandon it somewhere. If he could, Stranger would write a lot. His thoughts could be like a little rule book to keep himself sane. Anger, guilt, shame, vile thoughts, disgusting actions, Stranger would make sure certain mistakes don't happen twice. He'd remember his purpose, helping Sunny remember. Certainly making him feel less worthless. If all this writing was possible, Stranger would be the one with tons of poems.

Ramble. Ramble. Ramble. Jeez, that was a lot of crap. Sorry if you were expecting a yes or no with a few sentences of reasoning, I wanted to reinforce a lot. It gave me a few ideas in the process, but all of it is pretty loose and theorizable (i didnt read check this, so sorry if certain sentences of explanation are a little awkward). But yeah, whaddya think?

[imagine-silk]

hullo! May I please request varric dating a reader who acts a lot like a detective? (Basically they really like to solve mysteries and help people and be a bit eccentric)

A strange detective covers a lot of ground, so I went with a noir Sherlock Holmes. I don't know, the thought of a melodramatic noir detective in Dragon Age is so out of place it humors me greatly.

Art by Benjamin Carre

You first met in the Hinterlands when Berand asked the herald to find his lover. They found you over her body reading the letter and you quickly explained you found her like this and needed to find her lover. When they told you where he was you got really sad claiming the hunt and satisfaction of finding him was gone.

You joined them to deliver the news a little displeased but immediately perked up when the party off-handily mentioned this was the second person you were hired to find. Excited you asked who they were and joined the inquisition.

Through all of this Varric wanted to laugh. He knew he shouldn't think this was funny in the middle of a war but you were so strange and Trevelyan thought so as well.

Working for the inquisition satisfied your inquisitive nature. Whenever there was a person or object to find you were on the case and you solved them quite quickly.

Because of the ongoing war with templars and mages you were always busy. So much so you never really talked to the inner-circle or anyone really that much not until after Haven is attacked. During the journey to Skyhold it was Varric who checked on you. He had never seen you distraught about anything unrelated to your work. While everyone is getting settled he notices no one really checks on you so he takes it upon himself to do so.

He learns quite a bit during your talks. Proper checking for cause of death, deducting suspects, talking to the victim's family. You also have more personal talks explaining how much you enjoy your job, your extreme highs and lows, your close relationship with death, your need to figure things out and how all of these things make it difficult to be palatable to others.

You also learn about him. He doesn’t really say much about himself that's not cryptic but for you he doesn't need to. Not saying you fully understand, you probably never will, but you get a general idea. As much as you want to press for detail or find a paper-trail you know he wouldn't like that and a stepping stone in your relationship is you learning to be content with that. (And no, he won't tell you the story of Bianca.)

At some point he writes a book that is based off of you. It becomes very popular even to people outside of his fans because it is one of the only book of his where the main character survives and has regular wins, a lot of losses but consistent wins. It wasn't hard to write, he mostly just rewords what you tell him and embellishes it.

A lot of people saw the change of the MC over time. MC started as a strange excitable person obsessed with solving intricate crimes who was petty and difficult to deal with but later turns out to be a person isolated because of their eccentric nature and constantly working because it allows their mind to run as fast as it can without waiting for others.

Readers also noticed when there was a growing romantic tension, like they were suddenly reading this character in the most flattering light. But they had no love interest. It's not very clear if Varric was envisioning his lack of romance or yours. (Cassandra picks up on it and is ate it up)

The only real reason he allowed it to be published was because his beta-readers loved it to pieces and he knows you won't read it due to your lack of time and lack of interest in it. You hate when writers get something wrong but specifically in Varric's case you already knew what happens. And your right, your not going to find anything new other than things he embellished.

By then people have kind of sniffed out the growing interest you both have. An interest you both don't seem to want to act on. Varric's self-loathing is infamous, he would never give himself a happy ending and you know this. You also have reservations due to your very dangerous job and insane working habits. You both are quite content to keep what you both know unsaid.

It gets to a point the inner-circle start to intervene. They don't succeed but they try. Trevelyan gives you less work so you have more free time but having less work pisses you off big time. Cassandra tries to get you to read his books but you keep telling her no and Varric is irked by her attempts. Cole tries to fix your hurts but for both of you it's too little too late. Josephine and Leliana get you to social events but Varric is a socialite and entertains crowds and you are known as a very impressive detective and a main character in a book, you both occupied the whole night. Depending if your fem or masc, Sera or Dorian will ask if you need any advice for the bedroom to which annoyed you. Vivienne got peeved enough to invite you to a spa day and brought Varric along with her, apparently he was under the same impression, so out of spite you both enjoyed your time using her paid day off to do nothing. Even Blackwall and Solas try to ask if either of you are interested in someone, though they're a lot more teasing.

Funny enough Iron Bull is the only one content on letting things play out. He knows something would need to happen for the spark to turn into a flame.

The beginning of your official romance is not very romantic I'm afraid. You leave on a particularly interesting case and don't come back. And he panics. Fully thinks your dead but doesn't give up on trying to find you. He asks news from the scouts, checks taverns and towns when he goes out, even asks Cole if he knows where you are. Cole says, "Panicked, prancing like a headless chicken, they're probably scared as I am. Or maybe their fine. Or maybe their dead. Just another regret. My answer won't soothe your hurt no matter the what I say." He knows the kid is right. If he said you were perfectly safe he would doubt it and if he said you were unsafe or dead he would never forgive himself.

When you come back bloodied and bruised it's almost like you never left. No one reacts and you don't want them to. Because of this Varric doesn't know you’re back. He spots you sitting on the battlements and runs. You turn to see a flushed sweating dwarf staring at someone he's not sure is a ghost, like if he blinks you’ll wisp away. The conversation starts like all the others and for a long time you sit casually talking. A long pause is broken by Varric, "You scared me." to which you replied a quiet I know, and silence takes over once more. You put your hand on his and he pulls you into a hug. When you pull away you look at each other and with no words see everything unsaid. Neither of you knows who started the kiss but it's long and chaste, sweet and tenderly slow.

After that you're just an item, no real talk necessary. It takes a while for others to figure it out, y'all don't act mush different. All of your kisses are stolen, flirting is no more than usual. Varric takes things slow which is fine by you.

When your gone you send letters back and forth. It's a bit difficult because you're on the move constantly. Your letters mostly consist of current events but as the time apart grows it will detail how you miss one another, sometimes it's spicy.

In your extreme highs he listens intensely. Your excited nature making him feel like everything is right in the world. In your extreme lows he learns how to help you. Lack of work? He tries to get you to focus on doing something, like a puzzle or finding a specific item. Saw something horrible? He'll ask you to talk about it. Just down? He tells you it's okay and either does a little spa day and spends the day pampering and goofing off or he takes you to the tavern to have fun, which usually end in some 'fun'.

Varric is also a bridge to having a better social life. You don't stop being strange but he brings out your sweetness and humor allowing others to enjoy it as well. You are also the muse of his latest book and high society folk are nosy so in places like Val Royeaux you will be swarmed. But in taverns and the like it's just an good time.

[snackhobi]

pairing: jungkook x (gender neutral) reader / word count: 20k / genre: fluff (author!reader, florist!jungkook)

summary: “You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.” or: the story of how you meet a pretty florist with soft hands and warm eyes, how he mends your broken heart, and how he helps you realise some other things along the way.

warnings: use of a few curse words, reader is self-deprecating and suffering from heartache towards the beginning (v mildly angsty ig? but dw it passes), but otherwise this is a Very Soft fic!

--

“It’s time to get up.”

“It absolutely is not.” Your voice is muffled under a layer of pillows and blankets, material pressing down on your body and head, covering you. A protective cocoon. “I’ve become one with my duvet and we shall never be parted.”

You yelp when the blanket is ruthlessly ripped from you. Your curtains have been thrown open and you can feel how the sun is streaming in through your windows, warming your skin, even if you can’t see it; there’s a particularly fluffy pillow smothering your face right now to keep the world outside at bay.

“This has to be against the Geneva convention,” you whine as your collection of pillows is similarly stripped from the bed, leaving you entirely bereft from their comfort and protection. You curl into a tight ball around your Pusheen cushion and try to protect her from Jimin’s grasping fingers— your final bastion of defence against him. “No! Not Pusheen! Please! Take me instead!”

Jimin rolls his eyes before stealing Pusheen right from your arms, ignoring your dramatic sob as she’s pulled from your desperate hands. He tucks the plush grey cat under his arm before fixing you with a stern gaze. “I said it’s time to get up,” he repeats, ignoring the chaos of pillows and blankets and toys now littered around him. “You know the drill, Y/n.”

You suck in a deep breath, filling your lungs with air before letting out a long, weary sigh. All your theatrics disappear with your escaping breath, strength seeping out of you. “A week of wallowing,” you say in a small voice, eyes squeezing shut. “I know.”

You don’t have to look up at Jimin to know what expression is on his face right now. You feel the mattress dip and then soft fingers are gently stroking the hair out of your face. “A week and then we get up.” His voice is soft as he repeats the mantra.

Your cheek drags across the cotton of your sheets as you open your eyes and turn your head into the hand that Jimin’s still drawing down your face. “You’ve always been better at getting back on your feet than me,” you say, and Jimin affectionately pats your cheek.

“You’re being melodramatic,” he says kindly. “You’ve seen me at my worst and you know that’s not true. I’m only good at getting back on my feet because I have you to lift me up, and I’m here for you too.”

“Can I have Pusheen back?” You sound hopeful as you pout at him, pushing your bottom lip out.

“You can have her back once you’ve showered and had breakfast,” Jimin says. 

Your limbs are leaden weights as you drag yourself out of bed. The cold water of your shower shocks some life back into them, and you’re almost back to your regular self once you pull yourself from the bathroom, thoroughly scrubbed and refreshed. Jimin greets you with a fruit smoothie bowl, the most wholesome meal you’ve had in the past week; it’s infinitely healthier than the ice cream and snacks and junk food you’ve been shovelling into your mouth.

“I didn’t realise I had half this stuff in the fridge.” You use your spoon to swirl the oats and fruit into the yoghurt, muddying the pretty rippled effect Jimin had created with it. “I’m guessing you brought it with you?”

Jimin is eating eagerly from his own bowl and swallows down a spoonful of banana and berries before he responds. “No, it was already in there, actually,” he says. 

“Oh, yeah.” Your free hand goes down to Pusheen, who’s safely in your lap, and you dig your fingers into her soft velvet skin. “Of course.”

Your face is twisted into a wince as you look down and continue to knead the cushion on your knees. Seokjin loves fresh produce, taking you to the farmer’s market for organic strawberries and blueberries and raspberries, lifting them up for you to breathe in their bright scent before laughing at how you go cross eyed at how close he brings them to your face. Your fridge must still be full of these reminders of him, food you’d bought for him, things he’d made for you.

“Well!” Jimin’s voice is loud and bright, cutting through your thoughts with all the subtlety of a bull in a china shop. “You better finish up— we’re going out soon and you’ll need all the energy for today!”

You’re immediately on guard, eyes narrowing at him. “Going out where?”

“Shopping, duh,” he says, raising his eyebrows at you. “You said you’d come with me and Namjoon to pick out stuff for our new apartment, remember?”

“Oh yeah.” It’s only been a week and it’s like you’ve forgotten that the world is still moving on around you, taking no notice of how your own world has been upheaved and irreparably fragmented. You know Jimin is being cheery and upbeat in an attempt to distract you from this, and it’s working, but it’s also highlighting exactly how much you’ve been wallowing. You normally never would have forgotten. “Alright, let me finish up and get my shit together and then we can go.”

Getting your shit together takes longer than it should. You have to wade through the piles of blankets on the floor to get to your wardrobe, and the desk in your office is in similar disarray, notes and stationery strewn across its surface from your week long stint of wallowing and writing about said wallowing. 

You’d never planned on the romance in a novel about magic in the modern world to be so depressing, but hey. They always say write what you know and all you know right now is heartbreak.

(“I’m sorry. I just… don’t feel the same.” Jaerim’s voice is soft and gentle, even now, even as he’s breaking Lily’s heart, so tender as it falls apart in his hands. “You’ll always be my best friend, Lily, but nothing more.”

Lily’s smile is pained. “I know,” she says, her own voice small and weak. “I know. I just couldn’t hold it in any longer. I— I had to tell you or I felt like it was going to burst out of me. I’m sorry.”

“I’ll always love you, Lily.” Jaerim sounds sorrowful. “But not the way you want.”

Why had she ever expected anything different?)

You’ve been feeding all of your sadness and heartbreak into your most recent heroine, using your latest novel as a way of catharsis, but the problem is that your stories always have happy endings. Right now Lily may be heartbroken after a failed confession, but at the end of the story she’s going to be happy. You, however, will still be sad and lonely once the book is finished and for all that you project your hopes and wishes onto your main characters, you know your own story will never go so smoothly— real life is never as neat as that.

You pause when you catch sight of one of the Polaroids scattered on your keyboard. Seokjin’s beautiful skin is washed out and there's a glint of red in his eyes from the bright flash of your camera; it's a terrible photo and the focus is all wrong, but he still looks radiant as he smiles at you, ever beautiful. 

The heroes you write are soft and kind and lovely; fierce and strong and admirable; talented and smart and impressive. You, however, are clownish and sarcastic and nonsensical. Just an absolute mess of rough edges and endlessly tangled thoughts. Unwanted. Undesirable. Unlovable.

(No wonder Jin— bright, brilliant, beautiful Jin— doesn’t love you back.)

You swallow and steel yourself before opening the top drawer of your desk to sweep all the littered bits and pieces of your life into it before slamming it shut, trying to ignore how metaphorically fitting it is, and then grab what you came here for in the first place: your camera. You loop the strap of the Polaroid around your neck so that you’re ready for the day ahead. 

You know that Jimin thinks you should just stick to using your phone, considering the piles of film you get through, but there’s something about the whole instant photo process that just works for you. Maybe it’s just a writer/artist thing. Maybe it’s just a you thing. Either way, you like to take your camera everywhere so that you can take photos of things that inspire you and incorporate them into scenes of your stories.

(You have so many photos of Seokjin, and he’s reflected in so many parts of your books— from the jokes that characters tell, to things they eat, to hobbies they have. You may not have ever been so transparent as to project him directly onto the love interests of your main characters before now, but he’s ever present in other ways. There's a part of him in every thing you’ve ever written, even before you fell for him.)

(Your love for him must have been obvious from the start, and yet he’d never mentioned it at all.)

(What made you think it would be a good idea to confess?)

“Y/n?”

You look up from where you’ve been staring at the same bowl for the past three minutes, the leaf pattern stamped into its edge blurring together into eyes that are staring back at you. “Huh? Yeah? What?”

Over Jimin’s shoulder you can see Namjoon trailing around the small store, staring at some pretty wall-hangings with appreciative eyes. For all that Jimin had claimed to be concerned about his boyfriend’s taste in decor, they’ve asked for very little input from you, so you’ve been left alone to zone out for most of the morning and afternoon. 

“I was saying Joonie has a suit fitting he needs to get to, so we were going to get that done before lunch,” Jimin says. “You’re welcome to come along as well if you want?”

“So I can watch someone ask your boyfriend which side his penis hangs down so they can tailor his slacks accordingly? I think I’m good.”

You sound almost like your usual self which is why you think Jimin lets this pass without comment— you’re very happy being independent but it’s true that you’re somewhat more delicate than usual so you understand Jimin’s worry.

“I’ll drop you a message when we’re done.” Jimin smiles at you. Behind him, Namjoon picks up a large ceramic crab, only to immediately drop it onto an incredibly fluffy shag carpet— which fortunately saves it from breaking. “It shouldn’t take too long.”

“Eh, take your time.” You keep hold of Jimin’s attention as Namjoon sheepishly attempts to pick up the crab, only to immediately drop it back onto the rug. “I haven’t been out for a while so I could do with a walk in the fresh air and sunshine. I’m sort of like a dog. Or a plant, I guess. Just with slightly more complex emotions.”

Namjoon has just put the crab back into place by the time Jimin turns around, though his hand lingers on it. “Baby, can we—?”

“You’ve already filled the quota when it comes to crab-themed decorations, Joonie,” Jimin interrupts.

When Namjoon looks at you with imploring eyes, you raise both your hands and step backwards. “Don’t involve me, I’m just an innocent bystander,” you say, before escaping so that Namjoon can (unsuccessfully) try to persuade Jimin to up the amount of sea-life themed decor allowed in their new home.

This part of the city isn’t one you get to often, but it’s really beautiful. You know Namjoon likes it around here, near the river, because there are a lot more offbeat and avant-garde shops than you’d find more centrally, a warren of curiosities and pretty places around each corner. You pass by shops selling antiques, fabric, jewellery; you pause to take photos of the eye-catching doorways into each of the shops, the mismatched bunting fluttering overhead, the utterly eclectic nature of it all. 

You pass by a tiny baking shop and pause in your tracks, peering into the window at a collection of rolling pins— the wood is embossed with different designs that get pressed into the pastry when it’s rolled out, all sorts of pretty patterns on display.

Jin would love these, you think, and then you tear your eyes away.

Stupid. 

You continue to wander through the maze of shops but now you’ve sunk into your own thoughts. Kim Seokjin. A close friend whom you’d been harbouring feelings for, for so long now; it had been getting so hard to try and keep that love at bay, to try and shove it down inside you, keep it hidden and safe. But it had been bleeding out of you at every turn, in the way you moved and spoke and wrote, every sharp edge of you softened by your tenderness for him, impossible to ignore.

And so you’d finally let go. You’d let it out into the world, spoken the words you’d been holding onto for so long— and for a moment, just a moment, you’d had hope. Jin is bright and kind and lovely to everyone, but surely what the two of you had was a little more, a little different; all those hours spent together, the friendship you’d built, the language you’d created with each other of jokes and references that other people didn't understand. You’d thought it was something more.

You’d thought that maybe you could get your storybook ending. That maybe, for once, rather than having to imagine a mutual love and pouring that quiet desire into your books, it could be real— that the cheesy, embarrassing daydreams you’d always kept to yourself and only expressed through your writing could finally come true. 

But no. Jin only loves you as a friend. You know he still considers you a friend, even now, for all that you’ve ruined things by opening your big dumb stupid idiot mouth; you’ve spent a week wallowing after his gentle rejection but you know he’ll still be waiting for you once you come back to yourself. 

You’re just not sure how long that’ll take.

You’re finally pulled out of your reverie when a burst of colour catches your eye. There’s a soft blue bicycle which has been adorned with flowers and trailing leaves, part of a display in the front of a store that’s brimming with blooms, buckets set up in a cascading rainbow of colours. The windows are similarly full of plants, all enjoying the sunshine of the afternoon. Your eyes trail across the flourishing bouquets and then up to the sign, lovely and pretty, in what seems to be a hand-painted cursive: Spring Day.

You have a single, tiny cactus in your office— the only thing you trust yourself to keep alive— but screw it. You’re itching to buy something for yourself and everything seems so pretty in here. You might just buy yourself a fuck-off huge arrangement of flowers, as a sort of metaphor for the death of the hope you’d held in your chest, that your love for Seokjin might be returned. 

That ship has sailed. You’ve cast it off from the shore and set it ablaze. You’re not sure they had bouquets at Viking burials, but it’s the 21st century now. You think you’re allowed to mix it up a bit.

A bell lets out a tiny, crystalline tinkle as you swing the door open, announcing your presence to anyone inside. The front counter is covered in plants, some larger, some smaller, with a few pots of flowers that you would be hard-pressed to name; there’s a glass bowl of water, too, that has unlit rose shaped candles floating in it. Cute.

You peer behind the large leaves of a ficus plant to see if there’s anyone behind the counter but it looks deserted. The only evidence that someone has been here is the book that’s open and resting face down on the wicker chair there— The Language of Flowers, okay, that makes sense, you guess. You take a sneaky photo of the set-up, something about it resonating in your chest; although there’s no one here right now their presence is still undeniable. It’s poetic, in a way. You love visual poetry.

You wave the photo about in the air to help it develop as you make your way towards the back of the shop. Spring Day seems surprisingly big, extending back farther than you had initially thought. It’s hard to gauge the actual size, with displays of flowers and plants everywhere and even hanging from the ceiling above. You meander through the store and pause to touch a hanging glass planter, which slowly spins and scatters light across you. It’s like every spare inch inside is covered, but somehow it doesn’t feel chaotic. It’s so pretty and peaceful here.

There’s clearly some sort of order to things even if you can’t tell what it is. Each display is labelled with the names of the plants and how to look after them, but just as you’re leaning forwards to read one, a noise catches your attention. You pause and tilt your head. Drifting closer to the source of the sound, you realise that it’s someone singing, a soft melody that you don’t recognise. You find that you step lightly, almost enraptured, not wanting to break the serenity of the moment with heavy footfall as you step into a greenhouse; you round the corner to find who’s singing and stop in your tracks. 

There’s a pretty doe-eyed boy bent over a selection of blooms that he’s watering, white and yellow and purple and pink flowers softly trembling at the touch of the drizzle that runs over them, and it almost seems like they’ve turned towards the lilting tones that slip from his lips. You watch as he draws the watering can in a sweeping arc, the motion causing his earrings to move, catching your attention when the sunlight cascading in through the glass of the greenhouse shines off the glinting silver; his hair hangs a little in his eyes, eyelashes fanned across his cheek as he keeps his attention cast downwards, smiling at the flowers on display near his feet.

His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and you can see the definition of his arms, the flex of his muscles under a tattoo as he moves the heavy watering can without effort— and yet he looks like he belongs here, surrounded by flowers and plants and sunlight, soft and neat in his loose shirt, narrow waist cinched in by the ties of his apron. He turns the watering can a little further and you can see that the tattoo looks like a lily, petals unfurled over the soft skin of his inner arm.

You love visual poetry. And this man is poetry in motion.

It seems like he’s finished watering the flowers because he straightens up with a smile, song finally coming to an end. “All done,” he says to them in a quiet voice, and then he finally looks up.

He immediately startles when he sees you, water sloshing audibly in the watering can in his hands. You jump too, surprised at his surprise, the two of you like startled rabbits when you spot each other. Skittering around and trying to recatch your balance.

“Sorry, sorry!” You lift your hands in apology, holding them in front of your face as you wince. “I didn’t want to interrupt, you seemed really focused!”

The florist is blushing. He looks absolutely mortified, a pink flush stealing across his cheeks and the tips of his ears, betraying his embarrassment. “I, uh. It’s fine!” He stammers. “I wasn’t busy. Um. Can I help you?”

Your hands fall back to your sides, your heart immediately going out to this poor boy, who looks like he wants the ground to swallow him up. “I was just looking around, actually, when I heard you singing,” you say. “I didn’t mean to be like— a sort of weird voyeur, I guess? Sorry. Your voice is lovely, by the way.”

The flush has crawled down his neck. “Um, thank you?” You get the feeling he’s only saying this because you’re a customer, and if this were any other circumstance, he would have turned tail and bolted by now. Unfortunately he’s trapped by the fact he works in a retail job and he can’t escape. He shuffles a little from foot to foot as he resolutely avoids your gaze.

You take pity on him. What can you ask to change the topic? Hm. “Can you give me some advice about plants, actually?”

This seems to be the right thing to say. He carefully sets the watering can down, fingers plucking at the ties of his apron as he readjusts them, but he seems a bit more comfortable now that you’ve moved away from complimenting him and onto work related talk. “Sure,” he says. “What would you like to know?”

“I was wondering what sort of plant would be good for someone who’s only good with cactuses. I mean cacti,” you correct yourself. “I’d like something different, but I’m worried about killing it if I forget to water it. You know, the bane of every novice gardener’s existence— their own forgetfulness and ignorance. Of which I have a lot. I am spectacularly ignorant.”

The florist blinks but then he gives you a little smile, finally glancing at you. His eyes are so lovely and deep, sunshine refracting from the greenhouse reflected in his eyes, points of brightness against that endless, warm brown. “I think everyone is guilty of under-watering plants,” he says, apparently unperturbed by how unsuitable you are to be a plant parent. “I think a peace lily might suit you. Would you like to come have a look and see if you’d like one?”

A peace lily. Lily. The name of your most recent novel’s heroine. How weirdly apt. “Sure, I’d love to see the lilies.”

As you follow him you notice that there’s still a little tinge of pink on the back of his neck, evidence of how he must feel embarrassed at being caught singing and talking to plants. You find it endearing, actually, but you’re not about to say this to a stranger, especially as he clearly wants this entire interaction over and done with as quickly as possible.

The peace lily turns out to be a pretty white flower, emerald green foliage curling out from the simple unglazed pot the florist hands over to you with an infinite amount of care. He holds it delicately— it looks so small in his careful hands— and makes sure you’re fully supporting its weight before he finally lets it go. Your fingers brush his as he does and you notice how he draws back immediately, shy.

“You don’t have to water her regularly, you can just touch the soil to see if it’s moist and give it a little top up if it’s not. Even if you forget, as long as you water her when she starts to droop a little she’ll be fine. Just make sure she gets a little sunlight and you wipe down her leaves once or twice a year so dust doesn’t stop her from getting enough light, and you’re good to go.” He’s smiling, but you notice he’s still looking away from you, resolutely staring at the plant in your hands instead. “Peace lilies are incredibly forgiving.”

“Oh, that’s good, I’ll probably be asking for a lot of forgiveness,” you say. “I can guarantee I’ll forget to water her so it’s good to know she can take it.”

When you refer to the plant as ‘her’ and ‘she’— just like the florist has been— it seems like he only just notices that he’s been doing that. He looks a little embarrassed, yet again. “She’ll be— I mean, it’ll be fine, I’m sure,” he says.

“I promise I’ll do my best to look after her.” You tighten your grip protectively around your newly adopted plant. “I’d take a bullet for her.”

The florist lets out a little laugh, revealing a slip of his white teeth before his mouth clicks shut. He looks almost surprised at the fact he’d let out a chuckle and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Hopefully you won’t have to.”

You watch as he draws a ribbon around the pot, looping it against the patterned, unglazed ceramic before tying it into a neat bow. His hands are sure and his motions are practiced, fingers deft as he finishes the knot and tucks a business card into the bag alongside your plant. You can’t help but watch him, magnetised— he’s absolutely fascinating. Cute and soft, but with an undeniable strength to him, underlying each of his movements, almost hidden under the clothes that envelop him.

“Is there anything else I could help you with today?”

He’s blinking at you with those large, pretty eyes. His mouth is still a little open and you can’t help but reminded of—

“What song were you singing earlier? It was so lovely, but I didn’t recognise it.” You want to find that song immediately and keep it close forever, listen to it on a loop, even if it won’t be the same if it’s not being sung in the dulcet tones of this pretty florist. It’s such a beautiful song, whatever it is.

His mouth snaps shut again and the blush returns full force. “Nothing,” he squeaks. “It’s nothing.”

You squint at him. “Is ‘Nothing’ the name of the song?”

“No! It’s. Um. I mean, it doesn’t have a name yet.” His voice is so high right now. You pause before you light up, eyes widening.

“Wait, are you saying it’s your own song? You wrote it? Oh, wow! That’s so cool,” you say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry, I didn’t know. My bad. Totally understand wanting to keep your work private.” You quirk a smile at him. He doesn't know that you're a writer, one who publishes under a pseudonym for privacy; only your close friends know the truth. You totally get it. “Guess you probably want me to pay so I can get out of your hair now, huh?”

“N-no, it’s fine,” the florist stammers. He’s still so polite, even when he’s obviously flustered.

“Ah, you don’t have to be polite just because I’m a paying customer.” You wave your hand dismissively. Before taking off as an author you’d worked back-to-back retail jobs and it had sucked. “I’m being a pain, I know. How much do I owe you?”

He stays silent as you give him money and he hands over the change, dropping the coins into your outstretched hand. You give him one last smile before lifting your bag from the counter and turning to go, finally leaving this poor man in peace. He must be glad to see the back of you.

But then.

“Magic Shop.” His voice is quiet from behind you.

“Hm?” You pause and glance over your shoulder, confused. “Pardon?”

The handsome florist is looking down at the counter, wrapping an offcut of ribbon around one of his fingers, staring down at it as he does. “Magic Shop,” he repeats, a little louder. He tightens the loop of ribbon around his finger. “The song. I was thinking of calling it that.”

“Oh.” You continue to look at him for a few moments longer before a wide smile crosses over your face. “That’s a really beautiful name for a really beautiful song.”

He glances up from where he’s been staring at the end of his finger flush deep red, almost purple; the ribbon goes lax in his loosening hold and blood rushes back into his fingertip. “Thank you,” he says, bashful as he smiles back at you. “I’m glad you liked it.” 

--

The peace lily takes pride of place on your desk once you’ve cleared it of the crap you’ve let pile up over the past week. She watches as you bend over your keyboard and mutter to yourself, pruning back a lot of the raw hopelessness of your most recently written passages before starting a new chapter.

Lily’s escaped to the neighbouring city to get away from Jaerim and her broken heart. She gets lost as she’s wandering through this new, mysterious place, trapped in a maze of alleyways before she stumbles across a mysterious building with roses climbing up the trellis by the door. The front garden is full of flowers and tended by the prettiest woman she’s ever seen, eyes wide and dark as she startles at Lily’s sudden appearance over the small stone wall. Lily might not know it now but she’s just met someone important and special, a future friend: Yunhee, a witch who can speak to plants and sells dried bundles of herbs and flowers and spells to anyone who finds her.

It’s cheesy and cliché and you know it.

“It’s cheesy and cliché but it’s cute!” Your agent, Hoseok, is as upbeat as always, and he seems genuinely onboard with the snippet you’ve just sent him. “Especially after how sad the chapters were before this one. I think it’s a nice change of pace, considering how heavy your last novel was too.”

“Haha, yeah,” you say. 

Hoseok has no idea about your botched confession to Seokjin and how it had fuelled the subsequent heartbreak you’d put Lily through; you’d put your heroine through the wringer to let all your feelings out, because if you have to suffer, she does too. Especially if she’s going to get a happy ending after all of it. Lucky her. 

“Your fans will love it.” Hoseok continues, oblivious. “Where did the inspiration suddenly come from, though? I thought you said you were struggling with where to go with this one.”

“I don’t know really.” You sound absent as you stare at the neatly tied ribbon that’s still affixed around your lily’s pot, Spring Day’s business card still nestled into it. “It just came to me, I guess.”

You have to resist the instinct to take a photo of the peace lily to ask Seokjin what he’d name her. (He’s always so good with names.)

You know you’ll have to see him eventually. That’s the problem when all your friends are friends with each other; it might still be a while off but once Jimin and Namjoon have moved into their apartment and decorated it, they’ll hold a housewarming party and everyone will be invited. You can’t avoid Jin forever. You don’t want to, either, but right now you still feel like your heart is an open wound, and you need to give it time. Seeing him right now will just peel back the bandage you’ve tried to lay across your weeping heart to try and hold it together until it heals.

And you still feel awkward as fuck, too. Rejection hurts but it’s also embarrassing. Struggling through ten layers of repression to be sincere with someone and open yourself to pain, only to be let down? Ugh. Awful. Terrible. Never again. You’re gonna stick with repression from now on and just live vicariously through the stories you write. It might be lonely but at least you can keep your heart safe. (Not that anyone wants your heart, anyway.)

You start to play music to your plants. You can’t sing as well as the florist, but at least your lily and cactus can benefit from the sound of music, even if you’re probably off-key when you sing along to the soft songs you choose for them. 

(“Plants grow better when they’re spoken to.”

“What? Really?”

“Really,” Yunhee says with a small smile, fingers curling tenderly around the petals of the deep red tulip. “They respond to love and affection just like we do.”

Lily stares at the bloom and watches how the witch touches it so gently— with so much love and affection— and for a second she wishes was a flower, too.)

You have very little faith in your abilities to keep a plant alive, but your peace lily seems to flourish under your care. It’s only one plant but alongside your cactus it seems to bring light and life to your office, and there’s a bubbling sense of satisfaction in your chest each time you see them, still alive despite your ineptitude. It’s a brief distraction from the lingering sadness that still dogs your heels, opening up each time you find yourself thinking of Seokjin before having to quiet those thoughts.

The lily and cactus are fine but it doesn’t take long before you find yourself wanting to add more members to your green coterie. Plus, you never did buy that fuck-off huge bouquet, so maybe you’ll treat yourself to one this time around.

When you step into Spring Day you’re greeted by the sight of someone actually behind the counter today, barely visible behind the large leaves of the ficus plant; when the bell rings they pop up and it’s the same florist as before, eyes wide as he peeps over the counter and only growing wider when he spots who it is.

“Hi,” he says. He’s not as squeaky as he was last time but he still seems a little flustered at your appearance, fumbling with The Language of Flowers as he drops the book onto the chair and stands up straight; his hoop earrings have small chains today and they’re jostled by the motion. He looks away from you to brush his apron down. He’s wearing a loose button-up underneath it, sleeves rolled up like before, revealing the thin bracelets he has on each wrist. “You’re back.”

“I am.” You smile widely, surprised he's remembered you and weirdly happy at the sight of him. You’d half expected to see someone else; there’s no way this guy is the only person who works here, but you’re glad it’s him. “I was worried my lily would get lonely so I thought I’d get her a friend. Can I pick your brain for another recommendation?”

He takes you to the succulents. There’s a menagerie of terrariums to choose from, bursting with different shapes and sizes of plants, bright greens and soft teals and muted browns. 

“I think you’ll like this one,” he says, lifting up a dodecahedron of glass, each geometric plane trimmed with metal. He holds it up for you as you peer inside, small succulents nestled in a scattering of pebbles and soil. “They like bright light, but keep them out of direct sunlight because the glass can magnify it and burn them. And water them really sparingly, because there’s no drainage.” He taps the base of the terrarium. “It’s really easy to over-water succulents.”

He’s always so careful when he handles things, even if he lifts them like they’re weightless. No wonder the plants and flowers bloom so prettily here. They know they’re loved and looked after.

“They’re so cute.” You smile at the collection of contrasting plants that somehow live harmoniously together in such a small space. “And there’s more than one! So my lily will have plenty of friends.”

You’re too busy looking down to painstakingly accept the terrarium to notice the small, shy smile that flits across the man’s face as he watches you, your hands so cautious and protective as you accept more members into your growing family. “You’re right,” he says. “She won’t be lonely.”

You have the glass ball hugged against your chest as you trail behind the man, but then you come to a stand still by a selection of floral arrangements and realise that there’s no way you’ll be able to carry both the terrarium and a bouquet; at least, not one the size you’d been planning for. The florist notices the sound of your footsteps disappearing and stops to look over his shoulder. He seems concerned.

“Sorry,” you apologise, staring at one particularly large collection of flowers and foliage all gathered together in brown paper, soft pastel colours surrounded by greenery and smaller pale blooms. “I was just thinking about how nice your bouquets are. They’re so pretty.”

“Would you like one?”

“Of course, but I only have so many hands.” You laugh as you glance down at the terrarium you’re clutching onto. “I wouldn’t trust myself to hold a bunch of flowers at the same time as this. That would be a disaster waiting to happen, honestly.”

The florist pauses. “How about if I make you a boutonniere to pin on your shirt?”

You look up from the terrarium, blinking. There’s that tinge of pink stealing over his cheeks again and you find the sight surprisingly endearing. “You can do that?”

“If you’d like.” He’s looking away from you again, staring intently at a bucket of sunflowers. “So at least you have some flowers to take home.”

Something twinges, deep down in your chest, right at the bottom of your ribcage. Something you can’t put a name to. “That sounds nice. Yes, please? If it wouldn’t be too much trouble?”

You carefully put your succulents down on the counter and lean against it as you watch him select flowers for the corsage, pausing before he chooses each one; he keeps his gaze averted from you the whole time but you think it’s because he feels awkward about the attention you’re giving him. You’re not pretending like you’re not watching him intently, wanting to take everything in, intrigued. He keeps his eyes cast down as he starts to bring everything together but there’s still a flush on his cheeks. It’s… adorable. He’s adorable. 

“Feel free to say no, but can I take a photo?” You point at the camera you have looped around your neck. “Not of you! Well. Not all of you. Just… your hands as you make the corsage? I swear I don’t have a hand fetish, I just like to take photos of things I think are cool. Totally get if you don’t want me to, I—”

“Sure.”

He’s staring down at the tiny floral arrangement in his hands as he interrupts you, but he seems resolute despite the blush on his face. You pause for a second and then smile. You lift the Polaroid camera up to peer through the viewfinder and take the shot, but before you have the chance to take a proper look it seems like the florist is finished.

He only looks up at you now that he’s done and holds his work shyly up for you to inspect, as if it’s not the prettiest thing you’ve ever seen. He’s framed a soft purple rose with small blooms of lilac and white baby’s breath, offset by a burst of greenery, delicate and perfectly balanced. 

“Oh, that’s so beautiful,” you breathe. You reach out to touch it with reverent fingers, lavender petals of the rose so soft against your skin. “You did that so quickly, too! How did you choose everything? Did you just go for things you thought would match?”

“Um.” The florist has turned red. “Yes?”

You decide not to press further, even if you wonder what it is that has him so embarrassed right now. Probably because you complimented him on his floristry skills. “You have a really good eye,” you say, smiling. “It’s so lovely.”

He somehow flushes an even brighter shade of scarlet when you struggle to pin the boutonniere on and ask for his help; he’s so careful as he secures it in place, staring at his hands as he settles the flowers gently against your chest.

“Perfect.” You beam at him and feel triumphant when he gives you a small smile in return despite how shy he seems, but then he seems to realise that he’s still got his hands resting against the fabric of your clothing and rips them away like they’re on fire.

“Um.” He has his head turned away from you but there’s a wide smile on his face, teeth on show as he looks down at the ground. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

You’ve just finished paying when you realise— “I don’t think you’ve charged me for the boutonniere ?”

The florist seems like a rabbit caught in headlights. “It’s a, uh, promotional thing. An incentive to come back and buy a full bouquet or arrangement. You… uh, you actually get a discount on your first bouquet if you get a boutonniere or corsage first. I just— I need your name to make sure you get the discount. Next time you come. If you come back,” the man says in a rush, before sucking his lips in and looking away from you. “If that’s okay?”

Of course you’re going to come back. “Oh! Sure! It’s Y/n,” you say. 

“Y/n,” he repeats. He’s staring at you, lips parted, soft around the shape of your name. You wait for a beat, looking back at him, before one of eyebrows rises.

“Um… do you have a book to write it down in? Or do you just memorise all of your customer’s names straight off the bat?”

The florist blinks and then his eyes go wide and his cheeks flush again. “A book! Of course, um.” He scrabbles around behind the counter, flustered, but seems to come up empty-handed. You watch as he grabs the only book he can find— The Language of Flowers— and cracks it open to the title page to scribble your name down in pencil before shoving the book under the counter and out of sight.

“I feel bad that you’ve just, uh, defaced a book because of me,” you say. “You didn’t have to write it down, I was just kidding? I know not everyone is as forgetful as me.”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he says. “It’s my book. I can write what I want in it. The, um, the logbook seems to have gone missing,” he continues, staring at his hands as he scratches his palm. “Yoongi-hyung must have moved it. I’ll, uh, write your name when he comes back with it. Yeah.”

“Yoongi? Is that your boss?”

“Hyung? Sort of. He owns Spring Day but he basically treats me like a co-owner, I guess.”

“Oh, wow, that sounds so cool, even if it must be a lot of responsibility.” You smile softly at the florist. “He must really trust you.”

He glances up from his hands, eyes warm when he spots the expression on your face. “Yeah,” he says, smiling back. “I owe Yoongi-hyung a lot.”

“Oh!” Your fingers tighten around the handles of your bag, terrarium safely encased inside. “You know my name, and now I know Yoongi’s name, but I don’t know your name…?”

He flushes again, imperceptibly, the tiniest spread of pink on the apples of his cheeks. “I’m Jungkook,” Jungkook says.

“Jungkook,” you repeat. His eyes flicker and he looks away from you. You’ll have to work on that shyness— but you’ve always been good at coaxing people out of their shells. You’re unapologetically yourself, and that helps other people feel comfortable being unapologetically themselves, too. “Alright, Jungkook, thank you for the help again today. And the beautiful boutonniere.” You wiggle your shoulder so the flowers affixed to your chest shift a little. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah.” He sounds a little breathless. “Yeah, I’ll see you around.”

Once you get home the terrarium is carefully unpacked and placed on your desk with your other plants; you’ve had to relocate some of your general filing clutter to another table to make space (the plants make you feel better than staring at a rose-gold in tray with letters that you need to get to, so whatever). You finally have a chance to look at that photo you'd taken earlier and fish it out of your pocket.

The background is a little blurry, not the focus of the shot, but you can see the neat pile of offcuts on the table, a small scattering of equipment. Jungkook’s hands, however, are in perfect focus. He has such lovely hands, from the pronounced knuckles to the subtle flex of his tendons to the pale blue veins that are visible as he holds the tiny bunch of flowers together and wraps them in ribbon. You stare at the picture for a little longer than you probably should before resting it against the peace lily’s pot, in eyeline as you begin to write.

(Lily watches, enraptured, as Yunhee prepares the sprigs of herbs and flowers that she hangs from the kitchen’s low ceiling. Her pretty hands are so fast as they bring the dried flora together, encircling each bunch with twine, quick and delicate. Careful. Reverent.

“Would you like a go?” Yunhee has seen her watching and holds up a spray of dried lavender rosemary, colours muted from their usual brightness, but no less pretty. “I can teach you, if you’d like.”

Lily smiles. “I would love that.”)

--

“What do I want in my bouquet? Hmm… that’s a tough one. What’s your favourite flower?”

You’re back at Spring Day the day after buying your terrarium, and once again, Jungkook is there. You’d caught a brief glimpse of another man on your way in, his hair a bleached-blond mess, but he seems to have disappeared— although his apron has been cast haphazardly over the back of the wicker chair behind the counter so you don’t think he’ll be gone too long.

Jungkook pauses. “I don’t know if I could choose just one,” he says. “But if I had to, I’d say the tiger lily.”

“Oh!” You point at his arm. His t-shirt today seems to be as baggy as the rest of his clothing choices but it leaves his lower arms visible. “Is that the tattoo you have?”

Jungkook turns his arm towards you so you can see it properly, the delicate lines of the lily blooming across his skin, and you can see the scratched lines of some words silhouetted behind it, ones you hadn’t spotted before. “Yeah.” He’s smiling. “It’s my birth flower.”

“That’s so pretty,” you say, awed. “What do the words say?”

Jungkook’s been less shy today, but when you ask this, he seems bashful. “Please love me.” He traces the words with his finger, the letters hidden behind the large petals of the flower. “It’s what the tiger lily means.”

He keeps his gaze averted from you, staring at the black and grey lines that bloom across his skin. You’ve barely scratched the surface of Jungkook, but there’s something so… so fascinating about him. Undeniably powerful and masculine, yet still so soft and considerate. Romantic.

“It’s beautiful,” you say, truthfully. “Both the tattoo and its meaning.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. “Thanks,” he says. “I’m glad you like it. I, um, drew it, actually.”

You’ve been staring at his arm but when he says this, you reel back. “You designed that tattoo? Jungkook. Are you telling me you can sing and draw?” When he doesn’t respond, still shy, you giggle. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything. I know the truth.”

“So what would you like in your bouquet?” Jungkook’s clearly trying to change the subject and you laugh.

“I have no idea. I’m a dunce and you’re the expert, so I’ll let you do the heavy lifting,” you say. “How about something with some tiger lilies?”

The tiger lilies are beautiful, vivid oranges flecked with brown; Jungkook lets you select the ones you want, accepting the flowers from you carefully as you pluck them from the buckets and then laughing at yourself when you end up with water spattered over your shoes, dripping down the long stems. After that you let him take over and he chooses the other flowers to bulk out your arrangement, mulling over each decision before he seems content with his choices.

“I can recognise the roses and lilies, but what are the others?” You ask, intrigued.

“Roses, hypericum berries, tiger lilies, orange lilies, goldenrods, and some greening for filler.” He lifts each flower up as he lists them off for you, a cascading gradient of red to cerise to orange to yellow. “Do you want me to change them?”

“No.” Your voice is gentle. “It’s perfect. It’s just like a sunrise. I love them.”

Jungkook’s responding smile is wide enough to show his teeth and squeeze his eyes.

There’s something soothing about watching him work. His eyes are entirely focused as he puts everything in its place, uncompromising when it comes to his perfectionism; things will look fine to you but he’ll seem to think differently and shift things around until it passes his rigorous standards. You want to take a photo. Not just of his hands, but of all of him— the little furrow of his brows, the intense look in his eyes, the tiniest pout on his lips; the softness of his hands, the tenderness of his fingers, the relaxation of his shoulders. Someone who’s intent on perfecting his craft but finds joy in its practiced motions.

You're just considering risking it all to ask him if you can take a photo when you're (thankfully) interrupted.

“That’s a pretty bouquet,” someone drawls. “What’s the occasion?”

The other man has appeared out of the back room. His eyes are fox-like but his mouth is soft and his fluffy white jumper seems even softer, fuzzy against the dark apron that he loops back over his head.

“Hi, Yoongi-hyung. Um.” Jungkook glances up at you. “Is it… for… a partner? Or someone else?”

“Nope, just thought I’d treat myself. Is that weird?”

Yoongi looks at you consideringly, clearly thinking something, before he shrugs. “Nah. You should tell your partner to step up their game, though. You shouldn’t have to buy yourself flowers.”

You laugh, trying to cover up your sudden awkwardness as Seokjin’s face flashes in your mind. Partner? You? Haha. “I’m single, so this is the only way I’ll be getting flowers, I’m afraid.”

Jungkook drops a handful of goldenrods. Yoongi’s eyes flicker over to him, watching as the younger man scrabbles to pick the yellow flowers back up. “Huh,” Yoongi says. “I see. Well, as long as you’re paying, I’m not complaining.”

You already like Yoongi, as forthright and blunt as he is, an utter juxtaposition to Jungkook’s unassuming shyness; he plops himself down and watches Jungkook finish putting the arrangement together, arms crossed as he leans back in the wicker chair. He looks a little lazy and a little sleepy. A cat reclining in the sun.

Jungkook finishes the bouquet by wrapping it in layers of brown and white paper, layering orange and yellow and white ribbons around the stems, pulling the sunrise of plants together with more bursts of bright colour.

“It’s so beautiful,” you say. 

Yoongi makes a small grunting noise of agreement. “Good work, Kookie.”

Jungkook seems almost overwhelmed by the praise and holds a hand over his face, a shy curve of his fingers over his nose and mouth as he coughs and pretends he’s fine. “It’s alright, I guess,” he says. “Do you want anything else?”

“No, that’s everything for today, thanks.” You beam at Jungkook, who smiles back; he’s so cute. “How much is that?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens but Jungkook speaks over him to tell you the price, which is lower than you thought, but— “That must be from the boutonniere discount, right?”

Yoongi squints at you. “Boutonniere discount?”

“You know, hyung, the boutonniere discount.” Jungkook’s voice is a little high. “The promotion.”

Yoongi stares at him. Jungkook stares back. You think Jungkook’s about to break in the face of Yoongi’s blank pokerface, but then he nods. “Oh, yeah, that one,” Yoongi says, slowly. “I forgot. The boutonniere discount. Absolutely.”

Yoongi lapses into silence during the rest of the transaction, and though he looks sleepy, his eyes are sharp as he watches the two of you. Not that you notice, too busy carefully accepting the flowers from Jungkook and hefting the huge bouquet in your arms, mindful not to jostle them too much.

“Thank you so much, Jungkook!” You tilt your head forward to breathe in the soft floral scent, smiling. “It’s so lovely. And it was nice to meet you, Yoongi.”

“Likewise,” Yoongi says. “We’ll see you again?”

“Of course!” On your way out you go to take a hand off the bouquet to give them a jaunty wave, but unlike Jungkook you can’t keep the whole thing steady with just one hand and settle with giving them a nod instead. “I’ll see you again!”

As the door settles shut behind you, bell tinkling as you go, Yoongi raises an eyebrow at Jungkook. “Boutonniere discount?”

“Shut up, hyung,” Jungkook mutters, embarrassed. 

Once you get home you unearth the vase Namjoon made you in his last ceramics class, unwrapping the bouquet and easing it into the water. You watch as the flowers come a little loose from the tight presentation and jostle lightly against each other as they settle into the vase. It’s a bright burst of colour on your breakfast bar, eye-catching and beautiful. 

These flowers should last longer than the corsage from yesterday, which had already started to wilt; you know practically nothing about preserving flowers but you’ve sandwiched the purple rose and lilac and baby’s breath between layers of tissue and squashed them between some books on advice from the internet, wanting to press them and keep them close. (Maybe you’ll frame them or something. That would be cute.)

You pause. You pluck out a tiger lily, disrupting the careful balance Jungkook had strived to create, spinning the flower slowly between your fingers. Your friends send you congratulatory flowers after each new book publication, but this is the first bouquet that’s ever been made specifically for you— not the you that’s hidden behind a pseudonym. You. Even if you’d asked for this yourself, Jungkook had been the one to choose everything for you. He'd been the one to put the thought and time and effort into it.

You stare at the tiger lily for a few moments longer before slipping it back into the arrangement, turning it so it rests just as it had before you’d pulled it out.

(Spring is turning to summer and everything is starting to bloom, the garden alive with a riot of colour, full of the buzzing of bees and other insects— drawn here just as Lily had been. But Yunhee finds Lily in the greenhouse, away from the noise and activity, quiet and contemplative as she stares around her.

“What are they?” Lily points at a plot of flowers that have yet to bloom. The yellow and orange buds are long and heavy, weighted towards the ground. 

“Tiger lilies.” Yunhee squats down and touches one of the furled flowers. “They’re shy to start with, but once they start to blossom, they’ll be some of the prettiest things here. Yes, that means you,” Yunhee laughs as the plant in her fingers seems to twitch. “They’re always so bold once they’re in full bloom. You just have to wait until you can coax them out.”)

--

“You seem to be doing better.” Jimin puts his coffee down. “Have you spoken to Jin yet?”

“Good god, Jimin,” you laugh. “Straight in there, aren’t you?”

Jimin fixes you with a stern gaze and you wince a little.

“Sheesh. No, not yet.” You fiddle with your napkin, curling it around the end of your teaspoon. “I’m starting to feel… like… kind of okay about it, I guess, but I’m worried that it’s going to be weird when I see Jin again.”

It’s been over a month since your confession, and it’s the longest you’ve gone without talking to Jin since you’ve met him. It’s… weird. You miss him so much. But you don’t know if it’s too soon to try and reintroduce him into your life, even if Jimin clearly disagrees.

“It’s only going to get weirder the longer you go without talking to him,” Jimin says, and you hate that you know he’s right. “You keep asking how he is, and he keeps asking how you are, and it’s obvious you both miss each other. I’m not saying you have to jump back to how things were straight away, but you can ease back into it, you know?”

You sigh. “I know,” you say. “It’s just hard, Minnie.”

Jimin, your oldest friend, had been the first person you’d called after your failed confession. You’d been tearful and honest when you’d said that it felt like you were going to hurt forever. But it’s weird how quickly that’s ebbed away, even if you still regret opening your mouth in the first place; most of the hurt you feel right now is from missing Jin, not from lingering pain about unreciprocated feelings. You miss your-friend-Jin, not your-crush-Jin. 

“You seem to be doing okay, though.” Jimin raises his eyebrows at you over his latte. “Anything to do with whoever’s sending you those pretty bouquets that’re all over your apartment, hmm?”

You splutter into your coffee. “What? No, don’t be ridiculous, I’m buying those for myself,” you say once you’ve wiped the coffee off your chin. “Me? Getting sent bouquets? Pfft.”

You never planned on becoming some sort of manic flower hoarder, but Jimin isn’t exaggerating when he says that they’re all over your apartment. You’ve even had to buy extra vases to hold all the bouquets and arrangements you have, every hue and shape and size of flora imaginable on almost every flat surface— only your desk remains untouched, sacred ground for your potted plants. You’d bought a rubber plant a few days ago, but beyond that, nothing new has been set on your desk recently.

It’s just… whenever you’re in Spring Day it’s like there’s no space in your brain or heart to think about Seokjin. It’s a place of respite for you, now. Somewhere you can go that’s untouched by the outside world. Somewhere you can go to be surrounded by beauty and life. Somewhere you can go to talk to Jungkook, the sweet, soft florist who’s slowly opening up to you, a blossoming flower, petals unfurling further with each visit.

He’s not always there. Sometimes it’s just Yoongi, and you like Yoongi and enjoy his company, but… it’s different with Jungkook. He’s growing bolder, less shy, and every conversation with him is so riveting; you eagerly gobble up every tidbit of information he feeds you. He sings. He draws. He paints. He takes photos. He dances. Everything he finds interesting, he tries, and everything he tries, he tries voraciously— he never settles for anything less than 100%. He puts himself entirely into everything he does.

He’s incredible.

Anyway. You can’t come away from Spring Day empty-handed, hence all the flowers that are filling your apartment. Even though Jungkook says it’s okay for you not to buy things, you’d be a supremely awful customer if you just distracted him by talking and then leaving again, so you always make sure to buy something. Even if it’s just a tiny flower themed bookmark that you don't need.

“I’m all for retail therapy, but why not buy stuff for yourself that doesn’t eventually die and wilt?” Jimin seems mystified. “That many flowers can’t be cheap.”

“I’m a relatively successful author, I can afford to blow money on flowers if I want.” You wave your hand dismissively. “Besides, my latest novel involves a lot of flower and plant related stuff, so I’m basically investing in my writing. I’m killing two birds with one stone: research for my novel, as well as filling the gaping hole in my chest by buying flowers for myself because I’m destined to die alone and no one else is ever going to buy them for me.” You finish brightly.

Jimin looks equal parts frustrated and sad. “You know that’s not true, Y/n. Just because Jin—”

“It’s fine, Jimin, I’m kidding! I’m kidding,” you insist. “The reason I’ve been single for the past billion years is because I’m just too much of a catch and people find it intimidating, I know.”

You’ve used fake, inflated narcissism and mocking self-deprecation as ways of protection for years. Most people take your confidence at face value. However, Jimin knows you too well to be fooled by it; not to mention he’s one of the few people who knows about your books and has read every single one so he’s well aware of all the schmoopy daydreams you keep close to your chest.

Ugh. This is why you write under a pseudonym. Autumn Lovett is allowed to enjoy clichés and have unrealistic and dumb romantic fantasies. A lot of their platform is built around it. Meanwhile the real version of you tries to pretend that you’re not obsessed with the idea of true love and yearn for it almost every waking moment despite how utterly impossible it is that you’ll ever find it. Because it’s embarrassing.

“I’m going to kick you,” Jimin says lovingly. “Right in the shins.”

“God, please don’t.” Jimin’s kicks are lethal. “If I say I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll, will you promise not to hurt me?”

Jimin takes longer to think about his answer than you’d like. “Okay,” he says eventually. “You have to really mean it.”

“Alright, I don’t genuinely think I’m some sort of unlovable cave troll. I just haven’t met the right person yet.” Your words seem to pacify Jimin, even if they ring a little hollow in your own ears.

The truth is that, on a deep level, you do feel unlovable. It’s maybe a bit self-pitying, because you have friends who adore you and you know you’re worthy of love, but… it’s kind of hard to really believe that when you have yet to have your feelings genuinely reciprocated. There have been a few moments in the past, a few brief, fleeting connections, but never anything wholesome and real. You feel like you’ve been waiting for something that’s never going to happen. 

Besides, if it does happen, it’s never going to be as soft and loving as the relationships you write into your books, right? You’re a sucker for clichés. You love the idea of someone bringing you flowers, watching the sunset with you, dancing together in your kitchen to a song on the radio— every overdone and overused formula that’s shoved into every romantic film ever. You want all of it. (You’ve never been on a ferris wheel but god do you want to have a date that involves one.)

Maybe you’re still alone because you’ve been asking for too much. Not everyone is as lucky as Jimin and Namjoon; you doubt you’d ever be so fortunate to find someone who loves you as much as they love each other and express that love, too.

You’re still brooding over these feelings when you visit Spring Day later. Jungkook’s singing again, something smooth and lovely and mellow, and when he sees you he brightens— he cuts himself off, but not because he’s embarrassed, but because he’s happy to see you. 

Something inside you goes soft and warm at the sight. He’s so nice.

Still, despite Jungkook’s soothing presence you’re far more distracted than you usually are and he seems to notice this; you end up sitting cross legged on the floor of the greenhouse under the leaves of a monstera while Jungkook keeps flicking you looks between watering plants.

A few weeks ago, he would be too timid to say anything, but by now he’s grown far more bold. You’ve been encouraging him to speak his mind. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” You’ve had your head tilted back to watch the fluttering leaves of the monstera plant but you look down to turn your attention to Jungkook. He’s wearing a dark plaid shirt today, loose sleeves rolled up past his elbow as he hefts his blue watering can; he looks soft and approachable, eyes warm with concern. “Yeah, I just have some stuff on my mind, I guess. Sorry. I’m not exactly a great conversational partner at the best of times, so I’m being even worse right now.”

“It’s fine, you don’t have to apologise.” Jungkook hesitates. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You let out a light chuckle. “Ah, you don’t want to hear about the nonsense I’ve got in my brain, but thank you. It’s very sweet of you to offer.”

“No.” Jungkook’s voice is surprisingly firm and you internally startle. “If there’s something on your mind, it’s not nonsense. I’m not saying you have to tell me if you don’t want to, but— please don’t think I don’t want to listen to you.”

You blink. He’s not looking away from you like he normally does— there’s a hard set to the line of his mouth, like he really, really means what he says and he wants you to know that.

“Oh.” For once you’re the one who breaks eye contact, glancing down at your lap. You’d found a lone daisy on the floor and you’ve been cradling it in your hands, rolling the stem between your fingers, and you watch as the petals fan out and shiver at the motion. “Okay. Thanks, Jungkook.”

“Don’t mention it,” he says. His voice is gentle. You keep your eyes fixed on the daisy, and you can hear the slosh and drizzle of the watering can as he goes back to the plants. You take in a deep breath.

“What’s your opinion on romance, Jungkook?”

There’s a splashing noise as Jungkook fumbles with the can and drops it. Luckily it stays upright and doesn’t spill over the floor. “I, um, what?”

You look away from your daisy and stare at him earnestly, as embarrassingly open and raw as you feel right now. “What’s your opinion on romance? You know, love and all that.”

Jungkook pauses. 

“I know it’s a weird question.” You wince. “You don’t have to answer it. I’ve just been thinking about it.”

Jungkook stares at the watering can by his feet before he stoops over and picks it back up. He’s not looking at you. “How come?” His voice is a little strained, but you don’t notice.

“Ah, I don’t know,” you sigh. “I think about it a lot, honestly. Sometimes I just wonder if it’s realistic? Like, of all the people in the world, what’s the likelihood you’re going to meet someone that you really… really resonate with? And they’re going to feel the same for you? Part of me has always believed in fate, or like… serendipity, I suppose. Bumping into someone that turns out to be so much more important than either of you could imagine. A soulmate? In a way? But as time goes on I… I guess I’m worried I’ll never actually find that and it’s all a ridiculous pipe dream.”

You feel small and defenceless after admitting this. You might be a loudmouthed sarcastic clown, but underneath all your theatrical buffoonery and snark, the truth is that you’re an utterly hopeless romantic. It’s the world’s worst kept secret, sure, but you’ve never laid it out so plainly to anyone before. 

The longer Jungkook stays silent, the more awkward you feel, and you desperately need to break the tension.

“Bweh.” You make a little noise. “I get nauseous whenever I express real emotions. I didn’t mean to word vomit all of that at you, sorry—”

“I believe in soulmates.” Jungkook’s back is to you as he stands in front of a collection of osteospermums, but he’s stopped watering them. “And romance. And true love. I don’t think it’s always going to be easy, and it might hurt along the way, but… I think there’s love and happiness waiting for us at the end of it. Yoongi-hyung always calls me a hopeless romantic.” He laughs a little and glances over his shoulder at you, his expression warm and sincere. “I always cry at sad scenes in romantic films and books and he likes to tease me about it.”

He doesn’t seem ashamed about being open and vulnerable with you. It’s terrifying and yet Jungkook seems unafraid. Honestly, you admire it. “Me too,” you admit, your voice a quiet hush. “Everyone keeps arguing about if Rose could have let Jack onto the door with her but I’m always too busy crying to pay attention to how big the piece of wood is.”

Jungkook lets out a breath of laughter, nose scrunching as he smiles at you. He’s not judging your sappiness at all. “Titanic is such a sad film,” he says. “It makes my heart ache every time I watch it.”

You hit your knee with a fist. “I know! Why couldn’t they just be happy? Ouch,” you say. “Wow. I punched myself harder than I thought. I just get very passionate about happy endings. Sad endings— well, they make me sad, especially if the rest of the story has been sad too. What was it Guy Fieri said? I can bear any pain as long as it has meaning.”

Jungkook blinks. “Guy Fieri said that?”

“Now that I think about it, I think it was actually Haruki Murakami.” You rub a soothing hand over your knee. “But yeah. I’m not saying sad endings don’t have a place, and sometimes it’s right for the story that’s being told, but… I’m more of a happy ending person. If I were James Cameron I’d have to let Rose and Jack end up together. I’d be too soft to write the ending he did, even if it was appropriate. You know?”

Jungkook turns away from the osteospermums, his eyes as soft as he looks at you. “Yeah, me too,” he agrees. “I think everyone deserves a happy ending.”

The monstera plant above you patiently listens as you and Jungkook have a long, quiet conversation about love and romance, and it’s… weird. You never thought you could have a conversation like that without wanting to cringe so hard you collapsed in on yourself and imploded into a black hole. Submitting to the mortifying ordeal of being known is usually a lot more… well… mortifying, but somehow with Jungkook, it isn’t.

Maybe it’s because he’s so open himself. Maybe it’s because you can tell he’s not judging you at all. He doesn’t think your desperate yearning for love and romance is anything to be embarrassed about— and he clearly feels the same yearning. You find it baffling that someone as lovely as Jungkook doesn’t have someone special in his life, though. Wild.

“Monsteras are actually nicknamed Swiss cheese plants,” Jungkook informs you, running a hand over one of the leaves and trailing a finger over one of the holes in it. You're adding it to your steadily growing plant collection. “Because of these. They look like the holes you find in Swiss cheese.”

You laugh. “Oh, that’s so cute! I love that.”

Jungkook smiles. “I knew you would.”

He’s just finished tying a ribbon around the plant’s pot when he pauses. “Oh,” he says. “If you like happy endings, can I recommend something?”

He stoops down to get something from behind the counter and you can tell when he’s found what he’s looking for by how his face lights up. You’re hyped to see what it is, what’s gotten Jungkook so excited— but then he flips the book over to hand to you and you nearly choke on your own spit. 

Jamais Vu. Your most recent novel.

“I really love this author,” he says as you try to swallow down your coughs, eyes watering with the effort. Luckily he’s looking down at the book and doesn’t seem to notice. “No matter how difficult things get, or how awful things seem, the endings are always happy. Or at worst, bittersweet. They’re never completely sad? Watch out for the plot twist in the middle, though, that’s a rough one.”

“Hahahaha, alright, I will!” It was the first time you’d incorporated a murder mystery in one of your books, but damn, it had gone over really well with the critics. And Jungkook too, apparently, judging from the excited look in his eyes. “This looks, um. Interesting.”

He beams at you. “If you like it, I have the rest of their books at home. You can borrow those as well. I, uh, I've been reading them from the very beginning,” he admits, with a tiny, shy laugh. “The earlier books are skewed mainly towards romance, but the plots are always good too. If, um, you like that sort of thing.”

You feel faint. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks, Jungkook.”

Once you get home, you very carefully and delicately place the monstera on your desk, turning it a few times until you’re entirely happy with the position of it.

Then you lie face down on your bed.

Your breaths are fuggy against your pillow but you keep your face buried in it, even if it’s getting progressively harder to breathe. Jungkook reads your books. Jungkook reads all of your books. Jungkook is apparently an avid fan of your books— the copy of Jamais Vu he’s lent you is a hardback copy and the design on it is one you recognise as a pre-order exclusive. 

Oh, shit. Is it a signed copy?

You scramble out of bed to grab the book and flip to the title page. There it is, staring up at you: your own signature. Well, Autumn Lovett’s signature, complete with a tiny scribbled leaf. 

To Jungkook, you’d written. Thank you so much for all your support! you’d written. Autumn Lovett, you’d written.

You muffle a scream into your hands.

Even if Jungkook doesn’t know who Autumn really is, there’s no way he’s going to read your next book and not realise the truth. The tiger lilies. Yunhee’s dark eyes and dark hair and swift hands. Her strength and softness. Lily, magnetised by her, drawn in by her gravity.

(You haven't realised until now just how much meeting Jungkook has changed the development of your novel. Why?)

You’re at a loss for words. You honestly don’t know what to feel. Part of you feels flattered that Jungkook loves your writing so much. Another part of you feels like you’ve been lying to him the whole time you’ve been talking— pretending to be someone you’re not. Somehow. Autumn has lied to him by not being real, and you’ve lied to him by not letting him know the truth. Sure, you’ve only found out today, but.

The one person you’d talk to— the one person who’d help you muddle through your emotions on something as complex as this, as flippant and blasé as he might seem to people who don’t know him like you do— is someone you haven’t spoken to in over a month. 

Your eyes slide over to your phone. After your conversation with Jimin earlier you’d genuinely been planning on messaging Seokjin tonight; nothing major or big, just a dipping of your toe back into the waters of your friendship. But you need to hear his voice. You’re not going to offload on him, of course. You’re not going to make the first conversation you have after your confession to be all about you. But you just need that familiarity right now.

He picks up after one ring. 

“Hi, Y/n,” he says, and you feel like you could fold in two.

“Hi, Jin.” The sound of his voice fills you with warmth and tender affection, and you love him so, so much— but you know in an instant that it’s platonic. This cresting wave of tenderness crashing through you and making your knees want to buckle is for one of your best friends, Kim Seokjin. Your friend. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay. Been up to anything interesting?”

You end up curled in your computer chair as you talk, your hand resting on the book that Jungkook has entrusted you with. It’s funny how talking to Seokjin comes so naturally; a month feels so long, especially after such a huge revelation from you to him, but it’s also like no time has passed at all. You think maybe you could go years without talking but the moment you came back together again, it would feel the same way. 

It’s like you exist on the same level. Like there’s some sort of unbreakable, connective membrane between the two of you. It’s why you’d fallen in love with him. It’s only now that you realise that you’d mistaken that closeness for romantic love, when it isn’t really, at all. It’s just different to your other friendships; deeply and emotionally intimate, but not romantic. 

“It sounds like you’ve been doing well,” Jin says. There’s the sound of sizzling in the background and you glance at the clock; he’ll be cooking dinner. He always cooks around now. “How’s the novel coming along?” Are you still in love with me? Are you writing about me?

You pause. Your flip Jungkook’s book open again, staring at his name written in your handwriting— months before you’d known who he was. Some tenuous, inexplicable connection before you’d even met. 

“It’s good,” you say, truthfully. “It’s not what I’d been planning, but it’s really good.” I love you, but I’m not in love with you. I’m writing, but not about you. Not really.

“I’m glad.” Jin’s voice is so warm. “You’ll have to send me what you've got so far at some point.”

“So you can point out all the inconsistencies whenever characters are cooking or baking anything? No thanks, already fallen into that trap too many times,” you say, and Jin laughs.

“If you’re going to write a character who’s a baker, you need to do your research batter,” he says, and you laugh in return.

“Did you say batter instead of better? That’s terrible. I love it, even if I wasn’t bready for it.”

“Your puns are so crumby,” Jin replies.

“Are you trying to get a rise out of me?”

You both end up dissolving into laughter at your increasingly nonsensical and awful baking puns. The puns are weak and not even good in a bad way (as in, so bad that they’re good), but they don’t need to be. Jin takes longer to finish laughing than you. His squeaky wiper noises are a familiar sound through your phone speaker and you’re still smiling once it eventually trails off.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I’m sorry. Not sorry about the confession, but— sorry it took me so long to come back around afterwards. I was just worried it would be weird.”

“I understand. It’s okay. I missed you too. You know I love you, right?”

“I love you too. Not romantically. Don’t get it twisted. I realise now that I’m way out of your league, anyway, so it’s a good thing you turned me down.”

“It was for your own good,” Jin says. “As the two most beautiful human beings alive we’d been too powerful if we were together, so it’s for the good of humanity.”

“We’re just so altruistic,” you sigh dramatically, and then you both giggle. “Can the world’s two most beautiful human beings get together for lunch? That wouldn’t cause a vortex in the space time continuum, right?”

“I think the fabric of the universe can handle it.” You hear the sound of Jin taking his pan off the stove, the clunk of metal. “Let me check when I’m free, sweetheart.”

(“You seem happy.” Jaerim’s smile is a soft, hesitant thing, but Lily’s responding smile is bright and wide.

“I am,” she says. Pinned to her breast pocket is a corsage of sweet pea, soft purple and pink and white, its gentle fragrance filling her senses. A reminder of Yunhee even when she’s not here. “I’m really, really happy. But I’m always happier when I can share things with you.”

Jaerim reaches out for her hands. His touch is familiar and warm, and Lily feels as loved as she always has— the way she loves him, too. 

As a friend.)

--

“You know, at this point I’m pretty sure you’re bankrolling the entire shop,” Yoongi says, and you laugh.

“I can always go somewhere else if you’d like?”

“Please.” Yoongi snorts. “I’m not complaining. Besides, Jungkook would be heartbroken if his favourite customer stopped coming.”

The way Yoongi assembles bouquets is different to Jungkook. He’s no less skilled and lavishes the same amount of attention on each one, but his arrangements always seem a little wilder, freer— not in a bad way, just different. He’s surrounded by an increasing collection of carnations and dusty miller, the silver leaves curling around the immaculately white blooms; simple and elegant arrangements for a small bridal shower.

“That’s good to know,” you say, ignoring the warm flush that spreads through your chest at the idea of being Jungkook’s favourite customer. Sometimes you worry that you’re overbearing, actually, with how often you visit, even if Jungkook never seems to mind. “I do buy a lot, though, so that’s probably why I’m his favourite.”

Yoongi’s just finished tying a trail of silver and white ribbon around the collection of flowers in his hands, eyes flicking up at you as he eases it into a small vase. “You shouldn’t feel obligated to keep throwing money at this place,” he says. “You’re welcome to come whenever you like. Without needing to buy something.”

You feel weirdly chastened. “Um, okay.” You laugh lightly. “Kind of a weird business you’ve got running if you’re not telling customers to buy things, though?”

Yoongi snorts again. “You’ve spent more money in the past few months than most customers might spend in a year.” He reaches for another bunch of carnations. “I think we’re good.”

The bell tinkles above the door. You glance over your shoulder to see who it is and your face lights up when you see it’s Jungkook, clutching a small cardboard tray of coffees. He looks boyish and cute today, his hair is a little windswept from the breeze outside, and there’s a smile on his face that only grows wider when he spots you. You smile back. You’re always so happy to see him.

“Is that my coffee?” Yoongi says, without looking up from the bundle of flowers he's holding. “Bring it here.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes and you stifle a laugh behind your hand. Any shyness Jungkook might have had originally seems entirely gone now, and he’s unabashed when he pretends to disrespect his hyung, even if you know there’s a lot of love there.

Jungkook puts the cardboard cup out of the way of Yoongi’s work so there’s no chance it might accidentally get knocked over. “Here’s the decaf caramel cappuccino with extra sweetener and whipped cream that you asked for, hyung.” Jungkook gives you a conspiring smile and you stifle another laugh at the expression that flits across Yoongi’s face at the word decaf.

“Die,” Yoongi says mildly, before taking a sip of his bitter and untouched black coffee. “Perfect. Now, shoo, I’m busy. Go check on the herb display, I think they could do with some fertiliser.”

You keep hold of Jungkook’s cup as he mists the herbs, a tiny spritzer in his hands that he carefully aims at the stem of each plant. Unlike Yoongi’s black coffee, Jungkook’s opted for something iced, a creamy yellow blend with shavings of chocolate on top.

“If I’d known you were here, I would have gotten you something as well,” he says. You glance up to see Jungkook’s paused in his motions, hands engulfed in bright green basil leaves. It seems like he’s noticed you peering at the drink.

“Don’t be silly, I don’t expect you to buy me coffee! I’m just trying to work out what this is. It looks really tasty.”

“It’s a banana frappe. You can try some, if you want?”

You beam. “Can I?” You take a sip before Jungkook changes his mind, pursing your lips around the straw as the coldness hits your tongue and nearly gives you brain freeze— but then you register the sweetness on your tongue, the flavour of banana and vanilla and honey, delicious. “Oh, this is so good,” you breathe. “Where did you get this? I need this in my life.” You take another cheeky sip, eyes on Jungkook’s reaction, but he seems unfazed at the fact that you’re greedily slurping up his drink before he’s even had a chance to have any.

“There’s a small café a few streets away from here,” he says. “I, um.” He looks away from you, back towards the basil, before he pulls his hands out of the leaves and starts to mist the soil of the mint plants. “I could take you there, if you’d like.”

You haven’t seen him blush for a while, but that familiar tinge of pink is starting to steal over his cheeks as he looks away from you. Something churns low in your stomach, something almost like butterflies; a shifting of their wings, ready to take flight. “Oh,” you say. “That would, um. That would be nice.”

For the first time since you’ve stepped foot into Spring Day, you leave without buying anything. Instead, you leave with a day and time, hastily typed into your phone so you don’t forget. (Not that you would. How could you forget anything about Jungkook?)

You still haven’t told Jungkook who you are. Well— who Autumn is. He’d been so excited when you’d ‘finished’ Jamais Vu and had accepted another book from him, wanting eagerly to hear your opinion on it; it’s hard to not blurt out the truth to him, but you don’t know how to broach that topic. You’re worried that it’ll change this friendship you’ve built up with him and you don’t want to lose Jungkook. Even if you haven’t known him that long, he’s already so, so important to you, and you don’t want to let go of that.

But if you’re starting to become real friends, the kind of friends who get coffee together, who spend time together outside of Jungkook’s work— he deserves to know, right? You just need to find the right time to tell him.

When the day rolls around, you’re early. You’re always early for things. You skulk around the front of Spring Day, where you’d agreed to meet; you make sure to keep just out of Yoongi's eye line, ducking out of sight when it seems like he might spot you through the front window. You’re staring at a bucket of coral-coloured blooms when you hear Jungkook calling your name and you glance up, lifting your hand in a wave.

You almost choke on a breath. You’ve never seen Jungkook out of uniform, his plethora of loose, oversized shirts under a dark apron, nondescript trousers and plain shoes.

“Hi, Y/n.” The smile on his face is bright and wide, eyes squeezing into crescents. “I hope you haven’t been waiting too long?”

He’s in such a simple outfit, but it’s devastating. His hair is arranged neatly under a cap, a leather jacket over the dark, tight shirt tucked into his jeans, blue denim nipped in by a plain black belt; there’s large rips at the knees, flashes of skin visible as he walks forwards, feet steady in black boots. It’s undeniably Jungkook, but it’s so different from the version of him you’ve gotten used to over the past two months, catching you completely off guard.

“Y/n?” He repeats, concerned at your silence, and you snap to attention.

“Oh, sorry! I was just thinking about, uh,” you glance at the flowers you’d been looking at, “peonies. No, I haven’t been waiting long at all, don’t worry. You, um, look really nice today,” you add lamely, unsure what else to say. 

“You do too.” Jungkook sounds like he genuinely means it, even if you’re just wearing a pretty regular outfit, similar to the sort of thing you usually wear when you visit him at work. “Peonies only flower for about a week, actually, if you wanted to get some?”

“No, no, that’s fine! Today’s not about flowers, today is about coffee,” you say. Your heart is hammering in your chest for some reason. A single butterfly lifts off in your stomach, taking flight with a flutter of its wings, flitting to and fro. “Take me to the coffee?”

He takes you to the coffee. He leads you confidently through the maze of alleyways, past more places you haven’t seen; he waits patiently whenever you ask to stop and take photos, watching as you stare in awe at an arch built out of precariously balanced tomes that leads into an old bookshop.

“It’s just so pretty around here,” you say, flapping your hand about to try and speed up the development process of a photo. “I’m sorry I’m taking so long.”

“It’s okay.” Jungkook’s voice is soft. “We’re not in a rush.”

He’s not just saying that to be nice, either. At one point, after you’ve apologised yet again, he steals your Polaroid from you and runs; you laugh at him when he refuses to give it back, taking shots of you while he dances just out of your reach, a cascade of photos that somehow turn out distinct and unblurred. Curse his photography abilities. 

You slap him lightly on the arm when he eventually surrenders the camera back to you and he just chuckles. It’s a long, looping detour on your way to the café, but you’re having so much fun that you don’t mind— in fact you end up having to be the one to get you back on track, tugging Jungkook’s elbow when it seems like he’s about to take you down another alleyway and towards the river, which you know is the wrong direction for the café.

“Coffee, Jungkook.” You try to sound stern but you end up dissolving into giggles when he pouts at you. “Okay, how about a compromise? We can get coffee to go and then come back this way so you can show me that market you were talking about.”

He brightens. “Okay,” he says. “We can do that.”

You almost regret saying this when you eventually turn up at the café; it’s actually a few stories up a building, a narrow set of rickety steps that opens into a light, airy room, naked lightbulbs hanging in constellations overhead, the entire wall behind the counter a massive chalkboard that’s covered in art of different styles and designs. The wall facing out onto the road outside is glass— the perfect place to unwind and people watch.

“Oh, wow,” you breathe. “Jungkook, this is so cool.”

“I know,” he says, smug and cheeky, and he laughs when you huff out a little breath at him. “The drinks are good, too.”

He’s not lying. He opts for another banana frappe, and after much deliberation, you decide to try the iced honeycomb latte. He refuses to let you pay and hands his card over to the barista before you even get a chance to reach for your bag, which has you narrowing your eyes at him.

“I feel like you prepared that in advance,” you say.

“Not telling.” He taps the side of his nose, which is scrunched from his smile. Inside you another handful of butterflies take flight.

More and more take wing as the afternoon goes on, each time Jungkook laughs or smiles or looks at you; he leads you through the market and shows you his favourite stalls, excited each time he gets to show you something he likes and enjoys, stealing sips of your drink when you’re distracted— but you laugh in his face and do the same to him, so it’s okay. 

Time flows by as easy as quicksilver, liquid and bright, and before you know it it’s turned from afternoon to evening, sky softening in deepening shades of blue and purple, the smattering of clouds a pastel palette of pink; you come to a stop by the edge of the river, Jungkook a few steps ahead of you by the time he realises you’re not walking beside him. He smiles at you as you lift your camera and take a shot of him surrounded by the sunset.

“I didn’t realise how late it was getting,” you say, and Jungkook blinks. It’s like he’s coming around to himself, like he didn’t realise either; he glances around and notices the shade of the sky before he pulls his sleeve back to look at the watch on his wrist.

“Wow, me neither.” He sounds surprised, and then he looks guilty. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to keep you busy for so long.”

“Oh my gosh, Jungkook, don’t apologise.” You tuck your latest photo into your pocket to look at later. “I’m having so much fun, I just didn’t notice the time go by. It’s not like you’re forcing me to be here,” you laugh. “I like spending time with you.”

The lampposts have yet to turn on and it’s hard to make out Jungkook’s features when he’s turned away from the soft light of the sunset like this. But you can hear the sincerity in his voice when he speaks. “Me too,” he says. “I’m really glad you found Spring Day.”

Your heart squeezes in your chest. Jungkook looks towards the river just as the first lights switch on, finally dark enough that the streetlights come to life; there're trailing bulbs between each lamppost that flicker on moments after, points of brightness that flood the path below them. Jungkook’s face is shaded by the brim of his cap but he takes it off and shakes his head, running his hand through his hair now that it’s freed. Another breath catches in your throat at how utterly mesmerising he is. 

The sound of his voice breaks you out of your trance. “I was wondering,” he says, staring at the rippling mirror of lights on the water, the fading colours of the sky overhead cast in undulating reflections that shift from moment to moment. “You like photography, right?”

“I do,” you say. “Even if I’m not that great at it myself.” 

“I have a friend who’s a photographer and some of his work’s been accepted in a local gallery.” Jungkook’s running his fingers over the hard brim of his cap, running them along its edge. “The opening night is in a few days, and, um. I was wondering if you’d like to go with me?”

He finally turns away from the river to look at you. Jungkook’s eyes are so big and dark. For once you’re the deer caught in headlights, and you don’t even know why; it’s like this simple, innocuous question has reached inside you and stolen all the air out of your lungs. 

Even so, your answer is immediate. “I’d really, really love that,” you answer honestly, and Jungkook’s responding smile is so, so wide.

You forget about that final photo until you get home. It falls out of your pocket as you shrug your coat off to hang it up, and you stoop down to pick it up, fingers stuttering and going still against its white edges as you take it in.

Jungkook’s silhouetted by the evening sky behind him, in stark contrast to the gentle colours and yet just as soft. The shadows are a little blurred, and the colours are a little muted— but Jungkook’s face is clear, his eyes warm and his smile gentle as he looks at you. 

No one’s ever looked at you like that before.

At last the final butterfly flaps its wings and joins the others, your stomach full of fluttering.

--

Your friendship with Jin has miraculously gone back to normal. If anything, it’s even better than it was before your confession— you don’t feel the need to think twice about your actions, like you’re tiptoeing around him, desperate to keep your love a secret. It’s as easy as it used to be and you’re glad.

But you still remember how much it hurt when he’d looked at you and turned you down. You’ve moved past it, sure, but it had just cemented something you’ve known your whole life: how utterly unlovable you are. How wrong you’d been at reading signs, how you’d been in over your head. How every crush you’ve ever had has come to nothing.

You’ve kept that picture of Jungkook resting against your peace lily. His lovely eyes watch as you struggle at your computer, hours of typing stilted words and phrases that you read back and furiously delete. You bury your head in your hands, frustrated. 

Why can’t you write?

By the time Friday night rolls around, you’ve added a grand total of one (1) sentence to your novel. But right now you have more important things to worry about; it’s almost time for you to meet Jungkook at the gallery downtown and the maps app on your phone has been playing up. It’s not that you’re going to be late— you don’t actually live that far away— but you’re not going to be early, and you hate that.

You can see the small groups of people trickling into the gallery, the lights shining out by the entrance cutting across them as they step inside, but your eyes are immediately drawn to Jungkook. He’s been looking down at his phone but as soon as you start to approach it’s like he can sense that you’re there, eyes rising from his screen and zoning in on you immediately. 

You stop in your tracks. His face lifts and splits into a wide smile and you smile helplessly back. He’d said the dress code for tonight was smart-casual, and he looks so good dressed like this. You love his turtleneck jumper.

“Hi,” he says. “Wow, you look good.”

“Hi,” you respond, breathless. You feel winded from his compliment and from the blush that’s rising on his face, even if he’s keeping his gaze locked on yours. “You do too.”

You stare at each other for what feels like eons when someone brushes past you and it snaps the two of you out of the moment, and Jungkook coughs. “Um. Should we go in?”

It’s busier inside than you thought. The gallery isn’t exactly small but the layout isn’t entirely straightforward and people keep clustering in certain areas and getting in the way, distracted by the photos on display. You have to wade through one particularly large group of people to get back to Jungkook, who’s been waiting for you on the other side; he looks concerned on your behalf, and when someone makes a move to walk between the two of you he reaches out for your hand, cutting off their path. Your hand feels so small in his, so warm in his grasp.

“I didn’t realise there’d be so many people here,” he mutters, looking around. You entwine your fingers with his and he startles, glancing at where your hands are joined, like he hadn’t noticed that he’d reached out for you. 

You abruptly feel embarrassed and you’re about to let go when Jungkook squeezes your hand. You glance up and he’s looking away from you, back of his neck red, but he’s not letting go.

“I think Tae’s stuff is a bit further in,” he says. “Let’s go.”

You trail after Jungkook, who keeps his pace matched to yours. It’s a little quieter back here so it’s easy to find who you’re looking for; when you spot a man with bright blue hair he waves wildly in your direction and Jungkook brightens.

“Kookie! Hi!” 

Jungkook lets go of your hand when he’s swept into a hug, and before you can introduce yourself, you’re swept into a hug, too.

“I’m Vante,” the blue-haired man says once he lets you go. “But you can call me Taehyung. Vante is my photographer name. I think it sounds cooler. Don’t you?”

“I think Taehyung is a lovely name,” you say, unphased by how full on Taehyung seems to be. “But Vante sounds really cool, too.”

Taehyung beams at you. “I like you,” he announces. “Y/n, right? Jungkook mentioned you.”

You cough into your palm, trying to act like you’re not supremely flustered right now; when you’re not looking, Jungkook hits Taehyung on the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s right,” you say, looking up. Both boys have innocent expressions on their faces. “Can I have a look at your photos?”

Taehyung is an incredibly talented photographer. You don’t need to be an expert to know that. He has a series of scenic and nature shots, some in colour, some in black and white; he enthusiastically answers your questions about each one, about the background of them and why he takes photos of what he does. Jungkook walks quietly behind you and is content to watch as the two of you talk, chest warmed by how well you’re getting on with each other.

You round a corner to another wall, and Taehyung gestures dramatically at the collection lined across it. “And these are my portrait photos,” he says. “There’s even one of Kookie up here, even if he gets embarrassed whenever I mention it.”

Sure enough, Jungkook is blushing. 

“Take me to it,” you say firmly, and Taehyung laughs out loud before he does just that. It’s a black and white shot, Jungkook in profile as he looks towards the camera, endless ocean waves and sky behind him. “Jungkook, you’re such a good model,” you say, smiling softly at it. 

Jungkook’s gone bright red, and you’ve honestly missed this sight, even if you’re glad that he’s not shy with you any more. “Taehyung’s just good at taking photos,” he says, voice high with embarrassment.

“I have a lot more photos of Jungkookie that aren’t on display,” Taehyung pipes up, and Jungkook looks like he wants the ground to open up and swallow him. “You’ll have to visit my studio some time so I can show them to you.”

You have Taehyung’s business card carefully stowed away in your bag as you walk home, arms swinging by your sides; you unintentionally brush your hand against Jungkook’s, but before you can say sorry he’s taken it as an invitation to hold your hand again. The apology dies on your lips as he slots his fingers between yours and you smile at him instead.

“Taehyung is so cool,” you say. “And talented, too. I love his photos.”

“I’m glad you both get on so well,” Jungkook says. “Sometimes people seem to think Taehyung is… I don’t know. He can come on a bit strong, I guess.”

“He’s great.” You frown. “I’m going to fistfight anyone who’s mean to him.”

Jungkook laughs and squeezes your hand.

He insists on walking you up to your door, keeping hold of your hand as he follows you inside your apartment building. You feel somewhat abashed at how wide his eyes go at how nice it is inside here. You’re not on the same level as, say, Stephen King or George R.R. Martin, but you make a pretty decent amount of money from your books and it shows.

Jungkook doesn’t actually know what you do. You’ve vaguely alluded to the fact that you’re a writer, but that could mean any number of things; for all he knows you could pen the agony aunt column in a magazine (you imagine that would be pretty fun, actually). You keep waiting for the right opportunity to come clean about your pseudonym but nothing’s presented itself yet.

“Do you want to come in? My friend Seokjin makes killer brownies and I’ve got a box of them still in the fridge,” you say. “He always makes way more than I can eat myself.”

Jungkook seems torn. He wants to see inside your apartment, you can tell, but he also probably doesn’t want to seem intrusive— even if you’re offering.

“I hate wasting food so you’d be doing me a real favour,” you add, and Jungkook relents.

“Alright,” he says, and you smile to yourself as you unlock your door.

You’ve been giving flowers to other people, too— Seokjin and Jimin and Namjoon and even Hoseok have been receiving the gifts of your bounty— but only the premade bouquets. The ones that Jungkook puts together are ones that you keep for yourself. It’s far less overwhelming now than it had been a while ago, only a few floral arrangements here and there, but it’s obvious from Jungkook’s expression that he recognises each bouquet.

He ends up sitting at your breakfast bar as you dig the brownies out of your fridge, and he smiles in delight as you warm up some milk. It’s getting late, and you know Jungkook doesn’t like coffee, anyway.

(You’ve learned a lot about Jungkook in the past few months.)

“Which one is Seokjin?” He asks around a mouthful of brownie. You’ve retired to your living room and Jungkook is peering at the strings of fairy lights you have on the wall, Polaroids of your friends and family clipped along its wire. “This one?”

“No, that’s Namjoon,” you say. You stand up from the couch and scooch next to Jungkook so you can point. “He’s Jimin’s boyfriend— which is this guy here. That’s Seokjin,” you point. “All my favourite people. Ah, don’t look at this one, it’s me and Jimin when we were back in school. We look like such dorks. Look at our hair.”

“You look cute,” Jungkook says, and you try not to blush. “Wait, is that me?”

Your collection of Jungkook photos has been growing exponentially over time. The one he’s looking at is a picture of himself in Spring Day, bent over a bucket of roses, fingers cupping the pink flowers as he smiles at them; he’s said he’s okay with you taking photos, but maybe he meant when he was actually aware of you taking them.

“Um, yeah,” you say. You feel weirdly embarrassed. “I can take it down if you want? Sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.” Jungkook’s staring at the glowing light next to the photo, avoiding your eyes. “I just didn’t think I’d be on the wall with the rest of your, uh, favourite people.”

Your mouth falls open. You don’t know what to say. Normally you’d scoff at him and say duh, of course you are, but for some reason you can’t summon the courage right now. The words catch in your throat.

Luckily, Jungkook seems to notice another photo. “Oh, is that from your school prom? Wait. Are you on crutches?”

You laugh, glad for the distraction. “Oh, yeah! Jimin persuaded me to sneak out of my house a few weeks before that because I was under curfew but there was a party we were both desperate to go to. Needless to say, climbing out of my window didn’t go so well. I was on crutches for ages after that. It wasn’t so bad, honestly. People felt sorry that I couldn’t dance so they kept sitting with me and feeding me cupcakes out of pity. They were delicious,” you say with a smile. “Never did get to do that end of school dance I’d planned with Jimin, though. That’s the only thing that was bad about it.”

Jungkook’s face twists. You’re too busy looking at the photo and reminiscing to notice, but you do notice when he steps back. You turn, confused as Jungkook holds his hand out and looks at you expectantly.

“What?”

“I know it’s a bit late, and I’m not Jimin, but you can have that end of school dance.” Jungkook wiggles his eyebrows at you. “I promise I won’t step on your feet.”

You giggle, but you can feel a blush threatening to fight its way onto your cheeks. There’s a storm of butterflies in your stomach. “But there’s no music,” you say. “How can we dance without music?”

Jungkook shrugs. “I’ll sing for us,” he says. He steps forward, hand still proffered, and you slide your hand into his, unable to deny him. 

It’s been years since Jimin’s taught you the basic waltz, and you’re a little stiff because of it, but your body seems to remember the steps as Jungkook slowly leads you. You’re staring at your feet while Jungkook hums, but once you have the rhythm down he opens his mouth and starts to sing; you look up from the floor, your eyes helplessly drawn to his. 

His voice is soft and honeyed, words sweet as they hang in the air. You’re so entranced by the deep, warm brown of his eyes that it takes you longer than it should to recognise the lyrics of the song: 10,000 hours, transformed by Jungkook’s mellifluous voice.

He leads you into a turn, and when you come back together it’s a little clumsy and you giggle. Jungkook smiles at you as he continues to sing. The laughter leaves you feeling light and sparkling, like there’s a fountain bubbling inside you, and all the stiffness finally falls away from your limbs. The waltz becomes more of a swaying dance as you let your arms drop, Jungkook’s arm sliding around your waist as you step closer to him, and you end up turning in small circles in the middle of your living room as Jungkook murmurs a love song into your ear.

You suddenly realise that you’ve never been happier than you are right now: dancing in your living room in the circle of Jungkook’s arms as he sings to you, a romantic cliché that’s somehow become true for you. For you. With someone as incredible as Jungkook.

You’re never happier than when you’re with Jungkook.

Holy shit.

You’re in love with Jungkook.

The final note of the song lingers in the air as he comes to an end, the resonance of a bell that slowly fades. He smiles at you as you slowly come to a stop, still nestled in each other’s embrace as your feet finally become still.

“I’m so glad I broke my leg,” you say suddenly, and Jungkook laughs outright, face squeezing up in the way that you love so much.

You’re in love with him.

You watch as he slips his shoes back on. You feel helpless and untethered in a lot of ways, but at the same time, you’ve never felt more sure about anything. When he flashes you a smile, you can’t help but smile back— but that’s always been the case, hasn’t it?

“Hey,” you say suddenly, just after Jungkook’s finished shrugging his coat on. “I know you’ve just, um, gotten ready to go and everything, but can I quickly show you something?” Your heart is thudding in your chest. 

Jungkook blinks. “Sure.”

You give him a jerky nod before turning on your heel and walking down the corridor to swing the door open to your office. Jungkook follows behind you, waiting in the doorway as you flick the light on; he makes a noise when he notices the frame hanging on your wall, the flowers of the corsage that you’d dried and pressed safe behind the glass.

You don’t respond. You’re too busy taking a moment to suck in a deep breath and steel yourself before you open your filing cabinet to pull out a stack of papers, sheaves of writing that are stapled together— the very first, unedited drafts of each of your novels, kept for posterity.

“I, um, don’t really know how to say this.” You stare at your hands as you shuffle through the booklets. “I haven’t told anyone new in a long time, so I guess I’m out of practice, but, uh.” You’re so nervous that you’re light-headed. “Autumn Lovett is actually my pen name. These are drafts of my novels if you think I’m lying,” you say, shoving the paper at Jungkook’s chest; he grabs them before they fall to the ground. “Um. So. Yeah. Taa-daa?”

You feel like you’ve run a marathon. Your heart is racing and your lungs are struggling to take in air. You can’t look at Jungkook. You’re staring at the ceiling instead, dreading his reaction.

When he makes a noise, however, your head snaps down. He’s crouched in the middle of your office with your drafts held over his face.

“Jungkook?” You say, panicked, and he makes the same noise again.

“Oh my God,” he whines, muffled behind the paper. You squat down to grip his hands and pull them away from his face, worried; when it’s finally revealed he’s bright red and he looks mortified. “I can’t believe I recommended your own books to you,” he all but wails. “And I gushed like a fanboy in front of you about them too. Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

You don’t mean to but you laugh. Jungkook tries to hide his face again but you pull the drafts out of his hands and send them scattering to the floor. “Oh, Jungkook,” you say, overflowing with affection. “You don’t have to apologise. I found it flattering, actually.”

He doesn’t seem bothered that you hadn’t told him sooner. He doesn’t care that you’ve been keeping it a secret. He’s just embarrassed. He stays embarrassed as he helps you gather up the papers, and he stays embarrassed as you return your own book that he’d let you borrow, and he stays embarrassed as he heads towards your front door for the second time that night. 

“I do, um, really like your work,” he says, shy as he fiddles with your door handle. “I’m really looking forward to your next novel. I’m not just saying that to be nice because I know who you are now.” His eyes are wide as he looks up at you. “I mean it.”

Your heart feels full to the brim with fondness. “I know,” you say. “I believe you. I— you can have a read through it before it’s published, actually, as long as you promise not to leak it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen even further before he holds his hand out. “Pinky promise.”

You giggle as you hook your finger with his. “Pinky promise.”

Once Jungkook’s left you immediately sit down at your computer and write and write and write— it’s like the words just won’t stop. They come pouring out of you, and endless torrent that you don’t try to rein in. You write for so long you end up crashing at your desk, face smooshed against your keyboard as you drool in your sleep.

(“I don’t know how to dance,” Yunhee says, and Lily just smiles.

“Me neither,” she says. “We can learn together.”

They keep stepping on each other’s feet. It’s clumsy and messy and they keep dissolving into laughter between apologies to each other, but it’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee. 

It’s perfect, because it’s Yunhee, with Lily: because it’s them, together.)

--

“I’ve finished my novel,” you announce, and all the men at the table sit up.

“Wow.” Namjoon blinks at you. “I thought you weren’t due to publish for, what, another six months?”

“What can I say? I’ve been inspired.” You smile down into your glass before taking a drink of your orange juice.

Seokjin stares at you before he leans back in his chair. He’s always been able to read you through and through, and that perceptiveness doesn’t leave him now. “Ah,” he says. “You’re in love.”

You’re in the middle of swallowing your juice and nearly choke, spluttering. Namjoon pats your back with concern while his boyfriend looks askance.

“You’re in love and you didn’t tell me?” Jimin sounds affronted. “Who is it? Are they cute? Where are you hiding them? I knew you were lying about those flowers, you lying liar.”

“I wasn’t lying,” you wheeze, finally coughing the last remnants of orange juice out of your windpipe. “Well, I guess it was kind of a half lie? I was buying them, but, uh, he made them.” You fiddle with the napkin in your lap as Seokjin coos at you.

“You fell in love with a florist,” he says. “You’re literally living in an AO3 fanfic. That’s adorable.”

“Shut up,” you hiss, and Jin just laughs when you try to kick him under the table and nearly hit Namjoon instead.

“It sounds romantic,” Namjoon agrees, apparently unphased by how close he was to getting nailed in the shins.

Jimin slaps his small hand against the table. “You haven’t answered any of my questions, snake. I know what you’re like, Y/n— get the Polaroid out of your bag. We need to judge your new beau.”

Jimin’s right. He knows exactly what you’re like, the helpless romantic that you are; the three men shuffle their heads together to peer at the photo of Jungkook, the one where he’s surrounded by the sunset.

“He’s fucking cute,” Jimin decides immediately. “I’m almost offended you haven’t introduced him to us yet. You should invite him to our house-warming party. Namjoon agrees.”

You look at Namjoon, who nods despite not being consulted. “You’re so whipped,” you mutter at him. He just shrugs. “Anyway,” you continue, raising your voice over Jimin’s and Jin’s muttered conversation as they continue to stare at your photo of Jungkook. “I’m going to hold fire on the house-warming party invitation for now, because, um, I haven’t actually said anything to him yet.”

Your eyes are cast down as you say this, affixed to the sight of your hands in your lap. You’ve still been visiting Spring Day, of course, and you’ve started to see Jungkook more and more outside of work as well; each time you meet him you fall a little bit more in love. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to fall for him.

“Y/n.” Jimin’s voice is sober and you glance up from your lap to take in the worried look on his face. “I know it must be scary—”

“Oh gosh, Minnie, I love you, but it’s okay, you don’t need to give me a pep-talk on how I’m a 10/10 and anyone would be blessed to have me,” you interrupt. “I haven’t been putting off confessing because I think he’s going to pull a Jin and turn me down—”

“Hey,” Jin says mildly. He knows you’re joking. You got over that ages ago.

“—but I, um, emailed him my book yesterday, actually,” you finish. “What he does once he’s finished reading it is up to him.”

Jimin is right. It is scary. But Jungkook is worth the potential pain and heartache. He is. He’s always so lovely to you, always so considerate; he sings for you and dances with you and he’s even painted for you, a small canvas covered in favourite flowers, ones that won’t die. Last week when he’d dropped you off at your apartment, he’d brushed his lips across your cheek before practically sprinting away, and your heart had exploded in your chest. 

You have no idea how someone as amazing as Jungkook sees something worthwhile in you, so it's hard to come to grips with, but there’s no way you’re reading this wrong. There’s no way.

The table goes quiet and then Jin leans forward and takes your hands in his. “I can’t believe you’re confessing to him with your book,” he says. “This really is an AO3 fanfic. Hashtag slow burn.”

This time, when you kick him, you don’t miss.

You spend the rest of the day with your coterie of doofuses and by the time you get home you’re ready to relax. You’ve just finished getting into your pyjamas, flopping down onto your sofa when there’s suddenly a hammering at your door. You sit up, startled at the noise. The knocking doesn’t let up as you approach the door and you’re wary, but once you look through the peephole you immediately swing it open.

“Jungkook? Are you okay?”

He’s wild-eyed and windswept and his chest is heaving as he sucks in air. You stare at him with concern as he catches his breath.

“Yoongi let me have the day off,” he says. You blink at him.

“Okay? Did you want to go out somewhere? Now? You’ll have to let me change, though, my pyjamas aren’t exactly great evening wear.”

“I’ve spent the whole day reading your book,” Jungkook says, and your heart goes still in your chest before it starts beating at double time.

“Oh,” you say. “Um. What, uh. What did you think?”

Jungkook’s face has taken on an expression that you’ve become intimately familiar with, a similar look to the one he’d been giving you that night by the river, soft and open and warm and— you can see it now, as time has gone by— full of love. He cups your face in his hands and rests his forehead against yours, dark eyes drinking you in, the smile on his lips so lovely and sweet. Just for you.

“I love you,” he says, and then he kisses you.

He keeps cradling your face in his hands, his lips moving against yours in a way that’s so tender that it makes you want to cry; you’ve never felt so wrapped up in someone’s touch like this, like you can feel exactly how precious you are to him just from the touch of his lips against yours. You know it’s a cliché to say that it feels like fireworks going off in your chest, but it does, every single one of the butterflies that have been nestled in your ribcage exploding into flames and brightness, sparkling heat that shines out of you every second Jungkook keeps kissing and kissing and kissing you.

Kissing Jungkook feels like every romantic fantasy you’ve ever written into your books is coming true all at once. You’re not unwanted, undesirable, unlovable: he wants you, he desires you, he loves you. 

(He loves you.)

It feels like every flower he’s ever given you is flushing to full bloom all at once, spilling out of your chest, brightness and colour and life curling around your heart. All those years spent quietly hoping, culminating in this moment: Jeon Jungkook pressing his lips against yours, keeping you steady as you lean into him, and you feel like all that waiting and yearning and wanting was worth it if you got to meet him at the end of it all. You’ve finally got your storybook ending.

No, actually— it’s just the beginning. 

You’re still standing in your doorway when you part, Jungkook’s hands splayed across your jaw as you give him a smile so wide it almost hurts. 

“I love you too,” you say. “If that wasn’t already obvious.”

Jungkook chuckles and you can’t help but lean into the sound, eyes slipping shut as you turn your head and rest your forehead against his jaw. “I had to reread some parts because I didn’t think I was reading it right,” he admits, and you keep smiling. “I thought there was no way it could be real.”

How could Jungkook ever have any doubts? How could Jungkook think that there was no way that you could love him? Does he not realise how amazing he is? How wildly lucky you feel that somehow— with all your flaws and blemishes and imperfections— he loves you back?

“What made you come around?”

“Yoongi-hyung took one look at the last page and threw a roll of ribbon at my head,” Jungkook says, and you laugh, and Jungkook laughs, and the two of you are laughing and laughing and laughing. You feel like you could float away, buoyant with happiness; only Jungkook’s presence is keeping your feet on the ground. “I hope you don’t mind that I let him read it.”

“It’s okay.” You tilt your head back to look at Jungkook. He’s staring at you like you’re the sun and he’s turning towards you, a fierce and beautiful tiger lily blooming in your light. “I wouldn’t mind if you sent free copies of the book to everyone in the world if it meant I’d have you at the end of it.”

Jungkook smiles at you. It’s bright and wide and his eyes are crescents as his nose scrunches and he flashes his teeth, and you love him. “Purple rose, lilac, baby’s breath,” he says, and you recognise the flowers of the corsage he’d given you, all those months ago. “Love at first sight, first love, everlasting love.”

You stare at him in disbelief. “Shut up,” you breathe. He'd seen you as worth loving, even then? “Shut up. You did not— you did not confess that you had a crush on me with flowers? After we’d only met twice?” 

“Maybe I did.” Jungkook’s smile turns cheeky and you love him.

“I can’t believe you. I can’t believe me. You were literally reading a book about flower language, how did I not— god. I love you,” you say helplessly, and he laughs before he kisses you again.

(“I love you.”

Yunhee freezes in place and looks up at Lily with wide eyes. Lily is terrified of being hurt again, terrified of Yunhee not returning all this endless love that she has in her heart— but Yunhee is worth that terror. She’s worth that pain. Even if she doesn’t feel the same, she needs to know how loved she is. How brilliant and lovely and wonderful she is, her Yunhee, her love.

Yunhee opens her mouth to reply, and says:

-

How this story ends is up to you, Jungkook. I’ll be waiting. - Y/n)

[septembercfawkes]

Dos and Don'ts for Writing Your Viewpoint Character's Voice

Recently I had to introduce a new viewpoint character into one of my WIPs, and it was tricky. In the process, I was reminded of a few things that do work well, and that don't work well.

But first, let's review what character voice actually is, because for a lot of us, it feels elusive and magical--like something that just "happens" (sorta like how people view theme). Here is my voice equation:

What the character thinks about + How he or she says it = Voice

I already did an article breaking this down here, that you can read if you want to know more about this. And it should be said that one of the key components to crafting a voice, is working from the inside, out. You need to really know your character, first. You need to know his or her wants, contradictions, flaws, motives, fears--all that jazz.

But today, I want to talk about actually putting that voice onto the page. Because sometimes, even when you know the equation and character, it can still feel elusive when you go to actually write. In part, in reality, this is because--like everything in writing--we are trying to take a notion, an aesthetic, or a feeling that is somewhat abstract, and make it concrete with actual words.

And when you are doing this with a brand new character, it's hard not to fall back on other voices you've already used. Or already heard.

I have no problem if you want to grab inspiration from other characters, but since this character is a different person, he or she needs to sound like a different person.

So let's assume you already know the character rather well.  

From that point, I've found there are a few things that are usually best avoided when working with a viewpoint character's voice, and things that are usually good ideas to implement when working with one.  

Avoid

"Always" Sentence Structures (ex., always talks in long sentences or short sentences)

- When looking at developing voice, it might seem like a good idea to play with sentence structure--heck, it is a good idea, to an extent. But if you are too rigid with it, there are problems. The most obvious is that trying to read a story where every sentence is about the same length is a terrible experience for the reader. But it's more than that. Sentence structure is also used to control pacing, tone, and emotional experience. If you get too locked into a specific type of sentence structure, you doom other parts of your story. Also, most people don't adhere to a specific structure, constantly, in real life either.

Dominating Emotions that Undercut the Story

- If you are writing in a voice where the viewpoint character almost always sounds calm or relaxed--guess what? Chances are it's going to minimize the tension you have in your story. Because if they are calm, the reader is calm. If they aren't worried, the reader isn't worried. The only way you can get away with this consistently, is if you are writing a story with extremely high stakes at every turn, so that the calmness is a counterpoint that adds humor or irony. Likewise, a character who is consistently sad about whatever, might start to sound melodramatic--and when you get to the really sad part later in the story, it won't be as powerful, because we've already spent so much time feeling sad. In short, frankly, some dominating emotions work better as a viewpoint character's voice than others. (And every character should have their own dominating emotions.) Avoid dominating emotions that are going to undercut the power of your story.

Relying too Heavily on Accents

- There was a time where people did not really know what a particular accent sounded like, so it was helpful to actually write how that accent sounded in the text. Today's audience is different. Most of us have heard all kinds of accents. And if we don't know one, we can look it up online. Today, it's better to sprinkle in a few regional phrases here and there to remind us of the character's accent and background, rather than write the whole thing that way. (Not to mention, that makes it more difficult to read).

Stock Voices

- Once in a while you run into a character voice that sounds like a hundred other character voices of that genre. For example, YA is known for protagonists having a snarky voice. That's not a bad thing necessarily, but if you do have a viewpoint character whose voice sounds similar to many others, find a way to individualize it. Lots of people are snarky. But they are snarky in their own ways. How is your character snarky?

Pretty Much "Always" Anything

- One of the problems I sometimes run into is when the text is trying so hard to be voicey, that it's annoying. Like almost anything in writing, if you go too extreme, for too long, the reader can't wait to close the book. The same thing can happen with voice. We sometimes hear people say things like this about books: "Every viewpoint character sounded totally different and unique!" In reality, while someone may have felt that way, I'm willing to bet there wasn't that much "total" about it. Like accents, usually the most successful voices today aren't "always" anything, but instead regularly something specific--a dash of snark here and a dash of slang there. 

In this sense, it's okay to have a character who regularly talks in a particular sentence structure, has a regular line of a particular emotion, or who regularly uses regional phrases. But if you have a reoccurring viewpoint character who has a voice that is always _______--chances are it's going to get annoying and be very difficult to sustain over a whole book.

Not even viewpoints like say Lemony Snicket--whose main appeal is his character voice--is constantly going to be quirky for every sentence.

This is not to say you can't do this with minor characters--characters who aren't viewpoint characters, or characters who are viewpoint characters only very briefly, like in a teaser. But if this is a viewpoint character that needs to sustain a big part of the story, avoid "always" extremes.

Not only do they get annoying, but again, can sort of "handicap" most stories, by limiting tone, tension, and emotion.

Sure, all rules can be broken, but these are good guidelines for almost all stories.

Do

Now that we got that all out of the way, let's talk about some tips about what to do when actually writing your viewpoint character's voice.

Regularly Use Point 4 POV Penetration

- Point of view is more than picking first, second, or third person. It's also about how deep the prose gets into that character's mind and experience. This is called point of view penetration. Years ago, I talked about this and outlined the different points on the POV penetration spectrum. For simplicity, here is that again:

Here are the four different points on the spectrum, from the most distant to the closest:

(Point 1) Out of breath, Todd wiped the sweat off his face and fanned himself. He got a glass of cold water.

(Point 2) Todd was thinking about how hot it was outside as he got a glass of cold water.

(Point 3) It's freaking hot outside, Todd thought, like the devil's oven. He got a glass of cold water, even though it wouldn't do anything to fight the heat. Better than nothing, Todd thought.

(Point 4) It was freaking hot outside. Like the devil's oven. A glass of cold water wouldn't do squat, but it was better than nothing.

Notice the first example shows that Todd thinks it's hot from the outside. In the last example, the prose takes on his thoughts and attitude and we know he thinks it's hot from the inside. Point 4 is the most effective place to be to get character voice on the page.

Note that the last example, Point 4, is "showing" and "telling" simultaneously. The writer is "showing" us the thought process in the character's head, but humans (usually) think in "telling" sentences. Don't shy away from deep penetration because you have been told it's "telling" and that "telling" is bad. This kind of "telling" is actually "showing," and if used correctly, can render emotion more raw and more powerful than just regular "showing."

* FYI, the points of the spectrum are my own labeling/making. They are real, but I'm just letting you know that since I'm the one who labeled them, if you use this terminology elsewhere, people probably won't know what you are talking about.

When switching to a new viewpoint character, it's usually best to get to Point 4 quickly. This is where the strongest voices reside.

Utilize Comparisons (Similes and Metaphors)

- What your viewpoint character chooses to compare something to will tell us a lot. If he compares the color of the sky to the white static on the television, we know he spends more time around or thinking about t.v. than he does nature. In contrast, someone who spends a lot of time in nature, might would compare the static of the t.v. to storm clouds. Consider what matters to your character and what he or she spends her time doing and thinking, and try mining that for an apt comparison. If you are introducing a new viewpoint, this is a great way to start building a sense of his or her voice.

It also works well to convey his or her mood for the scene. If she uses a comparison that is positive, we will probably assume she is in a positive mood. If he uses a comparison that is negative, we will probably assume he is in a negative mood. So also consider your character's emotions when picking comparisons. This will in turn give us a sense of his or her attitudes.

Slightly Deviate the Inner World from the Outer World

- We all think and experience things that we don't share. In fact, some of what we think and experience is in direct contrast to what we show the world. There should probably be at least a slight deviation with your viewpoint character too. And if this happens at POV Point 4, even better (usually). What the character thinks about and experiences privately and how it is rendered in the text, will tell us a lot about the person. When it is at odds with what he or she presents to the world, we want to know why, which gives you another opportunity to further define your character's viewpoint.

Add Lines that Speak to Worldview

- In a story, it can be easy to just get focused on what is happening--I mean, obviously. But watch for opportunities to slide in a worldview your character has about something that comes up. Maybe someone your viewpoint character is listening to references the police. Assuming it suits the passage, go ahead and slide in a brief line that clues us into what that character thinks about the police. Are they "pigs"? Or are they protectors? Are they crooked? Or are they unappreciated? People to avoid? Or someone your viewpoint character dreams of being? This will help bring in their perspective.

Sprinkle in Unique, Surface Specifics

- You can actually get away with not doing this and still have a successful character voice and story. But if you want the voice to feel more defined, it can be useful to sprinkle in one or two or three surface quirks. Just remember that anything taken to an extreme can become annoying. So the keyword here is "sprinkle." In some scenes, you may sprinkle more generously than others, depending on the needs and tone of the scene. But you won't be dumping the sprinkles on in every paragraph through the whole book.

The quirk might be favorite words (Jack Sparrow says "savvy" and Smeagol says "precious") or regional phrases (in Utah, we are known for having a lot of strange "swears," such as "Oh my heck!", "flip", and "Son of a biscuit!"). It can also be something related to the prose. Brandon Sanderson has a viewpoint character who is terrible at writing similes and metaphors. Another character may be prone to using sentence fragments. Or maybe another is a bit more generous with the dashes. Or maybe one occasionally gets distracted.

Just make sure what you pick makes sense for your character.

Now, as one of my followers mentioned to me several weeks ago, often what sounds like a great voice, breaks writing rules. When working on surface specifics, what writing rules are broken, can help contribute to how the voice sounds.

Viewpoint Voice at Work

Next, I would like to show how you can take a passage that seems to have very little voice, and utilize these approaches to give it a stronger sense of one.

Impatient, Jason tapped the steering wheel, thinking about how this drive always seemed to take longer than it actually was. He had another fever. Others would have found it annoying, but he thought the irony was funny.

These days he regularly felt sweaty, and he hadn't had time to do his laundry yet.

He considered how the feverish episodes were become fewer and further in between and wondered if that was a bad thing.

Jason had a belief that everyone had a secret worth knowing.

He was keeping several right now, and one was that the only other person he knew with this illness had recently died.  

Finally, he arrived, parking alongside the forest, a decent distance from the A-frame cabin--in his friend's car.

He'd stolen it temporarily, but he would return it before she needed to go anywhere.

Now compare it to this:

Jason tapped the steering wheel incessantly. Ugh, this drive always took a century. Because it was boring. His body felt like firecrackers had bred with the flu--he was sure he could melt a dreamsicle in a single lick. It was kinda hilarious.

Because whatever he attempted, he ended up sweaty.

And he hadn’t touched his laundry in forty years.

The feverish episodes were becoming fewer and further in between though. He wondered if that was a bad thing.

Everyone had a secret.

And one of Jason’s, was that Peni Anderson was already dead.

Finally, Jason parked alongside the forest, a decent distance from the A-frame cabin--in Heather’s car.

She had work off today, so it’s not like she needed it.

I admit that a little bit of the context is missing in the second version, but I would plan to add it earlier in the story or soon after. But let's break down the difference.

Jason doesn't see himself as impatient, so I cut that. When life is boring to him, everything seems to take longer, so he exaggerates the time--it's one of his quirks. He loves pranks, bangs, and excitement, so using "firecrackers" fits with that. Maybe not perfectly, but enough to illustrate the point for now. "He was sure he could melt a dreamsicle in a single lick"--okay, so maybe he's a bit imaginative and likes sweets. "It was kinda hilarious"--well, that's not how most people would respond, so why is he? It seems he's one of those people who finds irony in his own bad circumstances funny.

Notice that much of the text has gone deeper, to Point 4. But not all of it. That's okay. Remember, we just need to sprinkle in enough. Notice too that this version uses more implication. Deep POV does that. We see he's hiding something about this illness from others. "Everyone had a secret" seems to touch on his worldview. Maybe not a perfectly comprehensive example, but it definitely has more voice than the first.

Now go write that viewpoint voice!

[butwhatifidothis]

Captain’s fic seems to not like waiting to set up stuff for a payoff. It just does things with no concern on how, for example, showing byleth with emotions early on, weakens the development later on when Byleth cries after Jeralt dies.

This is also seen with how much, as pointed out by others, Edelgard’s backstory is brought up again and again and again and again.

With sad backstories you need to be careful on when the character is to reveal it. And how it is revealed. There are some options. They can give small snippets here and there that eventually will add to create a whole truth. They can straight up lie but leave hints of inconsistencies for the reader to pick up on before more information is added. They can even say nothing on there backstory until a big event in the story makes them reach their breaking point and they have to reveal it. This overall depends on what story you are trying to tell.

Dumping a sob story very early on is not a good strategy. Especially when the writer wants the character to be sympathetic. It devalues the build up to other characters learning of the backstory and their reactions when the POV character constantly brings it up in full detail.

Also on an unrelated note, in the roasting Woobiegard au Ashe would probably be mixed on not appearing much. He’s sort of sad because he isn’t in the hilarity but he’s glad that he isn’t being embarrassed.

He also for a while has to comfort Caspar for also not having screen time. Though he would then point out that he wanted more screen time when Caspar is ready to quit because of his relationship with Kronya.

Alois would constantly check the book whenever Jeralt was in the story just to make sure it was actually Jeralt written down and not some other weirdo.

Dorothea would occasionally do ‘very serious’ dramatic readings of some of the ‘best’ parts. When she sees Edelgard holding a dying child in her arms she just snorts and chugs down a bottle.

Sylvain then looks at the paper and…tries… to recreate the scene with Felix, who is not at all pleased. Sylvain somehow makes the scene even more melodramatic and is soon punted by Felix.

Cyril regrets being taught how to read if this is the kind of stuff people make.

100% right on Cap’n not writing things for a payoff well. Often times he either leaves things alone when they could have made for some actually interesting dilemma (like what I said in my notes, the idea of Edelgard bringing up Miklan’s bandits when Dorothea, Ingrid, and Lysithea went to check up on her) or even seemingly full on forgets what he’s written (”No one can truly understand another’s pain” during the grieving Byleth scene vs “NO ONE BUT A FEW - WHICH INCLUDES ME - CAN UNDERSTAND YOUR PAIN” damn near everywhere else). Edelgard has pains in her arms and chest from the scars on her, but everyone can go around slapping the shit outta her shoulders and back without a peep from her, Byleth can grab and squeeze her hands and arms without a hint of complaint from Edelgard - n one needs to actually adjust themselves to Edelgard’s pain nor does she have to actually adjust to living with them, they’re a sidenote at best. The whole ordeal of Byleth’s emotions not giving any meaningful impact like you said, since she was never that detached from them anyway

As well as her backstory - there’s no subtlety at all. The way it’s handled - and how a lot of things in this fic are handled really - actually reminds my of this quote from a Youtuber named KrimsonRogue:

You know after a while you gotta stop holding the reader’s hands, they gotta figure some of this out on their own. If you keep reinforcing this - for no reason - it looks like you have no faith in their retention. “Hi guys, I wrote this book. I kept saying the same thing over and over because I think you’re all idiots.

And man, if that ain’t the fuckin’ truth. So many of these flashbacks just reveal the same thing over and over - Agnes was a 100% pure angel who never did Edelgard any wrong ever, Edelgard Sad, Duke Aegir Bad. And if they’re really meant to be “dissociative” then they fail on that front too, since Edelgard never loses focus after they happen and other never comment on any weird pauses she’d have. They’re just there for the reader to know that she’s sad - as if that hasn’t be utterly drilled into our skulls by now. When I see a paragraph of italics it’s just like aw shit, here we go again, another flashback to remind me of one of three things I already know. My favorite.

AND ROOSTING THE FIC AU RETURNS 

Ashe has to be the comforting shoulder for a lot of characters when they see how badly they’ve been butchered - Marianne is a frequenter, once she sees how ass-backwards she is in this fic. Dedue and Mercedes eventually have this happen to them too once everyone realizes that their names don’t even pop up like ever, let along them actually being physically present.

Bernadetta would read how Jeralt is written and look at Alois, then back at the “Jeralt,” then back to Alois - she thought they were two entirely different people?? Why is this Jeralt so much like Uncle Alois??

DOROTHEA ACTING THE FIC OUT OMG she convinces Manulea to join in and they overact to hell and back, especially in the more overdramatic moments - they’re half the reason the gang can get through this in the first place lmaooo, Sylvain tries to get Felix to join in with them and Felix fuckin’ instant transmissions out of the room

Cyril is not bappy

[autolenaphilia]

Granada Holmes (series review)

The 1984-1994 Granada series of Sherlock Holmes adaptations, starring Jeremy Brett as Holmes are regarded by fans as a milestone among the many adaptations of Sherlock Holmes that were made. Brett is said to be “the definitive Holmes”. And I would largely agree with that, despite it not being my favourite version, and it having some flaws and weak episodes, especially as the series went on.

The first thing that set this show apart is that it went back to the original stories and adapted those. Now, it isn’t the first version to do so, as some people (including Brett, apparently) claim. The 1920s silent film series with Eille Norwood was fairly canon accurate, and the 1960s BBC tv series with Douglas Wilmer and Peter Cushing also followed the canon. There is also the 1979-1986 Soviet Russian series with Vasily Livanov. And on radio you have more canonical dramatizations, such as the British John Gielgud 1950s series and the BBC Carleton Hobbs series from the 50s and 60s. People have an unfortunate tendency to ignore radio in favour of screen adaptations.

Still, it must be granted that Granada at its best is probably the supreme screen adaptation of the canon. The production values and acting are far superior to what the 60s BBC tv series had.

Jeremy Brett was a revolution in Holmes performances. The previous era defining Holmes, Basil Rathbone, as great as he was, made Holmes into too much of a straightforward hero. Brett brought back the eccentricities (including the drug use), the nervous energy and the character’s general moodiness and emotionality that was there in the text.

Holmes in the Granada series was ultimately on the side of good and a benevolent figure (if occasionally rude), but fictional justice perhaps had never an odder champion. He did everything from sitting weirdly, jumping over couches to taking drugs. Holmes felt neurodiverse, and indeed Brett used his own experiences with bipolar disorder in the performance.  And it was true to canon, in a way we seldom had seen on screen before.

Jeremy Brett’s performance as Holmes is extremely influential and often imitated by later screen adaptations, but has never been surpassed. The portrayal of Holmes in BBC Sherlock and the movies with Robert Downey Jr. is clearly inspired by Brett’s nervy eccentric genius Holmes, but ends up a bad parody. Holmes in the Granada series can like his canon counterpart occasionally be rude or careless towards other, but it was lapses, not a general trend. They seemed to be caused by an eccentric brain on another wavelength from the people around him, rather than any malevolence. Holmes in BBC Sherlock is a male nerd wish-fulfilment fantasy, where the character’s eccentric genius are allowed to excuse any crimes.

At its height, Brett’s Holmes is an awe-inspiring performance, with the actor pouring everything of his skill and energy into it. You could criticize it as melodramatic over-acting, but it makes for great viewing and fits the man who said “I never can resist a touch of the dramatic”.

The Granada series gets much credit for rehabilitating the role of Watson. Both of the actors playing him depicted as very much intelligent and capable. It is somewhat overstated of course, the turning away from the comedic figure Nigel Bruce portrayed started already with Andre Morell’s Watson in the 1959 Hammer Hound of the Baskervilles. Still, the Watson depicted by the Granada series is still one of the show’s chief draws.

The series had a switch in the actors playing Watson, with David Burke portraying him in the first two seasons of 13 episodes  and The Empty House featuring Holmes return to a Watson portrayed by Edward Hardwicke. And honestly it is hard to choose between them, because they are both great and there is a consistency in the writing that makes them feel like the same basic character. 

Burke’s Watson comes across as younger and more energetic of the two actors and has perhaps the better comedic dynamic with Holmes. He is perhaps my pick, as despite his actual age while playing the part, he feels closer to the young Watson of the canon.

But that is no serious slight against Hardwicke’s performance, which is still first-rate. Hardwicke’s Watson feels older, despite the difference in age between the actors being but a few years. The performance is also defined by an effortless charm and warmth, giving Watson an avuncular aura. But Watson is not at all infirm and is still an intelligent medical man and an experienced soldier, ever ready with his revolver.

An interesting change from the Canonical stories is that Watson never gets married and moves out of Baker Street. The Sign of the Four features Mary Morstan, but at the end she walks out of the story without any romance between her and Doctor Watson. The reason this was done, is that it simplifies the set-up of the stories. With Watson in 221B, he is always on hand to join Holmes. No need for a scene at the beginning of Holmes taking Watson away from wife and practice. Also it saves them keeping track of when Watson was married or not, something that Conan Doyle himself got into a serious continuity tangle about.

As producer Michael Cox (quoted in David Stuart Davies’s book Starring Sherlock Holmes)  noted, Conan Doyle himself probably regretted marrying off Watson, considering The Empty House has Watson suffering from a “sad bereavement” and then moving back in with Holmes. So it is a very much acceptable deviation from canon.

It also frees the writers to focus on the most important relationship in the canon: the friendship between Holmes and Watson. The canon has been called “a textbook of friendship” by Christopher Morley, and the chemistry and relationship between Holmes and Watson is vitally important to any adaptation. And that aspect of the stories is wonderfully conveyed here, with both actors playing Watson working together with Brett as Holmes well to convey the odd but close friendship between the two men.

Rosalie Williams plays Mrs. Hudson, and she is excellent in the role. The Granada series has a lot of little scenes of Mrs. Hudson added into the canonical cases, and they work excellently, giving her more of a presence. Many of them are comedic, making jokes about how a difficult and eccentric lodger Holmes is, but there is a clear undercurrent of affection throughout their interactions.

The recurring cast members include Charles Gray as Mycroft Holmes and Colin Jeavons as Inspector Lestrade.

 Gray as Mycroft is close to ideal, fitting the character of the overweight, lazy and intelligent canon character perfectly. He was such a good fit for the role that he had actually earlier played the part in the film adaptation of The Seven-Per-Cent Solution.

Jeavons fit the part of Lestrade and his acting is superb, capable of showing the full extent of Lestrade’s character, having both smug over-confidence at times, yet also having genuine respect and affection for Holmes.

The acting skills of the actors playing characters who only appear in one episode is also generally very high. And that is part of the general high quality of execution the show had for most of its run. The period sets and the directing was of a similar high standard. The music by Patrick Gowers is excellent, and I suggest any fan take a listen to this Youtube playlist of his soundtrack.

The scripts are quite excellent, for the most part sticking close to the Conan Doyle stories. Of course there are always infidelities here and there, and sometimes the episode would go on non-canonical tangents.

Usually it was to make the story work better on screen. For example, the villains in The Greek Interpreter escape from Holmes and Watson, ending up being killed “off-screen” as it were. So the Granada version of the same tale has a non-canonical ending of Holmes, Watson and Mycroft confronting the villains on a train, something that works rather well. Another example is The Musgrave Ritual which entirely ditches the original story’s framing device of Holmes telling Watson the story of an early case of his. In the Granada version Watson is with Holmes on this case, and it works better that way.

And with all of these elements working together, for most of its run, the Granada series is perhaps the definitive screen adaptation of Sherlock Holmes. The first four seasons of 50 minute episodes, which were broadcast under the titles of The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes and The Return of Sherlock Holmes from 1984-1988 plus the feature length adaptation of The Sign of Four are pretty much all great. It went from strength to strength, consistently making very well-made adaptations of the canon.

The Sign of Four is probably a good pick for Granada’s peak, due to its epic nature. And it is definitely the best of the five feature-length films they did. Outside of leaving out any romance between John and Mary, the film is faithful to the book, although it goes too far in that direction in keeping in the racism of the story. But it also has all of the book’s virtues as a story too, and fine acting from Brett, Hardwicke, and John Thaw as Jonathan Small make for an enjoyable viewing experience.

There was however a decline in the series later years. The lynchpin of the series was Jeremy Brett, and his health began to seriously fail him by 1987, leading to his death in 199 (my source of information on Brett’s health decline and general behind the scenes things is mostly Davies’s book Starring Sherlock Holmes) Once lean and looking remarkably like the Sidney Paget illustrations of Holmes, his conflicting medications for his heart problems and bipolar disorder caused him to retain water and bloat, causing him to no longer look like the lean figure he once was. His looks wasn’t really the problem, what was however was that his health problems drained him of the energy that he once was able to put it into his performance, creating through no fault of his own a more lethargic and weaker Holmes.

There was also a growing lack of care shown towards the series by Granada itself. The budgets began to shrink by 1988, and while the series looked good for the most part, it did impact the show.

Probably the first disappointing episode is the double-length adaptation of The Hound of the Baskervilles from 1988. You would expect the Granada series, with their excellent leads and excellent track record up to this point, to create the definitive version of this often-filmed story, but it just isn’t. It isn’t bad, but it is ultimately mediocre in a way that is hard to pinpoint. My guess is that the direction and cinematography doesn’t manage to create the suspense the story needs, resulting in a slow-paced and slightly boring experience.

It also ends up show-casing the problems the show would now begin to have, with the production crew not having the money to do location shooting on Dartmoor and Brett obviously showing the signs of his failing health.

The Hound film was followed by a season of six 50-minute length episodes, called The Case-book of Sherlock Holmes. And these were mostly fine, considering the circumstances. The budget had been reduced compared to earlier seasons and you could tell the writers sometimes lacked a first-rate canonical story to adapt.

There were one or two weaker episodes, but those were due to the original story being weak. For example, the season ended with a faithful adaptation of The Creeping Man and it is as good and well-made a tv adaptation you could ever hope to make with such a bizarre plot. The result is of course pure camp, but so is the original story. When the show had a good Conan Doyle story to adapt, like The Boscombe Valley Mystery, The Problem of Thor Bridge or The Illustrious Client, the results are indeed up to the standards of its past.

The real nadir of the series came later, however, when in 1992-93 the series decided to do three double-length episodes. Granada wanted the Holmes series to copy the success of Inspector Morse and its 100 minute tv film format. The problem was the show would still adapt Conan Doyle’s short stories into a format that was far too long for them. So the scriptwriters had to pad the stories out with their own inventions.

This sort of worked for the first film of these three films, The Master Blackmailer. It was based on Charles Augustus Milverton, which is one of the shortest stories in the canon, but one of the most rich in dramatic potential. Writer Jeremy Paul’s script decided to show in detail what is merely mentioned in the story, such as Milverton blackmailing people and Holmes courting Milverton’s maid in order to gain access to his home. The end result works, it is somewhat slow-paced but is ultimately coherent and at its best feels like you are watching the backstory to the canonical events.

The same can’t be said for the second and third of these films, The Last Vampyre and The Eligible Bachelor. The Last Vampyre is an almost completely incoherent non-adaptation of The Sussex Vampire, where elements from the canonical story probably make up less than 5% of the resulting film. There is an attempt to create intrigue and suspense around the original character Stockton, but the film is so vague about what he is and what threat he poses that the resulting film makes no sense.

The Eligible Bachelor is a similar adaptation of The Noble Bachelor, where the canonical story elements that remain is entirely subsided by a new bizarre plot where Lord St. Simon is now a ruthless Bluebeard-like villain. It is slightly better than The Last Vampyre, simply because the villain here poses an identifiable and somewhat coherent threat. Still, the film has to pad things out with bizarre subplots, like Holmes having prophetic dreams, which ultimately doesn’t lead anywhere.

Wisely, the series returned to the 50 minute format for the last season of six episodes, which aired in 1994, under the name of “he Memoirs of Sherlock Holmes. It was with this season Jeremy Brett’s health problems and the lower budgets really began to seriously affect the show. Brett was in a bad state at this point, and the description of the production in Davies’s book makes for sad reading.

During the filming of one episode in this season, The Three Gables, he had to use a wheelchair between takes and supplementary oxygen to ease his breathing. His performance is naturally lacking in the energy he once had, but the fact it is a performance at all is testament to his commitment. The Three Gables is actually one of the better episodes of this season, as it actually manages to improve on one of the weakest stories in the canon.

Edward Hardwicke was unavailable to film The Golden Pince-nez, and they couldn’t re-schedule the shooting dates (which I suspect was a budget issue). So the writer wrote out Watson and replaced him in the role of Sherlock’s assistant with Mycroft, since Charles Gray was available. The result is well-made otherwise, with guest stars Frank Finlay and Anna Carteret giving great performances, but the lack of Watson is sorely felt. It is fun to see Charles Gray’s Mycroft again, but it feels contrary to his character to accompany his brother like this.

And before he could film The Mazarin Stone,  Brett’s health gave out on him and he was hospitalized. Again Charles Gray was called in by the producer to play Mycroft as a substitute. It is nice to see Mycroft for a fourth time, but Mycroft doing this doesn’t feel true to his character. And this episode is one of the weakest in the series, due to the script. Not that I blame the scriptwriter too much, The Mazarin Stone is one of the worst stories in the canon. The efforts to improve on the story by combining it with another weak story  The Three Garridebs don’t at all manage to rescue it.

However, there are still some rather good episodes in this season . The Red Circle is good and The last ever episode of the series, The Cardboard box manages to close out the series on a good if dark note.

Jeremy Brett died in 1995 due to heart failure, ending all hope of any future series.

I might have delved too much on the series failures in this essay. Because all of that is outweighed by the consistent high quality the series managed to achieve in the first four seasons, and with a few failures, still managed to sometimes achieve again in the later ones. Those adaptations are perhaps the peak of Holmes on screen.

It is not my favourite adaptation, that is the BBC radio drama versions made starring Clive Merrison as Holmes from 1989 to 2010. Those were just as consistently good, with Merrison and Williams/Sachs as Holmes and Watson being on the same general level as Brett and Burke/Hardwicke as performances. In fact, the BBC version is more consistent, never going off the rails as the Granada version sometimes, and it actually managed to achieve the goal Brett had hoped for: adapting every canonical story.

Still that doesn’t take away from Granada’s great achievement in adapting the Holmes stories with such quality. It is an achievement that later movie and tv adaptations haven’t been able to surpass.

[thewebcomicsreview]

So I guess Mike's actually dead in Dumbing of Age? I suppose maybe there's still room for debate on that but it seems pretty big for the comic and I'd like to know your take on it.

I like how it’s casually mentioned in passing like this. It’s a good way to naturally fit in this exposition, and I think this reveal works a lot better than having everyone in Mike’s hospital room and the heart monitor goes beep beep beep beeeeeep, which is the kind of thing Roomies-era Dave Willis might’ve done. Compare to the reveal of Ruth’s death in Roomies

Which is way more drawn out and melodramatic while also kind of flippant about Ruth’s death in that in transitions immediately to how two male characters are sad about it. Fully seven percent of strips (6 out of 86) Tagged “Ruth Lesse”  in Roomies are flashbacks to her dying by someone who feels sad.

Indeed, Mike’s death in DoA is a pretty clear 2nd draft of Ruth’s death in Roomies!, as both involve a minor character mostly known for being an aggressive jerk heroically sacrifices themselves shortly after a vehicle at high speeds. 

It’s literally the same car!

So it’s kind of instructive to compare these two executions on the same concept by the same author, some 20ish years apart. It’s a good illustration of the “writing in the middle lane” concept I stole from Kazerad. So what are some key differences between the “No Regrets” storyline in Roomies and “To Remind You Of My Love”/”When it Crumbles”/”Is a Song Forever”. It’s too early to really to an “analysis”, since we need to see more of the fallout, but let’s just keep this comparison in the back of our mind and literally just make a list of all the differences for now, and once we have more DoA context to work with, we can do an analysis to indicate what Dave Willis has learned as a writer over his career and how he applies this knowledge to effectively re-telling a story, but for now, a simple list: 

1. “Ruth’s death is two storylines (”Beer Necessities” and “No Regrets”). Mike’s death is spread out over three, but they are also much longer storylines. The two storylines that comprise Ruth’s death are a mere 23 strips, while Mike’s covers ten times that much ground.

2. Mike is killed by the main villain of the book. Ruth is killed by “a truck”. Not even someone driving the truck, IIRC we never find out who was driving the truck that killed Ruth (maybe it comes up later and I forgot, but certainly not in the storyline).

3. Blaine was, in addition to being the main villain of the book, a recurring major villain who was teaming up with another major villain in a big season finale episode. The problem Ruth had to solve was Danny driving drunk after having beer for the very first time in that very same story.

(Actually, Danny driving drunk wasn’t even the problem, the truck was the one who randomly sped out of control the strip before Ruth dies!)

The three changes can be groups into Mike’s death was in the service of a big important storyline, whereas Ruth’s death in a comparatively random one.

4. 

Although both strips drag out the “Did they die?!” mystery a bit, Roomies provides an answer almost immediately. Mike’s fate is left up in the air for far longer, as Amber has to deal with Brain Ghost Mike helping her process Real Mike’s death, which may or may not be inspired by a famous episode of Scrubs.

5.

DoA spends much longer letting everyone begin to process Mike’s fate before skipping ahead four months so we can get to people finishing to process Mike’s death. In Roomies, Joyce literally gets abducted by aliens on her way out of the hospital. 

6.  Mike is a relatively minor character in Dumbing of Age, but Ruth is barely above an NPC in Roomies. She’s only in 86 strips, and most of them are flashbacks of “Isn’t it sad Ruth died” or strips added later and retroactively added into the archive.

It’s getting late (2:30am!) and this post is getting long, so I’ll come back and add some more stuff later, but we can summarize all these changes as “Bigger”. Mike’s a bigger character than Ruth in Roomies, the storyline leading up to his death is bigger, his actual death is longer, with dying words and stuff, the reactions to his death are bigger, much more time to breath, etc. This makes his death a lot more impactful than the Roomies melodrama. It also took much longer, but it was intertwined with other stories in a way Ruth’s death wasn’t, and that’s an essay for another day. To be continued! 

[cctinsleybaxter]

2020 in books

2020 was a year of changed reading habits; people reading more than ever or not at all, some changing their tastes and others turning to old comforts. While there weren’t any huge overhauls on my end, more free time did mean a total of 32 in a wider range of genres. In the past couple of years I found a lot of the things I read to be kind of middling and ranked them accordingly, but this year had some strong contenders in the mix. With college officially behind me I love nonfiction again, and I really need to stop being drawn in by novels with long titles that ‘sound interesting.’ A piece of advice to my future self: they will only make you angry.

The Good

The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky I loved the BBC radio play when I first listened to it back in 2017, but didn’t know if I could stomach the idea of actually reading the 700-page book, especially since I already knew the plot (spoiler alert: this had no effect and I gasped multiple times despite knowing what was going to happen; Fyodor’s just that good at atmosphere.) The story follows Prince Lev Myshkin, a goodhearted but troubled man entering 1860s Petersburg high society and meeting all of the wretched people therein as he navigates life, laughs, love, unanswerable questions of faith, and human suffering. I care about it in the same way I think other people care about reality TV shows and soap operas. I’m so personally invested in the drama and feel so many different emotions directed at these clowns that it’s like being a fan of Invitation to Love (with an ending equally upsetting to that of the show ITL is from, Twin Peaks.)

Salt: A World History by Mark Kurlanksy I adored this book. The first half reads a little like a Wikipedia article, and I was worried that it was leaning too clinical and would be disaffected with colonialism and indigenous peoples, but even that oversight is corrected for as the text goes on. It’s not going to be for everybody because it really is just the world’s longest encyclopedia entry on, well, salt, but it’s written with such excitement for the topic and is so well-researched and styled for commercial nonfiction that I think it deserves any and all praise it’s gotten. We have to talk about that time Cheshire was literally sinking into the ground, and companies who were over-pumping brine water to steal each other’s brine water said ‘no it’s okay it’s supposed to that’ so were legally dismissed as suspects.

Midnight Cowboy by James Leo Herlihy Cried. 10/10. The plot of Midnight Cowboy is very classic and actually has a lot in common with The Idiot, as 20-something Joe Buck moves from the American Southwest to NYC and meets myriad challenges as a sex worker. I’ve been obsessed with the movie for a few years now and the book made me appreciate it anew; I think it’s rare for an adaptation to take the risk of being so different from its source material while still capturing its spirit. The movie doesn’t include quieter moments like the full conversation with Towny or time spent in the X-flat, nor does it attempt to touch Joe’s internal monologue or his and Rico’s extensive backstories, but these things are essential to the book and are some of the best and most affecting writing I’ve ever read. Finally! The Great American Novel!

The Only Good Indians by Stephen Graham Jones I would firmly like to say that this is probably the best horror novel ever written. The setup is very traditional in that it’s about a group of friends facing supernatural comeuppance for a past mistake, but delivery on that premise is anything but familiar. A story about personal and cultural trauma that raises questions about what we owe to each other and what it means to be Blackfeet, with a cast that’s unbelievably real and sympathetic even at their absolute worst. Creepypasta writers trying to cash in on the cultural mythos of lumped-together tribes wish they were capable of writing something a tenth as gruesome and good as this. It could very well be a movie the visuals and writing style were so arresting, and I can’t wait to read whatever Jones writes next.

Found Footage Horror Films: Fear and the Appearance of Reality by Alexandra Heller-Nicholas This is the least accessible title on the list since it’s a college textbook for people with background in film, but it was so nice to read a woman unpacking film theory with the expertise and confidence it deserves that I have to rank it among the best. I had an absolute blast reading it and am going to have to stop myself from bringing up the horror of 1960s safety films as a cocktail icebreaker.

Blood in the Water: The Attica Prison Uprising of 1971 and Its Legacy by Heather Ann Thompson

The year’s toughest read by far, but also its most rewarding. Thompson uses mountains of documents, government-buried intel, and personal interviews to explain what happened at Attica from beginning to end, and does a fantastic job of balancing hard facts and ‘unbiased journalism’ with much-needed emotion and critical analysis. It’s more important reading in the 2020s than any kind of ‘why/how to not be racist’ book club book is going to be, and the historical context it provides is as interesting as it is invaluable. The second half drags a bit in going through lengthy trial processes with some assumed baseline knowledge of legalese (which I did not have. All that criminal minds in 2015… meaningless), but aside from that editing and prose are some of the best I’ve seen in nonfiction. 

The Bad

The Woman in the Window by A.J. Finn A friend and I decided to read this together because I’m obsessed with how insane the author is and wanted to know if he can actually write.

He cannot.

The Beautiful Thing That Awaits Us All by Laird Barron Barron is an indie darling of the horror fiction scene, so I was excited to finally read one of his collections but can now attest that I hate him. If you’re going to do Lovecraft please deconstruct Lovecraft in an interesting way. I had actually written a lot about the issues I have with how he develops characters and plots, but one of the only shorthand notes I took was “he won’t stop saying ‘bole’ instead of tree trunk” and I feel like that’s the only review we need.

Bats of the Republic by Zach Dodson Look up a photo of this author because if I had bothered to glance at the jacket bio I honest-to-god wouldn’t have even tried reading this.

This Is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone I went in with high expectations since this is an epistolary novella I’d seen praised on tumblr and youtube but oh my god was there a reason I was seeing it praised on tumblr and youtube. This is bad Steven Universe fanfiction. Both authors included ‘listening to the Steven Universe soundtrack throughout’ in the acknowledgements, and to add insult to injury there’s a plug from my nemesis Madeline Miller.

The 7½ Deaths of Evelyn Hardcastle by Stuart Turton The premise of this one plays with so many tropes I like that I should have been more suspicious. It’s a dinner party with stock characters one would expect of Clue, and rather than our protagonist being the detective he’s a man with amnesia stuck in a 24-hour time loop. Body-hopping between guests, he must gather evidence using the skillsets of each ‘host’ until he either solves Evelyn Hardcastle’s murder or the limit of eight hosts runs out. I read a lot of not-very-good books, and it’s so, so much worse when they have potential to be fun. This is how you lose the most points, and how I abandon decorum and end up writing a list of grievances: • Our protagonist can only inhabit male hosts, which I think is a stupid writing decision not because I’m ‘woke’ but because wouldn’t it make sense for him to also be working with the maids, cooks, and women close to the murder victim? • Complaining about the limitations of hosts makes some sense (e.g- there’s a section where he thinks that it’s hard to be an old man because it’s difficult to get to the places he needs to be quickly), but one of his hosts is a rapist and one of his hosts is fat. Guess which one gets complained about more. • One of the later hosts is just straight-up a cop with cop knowledge that singlehandedly solves the case. We spend some time being like ‘wow I couldn’t have done it without the info all eight hosts helped gather’ but it was 100% the detective and he solves the murder using information he got off-screen. • The mystery itself is actually well-paced and I didn’t have a lot of issues with it (e.g, there’s a twist that I guessed only shortly before the end), which makes it all the worse that the metanarrative of this book is INSANE. No spoilers but the reveal as to why our unnamed protagonist is even in this situation is stupid. I just know they’re going to make it into a movie and I’m preemptively going to aaaaaaaaa!!!

Trust Exercise by Susan Choi The fact that this was the worst book I read all year, worse even than the bad Steven Universe fanfiction, and it won multiple awards makes my blood boil. I could rant about it for hours but just know that it’s a former theater kid’s take on perception and memory, and deals with sexual abuse in a way that’s handled both very badly and with a level of fake deepness that’s laughable. Select fake-deep quotes I copied down because at one point I said ‘oh barf’ aloud: -I’m filled with melancholy that’s almost compassion. It’s sad the same way. -[On a friendship ending] We almost never know what we know until after we know it. -Because we’re none of us alone in this world. We injure each other.

There are also bad sex scenes that I can’t quite make fun of because I think (HOPE?) they’re supposed to be a melodramatic take on how teenagers view sex, but I very much wanted to die. Flowers were alluded to. Nipples were compared to diamonds.

Honorable/Dishonorable Mentions (categorized as the same thing because, well,)

The Life and Death of Sophie Stark by Anna North This book was frustrating because the first third of it is fantastic. It’s set up to be a takedown of the manic pixie dream girl trope, jumping from person to person discussing their relationship with the titular Sophie, and indirectly revealing that she was just some girl and not the difficult and mysterious genius they all believed her to be. Then in the third act, BAM! She was that difficult and mysterious genius and she’s now indirectly brought all the people from her past together. I wanted to scream the plot beefed it so bad, but the good news is I really liked this octopus description.

It was the size of a three-year-old child, and it seemed awful to me that something could be so far from human and obviously want something as badly as it wanted to get out of the tank.

Radium Girls: The Dark Story of America’s Shining Women by Kate Moore Cool new nightmare speedrun strat is to hear a 2-second anecdote from a documentary that people used to get radium poisoning from painting watch faces, be curious enough that you buy a book to learn more, and be met with medical and legal horror beyond anything you could have imagined. This was almost one of my favorite books of the year! Almost.

Radium Girls is very lovingly crafted and incredibly well-researched; one of those things that’s hard to get through but that you want to read sections of again as soon as you’ve finished. The umbrage I take with it is that it’s very Catholic. The author and many of her subjects are Irish and their religion is important to them, but it casts a martyr-y narrative over the whole thing that I found uncomfortable. Seventeen-year-old girls taking a factory job they didn’t know was dangerous are framed as brave, working-class heroes, but there’s not a set moral lesson to be gained from this story. Sarah Maillefer didn’t make “a sacrifice” when she agreed to the first radium tests, she agreed because she was terrified. She didn’t think she was helping she was begging for help.

The Mushroom at the End of the World: On the Possibility of Life in Capitalist Ruins by Anna Tsing Tsing is an incredibly skilled researcher and ethnographer; there are so many good ideas in this book that I’d almost consider it essential leftist text… if I could stand the way it was structured. Tsing posits that because nature is built on precariousness she will build her book the same way, allowing it to grow like a mushroom, and thus chapters don’t progress linearly and are written more like freeform poetry than a series of academic arguments. Some people are really going to love that, but I’m me and a mushroom is a mushroom and a book is a book. I don’t think in the way Tsing does, and while I tried to keep an open mind it’s hard to play along when something is this academically dense and makes so many ambitious claims. As if to prove how different our structuring methods are, I’ve made my own thoughts into a pros and cons list

Things I liked: • ‘Contamination’ as something inherent to diversity • ‘Scalability’ as a flawed way of thinking (Tsing has written whole essays about this that I find very compelling, but a main example here is that China and the US have come down on Japanese matsutake research for being too ‘site specific’ and not yielding enough empirical data) • Discussing how Americans were so invested in self-regulating systems in the 1950s we thought they could be applied to literally everything, including ecosystems • “The survivors of war remind us of the bodies they climbed over- or shot- to get to us. We don’t know whether to love or hate the survivors. Simple moral judgements don’t come to hand.” • Any and all fieldwork Tsing shares is amazing; I especially liked reading about the culture of mushroom pickers living in the Cascades and their contained market system

Things I didn’t like: • Statements that sound deep but aren’t, e.g- “help is always in the service of another.” (Yep. That’s what that means. Unless an organism is doing something to help itself which then nullifies your whole opening argument.) • A very debatable definition of utilitarianism • “Capitalism vs pre-capitalism,” which seems like an insanely black-and-white stance for a book all about finding hidden middle ground • A chapter I found really interesting about how intertwined Japanese and American economies are, but it tries to cover the entire history of US-Japan relations. Seriously, starting with Governor Perry and continuing through present day, this could have been a whole different book and it’s a good example of what I mean when I say arguments feel too scattered (the conclusion it reaches is that in the 80s the yen was finally able to hold its own against the dollar. Just explain that part.) • A chapter arguing that ‘true biological mutualism’ is rarely a focus of STEM and is a new sociological development/way of thinking which is just… flat-out not true

For all the comparisons art gets to ‘being on a drug trip’ this anthropology textbook has come the closest for me. Moments of profound human wisdom, intercut with things I had trouble understanding because I wasn’t on the same wavelength, intercut with even more things that felt false or irrelevant. I can’t put it on the nice list but I am glad I read it.

[gamer2002]

Danganronpa - Review2002

Danganronpa is a mystery VN, where 15 high schoolers are trapped in a murder school, and in order to get out one has to kill another and frame somebody else for it. Observed and manipulated by the headmaster of the school, a sadistic robot-bear called Monokuma, our main character, Makoto, has to survive and not lose his hope. Because there is a lot of despair. And hope. Despair. Hope. Despair. Light. Darkness. Kingdom Hearts.

But we’ll talk about that later.

Despite all the murder thingy, the game is just an edgy shonen and is very animu. It’s not a bad thing, because it’s entertaining, and that’s what matters the most. Characters are mostly simplistic, often stereotypical, but are distinguish and memorable (aside from meh protag). What is good about the cast is how the group dynamics changes with each case. Thanks to that, the characters seem more alive, and the surrounding drama seems more impactful. And sometimes the drama is really good, though it’s dragged down by the meme writing. But about that later.

The trials, where we try to figure out the killer’s identities, are good gameplay-wise. Aside from the rhythm minigame. I get the creators wanted to demonstrate losing arguments by lack of confidence, but, until half of the game, that minigame had nothing to do with logic or deduction. Every other minigame was good or ok, though.

Comparing to Ace Attorney, the trials were more dynamic, with constant new arguments and questions. It helps that the equivalent of AA’s testimonies is briefer (as it’s on a time limit). Not to mention, the filled with moving camera direction really made non-animated and non-moving characters feel alive. The music was ok – it serves its purpose, but it isn’t memorable.

The gameplay between trials was ok. Investigations didn’t drag too long. The free time did sometimes, but that’s because I was collecting more coins than it was necessary. The coins are spent for presents, which we can give to other characters, in return for learning more about them and gaining upgrades for the trials. But, to be frank, some upgrades were “turn off the setting we put to make the gameplay purposefully shittier”.  

It’s an entertaining game with some good ideas, which earns 7/10 in my book. But there are reasons why this game doesn’t earn any higher, which I’m going to elaborate on. The subject is Kingdom Hearts Meme Writing, Monokuma being a letdown villain, the big revelation being a lot of nothing, and how the writers could’ve made the Hope vs Despair nonsense actually work. The last two are impossible to write about without spoilers, but I can explain the first two without them.

Despair. Despair. Despair. Despair. Do you get it? I hope.

I know this is a shonen, regardless how edgy it is, and the writers were pretty self-aware of this. But the despair/hope meme drags down the writing. Monokuma goes on and on about how he will turn all the hope into despair, and this is just as ridiculous as a talking cartoon bear that kills a man by literally blasting him into space can be. It’s a meme writing. A ham-fisted, forced meme writing.

Other examples of meme writing is Kingdom Hearts, with its light and darkness, or Ace Attorney, with its truth. We all roll our eyes over that. Characters are bringing up some concept in a melodramatic way, repeatably, with a ridiculous zeal that doesn’t just seem alien, but straight out autistic. But it’s okay, all those titles, including Ronpa, are still shonens. Kingdom Hearts is a battle shonen where you fight against forces of evil alongside Donald Duck. You can turn your brain off and enjoy yourself, no biggie. But turning your brain off is a bit harder in, you know, a murder mystery.

Yeah, Ace Attorney is murder mystery as well, and yet I give it a pass. That’s because “truth” is just an ideal of idealistic characters. Phoenix, Edgeworth, and the rest, are melodramatically motivating themselves by simplistically expressing their ideal. And  melodrama is part of a wrestling, and logic wrestling is what Ace Attorney boils down to. So, why this isn’t the same in this logic wrestling game?

The problem with hope/despair is that those are not just some concepts or ideals, but those are emotions. Emotions that the writing does attempt to make you feel, sometimes pretty successfully. Case 4 is an example of a beautifully set up tragedy, it’s the game’s emotional peak. The reveal is shocking and sad, and the dramatic confession is filled with genuine emotion. And then the confession has the word “despair” in it, and my brain is immediately going back to Monokuma and his antics. Good thing that the official translation team has realized that they would have killed the mood sooner, if they had included that word in an earlier appearing evidence. Same thing happens whenever the word “hope” appears – it just makes us recall the memes.

In my AI: Somnium Files I’ve explained to you the need of being explicit about what is supposed to make the player feel emotions. But you can’t be ham-fisted about what the player is supposed to feel. Turning hope and despair into KH’s equivalent of light and darkness is turning them into a material for jokes. It is a repeatable telling us what to feel, and that simply can’t work. If the game didn’t do that, a lot of good moments wouldn’t be dragged down by being a reference to something we joke about.

Monokuma is just the biggest kid tier villain

There are spoiler reasons why Monokuma fails at being a villain, but I’ll mention them in spoiler section about improving the whole hope vs despair conflict. But the basic problem with Monokuma is spoiler-free, because it all boils down to the game’s initial setup.

Generally, Monokuma is a recurring type of villain that mixes nihilism, cartoonish silliness and cruel sadism into one, disturbing package. Other examples of such villains is the Joker, or Killer the Butcher from Zambot 3. When you look at Monokuma alone, he is (aside from spoiler reasons) a good example of such a villain. He is over the top, entertaining, scheming, memorable, gets all the attention in every scene he is in, and is constantly disturbing. All his bases are covered, so all is good, right? But only when you look at Monokuma alone.

Character in a story isn’t just some element you can look at alone, it’s an element you see among all the others. Great villain needs a great hero. Great hero needs a great villain. If one is unimpressive, the other can’t impress us with their triumphs.

The reason why the Joker is a great villain is because he is a challenge for the goddamn Batman, creating a clash of an unstoppable force against an unmovable object. Killer the Butcher’s enemies are kids piloting alien giant robot with superior firepower. What makes the Bucher a good villain is that, regardless of his lost battles, he still succeeds at causing significant collateral damage, which constantly contributes to his stated goal of slowly killing all humans. And Butcher doesn’t just rely on his show reaching logical conclusions about consequences of battles between giant robots, the entire arc before heroes directly attacking his HQ is about him using a weapon they can’t fight with a giant robot – kidnapped people turned into living human bombs. The amount of sacrifices, losses and traumas that kids from a 70s (!) super robot show have to go through is why Killer the Butcher is an impressive villain you love to hate.

But Monokuma isn’t an unstoppable force going against an unmovable object. Neither he is battling heroes that are capable of beating him in a direct confrontation, forcing him to rely on different forms of accomplishing his goals. He targets fifteen uninformed kids, with like three giving him a reason to worry, and puts them in a situation where they can’t initially defy him at all. It’s not a spoiler to say that the kids initially can’t find any clues that would’ve allowed them to free themselves from Monokuma. Their exploration of the school is limited, and next areas are unlocked only after class trials. Meaning, Monokuma limits kids’ ability to gather information required to beat him, until the next killing occurs. If the kids don’t kill anybody, they can only hope to (hah) apathetically accept their imprisonment by Monokuma.

To sum it up, all that Monokuma accomplishes is making some confused kids kill one another, when they are in a situation where it’s their only option to free themselves. Wow, what an impressive villain, doing whatever he wants with helpless children and driving them to murder.

It doesn’t help that the actual conclusion of the conflict with Monokuma is underwhelming, and all his actions only make us respect him less as a villain. But more about that later, in the spoiler section. But not immediately, because first we need to focus on the game’s disappointing big revelation.

Who cares that the world is over?

All attempts to escape the murder school were pointless – the world has already ended! Play the laugh track.

To give the writers credit, Genocide Jill’s explanation of that was funny and played out as a dark joke. And that’s the only way this revelation could be played out.

When it comes for the twist being a twist, it’s okeyish. The twist itself isn’t hard to guess, by the end of the first trial, and it’s almost given away by the third one. On the other side, there are photos of kids that died in previous chapters, and you could wonder if they aren’t going to reveal that everybody lives and this all was a simulation, or something. It can be easily guessed, but there is room for speculation, and you may not know which route the writers will go. Even if those routes are “predictable” and “a disappointing backpedal”.

But even if you end up being surprised… it’s an emotional bunch of nothing. Makoto gets his answer to what could’ve happened to his family, and he still doesn’t even realize it. That’s how the writing poorly handled one way it could’ve made us care about end of the world – through Makoto’s reaction to it.

Makoto is such an uninteresting, purposefully average, and ultimately unimpressive main character. We know he has family, parents, and a younger sister, but one picture of them is all we got. We don’t know the dynamics of their relationship, and we don’t know why Makoto loves them. Just saying “they are his family” isn’t enough. When Superman and his family are written well, we know why Clark Kent cares deeply about them – Ma Kent is such a great mother, Pa Kent is such a great father, and each scene with them demonstrates it.

Through the game, Makoto could’ve flashbacks to his family, as an ongoing C plot. That way we would’ve been shown why Makoto cares about them, why he wants to make sure they are safe, why he could feel tempted about escaping via murder (leading to him rejecting that idea because his family wouldn’t want it that way). And then boom – yes, the world has ended, and they are probably dead.

But Makoto never ever connects the state of the world to the state of his family. And that’s a big mistake, because that was a way to spice up the ultimate clash between Hope and Despair.

How to argue that Despair can be better than Hope

Before I focus on the topic, let me first expand on the topic of Monokuma being a disappointing villain, by telling you why Junko is a disappointing villain.

Junko just pulls everything out of her ass. Ok, she happens to have a super soldier sister, who was capable of killing Academy’s entire adult staff, letting her to take over the school. This part is acceptable by shonen standards. It was the Acadamy that was responsible for sealing the building and setting its defense, ok. But then everything else is an unexplained bullshit. Endless Monokumas? She has them because the writer says so. Ability to take away memories? She has them because the writer says so. Hijacking all TV channels? Performing ridiculously complex executions? Securing supplies to the Academy in a post-apo setting? She can because the writers says so.

She simply isn’t a formidable villain. She is nothing more than a bored girl, that could’ve been successful as a normal person, but the entire universe decided to grant her everything to let her play a supervillain. She doesn’t accomplish any impressive feat by herself. Even taking over of the Academy was solely thanks to her sister. With her granted unfair total advantage over the cast, there was no other way for her to lose than keeping screwing herself. She can’t even gain respect as a formidable opponent from sticking to her rules, because she not only purposefully handicaps the most competent person in the cast, but also keeps breaking her own rules.

The second aspect of a good villain is understandability. And Junko is a stupid incomprehensible mess. She always feels despair, and that somehow makes her constantly bored. But she wants to prove that’s better than hope. For some reason, she is a sadist. She is also happy about facing ultimate despair in form of her own death, but she didn’t yearn to that enough to off herself before all her plans. Nothing adds up, and she just does whatever crazy shit the writers needs her to do at the current moment. This is the aspect where she just sucks as a Joker-type villain. Such villains, when done well, aren’t just twisted, wrong, crazy edgemasters. When done well, they are also, despite everything, still somehow understandable. That’s what makes them actually shocking. It isn’t just shocking that they do horrible things, it is shocking that they can argue that everything they do serves a purpose and is consistent with a coherent belief.

Joker (when written well) and Killer the Butcher do have nihilistic philosophy that is wrong and twisted, but does have some shocking points. Joker believes that normal life is pointless, because one bad day can drive you mad, so it’s better to embrace awfulness of the world as your entertainment. And this philosophy is consistent with him wanting to commit macabre crimes. Killer the Butcher believes that humans are ungrateful bastards and will even treat their saviors like crap. And this philosophy is consistent with him wanting to kill all humans. Even if you don’t agree with their believes (I hope), you understand why somebody with such believes would be doing what they are doing. This understandability is what elevates banal conflict against a bad guy that does a bad thing that has to be stopped, into a conflict against a personified idea. Batman doesn’t just fight the Joker, he fights a nihilistic view of a pointless mad world. Zambot 3 kids don’t just fight Killer the Butcher, they fight view of humans as unworthy of living and being saved. That is why those conflicts aren’t banal.

Meanwhile, Junko makes a big promise for a Hope vs Despair conflict, arguing that the latter is better than former, but...

What is “despair” anyway? Is it to give up from stuff like escaping the school, and accepting whatever you end up having, however shitty it is? But what does it have with Junko’s boredom and embracing her own death? What is the point of the over-the-top executions? Junko is gleefully sadistic, what about despair makes you sadistic? Did she want the cast and her viewers to embrace sadism as well?  How’s that better than hope? It’s incomprehensible, and fails to make any point. The blame lies pretty much on the out-of-place sadism that exists just to make Junko an edgelady.

Danganronpa is a murder mystery. And despite being an over-the-top shonen, it does focus, decently, on motives for committing murders. Every single killer in this game is understandable. Their actions were wrong, but you understand why they did everything they did. There is just a sole exception to this rule – the games’ main villain.

During the final confrontation, Junko was arguing that futile hopes of previous murderers drove them to committing murder. That alone does make a good point. Then she offered everyone safe peaceful life, if they acknowledged her belief and abandoned all hope. Ok, that’s a good dilemma. Surprising that with such a good prepared dilemma Junko bothered to handicap and eliminate Kyoko, when she could just guide the cast towards Junko and this dilemma faster. Still, Junko does make a point about despair being better than hope, and does make the cast face a dilemma, in a way that is consistent with her belief. But then she adds she wants to punish someone for lulz, and that person has to be our bland player character.  

And how killing Makoto proves that despair is better than hope? It was a yet another act of Junko’s pointless sadism, which only made it more difficult for other characters to agree with her. Anyway, Junko is ultimately unimpressive, because she loses to Makoto just saying “let’s have some hope, guys”. All that buildup of understandable motives of past killers lead to a rather banal final conflict with a completely banal resolution.

Things would be different, if Junko didn’t forget about Makoto’s family and did bring them up during the final argument. I still think that trying to kill Makoto was counterproductive, but I understand the need of putting MC’s life at stake. But Junko could single out Makoto for execution because he was pushing for the idea of everyone leaving the school, despite the revelation about state of the world, and she could accuse him for selfishly risking lives of others, just for a hope of reunion with his own family. Imagine that being the payoff of flashbacks to Makoto’s family and his wish to reunite with them. Sure, here, Makoto has proved he wouldn’t directly murder anybody over it, but would he willingly disregard safety of others? He can’t really refute that, without giving up on leaving the school.

And that’s how Junko could undermine Makoto and make her point. Living trapped in the school and abandoning all hope for the outside world was bad, but it could be worse. At least it was safe, peaceful, and they had food plus entertainment. Looking for anything better outside was risky. Hoping for anything better was risky. Hope was bad. The state of despair, where you no longer hope for anything better than what you have, was good. Unable to accept this Makoto was spreading ideas that were dangerous for the well-being of others. How Makoto, willing to selfishly drag everyone else into a dangerous hell-word and risk their lives, was that much different from every other killer? Sure, they killed others directly, but at least none of their victims had a slow and painful death. Makoto was willing to potentially doom others to that. And this is why he had to be put down, like all the other killers had to be, regardless of their understandable motives. In the current state of the world, any reckless hope is a dangerous thought crime.

Here, the final debate could be more complex. Makoto could’ve pointed out that, even if he could be accused for having a selfish hope, it was the same with others. Everyone else wanted their situation to improve, and giving that up for hollow safety wouldn’t do. Hope is better than despair, freedom is better than safety. The future of post-apo is libertarian, and if we can’t live with the freedom to pursue our hopes, then we won’t live at all. No more lockdowns!

You don’t have to agree with such a statement, but at least it is some statement. Here, we have a clash of hope that accepts the risk against despair that is unwilling to accept any risks. Unlike what we got, where despair is somehow tied to sadism, and hope simply rides on the power of friendship.

[seyaryminamoto]

A decade in review

So... I figured I’d join the corny crowd of people who are talking about their growth and achievements this decade. Looking back can actually help a lot when you lose sight of where you’re standing or where you’re going, soooo...

I started this decade halfway through writing an original story that I didn’t take all that seriously at the time. I was in ninth grade, so sure, I was young... and yet, as some people might know, I was clawing my way out of the worst depression I’ve ever faced. If you guys thought you’d seen my low points... yeah, no, I’ve never again hit a low point as badly as I did back then. Yet even though difficult things happened through the rest of the decade, I learned enough lessons from that early, terrible and distressing time (which happened at the end of the previous decade, to be precise, which is why it’s honestly not worth going into right now) that I managed to stay afloat, even if not easily, upon each new opportunity where depressions knocked on my door up to date.

Now, beyond my mental health, I was still in music school at the start of 2010, and I was certainly no longer as enthusiastic about it as I had been when I first enrolled. I didn’t realize at the time that my calling was something else entirely... and the more I wrote that story I mentioned above, the more I leaned away from one branch of art and towards another.

I think I got my first graphic tablet either in 2009 or 2010, at one of my birthdays. My sister dropped the pen on the first day, the tip broke and I flew into the worst of rages :’D she was so apologetic about it, I don’t think I’d ever seen her quite so remorseful, which was why I toned down eventually and cut her slack, did my best not to bring it up again... anyways, I learned to draw with that thing despite the malfunctioning pen, and the first artworks I did weren’t exactly brilliant... here’s one of them, one of the few I actually finished :’D

... Safe to say, I’ve learned a lot since those days, right? :’D

(also, if anyone wonders, that artwork features the main characters of that original story I mentioned, the original file is dated for April 2010, so indeed, a file from early on in the decade :’D)

Slowly, but surely, my life started to revolve more and more around writing and reading/watching stories of all sorts. I’d spend hours and hours every day watching anime (yep, my weaboo phase in full swing!), I’d devour most books that fell into my hands, and I even ended up volunteering at a library (does it really count as volunteering if the government forces you to volunteer or else you can’t graduate from high school...? Hmmmmmm...). I actually chose that library because most other options were basically to play babysitter for either kids or senior citizens, and I sure didn’t think I was equipped to deal with either thing. A library, though, meant I’d work with books most of all, and I was pretty sure I’d be more useful at that job.

Cue the irony that, because I was apparently so helpful, they decided to give me more important duties, such as DESK DUTY, because the other volunteers weren’t as trustworthy as me, and bye-bye to working directly with books. Haha. Sad.

But that temporary, sort-of job at that library definitely changed my outlook on my future, even if it felt like such a fortuitous thing, something I was forced to do rather than choosing to do it of my own volition.

For all my life I’d felt a ton of pressure because my family is always more science-oriented than any other I’ve ever met. So I had to excel at school because that was expected of me (all my siblings had, so I couldn’t lag behind them, I’d been disgustingly competitive with my siblings for too long to reason with it yet), and I actually was decent at science subjects. I blindly thought that science was the only possible path for me in life. I was seriously planning on going into engineering because I more or less enjoyed chemistry... but every time I thought about what it meant to finish a major in engineering of any sort, I always ended up asking myself one question: would I have time to write in that sort of career?

The mere thought of office work, lab work, which were guaranteeed to be the best thing I could aspire to once I finished college for engineering, sounded like a morbid funeral march to me. I honestly found myself thinking that’d be a waste of my life. And that’s not to say anyone who actually spends their life that way is wasting theirs, but I KNEW it wasn’t my calling.

One day, while at that library, I realized what my actual calling was: I wanted that life. I wanted to work with books, whether making them or writing them or selling them or just about anything to do with the business. A mix of my crazy storytelling passion with that particular job experience brought me to the conclusion that I needed to forsake my family’s big ole’ scientific legacy and to make my own choices. My three siblings could easily enough carry forward that “legacy”, I could do my thing instead.

I think that decision, which took more courage than I thought I had, was probably one of the best I’ve made in my entire life. Telling my mother I’d go into literature was NOT easy and I literally had to make the equivalent of a sales pitch for her to agree to it, investigating all I could about the career, researching as much as possible to show her there WERE career possibilities I could pursue if I chose this major, until she finally relented. And that success meant I was off to a whole new world of crazy once I graduated from high school.

Which I did indeed, in 2012. I wouldn’t start college until 2013 because my major’s first semester wouldn’t start until March, so I had a nice long break because the school year, in my country, ends in July. I had been exhausted of studying at the time, so the break was absolutely welcome. 

In the early stages of that time period, I actually finished that big ole’ original story of mine, and I couldn’t have been prouder of myself for it, even if I was sure I’d never show it to anyone. I was embarrassed of it, to a fault, because there was a lot of ridiculousness in it, the plot was all over the place despite following the storytelling beats I’d learned through the many anime I’d watched, and eventually it evolved into something completely different from what it started out as. I sometimes allowed myself to imagine what it would be like to write a big story that I could share with people and hopefully get more than a handful of readers for... Still, I tucked my original story away safely, because even if it was embarrassing, I was proud of what I’d learned with it. So I went on with a new original story, one I was DEAD SURE I’d be a better writer for, and that I would be much more successful with.

My sister visited us during that summer, and she showed me, my other sister and my mom, a certain TV series that she had very much enjoyed despite we had never thought much of it back when it was airing. 

I’d seen a couple of episodes back in the day, but none had quite impressed me. The first episode I saw had made the show appear like some sort of lame “villain of the week” show, and the second one (I probably only caught the second half of this one) had such mixed values and morals that I was completely appalled by it and decided it wasn’t my thing. Then I, uh, also watched the final minutes of the final episode and it seemed so very melodramatic for the SCARRED GUY to ask SOME IMPRISONED GUY where his mother was, only for the show not to address the answer at all and cut to a pair of kids kissing on a balcony.

Sooooo... my very unimpressed self had decided ATLA wasn’t my thing because of The Great Divide, the Southern Raiders and the last three minutes of Sozin’s Comet: Avatar Aang :’) I’m funny that way.

This time around, watching it from scratch, I was slightly more interested in it because the first few episodes DID look like there was a coherent plot that was going somewhere. So even though my mom and other sister didn’t keep watching (at the time), I decided to watch it by myself because well, why not?

... Cut to seven years later and here I am, still neck-deep in this particular, dark corner of that specific show’s fandom. September of 2012 was when the Seyary you all know came into existence (?)

I won’t lie and say my experience in this fandom hasn’t been a damn rollercoaster in its own right. I certainly started off with WAY more enthusiasm than I have now, just look at my Author’s Notes from my first stories or Gladiator’s first chapters and read my hyped notes for yourselves :’D I definitely was caught by the magic of the Avatarverse, the characters, so much about ATLA seemed to exude potential and, after being disappointed by the popular anime of the time (*cough* SAO *cough*), ATLA (and later LOK Book 1) were a breath of fresh air for my weaboo brain that was sick and tired of some really annoying tropes anime seemed to be throwing at me left right and center (I’M SO DONE WITH THE IMOUTO FETISH TO THIS DAY, I CATEGORICALLY REFUSE TO WATCH OR READ ANY DAMN STORY WITH ANYTHING FEATURING THAT GROSS AND FUCKED-UP CONCEPT).

So I enjoyed ATLA a lot, and then LOK Book 1 (I virtually watched all of that in one day and had REALLY HIGH HOPES for the next seasons. Heh. I’ll leave that as that). And like everyone who gets hyped about fandoms, I decided I needed to look up more stuff about it! Art, fics, you name it! And while I really enjoyed LOK back then, I had thought Korra’s story would unfold in a cool way in future seasons, since all four of them (I think) had been confirmed by the time I joined the fandom... whereas I was dissatisfied and in dire need of fix-it situations for my favorite ATLA character.

I started off looking for general Azula fics. Then, as usual, I started testing ships for her. There were some ships I never saw the point to, and I shall not name them, there were some ships I saw partial potential to but I wasn’t exactly thrilled about them, so again I shall not name them...

And then one day I was scouring DeviantArt and came across the gem you all know about, which I’ve gushed over for all these seven years as the entire reason I converted to this particular ship.

Secret Kiss by Saniika can be credited, 100%, for planting the seed of Sokkla in my head. I didn’t understand it right away, why lie, but I was definitely intrigued. All other Azula ships I’d found were shipped for obvious reasons, easy enough to pinpoint even if none was all that satisfactory for me... so I was confused by this one, absolutely. Why would someone ship this ship? Why would they ship it so hard as to commission such quality artwork about them? The same commissioner’s name popped up in pretty much every single epic artwork about these two at the time, and I was completely blown away by that. To be so dedicated to a ship, to make all those artworks about a huge story about them that I couldn’t seem to find in FF.net at the time...

Cue the surprise when I actually ended up befriending said commissioner barely a few months later, and she’s hands down one of the best friends I’ve ever had :’)

Still, no need to head into that particular territory right now xD I was curious about the pairing, but I was also wary. I looked for fics, none really seemed to tell canon-compliant stories about how they could have gotten together post-ATLA... at least, not while they were still young. I looked at a few stories but nothing really hit home yet.

Back in these days, I used to go to... gosh, the cringe of just saying so, to FACEBOOK for fandom purposes of all kinds. Yeah, I know Facebook communities aren’t necessarily terrible, but I sure as fuck ended up in all the wrong ones :’) so... heh. I befriended someone who had an Avatar page, and while in conversation with him, the subject of LOK’s Pro-Bending came up. We talked about how much fun it would be for ATLA’s benders to play it. And so, a few weeks later, on a bus ride back home after meeting some high school friends, I allowed the idea to blossom further. And suddenly I was 100% caught up in it, deciding I’d have to feature Azula somehow, and I decided to try my luck at doing that by making her Sokka’s girlfriend :’D his inexplicable girlfriend, at the moment. All of it, just for shits and giggles. Because why not!

So I wrote that story, both because of that momentary bout of inspiration and because my second big original story was falling apart on me due to world-building reasons. Do NOT ever talk to me about Celtic calendars. If you do, I will block you into infinity (?). So yeah! A writer’s block caused by Celtic calendars resulted in my decision to calm down by writing something else for a change.

I had little hopes to finish Origins of Pro-Bending, simply because I didn’t write fics. Whenever I had tried to write any around those years, it had NOT gone well. I had always fallen apart after a couple of chapters, failed to keep up the momentum, fumbled the story as a whole in the end. So I decided to take this easy, and I posted it to FF.net despite not being sure I was ready for that: I hadn’t written a story in English in AGES, and you do NOT want to know what was the story in English I’d written before this. You do not. If you even ask, I WILL BLOCK YOU EVEN MORE THAN I DID WITH THE CALENDAR! *heavy breathing*

Okay, so... back to the topic, I honestly didn’t know what to expect. I didn’t really expect much, because I figured not a lot of people would really care for anything I posted. But then... that view counter started to shift. The numbers kept going up, and the more chapters I posted, the more it did. The reviews also poured in, slowly at this point, and then in a certain chapter there were NO REVIEWS AT ALL. Which I considered a fail. I honestly thought it meant my story was a flop, a failure, and I should just STOP because NO ONE CARED.

... Have I ever been accused of being overly dramatic? If not, it’s only because I hide it relatively well... sometimes :’)

But I said “it’s okay, I’ll finish it. My friend wants to read it after all, and I’ll just write it so he can see it to the end. I’ll finish uploading on FF.net even if no one cares anymore, because maybe someone someday will want to read it, even if no one does now”.

... Overly dramatic Seyary then finished her story and halfway there came up with the idea for a NEW ONE! The PREQUEL! The story of how Sokka and Azula fell in love! All by listening to The Reason. And as much as I had thought I wouldn’t keep writing fics after OoPB, that idea was too powerful to ignore. So when OoPB picked up reviews and views all over again and ended with what I considered was a BANG, I said “THIS SHOW’S NOT GONNA STOP HERE!” and I went and wrote the Reason next, obsessively, literally pushing through the entire, near 100K story, in A MONTH. I honestly wrote every day. I’d NEVER done something like that :’) Granted, I was pretty constant with OoPB, but it was shorter and I wasn’t quite as psyched about it as I was with The Reason.

Honestly, The Reason is where I REALLY fell for Sokkla, for everything that it was, for everything that it could be. I had felt its potential since OoPB, and I had concluded Sokka could make Azula smile like next to no one else could... that is, if anyone else could at all. But the whole spectrum of it, the storytelling potential, the development of both characters... I hadn’t understood it yet. And by the time I did, with The Reason... wow, there really was no turning back.

So I ended up writing that, and then I wrote Break In and How They All Reacted. And in between I made a few AMVs that Viacom NICELY tore down and are no longer available for you guys. Sorry ‘bout that. I did what I could.

The thing that was getting to me most, though, (and, why lie, feeding my ego a bit too much) was looking at FF.net’s data spreadsheets, available only for each user: it wasn’t so much the number of readers, which did overwhelm me on its own right anyhow... it was the places they came from. The fact that I could see, according to this data, that people in South Africa were opening my story, in Romania, in New Zealand, in Singapore... I had allowed myself, very briefly, to imagine I would one day publish books and that they might not be complete fails, but I NEVER expected anything I wrote to be read by people who lived halfway across the world, who had entireliy different cultures from my own, who had no idea who I was but wanted to find something to read and had decided to click on my story, amongst all the many possibilities. That particular function of FF.net is probably my favorite on that site, like I said not because of the numbers but because of the places. Even if your readers aren’t outspoken or they don’t even bother favoriting, following or reviewing... they still count in ways they don’t imagine. They may just look like one more number on FF.net’s spreadsheets, but when that number is connected to a location it feels much more real, I think. As an author, that means that’s one more person, somewhere in the world, who decided to give my story a chance.

On a day of February, 2013, one such person left a review I really enjoyed and that I thanked him for profusely. In his response, he brought up that he had been watching documentaries about the Roman Empire and he had thought about an AU for ATLA where maybe Sokka was captured by the Fire Nation and turned into a gladiator, only to become Azula’s sponsored fighter later on, a fighter she’d want to sponsor merely to stave off boredom. He was bringing it up to me because he didn’t want to write it himself, and he thought maybe I would be interested in trying my hand at it since I seemed so passionate about Sokka and Azula.

At first I only thanked him for the idea, said I wanted to focus on my canon-based stories instead and I was sooooo not interested in AUs at the time...

Ahahahaha.

AHAHAHAHA.

Joke was on me the whole time.

As I’ve mentioned, I went to bed one day, about a month later, and my brain exploded with the possibilities of this story. I told this guy, he was thrilled. I told my closest fandom friends at the time, they were STOKED. One of them told me to get off my ass and start writing that ASAP. Which... I followed through with. Immediately.

It feels a bit strange to think I’ve been writing the same story for nearly 7 years now, with next to no breaks, with such persistence I barely can recognize my early 2010′s self from that. Nope, no worldbuilding nonsense stopped me here: I FIGURED THINGS OUT. I worked through it all. And then I figured it out some more.

Back when I was first scouting the fandom’s fanfiction archives (in FF.net in particular, seeing as I didn’t even have an AO3 account at the time), I remember looking at the biggest, top reviewed stories and wondering how it would feel to be the author of one of those. Most those stories had gotten started either early in the show’s run, or just earlier that same decade... nothing I did was bound to pick up that much steam, I thought, especially when I was writing about what was, by all means, a rarepair that I posted about on Tumblr to like... 8 notes per post. At best.

The first time someone sent me an ask to let me know Gladiator had made it into the first page of top reviewed fics I nearly fell over myself in shock. Admittedly, I’ve gotten used to the feeling by now... but at the time I could barely believe I’d come THAT far without really expecting or meaning to.

I’ve really dealt with a lot of nonsense alongside with the story, ups and downs, highs and lows, nasty situations just as blissful ones... people making art for my story was certainly an incredible highlight. That, as well, is something I did NOT think would ever happen to me. Unlike the top-reviewed page thing, it’s actually impossible to get used to art about your fic xD it’s always amazing.

And I’ve met people from all around the world, made friends far and wide, reached heights I didn’t think I would. I’ve said I’m much more jaded these days, it’s true enough, but that doesn’t mean I’ve lost sight of what this story means in the long run. Gladiator truly is the best story I’ve ever written, in just about every regard. Is it perfect? Have I made nothing but right decisions with it? Nah. But that doesn’t mean I’m not absolutely proud of it for what it is, for all the work I’ve poured into it, for every moment spent building that story into what it is and for how far I’ve come thanks to it.

Everything else in the decade really feels like a blur because of Gladiator, but I’ll say that I’ve as good as finished college by now (while writing Gladiator :’D), I have written all my thesis and am stuck waiting endlessly for my supervisor to goddamn answer me already to say whether I’m ready to go forward with the presentation yet and GRADUATE! But until then I’m stuck waiting on that, even if my college career is pretty much over.

As for my work experience... heh. I had two of those this decade. One... writing clickbait articles. Wow, was that shitty. I hated every second of it. I was pretty sure I was killing people by doing that, because some people are indeed gullible enough to believe the shit I was forced to write. And the pay? It was SHIT. So, as soon as I had a good excuse, I kicked that particular door shut and got out of that mess immediately. And then I got my TV station job too... which started great, and ended up being another shitty disaster. While it had some really wonderful highlights, I made friends with this senior, wonderful video editor who was endearing beyond belief, I learned a ton of things I wouldn’t have learned otherwise (like having the patience to put up with an iMac from 2009 in 2018, to name one thing!), but I also had to endure REALLY dreadful management that led me to even wonder how the damn network was even on-air half the time. The experience in that network taught me a lot about what to expect in work environments, and to NEVER trust the tried, boring and true “this place feels like a family!” claim. Half the time it’s like they don’t realize families are usually complicated, full of unpleasant power-based relationships, secrets, resentment and problems of all sorts. So sure, the workplace might be like a family. Definitely not like a GOOD family, though.

And speaking of families... I’ve developed new appreciation for mine over these years, just as I’ve grown enough to see the cracks everywhere, the problems, even all the way to realizing even an allegedly dream-like family like my own can absolutely be torn apart by miscommunication, pride, stubbornness and refusal of members to acknowledge their wrongdoings. I’ve done my best by my family despite that’s not saying much, I’m indeed a lazy butt who spends way too much time on a computer writing crazy stories rather than working around the house... but I think I’ve never felt more loved and appreciated by my parents as I have in recent times, especially this year. We’ve talked more, opened up more, they’ve even told me the story of how they fell in love (the growth of their relationship all documented through PHOTO ALBUMS!!), they’ve leaned on me in hard times and I think we’re tighter than ever.

On the downside... my grandfather died during this decade too. To this day the loss stings, even though by all means we weren’t the type of super-close grandfather and granddaughter who spend every waking moment together. But the thing is... we were so different, with so little in common, and yet that man loved me so genuinely, so unconditionally I could barely understand it. What had I ever done to be so important to him, beyond being his youngest granddaughter? I always had thought he would feel closer to other of his grandchildren, those who had more things in common with him, and yet when my grandmother died he wanted me to sit with him on the car on our way to the funeral, and just holding my hand seemed to help him gain strength to face what was coming. 

In his final moments he hardly recognized anyone, not even my dad, his son. He kept talking about his childhood home, as though he had returned to his youth and forgotten where and when he was, losing all connection with time and space. But when my dad told him I was there, visiting him... he smiled. And he called me the nickname he always used for me. To the last moment, he knew who I was. I mattered, even if I didn’t know why. When they told me he had passed away I cried, and I cried some more, and to this day I feel like crying for it still, sometimes. I will never, EVER doubt my grandfather truly loved me, and I’ll always carry that with me, no matter where the world goes. I’ve lucked out with this family, but I’d never known unconditional love like the one he always showed me. He was a special man, and losing him certainly was one of the saddest moments in this decade.

Aaalright, so, on a less emotional note... I’ve certainly improved a fuckload with my art, which you all must imagine after the glimpse at one of my earliest artworks up there. That I’ve gone from that to this...

speaks for itself, I hope :’) It’s supposed to be same characters, this one was finished earlier this month. I didn’t post it until now because I frankly didn’t expect anyone would understand what it was or care for it much x’D but it seemed the right opportunity to post it now, especially when talking about art growth.

In any case, I may still have a ton of anxiety to this day, and I definitely am not as confident in many areas as I was when the decade began, I realized I honestly don’t have all the answers and I always have to be ready to learn new things from people, no matter who it is. There’s some regards in which I haven’t progressed enough in, why lie... but I’m hoping the next decade will bring meaningful changes in that department, such as my plans to leave the country, which should come to fruition by next year around March, if all things go according to keikaku (I’ll surely have to return after 6 months, but it’s better than nothing at least). And of course, I do hope I’ll continue to grow as a writer, that all this experience with Gladiator will mean I’ll be 100% ready to write any future original stories I want to (and that I’ll be able to rewrite that specific story and move beyond the slump I fell into because of the DAMN CELTIC CALENDAR!!).

Also, just in case I didn’t get it across in other posts where I mentioned it, I revisited that old original story last year, and despite the messes and mistakes and ridiculousness of it... I love it more now than I ever did before. I’m really proud of it. I know most people cringe at everything they wrote when they were younger... I honestly can’t do anything but look back in pride. My starting point was the best one it could possibly have been.

Now, what’s my resolution for the next decade?

Finishing Gladiator

Yeah, there’s probably going to be other stuff I’ll want to do too. But for now, that shall be the priority. It won’t take just a year, it probably won’t take two... but I will absolutely see this big, chaotic baby to the last moment, and I will savor and suffer and cry and rejoice every step of the way. There is much left I want to achieve, many new objectives to conquer, and I’m going towards them with as open a mind as I can muster. May this 2020, and the years that follow, mark a new starting point that I’ll look back on with pride, just as I can do the same with where I started off in 2010.

Happy New Year to all of you who read this really long post, and I really hope you have a great year and decade, and starting point of your own, in 2020.

[fallingin-like]

november 8

i just had a growth spurt (took so long, my tippy toes hurt) by @tallsinspace [requested by @gluupor]

see which other fics i’m reviewing this month! / my review request post!

maybe i’m biased because i like kid!fics but i loved this fic so so much. i love the way that andrew and aaron interact, both with each other and the other characters. the characterization on this was amazing and it’s such a hilarious and fun read!

i just want to start and say that i love this fic so so much. your writing style is so fluid and easy to read. there are a lot of writers where their fics are good, but something is missing and you can’t tell what it is. they don’t have weird plots or bad dialogue or anything, it’s just not the same. your writing is not like this. instead there is a sense of ease. i’m just carried along for the ride and i know it’s going to be good and it feels so comforting to know i’ll be taken care of. you inject subtle humour through tiny mannerisms of the characters and by slight word choices that don’t seem to make a difference, but just add this extra little something to your fic. and you have not as subtle humour so basically you’re just really good at writing a funny fic. i mean, even your summary is great. 

bits that i really enjoyed (although i just want to insert the whole fic):

“andrew says right over aaron’s body, voice ominous. aaron yelps, sliding up against his headboard in fright.” right off the bat this is such a great intro! it really sets the tone for the fic and tells us some info. it’s funny and i like that

”’i just told you,’ andrew says, impatient at having to repeat himself. ‘nicky is planning things, and we need to counter-plan.’” this is an early example of the great characterization you have. this mini-version of andrew still has traits that canon-andrew carries, but scaled to something that makes sense for a child. the impatience, thinking ahead to prevent nicky from doing the thing, so good.

astronaut lamp! it’s a cute touch that tells us more info about what kind of child aaron is, but also what kind of guardian nicky is.

”aaron remembers. nicky invited matthew boyd from aaron’s class over and andrew gave him so much halloween candy that he had a sugar crash and threw up in the bathroom. he cried. his mom had to come get him. it was really bad.” something about this story i find so great. i like the kids version of the columbia trip, it sounds exactly like something kid!andrew would do. also the last sentence does so much to add to aaron’s voice and also seems like something a child would include in their retelling of a story. i love the short sentences.

”andrew says his teacher, mr. wymack, is also really annoying, but he gets angry at aaron whenever aaron says it too, so andrew probably likes him.” cute!! what a classic kid thing to do (and also a classic andrew thing to do)

-the whole bit that’s also included in the summary is so perfect. the overreaction to a playday. how dramatic the twins are.

”’but we’re brothers in real life,’ aaron says to the empty room.” oh my goodness i love this so much. it’s so telling of the rocky parts of their relationship that they still have to work out and it feels so sad

”she’s really smart, but whenever aaron tries to ask for help, she always goes red and starts chewing on her hair, and the conversation dies there.” CUTE!!

”he hears a squeak and then a thump as katelyn collapses on the ground” DOUBLE CUTE!! these kids are so adorable!! oh my goodness. and so dramatic i love the way you write them

i really like the idea of aaron constantly asking for passes to go to abby and andrew asking to see bee. it must be so comforting to them to have a safe place that they can retreat to during school after being alone for so long.

”unfortunately, nicky thinks mr. wymack is ‘kinda cute in a dad way’ so andrew can’t say he’s friends with kevin, or there’ll be a playdate again, and everything will go very badly for everyone” THIS IS THE BEST SENTENCE. nicky is hilarious as always and it is so funny to see the twins have such a deep understanding of everything to be fully in control. i can just imagine them, writing out baby causal loop diagrams to try and see how one action will affect other things.

andrew and aaron switching places in class with only neil and katelyn being able to tell? amazing

”he’s in my class because he hates you and wanted to get away from you. are you happy?” MY HEART BREAKS A LITTLE BIT AARON NO also i can totally imagine him saying this in his little kid voice, all pouty and annoyed.

the dilemma bit is soo cute oh my goodness

”you can copy my answers even though you’re mean and terrible and you tried to lie to me about andrew” I LOVE YOUR VERSION OF KID NEIL SO MUCH he is still the sassy boy that we all know him as and so wonderful

”besides aaron had been the real victim, because that was his candy he was saving for later” aaron is so melodramatic this is the best thing ever

ANDREW READING WIKIPEDIA ARTICLES IN THE DARK ON NICKY’S LAPTOP AS A KID IS NOW CANON I REFUSE TO BELIEVE ANYTHING ELSE (yes i know nicky and andrew didn’t know each other as children but sTILL)

”last time they came, he had found a massive picture book of outer space, and he and andrew had claimed entire galaxies for themselves, named stars after each other” this is the most precious thing i have ever read. bonding moments between the twins that are this soft are rare in the fandom but underrated because it’s so good. also i love how this matches the astronaut lamp

ANDREW RECITING SHAKESPEARE TO AARON bless these boys

”aaron had yelled his own name across the library, as stupid as that sounds now, and andrew for whatever reason, had called his own name back, to the outrage of every librarian in the main room” excuse me but this is the only way the twins can meet again, sorry i don’t make the rules. i think this is my favourite twin discovery i have read ahhHH you’re so good

”andrew doesn’t lie, but if you don’t believe him, he doesn’t talk either. nicky’s comment has guaranteed an evening’s worth of silence from andrew, which isn’t the worst thing in the world, but is counter-productive” wow this is such an andrew thing to do. he must have been taught through his life in terrible terrible homes that no matter what he says people wouldn’t believe him. it must have been so exhausting constantly being told you’re lying even if you’re not. it’s always so heartbreaking to read about these coping mechanisms he must have developed at such a young age to try and protect himself

”’he’s good at math,’ andrew finally says. ‘and he’s the fastest runner in the grade.’” ANDREW YOU’RE HAVE A CRUSH THIS IS SO CUTE

”’i was the weird kid for a while and i’m excellent.’ nobody responds to that.” NICKY OH MY GOODNESS

nicky buying andrew any lock he wanted no questions asked is the softest thing ever :”) what a perfect thing as the foundation of their relationship

andrew reciting either stories or horrible facts about pirates oh my goodness your characterization is spot on i cannot get enough of it

”andrew doesn’t smile but he does a happy kind of bounce when he sees the chocolate chips have been arranged into a frowny face” this is such an iconic line. you’re actually a legend

exCUSE ME AARON BEING THE MOST POPULAR BOY IN CLASS AND ANDREW THE MOST ATHLETIC my brain just exploded what a wonderful way to end the school year!! and then andrew saying he would rather hang out with aaron,,, i- have no words

”he thinks i need friends badly because he’s afraid i’m developmentally stunted thanks to my terrible parents” nicky’s response is perfect for this but this is the most neil thing eveR. he’s also so mature. what a kid.

wow finishing the fic with the twins making a deal that allows them to hang out/form relationships with other kids and yet means that they will reconvene at the end of the day and stick together?? amazing. i just. this is so so good.

i really like that you did this through aaron’s perspective. it adds something to the story-telling that i think is nice. i’m generally indifferent to aaron, but this fic really endeared me to him. i also appreciate that this is a fic where their relationship is as good as a relationship between twin boys can be (a little bit rough, but overall they have an understanding of each other and will work together to accomplish something).

this whole fic was fun and lighthearted, but clearly really well thought out. i think it takes a lot of talent, skill, and time to have it read in such an easy way. you paid homage to canon events/details but molded it so that it fit so perfectly into this au. this was really cute, i’m always attracted to kid!fics, i’d love to see more from this au! i think you did a good job fitting the characters into the kid version of themselves. i liked that they weren’t dumb little kids with no personalities, because kids are so hilarious and full of attitude. and, it’s really interesting to see nicky in this caregiver role (although he is also like this a little bit in canon, we just don’t get to see it work because the twins are less receptive), i like that he’s doing his best and it’s actually working. for once, the twins have a safe and welcoming home where they can be supported to be who they are and have someone who will protect them.

this was such a delightful read, i loved it when i first read it, and i loved it again while i was rereading to write this. you did such a good job with the characters, the dialogue, the humour. i really can’t describe how much i enjoyed this. thank you so much!!!

[overthinkingkdrama]

hi! love in sadness anon again. if you can rec some good melos i would be thankful.

[Oh my gosh, anon. I suck. Seriously. I’ve been trying to sit down and get this done from the moment I got your ask and I just haven’t been able to do it. Anyway, hopefully you see this. Thank you for your patience.]

Little do you know how long I have been waiting for this moment. This is my time to shine! Jk, but I would be happy to give recs. It’s a delight. I started going through my MDL and realized just how many dramas in this genre I have actually seen and realized I would probably have to trim my recommendations somewhat not to seem like a crazy person. Also I have subcategories! Yay!

(I’ve included the *** next to titles that I have watched multiple times or that stand out from the rest of the pack.)

First of all, Movie Melos.

Sometimes you don’t have time for 16-30 hours of drama. Sometimes you want to get all your feels out in a single sitting and move on with your life. That’s where movies are so helpful. My favorite bite-sized melos are:

Always*** – An ex-con trying to get his life together falls in love with a blind woman, but his efforts to help her recover her sight might drag him right back into the violence he’s tried to escape.

Shoot My Heart – A young heir is forced into a mental hospital by his rich family where he meets a disturbed young man. They become friends, try to protect each other, and eventually escape. This one has a bit more of a comedic element to it than the other movies I’m recommending, but there’s plenty of the melo tone as the movie goes on.

Will You Be There? – After finding out that he’s dying of cancer, a man travels through time to beg his younger self to save the life of his first love.

Butterfly Sleep – This is a Japanese movie, but it also stars Korean actor Kim Jae Wook, who recently got a boost in popularity from Her Private Life. The movie revolves around a poor young man from Korea who ends up living with an older woman, a novelist who has just discovered she is in the early stages of Alzheimer’s, and the passionate relationship that develops between the two as he helps her finish what will be her final book. #tragedy_tag

High Quality, Human Melodramas

So, this category is for if you want something with all the emotional gut punch of a really wild family drama, but you also want your melos to have actual artistic merit so when you tell your non-drama watching friends and family members about them they don’t end up losing respect for your taste.

Just Between Lovers – This is the story of two young people involved in and scarred by the same horrific accident, but survived and end up finding solace in one another as they deal with their combined traumas. If you’ve seen this drama around the kdramasphere on tumblr you might have seen a lot of gifs of the soft romance. Don’t be fooled though. The romance is indeed wonderful, but the themes are heavy and it can be rough sit.

My Mister*** – I really am just looking for every possible opportunity to recommend this drama. It has supplanted my former favorites and become my top drama of all time. It’s about two people, a troubled young woman in her 20′s and a structural engineer in his 40′s who have become beaten down and broken by life. Their two lives end up intersecting and they develop a really complex friendship that changes both of their lives. Acting, writing, directing…I have nothing bad to say about My Mister. This drama is actually perfect. 

The Smile Has Left Your Eyes – Do you like your melos a bit murdery? I know I sure do. Give me a sociopath any day of the week and I’ll say, “Thank you. I’ll take two.” This drama is about a young man who might be a monster. He becomes a detectives prime suspect in a murder investigation. At the same time he meets the detectives younger sister and they begin to fall in love. #tragedy_tag If this sounds like your thing, but you don’t like super sad endings check out Hello Monster, also starring Seo In Guk.

Secret Love Affair – I think it’s probably safe to say this drama is considered a modern kdrama classic, and for good reason. A story revolving around a woman who gave up her dreams for security, trapped in a loveless marriage, who meets a piano savant from an extremely underprivileged background and he sets off a spark for passion, music and love that she hasn’t felt in a long time. This is a quiet, pensive drama with a lot of wonderful music and atmosphere. YMMV depending on your tolerance for cheating and a slow-burn pace.

Alright, Cut the Crap Jona, Show Me the Extra Soapy Guilty Pleasure Dramas We All Know You Like…

Maybe you don’t go in for this type of self-conscious, “serious” drama watching. You’re going to watch these things in the sanctity of your own room and never tell a soul about them. Or perhaps you’ve evolved past needing other people’s approval to enjoy the things you like. Good for you, I say! As it should be. In that case, I have some top shelf makjang crack to deal you. This is the part of the list where the sliding scale of quality gets a little wobbly. Most of these shows contain a little, if not a lot, of crazysauce. All of them are over-the-top melo fun.

Baker King Kim Tak Gu – A drama about the illegitimate son of a conglomerate CEO who has inherited his preternatural baking abilities looking for his place in a family that will never acknowledge him. Yeah, the premise is pretty “what”? When I first watched this drama I thought it was supposed to be a satire of the makjang genre. To this day I’m not sure how seriously this drama actually takes itself. What I will say is it’s hella entertaining, even as it piles on more than it’s share of craziness (machinations, murder, affairs, chaebol fuckery, love polygons, gangsters, birth secrets, and on and on.) I was surprisingly invested and remarkably satisfied by the ending.

Ms. Perfect – This drama is something of a gothic romance/makjang melo mash up. It involves a woman whose marriage shatters just as she loses her home and finds herself desperate to take care of her family. She’s enticed by a mysterious woman to live with her in her huge house, but this stranger has eerie motivations of her own. Really fun, weird show. But brace yourself to be blue-balled by the romance. It’s one steamy make out session from being noona-romance catnip. 

Money Flower*** – I unironically love this drama. It’s very close to the platonic ideal of the Revenge Melo. It involves a Dantes-esque male lead, Kang Pil Joo, who is willing to destroy himself to enact his multi-decade revenge on a wealthy family that took everything from him. He is the shadow of a spoiled young heir who he plans to use to take down the whole evil empire of Chungha group, but in order to do that he has to orchestrate the heir’s marriage with the innocent daughter of a powerful politician, the woman who Pil Joo himself is in love with.

That Winter, The Wind Blows – This one is a lurid conman tail about a gambler who, in his attempts to pay back a dangerous gangster out for his life, pretends to be the prodigal brother of a blind heiress. He tries to get the money and skip town, but ends up falling in love with the mark which comes with a host of other complications, not the least of which is she thinks he’s her brother. This one is high on the guilty-pleasure-o-meter for me.

Come and Hug Me – Some people might disagree with my putting this one on here, but for me the premise is too wildly melodramatic to omit. The leads start out as childhood sweethearts, but the problem is his father is a deranged serial killer and her parents end up two of his victims. As adults he becomes a detective trying to make up for his father’s legacy of cruelty and she becomes a famous actress like her mother. Traumas resurface when she becomes the target of an apparent copycat and their past connection becomes the fixation of a ruthless tabloid journalist.

Thank You – After his fiancee dies of cancer, a Doctor travels to a remote island to fulfill her last wish–to help the family of a little girl the late fiancee was responsible for inadvertently infecting with HIV. Unexpectedly he finds himself attracted to the girl’s single mother. However, he will have to contend with the prejudices of the island people about AIDS and the reappearance with the girl’s father. This one is as heavy as it sounds, and the oldest drama on this list, from 2007, with all the idiosyncrasies that go along with older dramas. But it’s remarkably well done. From the same writer of a bunch of classic melodramas (I’m Sorry, I Love You; A Love To Kill; Innocent Man; Uncontrollably Fond, etc) but this is my personal favorite of hers.

The Last Empress – Okay, I couldn’t omit this one. I tried. Average musical actress Oh Sunny winds up married to the Emperor in an alternate history version of Korea and becomes embroiled in the machinations of the corrupt royal family. With a nice side helping of revenge plot. It’s demonstrably not a good show. It’s one of the most ridiculous things I’ve ever seen. But it had me hooked early on and then I couldn’t get myself free. What a magnificent train wreck this drama was. If you’re looking for problematic nonsense melos that were MASSIVE hits in Korea and you’re torn between this and Baker King, go with the silly bread show and keep this one in your back pocket.

Fated to Love You – This one is probably the most off-brand on the list, because it leans heavily on the comedic tone, especially for the first half. There’s a definite turn at the midpoint of the drama where it becomes MUCH more melodramatic (with all the tropes you expect to go along with that), but I think it pulls of the transition impressively well. Besides, it’s a fun watch with a fluffy feelgood ending with a bow on top. It’s a dash of sugar for your melodrama sojourn, a genre that admittedly can be a bit of a bummer.

There it is. I tried to do an extra good job with my list because it took me so long to get it out. I’m sorry again. Happy watching!

Jona

[thestupidhelmet]

I’m trying and failing to write T7S fanfic :(( I feel like I don’t capture the characters voices, you know? Imo you capture them spot on, do you have any tips to do so? Especially for JH, but tips for the other main characters would also be nice...

First, thank you for the compliment! It’s one of the best a fanfic writer can receive. 😊

On your own, you can watch some significant, character-developing episodes for each character and take notes about the kind of language they use when they’re under stress (e.g., angry, sad, frustrated, etc.) or happy. But I’ll give you insight into how I approach each character’s voice.

Hyde

He rarely expresses his emotions verbally without some kind of deflection, misdirection, or concealment. In “Eric’s False Alarm” (4x25), for example, Eric calls Hyde on being the one who stopped Donna and Casey from potentially having sex. He also calls Hyde on one of his true motives. Hyde claims, however, that he “didn’t do it to be nice. I did it because I always wanted to commit a felony. Misdemeanors just ain’t the rush they used to be.”

Eric’s responds, “Well, all I hear is, ‘I love you, I love you, I love you.’”

Hyde is almost all subtext. That is the key to his character. If he does express his feelings directly, it’s very hard for him. It’s like being constipated but emotionally (sorry for the gross analogy, but it’s apt). He’ll have trouble looking the person in the eye or scratch the back of his neck. Or he’ll stick a curse or two while being sincere.

Hyde doesn’t tend to give long speeches. Usually, he’ll say a sentence or two before another character talks or he does some action to break up his dialogue.

He often uses humor, often sarcastic and sometimes cruel, to defuse a tense situation.

He uses the word, “man” at the beginning or end of certain sentences. Don’t do it too much, though, or it’ll feel forced.

Speaking of word choice, this is a key to capturing a character’s voice. For instance, Hyde has never – and would never – say, “Anyways,” with an S. Whenever I read a fic where Hyde says that, I hear the author’s voice, not Hyde’s.

Hyde-specific words include swell and super (when he’s being sarcastic), freakin’ and damn it when he’s pissed or frustrated. He’ll say ain’t instead of isn’t sometimes. He’s called testicles both ‘nads and stones.

Jackie

Jackie is the opposite to Hyde in terms of expressing her emotions verbally. When she feels something, she’s vocal about it. That’s not to say she can’t keep her feelings to herself. She does so when she’s significantly afraid of rejection.

I interpret Jackie’s character as being really insightful beneath her superficiality. Enough episodes depict her this way to support that interpretation, but other episodes depict her superficiality as being more than skin-deep. That’s up to the individual fanfic writer to decide which characterization to go with.

But with mine, I intersperse her insight with moments of egoism and vanity. A prime example of this on the show is from “Jackie Bags Hyde” (3x08). In the midst of offering Hyde a compassionate, accurate analysis of his childhood wounding, she compliments her own beauty.

She often makes analogies when giving advice (to Hyde, to Donna, to whomever). These analogies are created from her own experiences and interests (e.g., styling her hair, having a pet rat, etc.), but they’re apt, nevertheless.

She has a generally romantic view of life, which influences her language, but she also has a more down-to-earth side. So she’ll say both, “Make love,” and, “Doing it,” when describing sex, for example. 

Unlike Hyde, Jackie has said, “Anyways,” with an S, but she mostly says, “Anyway” without the S. She doesn’t curse all that much. When she does curse, she really means it.

Unfortunately, she uses a lot of slut-shaming language. Most of the characters on T7S do. That’s a consequence of T7S’s writers finding that humor funny. I try not to have the characters speak that way unless it’s going to be called out by another character or in a character’s thoughts.

Jackie probably thinks a mile a minute, which sometimes leads her to digress from her main topic while speaking.

Eric

Eric expresses his feelings pretty easily, but he can be hyperbolic. Examples: “This is the worst day ever.” “This is the [FILL IN THE BLANK] in the history of time.”

Like Hyde, he’s sarcastic. According to Red, he’s a smart mouth. Kitty has called him a porky mouth on more than one occasion. In “Burning Down the House” (2x15), for instance, he says about Jackie’s party, “You know what might make this party a little more fun? Sweet death.”

Depending on his mood and whom he’s with, his dialogue can either be compassionate or insensitive and sometimes a bit cruel. Sometimes his wit his biting. Others, it’s corny. E.g., he doesn’t like and resents Hyde’s girlfriend, Jill, in “The Third Wheel” (4x11) and calls her both Terri Tube Top and Yoko.

But he can also be nervous and lack confidence, which will make him hem and haw while talking. He’ll interrupt his speech using, “You know,” several times in one sentence or pauses. E.g., “We … barely knew.”

He sometimes uses antiquated language like m’lady and ‘tis I.

He makes quite a few Star Wars and comic book references.

Topher Grace’s comedic timing and line delivery adds a lot to his dialogue, and it’s possible to emulate that in prose. Again, watch some significant episodes for Eric and take note of his speech patterns and word choices.

Donna

Donna has a quick temper, but she also usually recognizes and owns her mistakes quickly. She has an easy time expressing her anger and frustration, as well as more loving and affectionate feelings. But she’s not a crier. She often expresses her sadness through frustration or anger. Not always, though.

She has a very playful and silly side. She can be as witty as Eric, but in anger she can make some odd metaphors. E.g., “He’s an ass, and you’re an ass – ‘cause the ass doesn’t fall far from the ass tree!” (From “Jackie Bags Hyde”.)

Dillhole and get bent are part of her idiolect. She also peppers her sentences with the filler word like (which should be set off by commas).

Kelso

Kelso’s language is dictated by his impulses, what he’s interested in at that very moment, and his unique POV about the world. He’s very excitable, which leads him to expressing himself as efficiently as possible – in terms of language, not ideas. . E.g., “You gotta see this!” not “You’ve got to see this!”

He comes up with bizarre scenarios and ideas, which is usually adds humor to an episode.

His egoism and narcissism color his dialogue. E.g., “You know what your problem is? I’m too good-looking.”

He’s emotionally immature for his age, and he often speaks like he’s thirteen, not eighteen. (Sorry to the mature thirteen-year-olds out there; I know there’s plenty of you.)

Fez

Fez alternates between using contractions and not using them. E.g., “I do not think you should do that,” vs. “I don’t think you should do that.”

He’ll express his emotions melodramatically. Even when he’s trying to “keep it all inside,” he’s over the top while explaining that this is what he’s doing.

He’ll say, “Ai,” when he’s upset or hurt or worried. I chose the Ai spelling instead of Ay because Fez’s native language isn’t Spanish, despite Wilmer Valderrama being the one portraying him. Just like Jackie’s eyes are brown, despite Mila Kunis’s eyes – at the time of T7S – being two different colors.

On the show, Fez’s dialogue is often used to break the tension with humor.

“You sonuvabitch!” and “Good day. I said good day!” are two of his catchphrases.

He’ll talk about his country, and what it’s like there, without every saying where he’s actually from.

His characterization varies, depending on the season. I’m not a fan of his post-Rhonda personality. In the early seasons, he isn’t a perv so much as someone who doesn’t know how far to push a joke. He’s trying to fit in with his friends, and the cultural differences cause him confusion.  

He can be poetic and romantic.

Red

Red is similar to Hyde and Donna. He doesn’t express his feelings easily, save anger and frustration. To Kitty, however, he can be very sweet. To Hyde, he’ll dispense wisdom (and he practically cried in “Hyde’s Father” [3x03] when telling Hyde he’ll always have a place in his house, etc.). To Eric – well, that is one contentious relationship. 

He was in the navy during World War II and the Korean War, and that colors his POV. He’s not politically correct, but writing that aspect of him … it’s a fine line. He’s not racist so much as xenophobic, which stems from his experiences in the navy and his somewhat extreme patriotism.

Honestly, watch pretty much any episode of his from seasons 2-4, and you’ll understand his voice quickly. The Red of season 1 is quite different, more nuanced  – and I actually prefer it, but alas. That Red makes a guest appearance in “Hyde’s Birthday” (4x23), but he’s more of a hardass post-S1. After season 4, his character begins to become even less nuanced. And during season 7, he’s sometimes very OOC.

Kitty

She’s compassionate and a little cartoony. She’s wise in certain areas and naive in others. She’s smart and savvy – until the show devolves her in the later seasons.

To get her speech pattern and idiolect, “Vanstock” (2x06), “Kitty and Eric’s Night Out” (2x18), ,“Red Sees Red” (3x01), and “Kitty’s Birthday” (3x17) are good episodes to watch.

I hope this helps! :D

[helloamhere]

WIP questions!

thank you @justalittlelouislove for the tag :) :) :)  1. What’s your fav thing about writing your current wip?

Well I have two and they are total opposites:  Fic A) It’s so light-hearted! Fic B) It’s so sad!  Bahah. They are both, at the core, about very sweet people. I like that. Fic A is a slightly zanier style because it’s in the realm of comic book fantasy, so I feel that I can get away with some sharp silly scene breaks and rapid, melodramatic plot development. There are BAD GUYS and GOOD GUYS, you know?  Fic B is simply finishing up the wolf fic. My favorite thing about that series is probably the feeling of the world. I am a very visual person when I write, and so imagining those pleasurable sensory details is lovely: warm wood, good smells, cold wind, dripping icicles, blankets that are worn in exactly the most comfortable way, finding a corner in the giant lounge couch that seems to fit your limbs exactly....

2. Have you got a name yet/ what’s your process for finding one?

Fic A has a dumb silly name that makes me smile!! It’s supposed to sound like an old-timey newspaper announcement, because the characters are journalists in a cartoonish, exaggerated way. Fic B (Your Life Worth Walking on a Bright Morning) follows the naming convention of my wolf series (The Woods are Lovely, Dark and Deep) in that they are all quotes that speak to me about finding joy in small and important things despite deep life sadnesses. These are really weird titles and I don’t know why I decided to be that opaque but I like them.  My process for finding a name is definitely diverse depending on the fic. I like to try to reflect genre conventions (zanier names for scifi, poetic names for those oneshot dreamy fics), and mostly it’s just how it sounds to my ear.

3. Is there a scene you’re stuck on?

Fic A has this little old man character who DEMANDS that he needs a new scene but I don’t know where he should go. -___-

4. Is there a scene you can’t wait to write?

oh, Fic A has a conflict/drama scene that I love. I love action plots and even though this is not a long fic it ended up with an action plot. Hoping to do it justice. I enjoy writing villains and this story has a villain too, so I am looking forward to making him slink around a bit.

5. What’s your process when you get stuck?

Honestly lately what I need is more sleep and less stress!! But in general my go-to unblockers: reading other people’s writing that I love, watching tv that’s totally different OR totally similar to what I’m trying to write, laying in bed in the morning after I’ve woken up just imagining my fic...I have some super talented writer friends too that I occasionally ask for insight from but I’m so so so bad about sharing WIP stuff, I always feel really guilty and like bouncing ideas off people is a burden on them, so idk! Also showers!  *** If you haven’t done this and want to please feel free to tag me in it!! I think literally everyone I’m thinking of tagging right now has done it but please feel invited to share!!