#<- translating her abilities to degrees

[loverofallthingssmart]

genius idea guys. food critic tam and head chef/restaurant owner keefe.

[lizzobetumblin]

Melissa hated her feelings. 

She buried them in a chest in the 5th grade (along with her ability to express them). Other peoples' feelings on the other hand was her forte. She could process, decipher and regurgitate other peoples emotions effortlessly. This gift could’ve taken her through college, all the way to a degree in psychology. Distinguished Dr. Jefferson with a PhD and a cozy office and impressive roster of high-profile, weallthy clients was a shiny idea. Fate would have a different hand for Melissa her talents were exhausted on mediating family fights, friend group drama, and charming her way out of confronting her own feelings. 

“Feelings.” Even saying it out loud to herself seemed silly. Something reserved for ‘cry babies’ and water signs. Typical Sunday nights started tame, reading or writing fan-fiction and drinking cranapple juice. And then like clock work her father would yell her name, 

‘MELISSA!!!’ Emotionless, she’d get up dust off her Winnie the Pooh shorts and make her way downstairs. On the long walk down the hall to the stairs leading to the living room brawl, she’d go through her check list: 

1.) Don’t cry.   

 2.) Stay neutral; Deescalate

3.)Don’t take anything personal. This isn’t about you

She padded down the carpeted stairs in her old soft socks to see her mother tightlipped and tear streaked thinking, 

‘she broke rule number 1’. Her father, Michael was proud and angry, his big belly filled with self righteousness. She knew he would be unyielding in his resolve and at this point her only option was to deescalate.

 ‘Rule number 2’. Then her sister the water sign and calamity for the evening sat on the floor nearly fetal, face red and raw with emotion. 

‘Its not your fault’ Melissa wanted to say ‘You just didn’t follow the rules… you’re loved.’ But she couldn’t say that because she’d be breaking rule number 3. It wasn’t about how Melissa felt. Even though she felt like screaming,

“VANESSA, YOU DIDN’T DO ANYTHING WRONG. DAD—YOU JUST HAVE PENT UP ANGER BECAUSE YOU GREW UP IN THE HOOD OF DETROIT AS A BLACK MAN IN THE 60s AND 70s. YOU NEED A HEALTHY OUTLET LIKE.. I DONT KNOW… THERAPY?!?!?! THIS IS A WASTE OF ALL OF OUR TIME. I LITERALLY JUST WROTE THE BEST SAILOR SATURN x CHIBI USA FANFICTION EVER AND THIS IS KILLING MY VIBE!”

Instead, she decide to hear every one out. She decided to help. To calm her dragon of a father down. To be a translator for her emotional sister. To not take it personal. To stay neutral. To not cry. 

9 years later, at her fathers funeral she still never broke the rules. She played her flute and spoke at his memorial. She was present for her mother because it wasn’t about her. When other peoples' emotions bubbled up she stayed neutral. She sat through both services and she did not cry. It wasn’t until she excused herself to make a phone call outside did she collapse onto the stairs of the funeral home and weep alone in the cold Detroit snow. 

It’s okay to break the rules sometimes, she reminded herself. As long as no one else sees it.

Traumas began to compact on Melissa, as they do. Humans tend to collect traumas like pebbles on a long hike. We toss them into our backpacks and keep moving forward. Some hikers would falter, but Melissa was built for this. She’d carried the stones of her family’s traumas uphill for years. She was strong. 

When men began to befriend and reject her, saying ‘you’re too good for me’ but not too good to make them feel good. She carried that. 

When childhood friends began to cut off the strings of her heart, saying ‘We can’t be friends anymore’. She carried that.

When her family separated like dandelion seeds, it seemed like they’d never be together again. Melissa slept on so many couches, floors and car seats sometimes she didn’t know if she’d see them again. 

She carried that. 

Dying was never an option though sometimes she didn’t mind the thought of it. Peace and warmth were two things she’d desperately yearned and hadn’t felt fully since the womb. Then one night in the pitch black of the hot, sweaty, roach-infested studio in southeast Houston she slept in she wondered:

‘Why can’t I break the rules?’ She’d seen everyone else in her life break them like popsicle sticks. And she didn’t just want to break the rules, she wanted to break them boldly and loudly and annoyingly and honestly and sloppily like every one else gets to do. It was in that moment, tucked in a thin jacket inside of an 8-foot high instrument cubby in the inky darkness—it hit her. 

‘Is my suffering for a high purpose? Or is my suffering trying to kill me?’ 

She cried. 

She escalated. 

She took it personal. 

But it wasn’t enough. She wanted to scream in a microphone in a sea of shadowy faces. She drank whiskey and wove her pain into rock music. 

‘Music is my boyfriend’ she declared. The only man that kept his baggage to hisself. And it healed her. It gave her voice reason and purpose. 

The pebble-laden hike became lighter with time. The incline eventually evened out to flat, beautiful landscapes where the breeze finally met her back. She knew it wasn’t gonna be easy or sunshine but even the rain cleansed her and it was beautiful too. 

Somewhere in the rain she decided rules were meant to be built and broken. Like trust and love and friendships and families. Because every thing deserves the opportunity to change and grow. 

So... She broke rule number 1 on stage while singing a beautiful song. Dr. Jefferson (PhD) screamed for her to stop but she didn’t listen and the tears flowed like rivers of emotion down her cheeks. 

Rule number 2 was broken when she grew older and saw the injustices of the world. Marching with hundreds in protest she realized not everything needs to be pacified. 

And one day when she finally fell in love, she broke rule number 3. No matter how much training she’d done she couldn't help but take every thing her lover said and did personal. But it was ok. Because in all her resistance she realized breaking rules was her power. 

Melissa began to fall for her feelings. Her feelings gave life purpose. They weren’t always logical, as feelings seldom are. They were sloppy and embarrassing and rude and so fucking uncomfortable. But they were hers. And they were real. And when she sat alone sipping wine, staring at the moon…They were the only ones still by her side. Ready to break the rules for her because they loved her. 

And she finally loved them back. 

[chocosvt]

HER | part two.

✧✎ synopsis: wonwoo, a heartbroken and burnt out writer nearing the end of his math degree, wants nothing to do with the seemingly perfect, intimidating girl who has everyone under her thumb. you. unfortunately, his literary talent has got him shoved him between a rock and a hard place when you want to write a book and require his expertise. you two are the furthest from compatible. wonwoo can’t see this going well. at all.

pairing: wonwoo x fem!reader word count: 22.7k genres/tropes: writer!wonwoo, university!au, plug!vernon + boyfriend!mingyu as prominent side characters, SLOWBURN (i am not fucking around this is my slowest burn yet), relationship drama, soul searching, strong angst/hurt (i’m coming for the jugular), comfort, romance, smut, a smoothie of every emotion on earth.

(!) warnings: drug use (weed, cocaine, ecstasy), wonwoo has anxiety + anxiety attacks + fairly dark thoughts, prescribed medication, gambling, intense language, infidelity, throwing up.

✧✎ a/n: just some quick things i want to make apparent!

the fic is told from wonwoo’s pov, not the reader’s! 

all major timeline events are organized through chronological dates

any smut or potentially triggering scenes are NOT MARKED bc the content is already quite mature, so just plz be aware of that! 

bolded and italicized text implies the characters are conversing in korean, tho it doesn’t happen often!

the fic in its entirety is 140k, so it has been split into 6 parts.

updates: in terms of a posting schedule, i'm pre sure i'm just gonna post every saturday night ~12am EST (so technically sunday lol). taglist is included in the comment section since tumblr now has limit as to how many peeps are mentioned per post :p

thanks againnnn! 🌟

⇢ part one | part three | part four | part five | part six ⇢ soundtrack for those curious! ⇢ read at ur own pace! :)

—MAY 12TH.

Wonwoo was sat on his couch with your laptop glowing in front of him, one hand holding up his chin while the other scrolled slowly through your writing. Finally, you’d let him actually glean your work, and he was quite impressed with your natural skill. He supposed the biggest issue was the choppiness—your sentence structures were much like your racing tangents, and in some areas the writing lacked flow and a smooth continuality. But that sort of ability would just develop on its own as long as you were practicing.

For the most part, Wonwoo was leaving behind small notes and highlighting areas that you could revisit at a later time.

“Okay, I’m going to do a handstand.”

However, as Wonwoo had been combing through your work for the past half-hour, that left you with an apparent boredness which somehow translated into an acrobatics session in his living room.

“I’d really prefer you didn’t,” he answered through the fingers covering his mouth, his eyes trained with focus on the document.

“No, no. I used to be so good at them. Watch.”

Wonwoo was in the midst of typing a note when a small, circular embroidered pillow had suddenly struck the laptop, nearly forcing it shut. It was then that Wonwoo looked up with a long sigh, acknowledging the devious, shining smile that sprung to your face.

“Now that I have your attention—”

Wonwoo titled his head, folded his arms, and propped one foot onto the coffee table, somewhat like an exhausted parent who was being heckled by their child to watch the “special trick” they’d just learned. He was internally praying you actually were good at handstands, because that fragile pottery vase and the antique gold clock sitting on the fire mantel had never looked so breakable until now. A cool breeze slivered in through the open window as your arms began raising above your head, and he heard you inhale steadily.

“Go!” You then shouted, either in motivation or impatience aimed at yourself, loud enough to make Wonwoo flinch.

The next moment, you were basically flipped upside down, your socked feet sticking pointedly in the air while your hands stumbled about on the brown rug for a few seconds, attempting to find their place rooted in the fuzz. Wonwoo pursed his lip, impressed.

“See! Told you!”

“I mean, I never said you couldn’t.”

“Are you amazed?”

He watched with a slight bit of nervousness as you walked a few paces forward with your hands, though he kept his calm composure from the couch and dealt you about three dull claps.

“Cirque de Soleil is asking for you, actually.”

To Wonwoo’s utter relief, you collapsed back onto your feet, probably because the blood was gushing to your head and he’d rather not have you faint squarely on the face in his living room. You then sat on your knees for a moment, rubbing slowly at your scalp.

“I’m almost done,” Wonwoo reaffirmed, moving aside the stitched pillow you’d chucked at him earlier and reopening the laptop.

“Don’t let me rush you.”

He chuckled instantly. “You mean to tell me you’re not bored out of your mind? Why else would you be doing cartwheels.”

Finally, you got up from the rug.

“Um, it was a handstand,” you were hasty to correct him, now sinking into the seat beside Wonwoo on the couch with the circle pillow pulled onto your lap. “I could do a cartwheel, though.”

“Yeah, not in this house you’re not.”

“Not in this house you’re not.”

He merely smirked at your attempt to mimic him by employing a cartoonishly deep tone that you found very amusing, made evident by your prideful giggles close to his ear. Just as Wonwoo scrolled to the end of the document to type his last note, you were piqued with curiosity and leaned over his lap, grabbing at the screen to examine how far he’d come during your hour together.

“So, where are you at anyway?”

Wonwoo pressed himself back into the couch, immediately removing his hands from the keyboard. It felt like at the most random, unpredictable times you would swoop in so close to him, and he never quite knew how to react. Most times he would freeze, become stiff and hardly breathing, run his eyes in all different directions around the room because everything seemed easier when he pretended you didn’t exist.

He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat.

“I’m basically done.”

“You are? Okay. Hm… it seems like you made a lotta notes.”

Wonwoo squirmed in his seat as though it were scratching him. You eventually pulled away, but your knee was now resting on the side of his thigh and you were sitting much closer than before—close enough that your shoulder was digging into his and he could sense your full, bright eyes burning a stare at his pink cheek.

“They’re mostly easy fixes…” he mumbled, refusing to look at you, instead scrolling impetuously through the document with jerks of his pointer and middle finger.  

“Well, what do you think of it?”

He paused, still staring at the laptop.

“Of what?”

“Wonwoo, my writing, obviously,” you said with a warm laugh and a soft breath that rushed over his neck in such a pleasurable, lightheaded way. “And look at me,” he heard you ask in a lower, more sincere voice, your fingers then ghosting along his tense jaw in a fleeting, sensitive touch as you guided his head gently in your direction, “I just want to know you’re telling the truth.”

He was accustomed to your eyes being filled with sparks and the readiness to pit the most sharp-tongued comment in history, and so Wonwoo was able to relax ever so slightly upon realizing how your gaze had become increasingly mellow, welcoming even.

“Well, you’re obviously good at it,” he managed to answer the question without his voice trembling, “just some pacing issues, mostly. You’ve got a bit of an issue with run-on sentences and closing up a scene. But you plan a lot, which is nice. I mean, you can only get better.”

An earnest smile picked its way across your face, framing your polished teeth and pushing up the apples of your cheeks. Wonwoo had to look away—sometimes it was too much—you were too much, and he refused to let himself drown beneath your intensity that he found purely terrifying. Your knee proceeded to pull from his thigh and you were now dragging your body off the couch, which meant that Wonwoo could safely exhale the breath he was holding. He wondered if you just wanted to hear the compliment, or if you were legitimately pleased with his praise.

You walked up to his fireplace mantel, examining the items left along the white, sparkling trim he’d spritzed clean of all dust.

“Did you make this?” Came your inquiry, a curious finger pointing toward the round-bottomed, thin-necked red vase.

Wonwoo shook his head.

“No, it was a welcome gift from the landlord.”

“She made it?”

“Yeah,” he hummed. “Didn’t I tell you? She owns the pottery business downstairs. Saskia. She immigrated here like, eighteen years ago, now. From Poland. I thought you might’ve run into her.”

Shaking your head, you turned back to the vase.

“I didn’t see her at all.”

“She was probably in her office.”

“How did she make all these little emblem thingies? Around the base? Like, this one’s got an elephant. This one is a fruit tree.”

Wonwoo squinted at the vase from his place on the couch. He hadn’t really examined it much, apart from when his landlord had thrust it into his hands while she welcomed him to the building. It never held any flowers, either—not even the brilliant ruby coloured poinsettias his ex-girlfriend's mother was supposed to send.

The relationship has disintegrated before it could ever happen.

“Fuck, don’t know. She has a bunch of little tools down there for more detailed work. Maybe a stamp. You’d have to ask her.”

“It’s really pretty.”

His brows furrowed. “Yeah? You like ceramics or something?”

You turned back to him, shrugging.

“I don’t know. I was just saying, it’s pretty.”

“It is. It’s very pretty.”

With a sigh, you climbed back onto the couch.

“Do you think you’re done editing?”

He picked up the laptop and set it down on the coffee table.

“I think so. For the day.”

“Perfect.” You smiled. “I’ll make time to read your notes tomorrow morning, if I can. Seems like there’s about eight-hundred.”

Wonwoo chuckled, “not eight-hundred. Try twenty.”

“Twenty?!” Your eyes bulged in shock as you gripped onto the embroidered pillow hugged back into your lap. “That’s so many!”

“What—twenty is somehow more than eight-hundred? What fucking planet are you living on where numeracy works like that?”

“Wonwoo, I have so much to do tomorrow!” You winced, tossing your head against the couch and slipping down the cushions.

“Okay, like what?”

“… Gosh… no, no. Fuck it. It doesn’t matter.”

“No, tell me. What have you got to do tomorrow?”

“I don’t want to tell.”

“Why not?” He murmured.

“If I talk about, then I’ll want to do it even less.” There was an empty sigh he heard from your chest as your arms curled tight around the pillow. “Besides, it’s squished all into my colour-coded block on the schedule. The pink one. I just—I don’t want to think about it.”

“Fair. I get that.”

“It’s complicated family stuff.”

Wonwoo huffed sympathetically. “I get that even more.”

“… So, we’re still good for Spring Street on Sunday?” You asked, staring up at Wonwoo from your sunken, defeated slump.

He nodded.

“I’ll be there if you are.”

—MAY 14TH.

The Spring Street Fair. It happened every single May, for three days straight, usually Friday to Sunday. In the daytime it was cheerier and more watered down for the children that came hand in hand with their parents, looking to feed the alpacas and ride those nauseating teacups and sob until exhaustion because they accidentally let go of their kitten-shaped balloon. However, at night, the fair had become a beacon for the older, rowdier university crowd.

Wonwoo never went despite all his recent years living in the city, but Vernon had, usually on accounts of “business” which really meant selling drugs for idiotic prices behind the Whirler or the Starship. You wanted to go, but hadn’t told Wonwoo the reason. He opted to assume it was another part of your story—maybe you ran into Mingyu at a similar fair when you were younger, and it was therefore very integral you go Spring Street tonight. It was the exact opposite of what Wonwoo typically appreciated doing on Sundays, and he knew for a fact he’d loathe it, every single part.

“No fuckin’ way!” Vernon’s voice exploded through the crackly static on Wonwoo’s phone as he stood in line for the fair, gazing over top everyone’s heads to gauge the ticket booth. “I can’t believe your loser ass actually crawled outta bed for that.”

Wonwoo scoffed, “yeah, it wasn’t my choice.”

“Then what for?”

“Her. She wanted to go. It’s for the book.”

He was supposed to meet you inside the fair. It was almost ten o’clock at night. The sky was beautifully clear, illuminated with pinpricks of starlight, and the air had once been crisp. Now, Wonwoo was beginning to smell sparked cannabis, and he assumed a likewise scent would follow him all damn night. The horrid, anxious process of standing in the mile long line was made palatable through his conversation with Vernon, who—shockingly—wasn’t even there.

“Ohh, the book, the book. Wait—she’s gonna write her book at the fuckin’ Spring Street Fair? How the fuck does that work?”

“No, it’s not like that,” Wonwoo chuckled. “It’s stuff about the settings, the environment; she uses it to help with her writing.”

“Hm, doesn’t make much sense to me, probably ‘cause I don’t like readin' or writin' or anything with books. But, damn, I’m jealous of you, Glasses. Do y’know how hard I tried to smooth talk my way into that girl’s pants? N’somehow, you can write good—”

“Write well, not good.”

“Oh, fuck you—write well—so she takes you everywhere like a little purse dog. When does that happen to me, yeah?”

The line started slowly pouring forward, and Wonwoo felt himself get dragged along. Probably another five minutes and he would be at the ticket booth, getting one of those neon bracelets circled around his wrist that were nearly impossible to rip off.

“Why didn’t you come?” Wonwoo asked.

Vernon groaned, “got into some bullshit with this guy who’s not payin’ up. I’m handlin’ it, though. If I can manage to get it all sorted, I’ll come later. It’s too fuckin’ easy selling those gummies to the first years, dude. Shit, it could be some Flintstone vitamins and they’re actin’ like Chicken Little. Cracks me the fuck up.”

Wonwoo cleared his throat, smiling. “You’re such a cunt.”

“Hey, hey, you are what you eat, okay? And, when you get inside or whatever, text me where you’re hangin’ so if I do come, I can see you for a bit. Dunno if your girlfriend will approve.”

The air began mottling with a thin, chalky smoke that drifted from somewhere down the crowded string of university students. Again, the line shuffled, and the congestion gradually broke up as more people were allowed into the fair. Wonwoo switched the phone to his other ear, getting his wallet ready.

“Don’t even start.”

“Start what? I said nothin’.” Vernon’s laughter was raspy and obviously laced with a smirk that Wonwoo could hear.

“Don’t be such a prick. She’s not my—”

Suddenly, Wonwoo’s phone began vibrating against his palm, and when he pulled it down an immediate lump conjured in his throat upon reading your name. His heart jolted, and it wasn’t until someone pushed hard on his back to urge him forward that he realized the line was once again ambling closer to the ticket booth.

Vernon sighed, “so, again, tell me where you’ll—”

“Shit—uh, gotta go. Talk to you later.”

A few remnants of Vernon’s miffed, guttural cursing managed to leak through the phone before Wonwoo could press to accept your call. In an instant, his friend was blipped away, and he heard your voice instead. He held back a cough from the astringent, cottonish air.

“Wonwoo, hello. I’m glad you picked up. So, where the hell are you? It’s nearly ten! Did you not get in line early?”

Wonwoo kept the phone secured between his shoulder and ear while he shimmied the coins out from his wallet.

“No, I did, promise. Just about to pay. Where are you?”

“When you get in, just follow the arrows. They're lit up with those blue lightbulbs. They go to the tavern. I’m having some drinks with my friends. Don’t worry. You won’t have to do much socializing.”

“Uh, okay,” Wonwoo answered, internally counting up the money in his hand until he was certain of the amount. “Mingyu’s there?”

“No. He always plays poker with his friends on Sunday.”

An unbeknownst pressure escaped his chest.

“Okay. I’m close to the front. I’ll see you in a bit.”

“Sure. Don’t be late!”

“I know. Bye.”

Hanging up the phone, Wonwoo had just enough time to wriggle the device into his back pocket before handing the ticket booth clerk his coins. She dropped the cold change into his hand, then asked to see his wrist, where she proceeded to attach the bracelet with the words Spring Street Fair etched into the orange, plasticky-feeling paper.

Finally, he was let inside.

Blue arrows, blue arrows—that was all Wonwoo kept reiterating in his head like some religious hymn as he followed the glow throughout the fairgrounds, weaving his way between large groups of people that he gleefully didn’t recognize. Eventually, he saw the tavern you were referring to—an outdoor bar with picnic tables set up everywhere, beneath cheap little strings of warm, lambent lights.

Even with his glasses on, Wonwoo was still squinting as he walked between each table, attempting to discern your dolled-up face somewhere amongst the strangers sipping on their large mugs of alcohol, that was until he heard his name being called over the music rumbling from the bar’s horrible speakers. When he looked straight ahead, he saw you cutely waving him over. With each step he took, Wonwoo reminded himself to breathe, to loosen up, to stop clenching his fists so painfully tight as though he were going to split someone’s eyebrow. Breathe, breathe, breathe. Just breathe.

You stood up from the table to welcome him, and he felt your hand settle softly on his lower back. The touch was grounding.

“So, everyone, girls, if I could get your attention for just a moment despite the general impairment going on here—this is the mystery guy whose been helping me write. Wonwoo.”

God—he wanted to puke, all those big, curious, unabashed eyes soaking him in like freshly dipped watercolour to a cloth canvas. There was a cluster of high-pitched voices that repeated his name in a shrill, unison greeting. However, Wonwoo was unable to meet a single girl’s gaze, and so he opted to stare down at a paper plate on the table aligned with cinnamon-sprinkled churros.

Again, he wanted to throw up.

“So, of course, Wonwoo’s been the biggest help with everything,” you said, to which he could sense your nails subtly digging at him through his clothes, most likely a silent urge to say something so he didn’t seem so unprecedentedly stiff and metallic.

He cleared his throat.

“Uh, yeah. I’m just proofreading, really.” Wonwoo had to swallow. “Some tips here and there. But, she’s pretty good as is.”

“Is that your actual voice?”

His eyes darted to find who asked the question. She was toward the end of the picnic table, tucking a lock of short, coffee brown hair behind her ear. Before the girl was a gigantic and fluorescent pink drink, the glass resembling the shape of a fish bowl.

“… What do you mean?” Wonwoo replied.

She sat up on her knee, continuing to ogle him with those fixated but glazed chestnut eyes. Her mouth seemed to drag as though it was thawing when she spoke. Wonwoo could tell she was already well inebriated. There was no way that was her first drink.

“Your voice,” she repeated, “it’s so… deep.”

“Well… I don’t know. Puberty.”

His comment elicited some giggles from around the table, to which he could feel the cartilage in his ears burning.

“Wonwoo—” another girl then leaned forward with her head tilted up and a coy, drunk smile flittering on her mouth, “—I think it’s so, so great you’re helping Her write. I actually think it’s the sweetest, ever.” Her lashes were coated in smooth mascara and her eyelids were remarkably glimmery, drenched in an electric shade of blue that he couldn’t stop staring at. “Also, sorry, but you’re like, super gorge.”

“Super what?” He repeated, confused at her wording.

But she didn't seem interested in repeating herself, instead scooping the long and impressively silky black hair off her shoulder to spill down her pale back.

“Okay, okay, okay. We’ve all shared some impetuous conversation and we’ve all swooned over him now. Yippee. Unfortunately, we’ve gotta get going, friends.”

Wonwoo felt your hand land on his shoulder and gently tug him backward, away from the table. You then proceeded to grab the glass left at your seat, chugging the remaining alcohol until there was nothing but a melting block of ice cubes clicking at the bottom. While you wiped your mouth, you began aiming a finger at each girl.

“To make a long story short, that’s Princess, Clara, and Bells. Do you have any comments for them before we go?” The impatience in your tone was bleeding through with sheer apathy.

Wonwoo shrugged. “Uh, nice to meet everyone? I guess.”

“Short and efficient. How perfect. Okay, I’ll see you guys later, I think. Actually—probably not. So can someone eat my churros?”

Your arm curled around Wonwoo’s bicep as though to whisk him away as hurriedly as possible. Everyone left at the table began waving, and Wonwoo couldn’t even bring himself to force a fake, pleasant smile because he was still attempting to understand what all those comments even meant. You walked briskly until the poetic, firefly lights of the tavern were lost long behind in the distance, and when you finally paused, he had not a clue where he was standing—a busy centre with people mingling all around him, the wild whirring of carnival rides and chaotic, blinking hues strobing above his head.

When he looked down at you, he was surprised to see you were already staring back, and he could only hold the eye contact for no more than a few seconds or else his heart would skip a beat.

“Sorry about all that,” you said, rolling your shoulders, “I tried to be somewhat reasonable with my drinking for once. I can’t say the same for Clara and Bells. They guzzle cocktails like apple juice.”

“Bells is… the one with all that sparkly blue eyeshadow?”

“Oh—yeah. She loves sparkles. Glitter. Anything glimmery. She’s been like that ever since I’ve known her. Clara was the one who asked about your voice. She has a thing for guys with deep voices and you unfortunately fit the bill. And I’m sorry that Princess didn’t say anything. She kind of just looks and observes. Also I’m like ninety-eight percent sure she popped something in a porta-potty before we met up so she’s probably in a mental state of star-surfing. Anyway. You don’t have to worry about them, alright? It’s just us for tonight.”

 “Well, that’s… easy enough.”

“I’m not sure if we should stand here.”

“Hm?”

You then pointed to something behind Wonwoo, and when he turned his head, he felt a gust of wind from the gigantic, spinning ride that resembled a flying saucer in the nighttime sky. It was always beyond him why anyone would choose to strap themselves into a machine that terrifying. It made him sick just watching.

“If I get throw up on my head, I’m killing myself.”

“Okay, so let’s find somewhere else.”

As he began walking away in search of a quieter area, you grabbed onto the back of his clothes. Wonwoo raised his eyebrow.

“We have to hold hands, or have arms linked,” you said.

For some reason, Wonwoo presumed you were joking, and so he tilted his head at you with a questioning smile. But when your serious expression didn’t crack, he realized it wasn’t a joke at all.

“Oh… why?”

“Because—” you then took a step toward him and spoke matter-of-factly, like you were reading a rule book, “—it’s the buddy system. Always have someone at your side, and make sure you’re linked in some way. It’s too easy to get separated in places like this, otherwise. Have you never heard of that before?”

“I have,” Wonwoo answered, adjusting his glasses. “My—um, my hands are a little cold. I don’t have the best circulation.”

The truth was, Wonwoo didn’t want to hold your hand. He didn’t want to link arms with you. He didn’t want you pressed into his side all night. He didn’t want to have the scent of your hair under his nose or feel your ticklish breath against his neck each time you spoke.

But he didn’t have a good enough excuse to fight it.

“Oh my god, who cares,” you retorted. “And I have super sweaty hands. Like, uncomfortably warm. We'll balance out.”

 “Actually?”

“Yes! Is that a problem for you, sweetheart?”

Wonwoo quickly shook his head in response to your condescending tone. You then reached for his hand, which he offered up for your required holding, and chose to ignore the butterflies in the deep pit of his stomach when he realized how perfectly your fingers slotted with his. He followed your lead through the fair until you came outside a small lemonade booth. Wonwoo thought you would drop his hand, but you didn’t, and his knees felt like gelatine.

“I want another drink,” you told him.

He squinted at their options, which didn’t really consist of much. The prices were obviously insane—it was another reason he hated going to fairs. His wallet always got cleaned out.

“You’re going to have to use the washroom a lot.”

“Ugh,” you gritted in response, brushing some hair from your face, “I hate public washrooms. They’re so gross. Completely unsanitary. Awful maintenance. One time I was here and I walked into the washroom by the Mirror Hall and I swear, a freaking rat ran across the floor! I screamed bloody murder. I’d rather squat in the bush and risk getting, like, poison ivy. But the washrooms have mirrors obviously, and I like checking my makeup and stuff. I wish I could check now.”

“Right now? I mean, your makeup looks fine.”

Wonwoo saw your entire face freeze, and then begin to warp, as though he’d just said the most dreadful thing he could think of.

“Fine?” You glared at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He started stumbling over his words, feeling his chest tighten.

“So, what you’re saying is that I look ugly? That my makeup looks bad? Because if you really thought it was ‘fine’ then you wouldn’t have said it looks ‘fine’ because everyone knows that word is a substitute for passable and passable is just a substitute for ugly!”

He opened his mouth, then instantly closed it.

“So what’s wrong with it? Are my under eyes creasing? Is my contour too dark? Is my lipstick smudged? Did it get on my teeth? Ugh, I knew I should have brought my compact!”

“No, no, no.” Wonwoo squeezed your hand, hoping that he could somehow undo the damage he had no intention of even inflicting in the first place. “Uh—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. You look—” he wasn’t sure he could say the compliment without shivering, but Wonwoo didn’t care in the moment, “—your makeup is beautifully done. There’s no creasing or smudging, there’s none of that."

You kept touching worrisomely at your face. “Are you sure?”           

“I promise.” Wonwoo confirmed, giving your hand another tight, reassuring squeeze that seemed to calm you down.

He had never seen someone switch gears that quickly. You could be perfectly amicable one second, and then break down into near hysteria the next, a slew of anxious thoughts running straight from your brain to your mouth like clockwork.

Wonwoo wondered how Mingyu dealt with such tangents all the time. The trait almost didn’t seem to fit your image.

The line moved forward another step.

“Are you going to drink anything?” You asked after a moment of silence, in a quieter voice. “I want to get the strawberry refresher.”

“Maybe.”

“What will you get?”

“I… don’t know. A regular lemonade?”

“No,” you shook your head, pointing toward the corner of the booth’s menu, “get the pina colada thing. I want to try it, too.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo agreed with a shrug as he retrieved his wallet, not really caring about what he drank. “I’ll pay for it. No worries.”

The longer Wonwoo was at the fair, the less he actually thought about why he was there, until the question leapt into his mind at random while he stood beside you, waiting for a seat on the dauntingly large Farris wheel. He removed the straw from his mouth, swallowing a gulp of his pina colada flavoured drink, and peered down at you. His hand was still interlinked with yours. You had finished the strawberry refresher in about five minutes.

Now, you were texting someone. He didn’t know if it was a friend from earlier or perhaps your boyfriend, but Wonwoo wasn’t a serious sleuth, so he opted to look away despite the natural urge that was pricking him. When you finally tucked the phone back into the small bag slung around your shoulder, Wonwoo lowered the plastic cup from his mouth, making sure to clear his throat.

“So, uh, why are we here, exactly?”

You sniffled. “What do y’mean?”

“Does the fair have anything to do with your writing? Is that why we’re riding the Farris wheel? Oh—speaking of which, I didn’t think to bring the camcorder, in case you wanted any footage.”

“Oh, no,” you said, waving a dismissive hand, “this has nothing to do with my book. We’re palate cleansing.”

“Palate cleansing?” He echoed.

“Yeah. It’s like, doing something different in between a routine, to keep yourself fresh. You always eat breakfast at home but today you skip it and go out for brunch. Y’know, shit like that.”

Wonwoo huffed in amusement. “You could have told me beforehand.”

“Uh, no—” your face scrunched up in clear disagreement, “—I couldn’t, because then you wouldn’t have gone. No offence, but you’re a hermit, Wonwoo. You don’t really like going anywhere or doing anything and you’re definitely one of those people who bores themselves into hating their own life because your stimuli is so limited. That’s why I didn’t tell. Again, no offence.”

“Oh.”

That was all he could string together in response—not even string together, because it was just one boring, monotone sound that basically got carried away in the chilly wind, tinted with the smell of buttery popcorn and weed. It sounded like something that was supposed to sting, but it didn’t really. Maybe he was growing more accustomed to your unprompted judgements on his personal life.

Suddenly Wonwoo had blinked and you two were next in line for the empty cart. The clerk pointed at Wonwoo’s drink.

“You can’t bring that with you,” he said.

Before Wonwoo could think to respond, you had already grabbed the cup from his hand, chucking it straight into the garbage.

“We’re not.”

Pulling on his hand, you guided him into the shaky cart, both of you squishing onto the cold, metal bench. It was quite literally the tamest ride in the entire fair, and yet Wonwoo was still feeling nervous about it—though, that was possibly the fact he was going to be sailed one-hundred feet into the satin black sky, left amongst the stars and the bright, shimmering halo of the moon with you and you alone. He was actually relieved you had tossed his drink, otherwise he might have dropped it due to the trembling in his fingers. It was easier to fiddle with them in order to disguise their shakiness.

“I guess I should have asked if you’re afraid of heights,” you said.

The cart jerked abruptly as the ride began to move and lift you two ever so gradually from the ground. Wonwoo peered over the edge for a brief moment to watch his distance grow from the people below, their jumbled mess of conversations fading in place of quiet.

“Uh, no. I’m okay with heights,” he finally answered.

He saw you glancing down as well, smiling to yourself.

Wonwoo wasn’t sure if he should attempt at conversation or just maintain the stillness between you. Usually, he couldn’t stand it, and the pressure to talk and fill the silence always tended to fail or squander something potentially enjoyable. But he supposed it was typically like that in a situation where two people weren’t the best acquainted—that’s why Wonwoo always quite liked Vernon, despite his rough, nonconformed edges and often vulgar way of speaking.

He was able to carry a conversation so naturally that the quieter moments never felt suffocating, instead falling exactly where they should, like puzzle pieces. But that was harder with you.

Maybe it was because you could be intimidating, unpredictable—Wonwoo was never truly relaxed around you because there was this intangible, looming worry that he needed to have the perfect responses and be the most perfect person. He found that perfect people only hung out with other perfect people and Wonwoo was certainly not that—perfect. You must have seen it by now. He was just as rough as Vernon no doubt, but in a different, hidden way that had to be dug into like an archeologist looking for broken bones.

The Ferris wheel slowed down, coming to a stop. You weren’t at the very top, though the air was notably cooler and much fresher. When he inhaled a long breath, it smelled purely of night and not overpriced, buttery fair food and burning weed. He noted that you stared straight ahead, at the crescent-shaped moon, which mirrored a backward stare with how squarely it sat in front of the ride. For once, Wonwoo wasn’t squirming, wriggling, stressing at the silence. When he spoke, he did it because he genuinely wanted to.

“How was your Saturday?”

“My Saturday?”

“Yeah. I saw the schedule. You had to run a bunch of errands with your mom. Looked like you were pretty keyed up.”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, I want to say I was overreacting the day before about how much I was dreading it. But then it fucking happened. And… I, uh… I realized I was exactly right. It was awful. I did get to your notes, though… yeah—I just—I squeezed them in between brunch with my mom’s friend who could talk herself to death and the excruciating car ride to the publisher’s office.”

“Mmhm.” Wonwoo smiled tenderly. “Did they help at all?”

“Yeah,” you breathed out, “a lot, actually… thank you.”

“I’m sorry your Saturday went so terribly.”

Huffing in response, you nibbled on your inner check.

“Yeah, well, it is what it is… I already knew it was gonna be a shit show. So, what is it that you write about, anyway? Because you seem like you know a whole lot. Seokmin says you let him read some of your poetry, but it was only like, two excerpts.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Wonwoo recalled the memory of Seokmin picking up his leather notebook when it fell out from his bag one day. He’d pestered him about the contents until Wonwoo succumbed and presented him with some lifeless, impatiently scribbled prose that he’d most likely jerked out on the bus or in between his lectures. Seokmin seemed to treat it like fine, prestigious gold, though Wonwoo knew it was the least personal of his work that he would never let another living soul on the planet breathe—not one scent of the ink or even the paper.

“So, you write poetry?”

“I started writing poetry, haikus and all that easy stuff. I developed the interest a lot more through high school. But I never sat down and tried writing anything like a novel until I... I started uni.”

“Yeah. Deciding to be a math major. I still don’t get it,” you sighed, fidgeting with some rings on your fingers. “But what do you even write about? Like, what’s your inspiration?”

Wonwoo paused, looking down at his knees.

“… Life.”

“Life?” You defeatedly slumped into the seat. “That’s the million dollar answer your intelligent brain chose to erect? It’s just that when I think about it, I’m letting you help me with my writing, but I’ve never even read a little smidgen of yours. How’s that fair?”

The higher the Farris Wheel climbed, the stronger the breeze blew, and Wonwoo could feel its tendrils lashing across his cheeks and parting through his hair. You huddled further into your jacket.

“Well, you took Seokmin’s word for it,” Wonwoo laughed.

Your eyes rolled, but you smiled gently. “I know.”

Suddenly, your hand had reached out, and you were pushing the floppy, black tresses off his forehead. Wonwoo’s fingers dug bluntly into his arms. You then angled yourself in the small cart, looking back at him, sculpting your gaze to each crest in his face.

“Why don’t you ever push your hair back?”

The question hit the dark, cold atmosphere like a sizzling ember and Wonwoo was afraid to even open his mouth because he was certain a dying squeak would come out. You continued to play around with the locks, earthing your fingers deep into its texture and attempting to style it despite the persistent, fluttering breeze.

“Um…”

“If you styled it like this—” you moved in closer, staring with so much focus at your nimble movements, “—yeah, like that. It shows off your forehead, gives you a bit of class. I mean, the wind’s messing it up. You don’t tend to do anything with your hair.”

“No.” Wonwoo swallowed, hard.

“Well, you should. Not all the time, obviously. And I’m not saying you look bad with it down—not at all. But you’ve got nice, smouldering features and they’re so much more… framed… when you show your forehead.” You collapsed back into the seat, and that tingly feeling he experienced when your fingers had been tugging and pulling was disseminating throughout his entire body. “I mean, look at how my friends reacted to you. I should apologize for that again, by the way. O-M-F-G, they see one hot guy, and they lose their grip.”

He nearly choked. “Hot?”

It didn’t sound right. Not at all.

“Well, what the fuck, Wonwoo? You’re not ugly.”

“Did you think that when you first saw me?”

You had folded your leg again as the Farris wheel came to another stop. This time, at the very top, at the centre of the night.

“Did I think what? That you’re not ugly?”

“Never mind,” Wonwoo grimaced, hearing the cart creek as you better positioned yourself to face him. “It’s pathetic like that.”

“No. I didn’t think you were ugly. Did you think I was ugly?”

Wonwoo wanted to laugh at the ridiculousness of the question, but he smothered it down because he knew one little laugh might hit your ear the wrong way, and it would be flames, sputtering and spewing. Obviously, he didn’t think you were ugly—he never had, even before he ever spoke to you. But he wasn’t so shallow as to only regard someone’s physical appearance. You were still terrifying.

“I wouldn’t consider anyone ugly... and I wouldn’t ever use it to describe some aesthetically. But—I mean, I think people can become ugly through their personality, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, like, if they’re rotten inside.”

“Mmhm.”

“I agree.”

“What was that word your friend Bells said?”

You shrugged, “which word?”

“She said something like, you’re super… I don’t know… super something.”

“Oh—” you sat up more in the cart, your back pressed against the uncomfortable corner, “—Bells said you were super gorge.”

“Meaning…”

“Meaning super gorgeous.” You made a big show of the rehashed compliment, parroting your friend's tone and swaying your shoulders.

“Oh… really?” Wonwoo shook his head. “I thought she was referring to gorge as in when you gorge yourself, from eating.”

“No,” you giggled at him, “it’s a short form, dumb-dumb.”

“Why make a short form out of that? Is it really that strenuous to say the word gorgeous? It’s only an extra syllable.”

“Okay, well, this isn’t the nineteen-twenties. We don’t all cross our T’s and dot our I’s. It reminds me of how you text.”

He furrowed his brow. “How do I text?”

Your eyes rolled frivolously. “I dunno. Like you’re typing to a business colleague or something. You’re so formal. When I think of you texting, I imagine it’s like someone using a typewriter. And that funny little ding sound it makes whenever you start a new line.”

“Oh.”

“What—no one’s ever told you that before? No way.”

“That I text like I’m using a fucking typewriter? No, actually. I can’t say I’ve heard that.”

“Well, it’s not a big deal. You’re just not very plugged into the internet, I suppose. Which is a good thing. It gives you prestige.”

At that, Wonwoo chuckled. “Does it?”

“Yes,” you smiled, eyes full of starlight, “and—just ignore Bells, okay? She was being kind of weird but that can be fully attributed to those three shots I told her not to take.”

“Hm.”

You continued to stare at him with a plotting smile.

“Hm what? What’s the matter?” The metal of the cart squeaked as you leaned forward, your voice suddenly lathered in mischief. “Did you think she was cute?” He heard your tone drop, and your low, smooth voice breathing hot against his ear. “Did you think about fucking her, Wonwoo?”

“No—what the fuck—not at all.” Quickly, he’d pushed you away and off his shoulder, to which you retreated into the corner with a giggle that should have made his skin crawl, but didn’t.

“Well, how would I know?” You answered, tilting your head and stretching out your arms high into the blackness, as though you were trying to reach for a star. “I never know, because you never look at me. It makes me think you just lied and you do think I’m ugly.”

Wonwoo glanced over the edge of the cart, at the almost nauseating distance between himself and the fairgrounds, covered with miniature, bustling people that seemed like breadcrumbs by comparison to their place in the sky. He didn’t want to sink into this conversation. Besides, how was he supposed to look at you when your fingers were just gliding through his hair and your lips were whispering close enough to brush up against his ear? How was he supposed to act composed? Normal?

“Hey, Wonwoo?” Your fingers snapped.

But he just kept thinking. Like he was cut from a separate cloth than you—the fabric of his universe wasn’t woven with yours and he could ruminate as much as he wanted to and it was impossible to hear your intrusions. Why couldn’t he look at you?

You intimidated him, yes. You scared him, double yes.

He already knew that. It couldn’t just be that.

“Wonwoo? God… you shut down over the simplest things.”

“I don’t know.”

You paused, staring him up and down, perplexed.

“What? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know why I can’t look at you.”

There was a lasting silence between you. Wonwoo felt like he might throw up for acknowledging the fact out loud, and his fist tightened in his lap as though to ground himself—to remember where he was and to breathe slowly, because having a panic attack on top of a stupid Ferris Wheel was the last place it should happen. He hadn’t even realized that you’d shifted closer, one leg curled beneath you while you spoke at the side of his head. But he didn’t hear you, couldn’t see you—there was a harsh void inside him that sounded like suctioning air and static. His fingernail was pressing so deeply into the flesh of his pale skin that it was beginning to faintly bleed.

And—all of a sudden—there were these hands cautiously gripping onto his face, pulling him toward you. He kept staring at the movement of your soft lips, focusing on their pronunciation until everything flooded back in one overwhelming whirl and it felt like being slammed by a freight train.

Wonwoo then grabbed onto your bare knee as a crutch. He didn’t mean to. But you didn’t seem to care.

“—everything okay? Wonwoo? Do I need to like, call someone? Because you look like you’re going to be sick.”

He heaved in a gaping breath, feeling how cold the midnight air was in the thinning atmosphere that encompassed him. It was soothing, akin to a hand massaging along his back.

“Wonwoo?” You repeated his name, sounding awfully scared.

Pulling off his glasses, he rubbed at his eyes. He blurrily saw you touch the spot on your knee where his hand had buried into.

“Sorry,” he then coughed through the heartbeat raspy in his throat, bringing the glasses back to his face, “I spaced out.”

“Spaced out?” You echoed. “That wasn’t spacing out.”

“It doesn’t matter.”

He thought you fight might it.

“Well…” you sighed, glancing around uncertainly, “are you okay? Is there someone you want to call? I don’t know.”

But you didn’t. Thank God.

“No, I’m—” he stopped, gulping back the words.

“… Yeah?” There was a softer intrigue in your cadence.

Wonwoo looked at you. Fully this time. He looked straight into your eyes that were like a glossy, moonlit ocean, detailed with swirling riptides of surprise and apprehensiveness, but also immense depth that seemed genuinely appreciative of his gesture.

“I’m fine.”

And then he watched you nod, smile, and in return study his cavern eyes with the same intensity and wonder. It was such a peculiar experience, staring at you, understanding a little more of your truth, your gentleness.

He didn’t feel as scared.

—MAY 16TH.

Wonwoo had been standing before the mirror in his washroom for the past half-hour or so, primarily just staring, examining, and pulling at the long, limp fronds of his hair. There was a point in his life when he legitimately put effort into styling it, and all his old hair products were still sitting in the cabinet. Though, his ex-girlfriend had tended to help him with it most days, because he found the strands were just too thick and stubborn to work with.

However, since the Spring Street Fair, Wonwoo hadn’t been able to shake those comments you made—about how nicely his face could be framed and the smouldering nature of his features. He would never think to describe himself that way as it seemed particularly pompous and kind of foolish, but hearing you say it was different. The thing was, Wonwoo had no idea where to start, and attempting to rummage his fingers through his hair just didn’t feel as stimulating or electric compared to your meticulous, sweet touch.

In the midst of opening his cabinet for a comb, Wonwoo heard his phone vibrate. He looked down at the sink, seeing the screen brighten with a text notification from Vernon.

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: hey Glasses

[ Vernon | 12:54 pm ]: Solar Pop at 2?

Wonwoo thought about it for a moment, running his thumb down the spine of the comb to hear the little thwip. And then he sighed in decision, texting back a thumbs up. It’s not like he was working later, and as much as Wonwoo would love to believe that today might be the day he made actual progress on his own story, he knew it was just wishful thinking. In reality he’d waste ample time staring into the document, pondering all the scenes and emotions and nuances he could write rather than moving to write anything at all.

Besides, he hadn’t eaten yet today. The thought of a juicy, sauce-slathered, bun-toasted burger being his first meal prompted the boy’s face to sallow greenly with sickness, but the longer he stood in the washroom, combing and slicking and running styling balm through the black bird’s nest on his head, Wonwoo felt the hunger start to bite like an emaciated, starved dog. He left his apartment knowing he would be somewhat late, but Vernon was always later.

And while Wonwoo sat in one of the booths at Solar Pop, flicking the laminated menu back and forth despite knowing the exact order he was going to place, he thought about sending Vernon another text to ask where the hell he even was. Wonwoo could only sip his slippery glass of coke for so long until the waitress decided he was crazy and had been one-hundred percent stood up.

“Hey, fuck, I’m here.”

2:24 pm—that’s when Vernon finally arrived, sliding himself into the leather bench opposite to Wonwoo while tossing his big, metallic clump of keys onto the table. The boy then proceeded to shimmy off his black jacket, propping his elbows onto the table.

If Vernon ever pulled a tardy stunt like that with you, Wonwoo imagined his friend would probably get stuffed into one of those boxes for sawing people in half. Except it wouldn’t be magic.

“Did you get pulled over or something? Police raid? Traffic stop?” Wonwoo asked, now resting his menu down flat.

Vernon laughed, shaking his head. “Uh, no. Couldn’t find my fuckin’ car keys,” he spoke in a breathless voice. “Sorry ‘bout it.”

“Couldn’t find them?” Wonwoo almost scoffed at the excuse while his friend began scouring his way through the menu. “Dude, they’re the fucking size of a bowling ball. How could you lose them?”

“Okay, okay. Fuckin’ skin me alive, why don’t you?”

“You didn’t come from your place, I’m guessing.”

At that, Vernon began to grin, the metal on his pierced lip glinting underneath a ray of sunlight through the blinds. He was still occupied with choosing which burger he wanted. Wonwoo picked the same choice every time. Vernon always tried something different.

“No, I didn’t,” he rasped, flashing his sharp teeth and flipping the menu over, “but when Maleeha Rabia sends you a text at goddamn one in the morning of her tits, you don’t roll over n’ go to bed like some loser. Besides, my ecstasy was just sittin’ around and I had to use it one way or another. Anyway, doesn’t fuckin’ matter. I think I’ll get the Double Bacon Crunch Burger. Sounds good as hell.”

Finally, Vernon threw the menu down with conviction.

“Jesus Christ—” his copper-burnt eyes then flared open as he looked across the table at his friend, “—who the fuck are you?”

Wonwoo itched his nose. “Um, what?”

Vernon leaned forward, seeming captivated. “Uh, your fuckin’ hair? How’d you get it like that? It’s all brushed over and soft lookin’ and shit. I feel like I shouldn’t be sittin’ with you, Prince Charmin’.”

“I just put some balm in it, combed it around,” he answered, reaching for his drink. “Took me a humiliating amount of time.”

“Well, consider me starstruck. What’s made you do all that?”

Before Wonwoo could answer, the waitress returned to the table with her small notepad and shiny pen. Vernon pitched his order first, and Wonwoo followed, asking for the regular quarter-pounder with a side of hot crinkle-cut fries. Once she whisked the menus away and promised to grab Vernon’s root beer float, Wonwoo realized he still had to answer his friend’s question. He didn’t exactly want to tell the truth, because he knew Vernon would never let him hear the end of it, but Wonwoo also didn’t want to be too dishonest.

“Your face is doin’ that thing.”

“What thing?” Wonwoo answered, swallowing his sip of soda.

Vernon crossed his arms on the table, accenting the canvas of darkly-inked tattoos needled into his skin. He shook his head.

“It’s ‘cause of your little girlyfriend, isn’t it?”

Fuck. Wonwoo should have just opened his mouth straight away and spieled out some quick-witted lie. Now he would be painfully subject to Vernon’s unfiltered teasing. Leaning back in his seat, Wonwoo unearthed a miserable sigh at Vernon’s smirk.

“You’ve gotta drop that bullshit.”

“It’s true,” Vernon pressured.

“No, it’s not.”

As though to interpret Wonwoo’s steadfastness as a challenge, Vernon leaned further over the table, dropping his voice but still smiling devilishly through every word he mimicked between his teeth.

“Oh, Wonwoo, your hair looks so fucking sexy like that. It makes you look so perfect. You’re from my dreams. Please, just fuck me right here, right now so I can push my fingers through it ‘cause it’s so soft and silky and I’m basically in love with you.”

“Shut the fuck up. Please.”

“That was a good impression, though, wasn’t it?”

In the loud space of Wonwoo’s disgusted silence, the waitress placed Vernon’s drink onto the table and ensured the food would be coming soon. Vernon watched her walk away, back into the kitchen.

“Hey,” he then grinned in capitulating fashion, “take a stupid joke, alright? I know she’s not in love with you and she doesn’t wanna suck your dick—she’s got a fuckin’ boyfriend. If it makes you feel any better, I’m just projectin’ ‘cause you know I’m jealous.”

Wonwoo sucked in a sip from his coke, shaking his head.

“There’s nothing to be jealous of.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Vernon dismissed, poking his spoon at the near perfect scoop of vanilla ice cream afloat in the frosty mug, “but just so y’know, your mopey ass left me out to dry on Sunday night. Shoved me off the phone, didn’t respond to one of my texts. You’re lucky I even asked you t’hang today. Did she take your phone or something’?”

Shit. When Vernon said it like that, Wonwoo seemed like a terrible friend. Maybe he did deserve a deal of teasing. But at the same time, Wonwoo knew how easy it was for your attitude to flip and he hadn’t been at all interested in starting the night with hostility.

“Okay, fair.” He admitted, rolling up his sleeves.

“And?” Vernon raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“I’m sorry.”

“There you fuckin’ go. That’s all I wanted t’hear, Glasses.”

The truth was, Wonwoo actually quite enjoyed his time with you that night—despite the transient, bickering hiccups and his nearly faltering panic attack, he had fun. Actual fun. Of course, as soon as your ride ended on the Ferris wheel, you’d clutched onto his hand like a snake sinking in its fangs and dragged him throughout the entirety of the fair to find a washroom. Nonetheless, he really loved playing some carnival games with you, like skee ball and the water pistol. He was even able to win you a pink stuffed bear that you had carried close to the chest for the remainder of your time at the fair.

Wonwoo thought he could spend another night like that with you again. Just to get out of his apartment, to feel exhilaration in the pit of his stomach, to laugh until his lungs dried out, to hold your warm, comforting hand in his even when it became too clammy or inconvenient because otherwise you would scold him for letting go.

“Food’s on the way,” Vernon perked up like a child about to be served a slice of birthday cake as the waitress walked over with two full plates, “if you can’t finish yours, I’ll take it.”

“Yeah—how about you focus on chewing and not choking to death first,” Wonwoo sighed, watching his friend’s metaphorical tail wag.

Once she set the food down, inquiring about any refills, and left while flashing her perfected customer service smile, Vernon grabbed the burger with both his hands, taking a gigantic, succulent bite that somehow didn’t singe the roof of his mouth. Wonwoo winced, instead going for his crisped, golden fries.  

“Damn. You’re really that hungry?”

“I’m ravenous,” Vernon mumbled, picking up a few caramelized onions that fell onto his plate. “Dude, I woke up at noon in Maleeha’s bed. She was out cold. Nothin’ in her pantry but some stale fuckin’ Fruit Loops that I may have tried. I’m a grown ass man. I need a meal.”

“I’m glad you’re so proactive," Wonwoo answered, sinking his burning hot fry into the small side-bowl of ketchup.

It took them less than half an hour to clean their plates. Wonwoo tended to eat at a slower pace, with smaller, more savoury bites, while Vernon sloppily devoured his entire burger and gobbled down his fries with the occasional dipping into the root beer float’s ice cream. They scarcely talked in between, too focused on eating and drinking. Wonwoo pushed away his plate when he’d finished and proceeded to wipe off his salty, crumb-speckled fingers with a napkin, meanwhile Vernon took a moment to sink backward into the leather seat, placing a hand over his full, satiated stomach.

“Hey, do y’think they have any Life Savers?” He eventually piped up while sticking a toothpick into his mouth. “I want grape.”

Wonwoo scoffed, tossing the napkin onto his plate and taking out his phone. “Who the fuck likes grape?”

“Me, you smartass,” Vernon answered, turning backward in his seat and scanning the restaurant for any colourful candy bowls.

He couldn’t deny that he was hoping to see a text from you, but there was nothing, and his chest dropped. Wonwoo decided to open the schedule you had made, curious as to what you were even doing today—work until five o’clock, and then you were going out for supper with some friends at Terra Cotta.

He thought about texting you. His thumbs kept hovering above the keyboard in contemplation, even though he knew for certain he wouldn’t text anything. He would just stare and hope.

“Holy shit. Uh, oh my God. Wonwoo. I-I see—”

Vernon had suddenly reached a hand onto the table, slapping the lacquered wood a few times to garner his attention.

“What?” He mumbled in agitation, keeping his focus glued to the phone. “If you see the Life Savers just go up and take some. I swear, they’re not gonna fucking care you’re not twelve years old.”

“No, no, no, dumbass,” Vernon hissed, turning back around in the booth, his honey eyes glistering in oils of dread and panic. “Look, actually look. That’s Mingyu, isn’t it?”

Immediately, Wonwoo clicked off his phone, instead squinting into the distant corner of the restaurant where a notably tall, black-haired boy with tanned, amber skin had emerged from a doorway, standing in a somehow casual but imposing way that only be Mingyu.

It must be Mingyu, and that fact became glaringly obvious when Wonwoo made the unintentional, floundering mistake of staring straight into the boy’s wandering and earthen brown eyes.

“Oh my fuckin’ God, oh my fuckin’ God,” Vernon kept reiterating under his breath, bouncing his knee like an anxious student waiting for their test. “He definitely saw us. Or—he definitely saw you. This is so bad, man. I think he’s gonna rock me.”

“What?” Wonwoo whispered back harshly, attempting to float his gaze away from Mingyu in a casual manner. “For what reason?”

It seemed like Vernon almost wanted to gag at him. “Um—because of what fuckin’ happened between me n’ his girl! At that party? I told you about that shit, didn’t I?” He rasped from across the table, his bottom lip worried between biting teeth. “Dude, what if he tries to pull a fast one? You’re what—like six foot something? You have to help back me up. I can throw a pretty solid punch—even better when I’m shit-faced—but that might not be enough. Lady Liberty’s built like a brick.”

“Okay, you’re acting crazy,” Wonwoo uttered in disbelief. “I doubt he’s going to be anything but physical, especially in a public place. And, you said you didn’t know Her was in a relationship.”

“How the fuck do I know he knows that? Can’t exactly use my infectious charm on someone whose girlfriend I tried to rail.”

Vernon somehow dared to spare another rapid glance over his shoulder, only to shed an entire mould of colour from his complexion.

“He’s coming, he’s—”

“Shut up and relax,” Wonwoo mumbled. “I’m sure it’s nothing big—he’ll say a thing or two and be on his way. God, I’ll handle it.”

For some reason, Wonwoo thought he should be sinking into consternation a lot more than he actually was, but it’s not that his chest wasn’t thumping or his mind wasn’t spinning amuck with worry. It was more so that he was managing the whirlwind, as best he could, as much as he could manage. Mingyu wasn’t a complete stranger, and all their past interactions had been boringly cordial or even forgettable. Nonetheless, Wonwoo would still prefer to avoid the boy because that made his life simpler in the grand scheme of anxiety.

“Hey, Wonwoo,” Mingyu approached the table with a confident, leisurely stride, extending his large hand for Wonwoo to grab, exchanging a dap. “I almost didn’t recognize you for a sec.”

“All good,” Wonwoo answered, attempting a polite grin that felt much more sweltering on the inside than out. “How’ve you been?”

Mingyu shrugged, burying his hands into the pockets of his sweatpants while he gazed at the slitted curtains for a moment, pondering his reply. “Decent. Playing a lot of basketball. I don’t think I’ve seen you since I came to the pharmacy. You still there?”

“Still there.”

“Well, at least I haven’t had to come in for a fuckin’ pregnancy test yet. That’s good I suppose, yeah?” The boy chuckled, then tilting his head a certain way to crack a stiff spot in his neck.

“Aisle five if you ever need it.”

Mingyu responded with a smirk that perhaps lasted a second too long, and these slimming, analyzing eyes—a gaze that Wonwoo felt ripple in his gut. He chose to believe it was nothing dire, or else he would spiral right there on the spot and lose all fine-tuned control.

Meanwhile Vernon had been sitting quietly the entire time, most likely hoping he would remain in the dark, skulking shadows outside Wonwoo’s spotlight. But he must not have been hoping hard enough, because Mingyu proceeded to smile at him, again extending his hand for another dap, which Vernon yielded apprehensively.

“You’re a pretty recognizable guy, unfortunately,” Mingyu acknowledged with a husky laugh—a clear reference to the boy’s identifying tattoos and numerous facial piercings, “I think you deal to at least a third of my friends. It’s Vernon, right?”

“Mmhm. Yes sir.” To Vernon’s luck, he had a well-polished and gleaming smile that made it impossible for him to seem disingenuous, though Wonwoo knew he was wilting inside.

“I’m sorry about Dots.”

“Oh, uh. All good. It is what it is, y’know?”

Mingyu nodded.

“Hey—those tattoos are crazy good. Where’d you get them?”

Vernon looked across his arm. “Thanks. Mostly Liquid Impact—dude there that I call Funfetti ‘cause he eats Funfetti box cake all the time. Uh, but his actual name’s like, Axel or some white-boy shit like that. He’s done a majority of it. The others—man, I don’t know. Half the time I’m off my fuckin’ face and wake up with shit I never remember.”

“Oh, yeah?” Mingyu sniffed, running a hand through his long, shiny onyx locks of hair. “Guess you also don’t remember promising my girlfriend the best sex of her life, right?”

At that, Vernon looked straight to Wonwoo, and Wonwoo returned the enlarged, incinerating stare straight back, reading the split-second terror that swam like flopping fish in Vernon’s eyes. The atmosphere hit the ground with a palpable and ugly shatter.

“Yeah, um—about that—”

Mingyu then balanced backward on his foot for a moment, beginning to chuckle, sway his head, as though to dismiss the entire accusation in the same intense breadth it was mentioned.

“Nah, nah. I’m playing around,” the boy chuckled, rubbing at his nose. “You didn’t know she was taken. No hard feelings, yeah?”

Vernon immediately nodded his agreement, and the tension nailed into his broad shoulder line seemed to melt. “For sure. No hard feelings. I mean, she’s beautiful. Can’t even imagine what it’s like bein’ her boyfriend when you’ve got sluts like me around.”

Mingyu grinned, “no, you’re good. I know she gave you some attitude about it. Bit of a troublemaker herself. But, yeah. Water under the bridge.” The boy’s attention then turned back to Wonwoo, who was more than eager to somehow extinguish the conversation from you as a topic. “I know she’s hangs out with you right now.”

“Oh, yeah,” Wonwoo hummed, “the book thing.”

“She doesn’t like talking to me about it.”

“Well, don’t stress,” he answered, catching the sunlight that blitzed through the curtains and dipped like a gold paintbrush into the boy’s eyes, turning them to warm molasses, “she’ll show you the whole damn thing when it’s over and done with.”

Mingyu huffed, “I thought she’d have dropped it by now.”

“I don’t think she will. She’s pretty committed.”

“Hm.” He nodded simply in response, kissing his teeth.

Vernon folded his arms, leaning back into the leather seat with the toothpick again sitting in his mouth. “You got any plans for the summer, then? Doesn’t your pal always throw a huge party?”

“Yeah, actually. Doing it this year if we can manage. Seungcheol’s parents pretty much spend their entire summer bouncing around all the Great Lakes. We’re gonna do a co-hosting type deal and—shit, since you’re here, this is really good timing.” Mingyu then looked down at Vernon and lowered his gravelly voice. “I know what your main gig is. What about blow? You sell it?”

A slow but gradual, catlike grin trudged the edges of Vernon’s mouth, to which he pulled out his toothpick and set his elbows onto the table. “Look, can’t chop it up here, man. Ask one of your friends for my burner. I can get you to the ski slope, but it costs, obviously.”

“Nah, that’s fine. It’s just—my last plug fell through.”

“Tough.”

“Yeah. Okay, well, I should get going. I’ll follow up with you later. Do you care if Seungcheol knows the number, too?”

“No,” Vernon shrugged, planting the toothpick into the corner of his mouth and flicking it with his tongue, “just don’t go throwin’ it around. I could only get enough for a couple people, anyway.”

“All good. Okay—later, guys.”

Mingyu stepped away from the table with a wave and a flash of his pearled, charming smile, nothing but the mild scent of his fresh and expensive-smelling cologne to swirl through the now vacant space. In true espionage fashion, Wonwoo and Vernon both picked open the slots between the restaurant curtains, cautiously observing the boy’s stride into the parking lot and onto the sidewalk, where he at last disappeared into the warm, sunny afternoon.

Heaving a gigantic exhausted breath, Wonwoo took off his glasses and set them in his lap, massaging deep into his eye sockets.

“Y’know, he’s not that fuckin’ bad,” Vernon commented, “I mean, he scares the shit outta me, but that could have gone worse.”

"Jesus Christ—I can’t believe what I just watched.”

His friend laughed, banging his fist excitedly enough on the table to engender the silverware clattering on their plates. “Ha! I know, right? Dude—Seungcheol and Mingyu are the kingpins of that fuckin’ university you go to. They can cough up the big bucks for that shit. Just imagine the distribution pay I'm gonna get with them on my roster—actually, that couldn’t have gone better.”

“And where are you gonna get it?” Wonwoo pressured, at last settling his glasses back on, clarifying Vernon’s smudged, blurry face.

“Well, let me fuck around and work my magic.”

“I don’t want him to use you.”

“Pfft. I don’t give no fucks about being used,” Vernon cackled, wearing a self-indulgent, luminous smile and continuing to play around with the toothpick while he readied his wallet to pay. “You know what you should worry about, Glasses? Sweet talkin’ the fuck outta that dude’s girl and securin' yourself an invite. You probably don’t even need to try sweet talkin’—she obviously likes you.”

“No,” Wonwoo grumbled, “no way.”

“You don’t want to go?”

“Why would I want to go, dumbass? The last time I went to a party, I ran into you. They’re loud and suffocating. I’ll pass.” Wonwoo also pulled out his wallet, taking his card. “Besides, I get the sense Mingyu doesn’t trust me a whole lot. I’m not gonna stir the pot.”

Vernon shook his head. “You stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street. N’yeah, exactly. You met me. I don’t get the fuss.”

“It’s nothing like that," Wonwoo answered in frustration.

“Yeah, yeah. You’re a Patron Saint. I just want my Life Saver.”

—MAY 19TH.

Wonwoo was going to your apartment today for the first time, and it had nearly killed him in the process.

His abhorrent sleep schedule hung over his head every single instance he woke up at lunchtime, the entirety of his mornings wasted to weathered heartbreak and its lasting, stained consequences. Needing to be at your apartment for ten had Wonwoo buckling his face into anguished hands the night before, wondering how he was going to pull off such a triumph without wishing for death.  

He did know one thing for certain—the sound of his alarm erupting into its timely, strident beeping made him instantly sick. In fact, the first thing Wonwoo did was half-stumble in complete bleariness out from his bed, dragging a white sheet along by his ankle as he burst into the washroom and hung his head over the toilet like he was sweating through a wicked hangover. But it wasn’t alcohol. It was months of bad, soul-stitched habit festered up in stomach bile and perhaps, a hatred for himself. It was his own fault, in a way.

And yet, when you texted him a half-hour later to reconfirm your address, Wonwoo replied with not the slightest hint that he was feeling pretty fucking terrible. The headache and shudders followed him down the street, onto the bus, and into the lobby of your notably opulent apartment complex. He felt rather incongruous amongst all the marble—the white trim, the clean, untainted air, even the breakfast table with dispensable lemon water and small, fruit-topped pastries that somehow made Wonwoo want to kill himself.

He looked down at his phone.

[ Her | 9:10 am ]: 717 thorton street, unit 61

[ Her | 9:45 am ]: are you almost here? :)

Wonwoo pressed the button to the elevator.

[ Wonwoo | 9:50 am ]: Yes. In the building.

His phone vibrated immediately with a text.

[ Her | 9:50 am ]: I’m so excited

The doors pulled apart. Wonwoo stepped aside for a couple who were leaving the elevator before he entered. Quickly, he clicked the button to close the doors, not wanting to share the space with anyone but himself and the headache throbbing at the forefront of his cranium. He sighed, glancing at his texts again to reply.

[ Wonwoo | 9:51 am ]: Do you have any Tylenol?

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: most def

[ Her | 9:51 am ]: what’s wrong?

[ Wonwoo | 9:52 am ]: Nothing much. Just a headache.

When he didn’t receive an immediate answer, he assumed you had put the phone down to search your medicine cabinet. Getting off the elevator, Wonwoo proceeded to find the correct apartment. He put his fist up to the door, and then, at the last second, stopped.

There it was again—the same melting pot of anxiety and butterflies that had bubbled up when you first visited his place.

He supposed the feelings never truly disappeared each time he would see you, and he was beginning to detest it. Why couldn’t his body just adapt? Get over it? What purpose did it serve to constantly remind him of his unkempt emotions? It was like the idea of you terrified him more than you as an actual person, because in person, he felt comfort, as crazy as it sounded. So why couldn’t his anxiety and security just complete that stupid sliver of a synapse for once?

Knock knock.

After a moment, the handle clicked, and the door to sumptuous unit 61 was pulled open. For the first time, Wonwoo saw your face without any makeup, and it sort of made him stutter in his words—not that he was shocked in abhorrence at the contrast, more so the vulnerability behind it, the fact you felt comfortable enough to shed your compulsion with always presenting a perfect, glamoured face. He was pleased to see you were in a fuzzy pair of pink shorts and a white, thin long-sleeve that were basically pyjamas.

Maybe it was weird to think, but you seemed more human.

“You made good timing. I’m impressed.”

“Thanks,” Wonwoo answered while stepping inside, toeing off his sneakers next to your plethora of shoes at the doormat.

“I would obviously say tour first, but I have your Tylenol sitting on the counter over here, for your headache. Can you dry swallow or do you need water?”

“Dry swallow?” Wonwoo laughed, following you toward the kitchen area. “Who the fuck dry swallows any sort of pill?”

“I don’t know! Personally, I don’t. But there are some freaks out there who do. I was actually testing you. And you passed.”

“Lucky me,” he sighed.

Taking a seat at one of stools displayed around the large, granite-surface island, Wonwoo waited for you to pour him some water. Obviously, the apartment was spacious, gorgeous—the large, white-fluffed rug in the centre of the living room was definitely suited to you, though he was surprised by the tall, lush potted plants aligned by the window panelling. He didn’t know you had a green thumb.

While placing down the water, you shifted closely into the seat beside him, and Wonwoo could smell the scent of strawberries on your skin. You let your chin press into the hammock made with your hands, watching as he set the pill on his tongue and gulped it down.

“So, is it really bad?”

Wonwoo turned the glass back and forth atop its coaster, deciding on whether or not he should tell the truth. It always tended to sting him when he lied, and so he turned to you, shrugging.

“I felt it when I woke up. But it’s manageable.”

“Oh, I get that sometimes.”

“It’s because of my repulsive sleep schedule, no doubt.”

You smiled at him, adjusting your leg under the island.

“Is that why you prefer afternoons all the time?”

“Pretty much. It’s a horrible habit. I’ll break it somehow, I’m sure. Just a stupid hump to get over. Anyway—” Wonwoo slung the laptop bag off his shoulder and onto the counter, “—your place looks pretty sweet. How are you? What’s the plan for today?”

“Well,” you hummed, slapping an arm down onto the reflective granite, “I’ve wrote some more this week. I’d love for you to proofread it. Maybe we can go out for lunch later, but you’d need to give me time to get ready. I mean, I did shower this morning…”

He watched you pause, and then swallow. "You don’t care, do you?”

“About what?” Wonwoo answered.

“Oh, well—never mind, then.”

“No, what is it? What don’t I care about?”

You started to grin, hiding half your face with a hand that slowly scraped across your cheek, as though to rub off any remaining lethargy from the morning light. Wonwoo waited for you to answer.

“… I look like a mole.”

He at last realized what you meant.

“No, you don’t.”

“I was just feeling lazy. I know, gasp, what an insane word to come from my mouth. But I’m glad you don’t care. I didn’t think you would, but I still wasn’t sure. At least your reaction wasn’t obvious. My chin is breaking out so please don’t stare at it, if you can help it.”

“Oh, well, you know, you look—” that one banished word almost slipped, but Wonwoo smoothly mended the break, “you—you have nothing to worry about. I get breakouts, too. It sucks, but it’s life.”

Your bare, soft face turned cheerful in a fawning smile.

“I know. I guess I'm just not very used to the feeling of people seeing me like this. Did you want to do lunch later?”

Wonwoo leaned back in the small seat, running his hands up his knees, knowing damn well he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

“Uh, I should probably start with like, cereal or something.”

“You didn’t eat?”

“No appetite.”

“I’ll fix you something. Unfortunately, no cereal. But I'll get some the next time Mingyu and I do groceries. So, what do you like best? Toast? Oatmeal? Scrambled eggs and toast? Orange juice? Bagel?”

At the mere mention of orange juice, his fist clenched. Attempting not to dwell so obviously, Wonwoo straightened up and smiled.

“I like toast.”

“That’s good. It’ll be easy on your stomach.”

Wonwoo watched you squeeze off the stool and open the fridge to pull out a plastic bag of bread. He watched you stand on your tiptoes to reach into the highest cupboard and grab a plate. He watched you pop open a jar of fresh raspberry jam and slot the bread into the toaster. He could watch you do anything, it seemed.

Anything at all.

It took Wonwoo about half an hour to eat his raspberry toast and skim through the newest additions to your document. You were getting more into the thick of your relationship with Mingyu—just as you’d warned—but Wonwoo was able to gloss most cloying paragraphs without too much bitterness or personal weight clouding his possible critiques. Wonwoo was still seated at the island, meanwhile you were lying face down on the plump-cushioned couch, an arm dangling off the side. In a morbid way, you looked very much dead if not for the shallow rising and dipping of your back.

“Done, for the most part.”

Your head perked up, and he was relieved to see you hadn’t fallen asleep or suffocated. “When will you add your notes?”

“After lunch. Is that okay?”

“Mmhm.”

“So…” Wonwoo slid down in the chair, reaching out his arms with a gigantic yawn, “you actually snuck into his basketball game?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, letting your chin snuggle into the blanket strewn underneath you, “I was obsessed with him. I couldn’t help it.”

“I wouldn’t expect your first date to be at the nature museum. The way you wrote about the butterfly exhibit was nice, though.”

“It was fun. Mingyu wasn’t the biggest fan, but I had always wanted to go. There was this huge skeleton of a blue whale, and sometimes the museum would play the whale’s ballad—” you flopped onto your back, staring up at the ceiling with a tender, ardent laugh as your fingers twirled the fluffy knots of the throw, “—it used to scare Mingyu so bad. He kept telling me he was gonna leave our date unless we went to another exhibit.”

“The sound can be pretty jarring if you’ve never heard it before, to be fair,” Wonwoo reasoned, now massaging down his legs.

Shoving your body to sit upright on the couch, you poked out your tongue at him, grinning, “don’t defend his loserness.”

He huffed in response, “my bad.”

“Should we do a tour now? I really want to show you my room. And if I keep lying on the couch, I’ll fall asleep.”

“Uh, sure. Do you want me to wash my plate?”

“No, no, it’s fine. Just leave it in the sink.”

After Wonwoo cleaned off the granite island, he came to join you in the living room, the white rug resembling what he imagined a cloud to feel like underneath his socked feet.

A thought had suddenly popped into his head.

“There’s a nature museum here, too.”

You grabbed the blanket, wearing it like a shawl around your shoulders. Wonwoo had never seen you so sleepy before.

“I know.”

“Have you ever gone?”

“No. Not at all. I did ask Mingyu once when we first came here for university. But I think he was still mortified from the whale thing. I dunno. Anyway, is that your round-about way of asking if I ever want to go? Because I would, to help with the story.”

Wonwoo scratched along his collarbone, heated with the itch of being blatantly exposed for his plotting. However, he hadn’t suggested the museum with the intention of employing it as a visual to sharpen up your scene-work. He was hoping to go just for the sake of it—like a palate cleanser, as you had previously mentioned.

But he obviously wasn’t going to articulate that.

“We can plan it more later,” he said.

The tour started in the living room, which Wonwoo had become well acquainted with throughout his half hour of sitting at the kitchen island, occasionally flicking his eyes toward the couch to ensure you were still alive. You explained that the pristine white rug was a housewarming gift from Mingyu’s parents when you first moved into the apartment, and he felt guilty for even stepping on it.

He decided to ask about the plants by the windows.

“Oh, I don’t actually look after those,” you answered, touching at one of the heavy and balmy-looking green leaves from a plant nearly as tall as you, “Seokmin comes over to water them and stuff, gives them special nutrient food—even sprays their leaves with this misty bottle thing. I tried giving them all to him, but he says he’s got no space at his apartment—which is total bull by the way.”

“Maybe he just wants an excuse to see you.”

“Yeah,” you scoffed, rolling your eyes, “doesn’t everyone?”

Wonwoo bit back a stupid little smile as he followed you into your bedroom—the place you seemed most enthralled for him to finally see. You twirled into the open space and threw the blanket off your shoulders, then whipping your hands into the air akin to a magician who’d just performed the most grandiose magic trick.

“Tada! Bedroom reveal!”

He pushed up his glasses, taking a good, solid look around at everything he could: the prestigious makeup vanity with the drawers left half-open, your dresser, lined with photographs of what he assumed to be friends, family, and Mingyu, the beaded, dangling chandelier, the ajar closet doors that revealed your unsurprising magnitude of outfits—skirts and dresses and professional blazers and lascivious things from threads of lace and silk. He finally looked to your beautiful bed, which you proceeded to flop onto.

“This is my favourite part,” you hummed.

Taking some further steps into the bedroom, Wonwoo began recognizing smaller details, though he couldn’t explain what he was feeling. He always thought a bedroom was such a personal, intimate space, like a treasure chest stuffed with memories and pieces of person’s essence that couldn’t be captured using words alone. To sit on someone’s bed, or sift through their drawers for a pen, or even grab a shirt from their closet—he felt it was all so… sacred. It was the reason he had such a hard time having others in his bedroom.

“The bed is your favourite?” He wondered.

“Yes,” you giggled, a glimmer flashing into your eyes like diamonds in the sun as you climbed onto your knees.

Before Wonwoo knew what was happening, you had clutched a hand into his shirt and jerked him toward the covers. He landed beside you, and his heart thrust with electricity.

“You could have just asked me to sit,” he chuckled, wiping some wrinkles off his shirt and adjusting his glasses.

“Nope.”

“Bed’s comfy.”

“Duh,” you sunk backward, smirking at him, “it’s a bed.”

“Hey, you should have seen the bed I had growing up in Changwon. My older brother and I, we hated it. Shit was like sleeping on a piece of cardboard. It didn’t get better for years.”

Propping your head onto a pillow, you continued to smile prettily at him with those entrancing eyes, and for a second, this piercing fear struck in the core of Wonwoo’s chest that he had just spoke about himself—actually spoke about himself—in a manner that screamed of vulnerability. He felt terror. Why did he do that?

“Hm. I guess I’m just spoiled, with my memory foam and all.”

At least you didn’t push into the topic. You were getting better at that, almost like you could interpret the subtle tweaks in his face or the stiffening of his bones. Wonwoo rested his elbows on his knees.

“Your room’s nice. It smells like you.”

He heard you giggle, “what? Like strawberries?”

Wonwoo pursed his lip, looked down at his fingers. “Yeah…”

For a moment, his eyes lingered unfaithfully on your exposed midriff, down to the fluffy hem of those pink lounge shorts. He squeezed his wrist tight, practically stopping his own blood flow, willing himself not to think anything unhinged that would simmer up to fuel his self-hatred later. The longer your head spent sinking into that plump pillow, the more your lids fluttered with sleep. As he continued to gaze about the room, he spotted the pink stuffed bear that he’d won you at the Spring Street Fair, sitting atop your bedside table.

“You’ve still got that?”

“Hm?” You pushed up onto your elbows, yawning. “Oh, yeah! ‘Course I still have her. It’s a perfect little memento from that night.”

“Well, I did go through a lot of effort to win it.”

“Oh, I’m aware... wanna know what I named her?”

“What?”

“Miss Priss.”

Honestly, Wonwoo was surprised you hadn’t stuffed it into your closet or abandoned the toy in some innocuous corner of your apartment. Instead the bear’s vibrant pink face and slightly lopsided eyes were staring him down, making him rerun Vernon’s words in his head: ‘you stir the pot every time you hang out with his girl to go write romantic poetry and run around, gigglin’ at Spring Street.’

Wonwoo immediately shoved the memory aside, letting the implications sizzle up and burn on the hot coals of his brain.

“Hm. Funny.”

You rolled your eyes.

Wonwoo tapped his wrist, thinking.

“So, uh, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but why don’t you live with Mingyu? I know he stays over some nights.”

Lifting yourself up with one arm, you shrugged, opting to stroke a hand along the blanket to smooth out some crinkles. “I don’t want to move in with anyone unless I’m engaged.”

“Actually?”

“Yeah. I mean, that's what I told my parents, at least. They used to really push for us to have an apartment together. Which makes sense. They freaking love him. I swear, more than me," you laughed, picking at your shirt. "I get it, too. Mingyu and I have pretty much been tied at the hip all these years. But we agreed that we wouldn't live together until things went to the next level. He does keep a lot of his stuff here for when he does stay over, and vice versa. He’s got an extra key and everything, his own nightstand, bathroom stuff.”

“And that’s for certain?”

You tilted your head. “What’s for certain?”

“The engagement thing. Or was it just to shake off your parents?”

“Well… I guess I mean it. Is that weird to you?”

“No,” Wonwoo said. “I personally haven't heard it plenty.”

“Yeah, most people are surprised to learn we don’t live together. I guess we really give off the impression that we're together in most things, if not everything. It's good to get a little space, though."

“Well, I understand it—wanting to have your own space. I mean, I think everyone should try living alone, just once if they have to. You learn more about yourself, I suppose.”

You cracked a smile at him. “What have you learned?”

Wonwoo chuckled, knowing all the things he could never say were tingling right on the tip of his tongue. “Well, I meant in a general sense. I wasn't exactly talking about myself.”

“Ha—you learned how to be a hermit.”

“I'm pretty sure I was always like that.”

“Yeah, but probably not that bad.”

“That bad?” He furrowed his dark brows at you, staring straight into your eyes that twinkled with challenge. “Meaning what?”

“Please, you would not leave that apartment if it wasn’t for your commitment to the book. Maybe for work, some groceries every now and then. Otherwise, your ass is not leaving.”

“Damn. Just call me a loser.”

“Fine,” you huffed, pushing up onto your knees, “loser.”

Wonwoo managed to hold the penetrating, spirited strength of your gaze, and he was proud of himself for doing so, even if his heart felt like it was going to leap into his throat. It was still difficult for him to be routinely engaged in eye contact, but he knew how much you appreciated it—the feeling of being listened to and experiencing someone’s dedication to presenting their full attention.

Since it was getting close to lunch time, Wonwoo figured you might want to start thinking of where to eat. He was getting notably hungry, and having to function off some toast coated thinly in raspberry jam wouldn’t be enough to power him throughout his proofreading. He pulled out his phone, wanting to check the time, and began sliding off your comfortable, warm bed.

“Did you want to—”

“Hey, wait, wait, wait—” Wonwoo felt your hand curl around his bicep in a firm grip and begin to pull him back down, “—before we get up and everything, I want to talk to you about something.”

Oh no.

His stomach writhed.

Wonwoo started praying it wasn’t about his and Vernon’s encounter with Mingyu at Solar Pop—not that anything particularly terrible or concerning had happened—but maybe Mingyu had mentioned something to you. Maybe he didn’t like Wonwoo and thought it was best you stop writing together, stop seeing each other.

His mind started quivering with a steadfast hurricane of awful thought and Wonwoo knew the flushed colour had most likely drained from his face as quickly as a popped balloon.

Your hand remained on his bicep, squeezing it.

“Why do you look so worried, already?” You chuckled in a quiet voice, rubbing his arm until Wonwoo visibly relaxed. “I haven’t even said anything yet. Unless, you think I should be worried, too.”

“No.” Wonwoo shook his head. “Just—never mind.”

“Hm, well, that’s kind of what I want to talk about.”

As your hand drifted off his arm, Wonwoo sat crossed-legged, narrowing his eyes at you in question. “What do you mean?”

The conversation began with a clunk of silence, to which you glanced down at the bed for a moment, clearly biting on your inner cheek in contemplation. Wonwoo desperately wanted you to spit it out. He hated when empty words hung so burdensomely in the air.

“Well… there’s no easy way to bring it up. And I’m not sure you’ll even want to talk about it with me, but I keep noticing it, again and again. I think it’s at least worth it to put it on the table. And, if it’s not my business, you can freely tell me to screw off.”

“Oh… okay.”

And then you were looking at him, not with any sort of accusation or anger or even disappointment. Somehow, Wonwoo knew what you were going to say, and he braced himself for it.

“Do you… do you have anxiety?”

Wonwoo said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was an issue of not wanting to speak or being unable to.

You breathed out heavily in response.

“Okay, silence, I definitely saw that coming—but, um, I’m not stupid, you know? Your face just gets so pale, and I feel like I can see the heartbeat in your chest… and you always do that thing with your fist. Clenching it. It always looks so painful but you never seem to care and—anyway—I just… I can tell when it happens and it kind of bothers me that you try to like, shrug it off or call it ‘spacing out’ when it’s really clearly not. And, maybe that’s my fault.”

His gaze had shifted to lock with yours.

Again, you weren’t staring at him with any malice or dejection—he’d come to learn that your eyes were actually quite soft most of the time, soft but always glittering, like a handful of silk. Still, Wonwoo couldn’t yet find his words, which must have come across as remarkably shocking for someone who spent their whole life grabbing all the shiny bits of possible vernacular.

You sat up straighter, touching his knee.

“Is it my fault you don’t want to talk about it? Can I at least know that much?” There was an imploring desperation in your face.

Wonwoo at last cleared his throat.

“I don’t talk about it with anyone.”

“Okay, I get that. But, did I make you feel like you couldn’t bring it up? At all?” Your fingers dug a little harder into his knee, though Wonwoo knew you probably hadn’t realized it. “I just—I do want to know, actually. Because sometimes I let myself get in the way of being present for other people. But I care. I honestly do.”

He nodded, cracking his knuckles.

“I mean… I definitely wouldn’t have thought to bring it up with you. I guess I felt like, if I did, what would it accomplish? You might think I’m incapable or… I don’t know.” He shoved his hands underneath his glasses, rubbing at the indents on his nose. “As you can see, I’m not the best at talking about it. I don’t talk about it.”

You folded your legs in similar fashion to Wonwoo.

“Well… um… do you… is there anyone that could, like… I don’t know what I’m saying. I guess, are you coping alright, is what I’m asking. I really don’t mean to overstep. I swear.”

At that, he chuckled quite loudly. Your face twitched in surprise at his reaction, and the hand slipped off his knee.

“It really doesn’t matter. I just deal with it.”

No. He took nothing. He did nothing. Wonwoo just sat and suffered and felt no initiative to help himself. At that point, he really didn’t want to dissect the topic any further. He could sense the slithering under his skin, the way his body physically bristled like a perturbed cat at the thought of having to be any more open than what he'd already shared. The choices he made in his life weren’t important if he was going to end up back in the same slippery trench.

“Oh. Well, I hope you take care of yourself,” you said with a smile, giving his bicep another gentle squeeze. “That’s all.”

—JUNE 2ND.

About two weeks had passed since Wonwoo visited your apartment. Afterward, you had met up four times to continue writing and making small ventures to places that you deemed vital for developing your story. Wonwoo found himself enjoying most trips.

He remembered the ice cream shop. Apparently, it was the date where Mingyu had officially asked you to be his girlfriend. You had gotten their most popular strawberry cheesecake flavour while Wonwoo ordered mint chocolate chip, which was a rather boring but favourite classic of his. No doubt, you sat across from him on their outside patio the entire time, pitting remarks about how awful his choice was in lieu of writing anything down in your document. With every spoonful he ate, Wonwoo had to keep reminding you to stay focused, and eventually, his repetitious ordering worked.

"Did you actually come here to get any writing done or did you just want the ice cream? We're not palate-cleansing are we?"

"Why can't two things be true at once?"

“Can I see your laptop?”

“No—hey! Don’t try to grab it!”

“Why? Because you’ve written fuck all?”

"For your information, I have a bullet-point list going."

"Oh, yeah. A bullet-point list, hm?"

"Yes. It has all my major writing points. Point number one: Mingyu seats me down at the table. He's clearly nervous. We've only been in the shop for a minute or two and he won't stop brushing his hair behind his ears. Point number two: Mingyu grabs our ice cream from the counter. He gives me his flavour, rocky road, by accident, and then we awkwardly laugh and switch. Point number three: I remember thinking his nerves were endearing, and—"

"Okay, okay. I get it."

"Exactly. Let this be a lesson in poor assumption. Don't try to assume anything about me, Wonwoo. It's probably wrong."

And then there had been the journey to Mooney’s Bay, one of the most well-known beaches outside the city—probably because the lake actually looked a clean, salty blue and the soft sand wasn’t littered with drifting pieces of plastic. It had been the first place Wonwoo took his brother when he came to visit from his office in Korea, and the picture they had taken together with their pant legs cuffed up, standing knee deep in the water, was still pinned to the corkboard in Wonwoo’s bedroom. However, Wonwoo hadn’t been back to the beach since, until you dragged him there in an hour-long car ride. He had mostly looked out the window, thinking, as always.

You said that Mooney’s Bay reminded you of a cove from your hometown, a more clandestine one, where you and Mingyu used to splash around in the isolated, iridescent waters at night, laughing into the chilled breeze and coughing up all the liquid splatted into the other’s face. Wonwoo had used the video camera to record some footage of the beach per your request. By evening, most people had packed up their coolers and umbrellas and sun towels, granting him more freedom to film wider, panned shots. He remembered standing at the foam shoreline, feeling the sand squelch wetly under his bare feet, recording you wading further and deeper into the water that reflected like a bleeding, scarlet portrait of stained glass.

“It feels amazing! You should come in!”

“I can’t. It’ll ruin the camcorder.”

“So put it down! In the bag! There’s enough footage.”

“But the sun is setting behind you. It makes for a good shot.”

"So just hurry up! The water is the perfect temperature."

"But—"

“I’m not asking you. I’m telling you.”

"Well, I don't know... I, uh—I can't swim."

"This isn't swimming, this is wading. Just go up to your knees. It's been a hot, long day. I think this will help get the scowl off your face."

“… Fine. At least give me a second to fix my pants.”

The third location, while not his favourite, had been an open bar that was conveniently placed a few streets over from his job at the pharmacy. Wonwoo had went there a number of times with Vernon in the past, usually after he finished a midterm or handed in some grating assignment, though Vernon tended to drink more than his body could sufficiently handle. By the end of the night, Wonwoo would most often find himself being a mediator between his tattooed, foul-mouthed friend and whatever blundering, equally drunk idiot he happened to be arguing with.

It was too much for his anxiety.

Nonetheless, he’d met you there after work despite the churning cauldron of memories that he harboured, unsurprised to find you seated at a small table swarmed with dewy drinks and shots that interested observers had sent over. Wonwoo felt each digging, plying stare that sculpted against his back as he sat beside you—he even choked down one of your retched tequila shots (while not the best idea), hoping it would mellow him out.

You never really explained why the bar was pertinent to your history with Mingyu—or, maybe you had, and Wonwoo was simply one flaming shot past coherent of properly digesting your words. He did, however, remember your entire, almost scientific explanation of why you liked wearing low-cut or heavily revealing tops at the bar, and Wonwoo had listened along as best he could manage, even when that floating sensation started hazing through his mind. At one point, this girl who Wonwoo had never encountered once in his life came up to him with a polite tap on his shoulder and an inquiring smile.

“Hey—sorry to intrude—and this may be a super dumb question, but you are guys together?”

“No, no. Not at all. I’ve got a boyfriend. He’s single.”

“Oh, perfect. I was just—I was sitting over there, in the corner with my friends, if you can see. Anyways—I said something dumb about how you were really good looking, and now I’ve been dared to come up and ask for your number. So, um, yeah…”

“No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“O-Oh. Wait… are you… being serious?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. Sorry. This is really fucking embarrassing… uh, I guess I won’t linger then. Bye.”

“… Jeez… had a bit much to drink or something?”

“No—just don’t like giving out my number to strangers.”

“She was cute, though. Probably a fun one-night stand.”

“Then you have sex with her, yeah?”

“Ha! You’re so funny. When’s the last time you even had sex? I mean, you obviously pull. At least, I think you do…”

“I don’t remember. Months and months ago, I guess.”

“Wow! Zero play. I kind of respect it. I could never, though. So… actually, let me guess: you’re the type of person that can’t have sex without attachment? You need to be in love?”

“What’s it to you?”

“I’m just asking.”

“I don’t know.”

“God. You’re so fucking boring, Wonwoo.”

“Because I don’t go out of my way to find some pretty girl to have sex with every week, I’m boring? How does that make sense?”

“No, not that. I mean the fact you never really want to discuss anything about yourself. Honestly, sometimes talking to you is like pulling teeth, y’know? Anyway, move back a little. Backwards cap with the earrings has been staring on and off for the last ten minutes and I want one more free shot before I call it a night.”

The most recent place you had been together was the popular drive-in at Richmond’s Farm. Wonwoo knew that in the autumn months leading up to Halloween, the venue was turned into a haunted carnival with all the typical attractions: pumpkin patches, horror movie screenings, corn mazes, and masked, fake blood-spattered psychopaths chasing people around with a roaring chainsaw.

Seokmin, despite being quite weak-stomached and completely disastrous when it came to anything horror-related, had actually implored Wonwoo to go the year before after hearing the raves about their newest House of Nightmares, although Wonwoo declined in order to study for a test.

Really, there was no test.

Wonwoo just hadn’t been in the mood for losing all his hair and being crammed into pitch black, narrow corridors with a murderer promptly waiting around the corner. He hoped Seokmin wouldn’t ask him again this year—then his excuse would be obvious.

In the spring and summer, however, the farm mostly broadcast screenings at their drive-in theatre behind the maize field, and you had leaped at the opportunity to go because it was the perfect chance to relive one of your favourite dates with Mingyu. By your explanation, he’d taken you to see Crazy, Stupid, Love before you two had departed your hometown for university. But the drive-in obviously wasn’t playing that movie, and so you two had to settle for watching their only available screening, 500 Days of Summer.

Wonwoo hated that movie.

Of course, he hadn’t told you that.

Before the movie had started, Wonwoo helped you throw down a blanket into your trunk alongside some couch pillows that you grabbed from your apartment, creating a makeshift lounge in the rear of the car. Since the screening was late at night—and way past your typical good girl bedtime—you were worried about falling asleep halfway into the movie, though Wonwoo promised he would keep an eye on you to ensure you wouldn’t miss anything important.

Since it was too dark to film anything of quality on the camcorder, Wonwoo left you alone in the blanket-pillow trunk to scribble down any nostalgic, limerent sentiments while he grabbed some snacks. You had told him to get gummy bears, because you hated the way broken pieces of popcorn kernel shells would sliver between your teeth and dig into your gums, neither did you want a soft drink since it would be an abundance of sugar before bed, and it always resulted in a breakout the next morning. He was able to make it back to the car just before the screening started.

He remembered how strange it all seemed, sitting so close to you underneath the blanket, occasionally feeling your elbow dig into his arm or your knee bump his thigh, and the sharp blip it would cause in his pulse. Wonwoo remembered how often you complained about the temperature throughout the movie—first, it’s too hot, now, it’s too cold, you’re too close to me, you’re too far away and I’m cold again, I need the blanket, I don’t want the blanket—Wonwoo hadn’t realized a person’s body temperature could fluctuate that drastically. 

However, the worst part of that night happened about half an hour before the movie ended, just when Wonwoo was beginning to feel relieved about going home. You were getting sleepier by the minute, and Wonwoo could tell from the yawning every now and then, wanting desperately to rub at your eyes but refusing because it would smother the mascara into somewhat concerning, black whorls.

You had nudged his arm, and when he glanced over at your face, exhausted and half-illuminated under the watery, bright cast of light from the screen, you asked him in a quiet, dulcet voice: “is it okay if I rest my head on your shoulder for a few minutes?”

Wonwoo had wanted to say no—of course you can’t, because if you do, I will sit here stiff, and hardly breathing, and listening only to my own heartbeat. It will be the sole thing I’ll think about for the next three days no matter what I do to mask the memory. I’ll keep thinking about it until you burn out in my mind like a star.

But then Wonwoo had agreed instead.

He proceeded to clench his fist upon feeling the weight of your head sink softly to his shoulder. Your legs had been curled up underneath you, and your knees were then pressing flush against his leg. Every breath he inhaled was faintly tainted with the scent of your sweet, fragrant shampoo and it was fucking killing him.

“You’re so tense,” you had whispered in a giggle, “if it makes you uncomfortable, I don’t have to. It’s just because I’m tired.”

“No—” it had come out somewhat like a blurt, and Wonwoo just knew the tips of his ears were tingling red, “—it’s okay. I promise.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure… what?”

“Just wanted to look in your eyes when you said it.”

“Fuck, not that again.”

“I have to know!”

“Okay, that’s fine. Movie’s almost over, anyway. Just don’t fall asleep because then I really won’t know what to do.”

That had been four days ago.

Now, it was almost midnight. Wonwoo was sitting on the roof of his apartment with a messily rolled up blunt in his fingers—the second one he prepared, mostly out of impatience—drawing in a slow and deep breath that ghosted from his lips like wispy fog flowing down a shallow hill. He then coughed twice by his elbow, attempting to clear the stinging prickle that caught against his throat.

“You’re so fucking full of it,” Wonwoo laughed.

“No! I’m not.”

“You did not write thirty pages in a day.”

“Uh—actually, I did! And the fact you don’t believe me is a testament to your own wilted motivation. I am very motivated.”

He smiled at the sound of your voice crackling through his phone, which he’d been holding with the latter hand. Breathing in another hit, Wonwoo pulled at the sides of his black beanie, grinning through the thin cloud that was exhaled in a quick, neat puff.

“Okay, you wrote thirty pages. Didn’t have to fucking drag my career through the mud in doing so. I mean, I guess it’s a hobby.”

“For all I know, you’re the biggest poser that ever posed.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes. I still don’t know what you write about.”

“I told you.”

“No—you fucking didn’t. You said something vague and ambiguous that could have meant literally anything. All I had to go off were some sing-songy praises from Seokmin.”

“I give you pretty good notes, though.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“So I must be decent.”

“I don’t even know why I bothered calling you. I was supposed to be in bed, like, an hour ago. You’re such a distraction.”

“Fuck,” Wonwoo laughed, tapping the warm blunt to knock off a clump of papery ash, “it’s been an hour already?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I don’t know why you called either.”

“To complain about that lady whose makeup I had to do today! She was horrible. God, were you not listening?!”

“No, no, I was. She told you the makeup she wanted, you said it wouldn’t suit her too well, and then she got all pissed off when it looked exactly how you said it would. That’s not what I meant.”

“Oh. Well… I just thought you should know about it.”

“Mmhm.”

Silence followed his velvet, almost teasing hum, but Wonwoo didn’t mind it, and he assumed you didn’t either. Your phone call had been completely out of the blue, only a few minutes after he’d climbed onto the roof and started sparking his lighter. An hour had already passed—Wonwoo couldn’t believe it. Time had never seemed so blurred and insignificant before, like tomorrow didn’t exist at all.

“I didn’t know you smoked.”

Wonwoo repositioned the phone in his hand.

“From time to time, yeah.”

“What strain?”

“Northern Lights.”

“I’ve never had that one. I mean, I’m not much of a stoner, and neither is Mingyu. I don’t like the way it feels in my throat—that dry, burning feeling. And I hate the cotton mouth afterward.”

“Shouldn’t be that bad if you’re inhaling it right.”

“Well, maybe you can teach me one day.”

He let the blunt hang from the corner of his mouth for a moment, a very fluttery-feeling smile taking shape. Not wanting you to hear that slight bit of giddiness in his tone, Wonwoo took another hit, holding the smoke in for longer than usual before exhaling.

“Do you, uh… do you still want to go to that museum?”

“Oh—the nature museum?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll have to do some poking around in my schedule. I have this stupid leadership council meeting for SSA that I have to go to.”

“That’s fine. Text me when you figure it out.”

“Okay… gosh, it’s really fucking late.”

“Yeah, you should get some sleep.”

“Are you pushing me off the phone? If anything, I should be the one pushing. You’re not doing anything to fix your terrible sleep schedule. And I certainly don’t want you to ruin mine.”

“That’s what I’m saying—you need to get some sleep.”

“Well, you shouldn’t have said it like that.”

“How did I say it?”

“Like you were pushing me off the phone!”

“Okay, okay. I’m sorry. How ‘bout this: I know how important structure is to you, and I am deeply concerned that this late night conversation we’re having may somewhat affect your sleep. And while I’ve thoroughly enjoyed talking to you and hearing your pretty voice through my shitty phone speaker, I think we should both go to bed.”

“That seems fair.”

“Great. So, goodnight then.”

“No! I want to be the first one to say goodnight.”

“Why?”

“Because, I say goodnight, then you say goodnight back, and then I get to be the one who hangs up first. It’s a courtesy thing.”

“Uh, okay then... I’m listening.”

“Goodnight!”

Wonwoo smiled. He smiled so fucking widely and brightly that he could feel the muscles in his face aching.

“Goodnight.”

—JUNE 7TH.

Since the quickest route to the nature museum was about half an hour from Wonwoo’s apartment, he suggested that you stop by around lunch time so that you two could make the walk together. It wasn’t too warm outside—the large smattering of clouds dotted in the sky and the typical city breeze helped to keep the temperature down.

“We’re not allowed to film in the museum,” you said from your seat at his small dinner table, “so don’t bother taking the camcorder, I guess. I’ll just try to soak up everything as best I can.”

Wonwoo was sat across from you, waiting for you to finish the heated-up carton box of creamy mushroom pasta that you’d raided out his freezer. He’d tried his best to eat beforehand as well, but the most he could stomach was some milk and cereal in addition a handful of blueberries. It was still better than his usual routine, which involved skipping any sort of meal post lunchtime.

“If you really needed to, I’m sure you could take a couple pictures,” Wonwoo answered, brushing a hand through his styled, pristine black hair that you had earlier littered with a flustering spiel of compliments. “I doubt the exhibits will be exactly the same, but if it's more so to capture the feeling, then it won’t matter much.”

You patted the corner of your mouth upon finishing the last few noodles left in the box, nodding your head in agreement.

“My journal’s in my bag. It should be fine.”

Wonwoo flipped over his phone to check the time.

“How was the SSA meeting yesterday?”

“Oh—I didn’t go.”

“Really?” Wonwoo asked while settling back in his chair, watching you toss the fork into the carton. “How come?”

“Because, it’s mostly pointless. We always sit there, in front of all those old, crusty men, trying to explain to them how we can improve the campus, the student experience, blah blah. And they act like they’re legitimately consuming our input, using phrases like: ‘oh, we hear you, we understand, we’re gonna try our hardest’—just for them to put, what? Another fucking seating area in the dining hall that no one asked for or cares about? It’s totally ridiculous.”

“Hm, yeah.”

“Anyways, I hate being on it. I hate going. I understand it looks good and whatnot, but it’s a huge waste of my time.”

Wonwoo picked up the pasta box, continuing to hum his agreement while taking it into the kitchen. He dropped the fork into the sink and folded up the cardboard to stuff into his recycling.

“It’s one meeting. A skip won’t kill you, or them.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Mingyu thinks I went, though. So, if you run into him or something and the topic fucking miraculously pops up—just don’t give anything away. It’s a little white lie.”

Coming back to the dining table, Wonwoo snatched up his wallet and shoved it into his back pocket, raising an eyebrow.

“Why wouldn’t you tell him?”

You pushed back in the chair, sighing heavily.

“He really thinks I should stick with it.”

Wonwoo didn’t say anything in response. He simply nodded, not wanting to hover on Mingyu as a conversation piece for too long, and waited for you to shoulder on your purse.

“Okay,” you then smiled, “let’s go look at some nature.”

Despite their boring, lacklustre reputation, Wonwoo had always enjoyed going to museums—art, history, science—he’d even been to a museum that delved into ancient coin minting and the development of currency. He supposed it was his appreciation for learning new information of his own free will, unlike the fast-paced, passion-draining, wringer system that was university. Furthermore, he was surprised that you would share his interest in the matter.

“Why wouldn’t I like museums?” You had stopped just before the acclaimed beetle species wall, aglow behind a glass sheet. “I wrote in my draft that Mingyu and I went to a nature museum, remember?”

“I know. I’m just surprised you have that much of an interest in them. Your life seems so upbeat. I didn’t think you would be into something that most people find fairly dry and anticlimactic.”

“Right.” Twirling back around, you continued walking down the corridor, your eyes tracing the organized arrangement of lustre-shelled beetles. “Because everyone else is too stupid and you’re the true upper echelon who actually possesses the mental capability required to appreciate something as seemingly trivial but totally enriching as…” you then paused at the glass, squinting to read the embossed label below an oblong-shaped beetle with an iridescent green shell, “… as the Chrysochroa Fulgidissima? I don’t know, something like that—also known as the Jewel Beetle. Its species is native to Japan and Korea. It’s a… woodboring beetle?”

“Why would I know?” Wonwoo laughed, coming to stand beside you and look at the plaque settled to the white background behind the display glass. “You’re the one reading it.”

“Ugh—doesn’t matter. I was going somewhere with my speech and now I forget… oh, yeah! So, you think you’re smarter than me?”

Placing a gentle hand on your lower back, Wonwoo urged you to keep walking forward in order to let the people faintly mumbling behind you examine the wall, who seemed much more interested.

“I never said that,” he answered softly.

“Okay—but, do you think you’re smarter?”

“In what sense?”

“Did you take the Frontiers evaluation for calculus?”

“Yes.”

“What’d you score?”

“9.8.”

“Shut the fuck up! No you didn’t.”

Wonwoo merely tapped the black-framed glasses further up his nose, smirking slightly, and began shaking his head while continuing down the exhibit. You hurried after him, remembering to lower your voice to match the collective quietness.

“Prove it,” you whispered.

“Go to prof Bradbrook’s office. My name’s on her wall.”

“I hate you.”

“Why? What did you score?”

“I’m obviously not going to say it now.”

Wonwoo still remembered the day his test score came back—he’d opened the envelope in Miss Bradbrook’s office, and while she sat across from him, practically squirming and jittering with anticipation, Wonwoo had glossed over the paper slip with the smallest, most low effort smile. He knew he was supposed to feel relieved in that moment—overjoyed probably—to realize his notable success and the upstanding conformation he was legitimately good at something. But in truth, he hadn’t really felt anything at all. He sort of just smiled. That was it. That was all he could muster.

And his life had mirrored that moment ever since. In the past, it would come and go. Yet, that day, it just stuck. The only time he ever experienced any glint or sparkle of happiness, it had come from his girlfriend—but even she couldn’t imbue much from him that day.

“Well, that’s not what I expected you to ask.”

You glanced over at him, adjusting the bag on your arm.

“Meaning?”

“There are different types of intelligence. I thought you meant, in a more general sense, am I smarter, or more knowledgeable. To be honest, I can’t say. I mean, I feel like I’ve experienced and seen a whole lot, but that’s just life’s illusion.”

“You won’t really know ‘til you’re on your death bed.”

Wonwoo returned your glance, squinching his brown eyes in a judgemental but innocuous way that gave bloom to his smile.

“Thanks.”

“I can’t help it. Museums make me think of death. I think it’s the really cold, still air. Especially in nature museums where they need to preserve things. Like, look at that fox. It’s a bit ominous.”

On the exhibit to his right, Wonwoo observed another display protected by glass. There was a fox, with a rusty, auburn coloured coat, poised atop a fake precipice of grass. Wonwoo knew what you meant—it was the eyes, like two leaf green beads, so immensely detailed but lifeless to an almost uncomfortable degree.

“I want to see the aquarium exhibit next,” you said, tugging twice at Wonwoo’s sleeve. “I heard it’s really dark in there.”

“Well, we can go take a look.”

“And we can eat afterward? There’s an atrium.”

“Sure.”

Wonwoo let your arm link with his, following the natural flow of museum-goers into the next exhibit, leaving behind the shiny, colourful wall of beetles and the auburn fox in its lonesome enclosure.

The aquarium exhibit was one of the most spacious in the entire museum, placed in a large, dome-topped room, with shadows creeping at every corner. There were some lights—deep, blue lights that rippled and wriggled across the floor, like waves patterned against ocean sand by the sun rays. He didn't know from where, but he could hear water sloshing, a very soft sound that led him to imagine the wet sand squelching under his toes.

You approached another display wall, filled with a school of lemon-yellow and azure coloured fish placed around vibrant, unique corals.

While you busied yourself with reading the informative plaque, Wonwoo spent his time taking a more in-depth inspection around the mystifying exhibit. He noted the stingrays and luminous jellyfish flocking above his head, held on near-invisible little wires that would occasionally glimmer if they twisted the perfect angle.

After a generously long venture throughout the room, reading all the plaques and pointing to different fish behind the glass just to comment, “I think that was in Finding Nemo,” you had wanted to sit down, spotting a bench positioned before an aquarium.

Wonwoo agreed, and you collapsed on the bench together.

There was a period of comfortable silence where you both watched the aquarium, meanwhile the dappling, blue pattern cast to the floor danced and flickered around at your still feet. The atmosphere seemed so vivid that Wonwoo was surprised the next breath he took wasn’t a mouthful of liquid and sea salt, or that his body wasn’t miraculously suspended and floating about in the echoey shadows.

And that’s when Wonwoo decided he liked the aquatic exhibit very much—more than all the others.

He looked down at the hands folded in his lap, specifically at the scarred, ruined cuticle belonging to his right thumb and how it had withstood years of his anxious scratching. Wonwoo then breathed out softly, feeling his heartbeat begin to pick up.

“Want to know something?” He asked.

You stared back at Wonwoo with an intrigued pique of your brow.

“Like what?”

“Well, first of all, we both took creative writing, you know.”

"Uh, okay," you sniffed, "sure."

"No, like, we took the course together. In the fall. Prof T?"

"Really?" You pinned him down in a non-believing stare. "Wait, you're talking about that basement auditorium, right? In Gildan Hall? It always smelt like old computers and dust bunnies?"

"That's the one."

Scoffing out some dry air, you leaned back.

"Woah. I don't think I ever saw you... did you go to each class?"

He nodded a few times. "Almost all. To be fair, I sat more in the back, off to the corner. I wasn't exactly thrusting myself into the limelight."

Folding one leg over your knee, you chuckled. "Sounds like you."

“I have this really specific memory from that class, when that random guy, whoever he was, sat in the seat you always took. Your so called unofficially-assigned-assigned-seat. And I remember that really tense feeling right before you walked in, because we all knew you were gonna chew him out for it. The way you marched straight up to him was already violating enough, and then you basically ruined his whole day.” Looking down at his hands again, Wonwoo smiled at recalling the memory. “You absolutely terrified me. I don’t even think you understand how much I wanted to avoid you.”

He caught your eyes, shimmering like the water-stained floor, with an emotion he couldn’t place.

“Actually?” Was all you said, hardly sounding surprised.

“Yeah.”

Your face began searching around the shadowed, sloshing exhibit for something unseen. He decided to let the silence settle like a thin sheet, instead listening to the tidal pushing and pulling. The soft sounds reminded him of being a child, wandering beaches into the late evening with his older brother during summer vacations, and picking up shells just to hear the ocean speaking inside them.

Aloud, you breathed in, shaking your foot.

“I can’t really remember what was going through my head that day. I know I’d had a fight with Mingyu before going to class, so I was feeling pretty amped up and short-fused. I knew I was going straight to another SSA meeting that I hardly cared about immediately after, and then I would work until the evening. I knew I would have to make dinner when I got home, even though I’d be downright exhausted, and the next morning, I’d have to wake up early to attend some bullshit press, social, interview breakfast thing for my mom’s new lifestyle magazine. Having that idiot sit in my favourite seat was probably just the straw that broke the camel’s back, I guess.”

“Hm,” Wonwoo hummed, suddenly experiencing a profound sympathy for you that he never imagined he would feel. “When you give it a bit more perspective, it doesn’t sound so…”

“Completely and utterly bitchy?”

“Well, I wasn’t going to use that word, but, sure.”

You grinned at him through the dusky rippling of auroras that flitted across the exhibit, seeming like you were under the sea—and he was, too, sitting side by side in the somehow peaceful depths of the chaotic whirlpool that had pulled you two together.

“I have a memory.”

“Okay,” Wonwoo returned your grin, “I want to hear it.”

“So, remember earlier how we were talking about the Frontiers evaluation for Bradbrook’s calculus class?”

“Mmhm.”

"So, after all the Frontiers scores came out, I'm not gonna lie—I really thought I had one of the better marks. It's not like I specifically trotted around, throwing out my grade to anyone passing by, but I was parading a little bit to my friends. And then, like, Clara or something, told me that there was this guy who almost got a ten. I asked her who, and she said she didn't know—just that she overheard some of the basketball guys talking about it.

I thought she was lying. I didn't say that, though. But I remember it was on my mind every night. Like, it was itching me so bad. I wanted to know who the fuck was smart enough to get a damn near perfect ten on Frontiers. Some of those problems are ridiculously hard. I started writing nonsense around A-block. They straight up give students problems that serious, esteemed mathematicians can't fucking solve. So, honestly... I was quite jealous of you... despite not even knowing who you were. I can't believe that was you, asshole."

Wonwoo cracked his knuckles, beginning to laugh at that intense but lighthearted glare you were sending his way. Of course, you mellowed everything out with a big smile he felt his heart skip a beat over. You had actually went to bed thinking about him.

Holy fuck.

Maybe not him in physicality. But in spirit.

That was close enough.

"I just did the study guide." He shrugged.

Your knee pushed into his. "Oh, yeah, the study guide. Jeez, why didn't I think of doing that? Let me go kill myself right now."

"Keep tabs on it for next time."

With a roll of the eyes, you laughed almost to scorn him.

“I hate people like you.”

And Wonwoo laughed back. “Meaning?”

“Things come to you so naturally. You don’t have to try.”

“Sure,” Wonwoo agreed, scratching his nose and proceeding to nudge up his glasses, “things like mathematics, numbers, problem solving, taking something whole apart and then looking at its pieces. I guess it does come to me naturally. I can’t complain. But there are also plenty of things that don’t. And… if I could, I’d probably trade all my stupid math and logic and puzzling for what I’m missing.”

You tilted your head, staring intently at Wonwoo through the blue sea between you, almost into his brain, it felt like.

“What are you missing?”

At first, Wonwoo didn’t respond. To answer your question meant an intimate exhumation of the flaws that he’d been willfully ignoring for the past year, if not his entire damn life. It meant at last turning over the round, flat rock that had been sitting at the foot of his wooden porch since childhood, and realizing the bottom was sculpted with the grittiest texture and wet with the thickest dirt. The rock was hiding long-legged spiders and ugly, skittering bugs and it would have probably been better to let the rock sit there, untouched, only facing the warm and comfortable glow of the sun.

Wonwoo didn’t want to turn the rock.

Not at all.

“A plethora of things, I’m sure.”

Squeezing onto your wrist, you smiled at him.

“I think I’m the opposite.”

“How so?”

He watched you inhale a long, slow breath, and then huff it all out through your nose. Wonwoo bumped his knee against yours.

“You don’t have to talk about anything you don’t want to.”

“No, no. It’s not like that…”

Looking up to the glowing aquarium, the dull light reflected back unto your face, and Wonwoo again saw the glisten in your eyes.

“I just feel…” for a moment, your chest stilled, “… I feel like I’m so much of everything that I just blend into nothing. You know, like when a child takes a whole bunch of paints and squirts them all together thinking it’s going to create this beautiful, never-before-seen new colour? But, instead, it’s just greyish-brownish, nothing.”

Your face turned back to him. Wonwoo watched you chew down on your bottom lip, meanwhile your eyes glazed aloof, off to the side, as though you were rummaging through so many different thoughts and experiences that it required your utmost mental focus.

“And—” you swallowed tightly, and it sounded so painfully dry with stinging emotion, “—I just don’t want people to see that I’m so much of nothing. I just find myself covering it all up.”

Were you going to cry? Wonwoo felt himself jolt inwardly with panic. He had never seen you cry and he had therefore never developed the best protocol to tackle such a situation. Some people preferred immediate comfort, others—a reassuring stroke on the back, maybe some uplifting monologue. Or, maybe, they didn’t want to be touched at all. They just desired the simple, thinking silence and all its clarity. He remembered you saying something about it—that you did like to be comforted, but only in very certain circumstances.

First, Wonwoo subtly wiped off his hand against his thigh, and then he took in the softest breath. Through the flickering, midnight blue mirage, Wonwoo reached for your hand. He settled his cold fingers inch by inch under yours, and, with a timid but gentle thumb, Wonwoo caressed in a slow path along your knuckles.

You glanced to him appreciatively, saying nothing, but squeezing his hand in return. He figured he’d done right.

Maybe more things came to him naturally than he thought.

Before leaving the nature museum, you and Wonwoo had stopped at their atrium as promised to get in a quick meal. While you poked a fork into your sad-looking salad, making small scribbles every now and then to the journal at your elbow, Wonwoo ate a grill-pressed sandwich and flicked through his phone. He was surprised to check the time and realize you had spent about three hours there—it felt so much shorter. Wonwoo hated how quickly each moment flew past when he was with you. It was always so bittersweet.

He had wanted to know what exactly you were penciling in the journal, though he never asked, knowing he would probably be proofreading it from your document later. Obviously, you were thinking about that particular date with Mingyu from years back in your life—that was the principal point in going to the museum. However, Wonwoo had chosen to regard it more as hanging out, not caring if that was a particularly delusional or untruthful choice.

After finishing your meals and tossing the plastic remnants into the recycling bins, Wonwoo looked outside the atrium’s towering glass wall to note how cloudy the sky had become. From the bright, eggshell turquoise in the afternoon, to an especially muted grey that seemed brewing and heavy with a downpour. You adjusted the bag over your shoulder and suddenly grimaced at the sight.

“Jeez, is it going to rain?”

“It could,” Wonwoo sighed. “It very possibly could.”

“I swear. I obsessively check the forecast in order to plan all my outfits around it. It never said it would rain!” You then threw the bottle of iced tea you’d been drinking into the garbage with an aggressive slam. “This shirt is a horrible choice. It will be stupidly see-through."

Wonwoo glanced around the atrium.

“There’s lots of empty tables. If we want to sit and wait it out, then I don’t think anyone would get mad. But, I mean, it’s up to you.”

“Why’s it up to me?”

“I don’t know. Just—if you don’t want to get your outfit all soaked. I’m sure if we left now, we could make good distance before it really started raining. I’m not opposed to getting a little wet. But I have no issue with staying here and letting the clouds go over.”

You folded your arms, and your head fell to the side. He’d seen that look before. It was your own patented prelude to disaster.

“I never said I was opposed to getting wet.”

He laughed. “Well, you certainly insinuated it.”

“Do you think I'm some sort of whiny little priss?”

"I think you named your bear Miss Priss."

"I think you're a smart ass. Take that smirk off your face. Now."

Wonwoo wanted to sigh, but he didn’t. He then thought about trying to tenderly explain his way out of it with his smooth words. As much as he would think he’d figured you out, there was still a part of him that was very confused by you and how to adjust to your behaviour.

This time, he decided he would do nothing.

“Okay. Let’s go, then.”

He reached out his hand for you to grab.

“As if,” you scoffed, walking around him toward the exit doorway, into the museum garden, “not after you just insulted me.”

Wonwoo could do nothing but laugh in response, because he had caught that faint smile on your face as you passed him, and the sweet beading in your eyes. He simply followed you out the doors.

During the walk back to his apartment, it had yet to rain at all, not even a typical, humid summer drizzle or the smallest bit of spitting. Maybe it was just way more cloudy than usual, or it was a concerning spread of city smog tainting the sky. It’s not like he wanted it to rain, anyway, though more so for your sake than his.

About a little more than halfway through the walk, however, you came to an abrupt stop outside a flower shop, and Wonwoo watched you lift a doubtful hand to your cheek and wipe something off it. Before you could say anything, Wonwoo felt a big, cold, wet drop smack just above his eyebrow and begin leaking down. He used the sleeve of his shirt to clean it up, only to experience another fat droplet strike a second later, right onto his glasses.

“You can’t be serious…” he heard you mumble.

Making the mistake of looking up, more and more droplets fell swiftly from the daunting, dark grey blanket strewn across the entire skylight. They began painting all over the sidewalk, the roadway, shaking down into the brilliant purple and white petunia pots outside the florist shop. And Wonwoo froze for a moment, because he honestly hadn’t expected to be caught in the rain, let alone the downpour it was unfortunately shaping up to be.

“Ow!” You winced sharply. “One just fucking hit my eyeball!”

“Shit—let’s hurry.” Wonwoo hid his phone. “My apartment’s only like, ten minutes away, less if we run really fast.”

“Run?!” You gawked at him. “I don’t run!”

“No, you fucking sashay, I get it.” In a matter of seconds, those intermittent raindrops had evolved into an unrelenting, bathing barrage. Wonwoo could feel his clothes beginning to dampen, and his glasses were streaming with water. He slapped his hand onto yours, jerking you forward despite your stiltedness. “And I’m so sorry but you’re going to have to sacrifice one part of your pretty fucking princess routine for just five minutes so we can get back to my place.”

“My pretty fucking wha—!”

Once Wonwoo’s fingers were clasped tight with yours, he started to run, and whether it was voluntary or not, you ran along with him, shouting something that he couldn’t quite hear over the rain that bounced in loud splatters against the sidewalk and the adrenaline echoing in his own ears. He could hardly see through the downpour, but he’d walked that path so many times that it almost wasn’t necessary. At one point, he’d stepped onto the street prematurely, and he heard the loud, startled honk from a car.

“Jesus Christ, Wonwoo!” You half-laughed, half-coughed, clutching onto his slippery hand even tighter, “I’d ideally like to live!”

“We’re almost there!” He chuckled back.

“I think I’m going to lose my fucking shoe!”

“I’ll buy you a new pair!”

Wonwoo didn’t stop, and you didn’t either. He was soaked to his bones, with thick, drizzling fronds of hair plastered to his forehead and the glasses nearly slipping from his nose—the scent of earthy but ashen rain all around him—and still Wonwoo kept running, a very blithe smile permanent to his mouth despite all his discomfort.

Upon reaching the entryway to the pottery shop, Wonwoo almost skidded completely past it since the sidewalk was so slick and pouring like an angry river. You slammed into his back, and it was then that your hands unintentionally separated. Instead, he felt your fingers flesh into the sopping cloth covering his shoulders.

“Be careful on the steps!” He shouted overtop a reverberating crack of thunder that shook from behind the grey sleet sky.

“If I slip, I’m pulling you down with me!”

Wonwoo was pleased to hear the equally bright smile that bled into your words, meanwhile your fingertips dug even deeper into his muscle. Once inside the shop, a gust of wind proceeded to blow the door shut, and all Wonwoo heard was hard rain against the glass.

—END OF PART TWO.

[crazilust]

Analyzing celebrities’ fashion according to their venus signs (pt.1)

I believe you can tell alot about someone just by looking at the clothes they've choose to wear. Let's analyze different celebrities' fashion and their venus sign (as well as the degree they're in) and give you some advice on how you can incorporate it in your own fashion style.

Aries venus

Audrey Hepburn

Even though we associate Aries venus with a very flamboyant style (and trust me, they can be and most of them are), I found important to put Audrey Hepburn as an example of someone who’s mastered the minimal, elegant fashion. Aries are very determinate and passionate individuals and once they have their eyes set on something, they’ll achieve it at all cost. I found it relevant in Hepburn’s style, because to me she achieved the quintessential minimalist fashion. She was able to balance being minimal while not being boring and basic, while staying true to herself. I think that’s one of the main strength of Aries venuses. They have to stay true to themselves, and when they do, they’re able to master their own fashion sense.

Also interesting to note that her venus is in a capricorn degree, which could also explain the more minimalist route.

Lady Gaga

On the other side of the spectrum, we’ve got Lady Gaga who also represents Aries venus perfectly. Her ability to tell a story with her clothes has become something we know and associate her for. Again, even if it’s completely different to Hepburn’s, you can still very much see Gaga’s need to be authentic to herself. Her style is a bit more tone down (see picture on the top right), but it’s still close to who she is as a person. It just evolved. Her willingness to be weird and over the top despite the constant misunderstanding of others and nagging, demands a lot of bravery and if that's not an Aries venus in a nutshell, I don't know what it is.

Her venus is in a Piscean degree (24), which could explain her intrinsic desire to use fashion as an art form and always push its boundaries.

Final take

If I were an Aries venus, I would take a long time reflecting on what I truly like, what type of person I am and how I want to be seen before buying anything. I would forget the trends and start investing in personal development in order to see how I could translate that into my clothes. Am I more a lowkey, mysterious kind of person? Flamboyant and over the top? The moment I’d be able to choose at least three words to describe me, I’d start building my closet around them and remind myself that I can go to extremes if I damn wanted to.

Taurus venus

Princess Diana

As a fellow Taurus venus, I’d be lying if I said that Princess Diana is not one of my main inspiration. To me, she represents perfectly what Taurus venus is all about. Simplicity, elegance and effortlessness. There’s a simplicity here, an ease that is very admirable from Princess Diana. It’s almost like she just threw this on but looks phenomenal as a result. It’s polished, but not forced at all and that’s where Taurus’ strength lies. Making it look easy. I also added her biker short outfit to represents Taurus’ need for comfort, but why not make it look cute? Also monochromatic looks to add that touch of put togetherness.

With her venus in 24 degrees (Pisces), we notice her tendency to break the mold and transcend beyond people's expectations. With today's eyes, it doesn't seem that groundbreaking, but at the time, and especially for a Royal, it was cra-zy (also the first one to be known for her fashion!)

Prince

What I wanted to focus on by putting Prince is his sensuality that I feel is overlooked alot when we talk about Taurus Venus. Or it's taken for granted almost. They have this little je-ne-sais-quoi that is so attractive and again, so effortless. Prince mastered this aspect so much and I find it very interesting. His clothes were a direct translation of how he felt about himself. Showing a little skin there, some see-through blouse here. Nothing extremely vulgar, but you get the message. I also wanted to put him there because whenever we think of Taurus venus celebrities, we always reference the most stereotypical ones like Ariana Grande and Lana del Rey. They most obviously embody the Venusian energy, but if you don't like this aesthetic, you can definitely be a little bit more out there just like Prince did.

With his venus in 7 degree, being a Libra degree, Prince was doubling down on his venusian energy, amping up the charm and sensuality while still being seen as charming.

Final take

What I would do (and should start to do actually) as a Taurus venus is focus on the quality of the clothes I put on my body, no matter the aesthetic or fashion choices. At the end of the day, Taurus look fabulous and effortlessly glam, but in order to enhance this trait, it's going to be important to invest in quality pieces in order to emanate this energy. I understand that not everybody wants to invest in clothes, but there's many ways you can do this without breaking the bank : thrift stores, depop, vinted (it might just take longer). Some signs can get away with cheap clothes, distressed clothing, but as Taurus venus, it definetely looks messy and not necessarily in a cute, grunge way lol.

Gemini venus

Margot Robbie

To my surprise, there's actually a lot of supermodels or sex icons/bombshells who possess a Gemini Venus. I say to my surprise, because I always see Geminis as kind of quirky, but it's true, they do embody the perfect balance of being hot but approachable (the twins archetype after all). It's like they can very well be the nerdy shy girl and the bombshell the next minute. I think you can actually see that in Margot Robbie's style where it's very Girl-Next-Door, but with an edge. The monochromatic pink look is to die for but switch the palette for a neutral look, platform for regular slippers and it's not as eye-catching. Without these two small details, you get a very basic look. I would've expected flamboyance, but from what I saw from these celebrities (ex: Kristen Bell, Sandra Bullock) is that they really embody the Model Off Duty vibes, where everything they put has a little edge to it while still appearing very approachable and mainstream. Which, when we think about it, is very reminiscent of Geminis.

Her Venus being in a Leo degree (8) could explain her tendency to want to be extra, lean more on the glamorous side and wear monochromatic colourful outfits

Megan Fox

Another route you could choose, as Megan Fox did, is to go push that Cool Girl fashion all the way and experiment fully with your closet, mixing and matching pieces with different textures and colours. Fox has always been known for her sex appeal and you can definitely see that in her fashion choices in the beginning of her career, but as of lately, she's been more avant-garde with her choices and honestly more fun. She definitely reminds me of the cool girls in my town walking around like they're just out of the fashion magazine, not giving a F about anything and you can't help but notice them.

Her venus is in 23 degrees, which is an Aquarius degree and could definitely explain her tendency to explore different styles and play with colours. Being very experimental.

Final take

What I would do if I were a Gemini Venus, is that I would learn my colours, my signature style and what goes best for my silhouette in order to put forward my best features. While this can be said for anyone, I think Gemini Venus is still very well thought out and in order to give that illusion of "I just got up", you're gonna have to know what makes you pop. As opposed to Taurus, for example, who can just rock an oversized hoodie and some boots and make it look elegant because that's what their energy gives off, Gemini is going to have to work a little bit harder. Experiment. Alot !

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

That's it from me folks, I'll post part 2 containing Cancer, Leo and Virgo venus very soon :)

[elementroar]

This is the "Why ABA and Paracelsus can feel horny" lore/theory post

The main Paracelsus deepdive post is a monster that I'm building in Google docs cos Tumblr can't handle it while it's WIP. This is a separate lore/theory monster I want to get out of my system first.

Here's my theory why ABA is consistently portrayed as being horny for Paracelsus from the start.

Translated excerpt from the Night of Knives Vol.2 audio drama CD, released in 2004 (20 IRL years ago):

Her being horny wasn't so much portrayed in-game in XX/AC+R really, prolly engine/sprite limitations and all; but then STRIVE happens and we get:

It's not just her being horny, and knowing exactly how to rizz Paracelsus up, and clearly has been doing this in her pocket dimension for a while now. PARACELSUS CAN FEEL HORNY NOW TOO!

And I stg I'm not joking...I think there's a legit lore reason for this.

Cos by the end of her arcade mode's flawless ending and according to the latest interviews with Daisuke-san and the game directors, it's explained that Paracelsus' form depends on what ABA thinks of Paracelsus, as well as her general mental stability.

ABA thought Paracelsus looked like a key, and he morphed into a key as part of his nature, which naturally makes him always fit to his wielder's preferences. In my deepdive I'll explain in more detail, but in addition to that, Slayer figured out that since ABA also saw Para as her hopeful "key to the future", Para's heart also began to change to basically fit her ideal of what he is.

So if ABA finds Paracelsus sexually attractive, and has made very obvious physical advances on him for years, then it follows that if she's horny for him, she can make Paras horny for her over time too, just like how Para is getting more key-like subconsciously just by being with her all this time.

I don't think this is entirely involuntary on Paracelsus end. I believe how much he wants to react to his wielder's emotions is still in his control...unless they become truly insane like with ABA's Jealous Rage being emotionally powerful enough to override Paras' ability to maintain his key form.

Also he reverts to his 'sharp teeth' design when he gets rizzed up, so he's losing his composure again and prolly holding back most of his...response. It's actually kinda telling cos Para used to just disassociate, ignore, scold ABA when she tries to make advances on him, so him actually responding now and to this degree is...interesting. And ABA seems very aware of this.

And for the bigger question of why ABA, an artificially created human would be created with the ability to feel horny...

Ok, crack theory time, it might be linked to why she apparently can summon an actual alchemical gate just whenever she wants, and even use it as her private pad. ABA doesn't just wanna rizz Paracelsus up as a key, she wants him in a human body since the start too.

Y'all remember Ghostbusters, and what the Gatekeeper and the Keymaster have to do to open the gate...?

[psink]

Rainy season anime artwork translation:

A complicated chuunibyou guy

Kaidou Shun

(Voice Actor/ Shimazaki Nobunga)

Kusuo’s classmate that everyone knows is a chuunibyou. However because he’s shy, serious and pure-hearted by nature, he can’t maintain his chuunibyou persona.

⏴In the work, his chuunibyou sometimes causes problems for Kusuo, but in reality, he’s a good and timid child. He thinks of Kusuo, Nendou and Kuboyasu as important friends. Hopefully he’ll never lose this innocence.

Guy with a complicated love for his younger brother

Saiki Kuusuke

(Voice Actor/ Nojima Kenji)

Saiki Kusuo’s older brother, a genius mad scientist with an IQ of 218. Has a fetish for challenging his younger brother and getting defeated. He messes with Kusuo at any opportunity. 

⏶Contrary to his handsome looks, his real nature is quite disappointing. He’s an extreme masochist (however, this is limited to only Kusuo).

Complicated clingy guy

Akechi Touma

(Voice Actor/ Kaji Yuuki)

A logical and talkative transfer student who came to Kusuo’s class. He talks rapidly like a machine gun without reading the atmosphere of his surroundings. He suspects that Kusuo is a psychic. Although he was once deceived, he persistently continues to investigate Kusuo.

Guy who attracts complicated people

Saiki Kusuo

(Voice Actor/ Kamiya Hiroshi)

A high-school student who can control various psychic powers. In order to keep his abilities secret, he lives maintaining a moderate distance from those around him. His favorite food is sweets, he especially loves coffee jelly. 

⏶Although Kusuo almost never voluntarily expresses his emotions, he shows a blissful smile whilst tasting sweets. Is this cute contrast also a point that attracts people around him!?

⏶⏵In addition to Kaidou, other members of his troublesome group include the strongest idiot Nendou Riki (Voice Actor: Ono Daisuke and the delinquent Kuboyasu Aren (Voice Actor: Hosoya Yoshimasa), whose trouble-causing abilities are immeasurable. Despite that, they're also lovable guys that you can't hate.

(Kusuo’s left shoulder text)

The cheerful, sunny spring has passed and the rainy season has already arrived. Our handsome psychic, Saiki Kusuo, is on his way home whilst avoiding the scattered rain with his telekinesis, but there are people approaching him. His brother, Kuusuke, his classmate, Kusuo and the transfer student Akechi - these three people. Amongst them, Akechi, because of his natural quick thinking and good insight, seems to suspect Kusuo is a psychic!? With the intensity of either a devoted wife or a stalker, he clings to Kusuo and tries to reveal his secret by showering him with machine gun-like talk……Will Kusuo manage to avoid them like the rain and return the clear skies to his heart?

(Kusuo’s right shoulder text)

Just as his older brother, Kuusuke, is coming to pick him up with coffee jelly in one hand, Kaidou, struck by the rain, is showing off his chuunibyou. The transfer student Akechi invites Kusuo under his umbrella, too. Their attention-seeking offensive is even more persistent than the rainy season, how will Kusuo endure it!?

(Big text on white background)

A rain of love from the complicated people pours down intensively on

Kusuo☆

Heart-pounding regretful rain☆

QUESTION

If you were to share an umbrella with someone, who would it be?

Kamiya: Teruhashi-san. Her charm, which causes even the God to be her ally, makes me want to try saying 「offu」 as well.

Shimazaki: Of course, it’d have to be Teruhashi-san!!! Offu!!!

Saiki Kusuo’s Voice Actor

Kamiya Hiroshi-san 

Interview 

The 2nd season of 「Fierce Argument」. 

—If you were to express the growth and changes of Saiki Kusuo in the second season using four-character idioms or similar expressions, what would they be?

Kamiya: 「Fierce Argument (Editor’s note: The sound of swords clashing violently. Also, the state of engaging in heated debate)」 I feel that the degree of this is gradually increasing compared to the 1st season.

–Kamiya-san, please tell us a particular「Kusuo’s charm point」 that you’d like to recommend right now.

Kamiya: I don’t know much about Kusuo, but anyway, Teruhashi-san’s cuteness is a big charm of this work. 

–Please tell us the episode or moment that made you laugh whilst portraying Kusuo.

Kamiya: Kusuo is usually cool and it’s hard to read his emotions, but sometimes during particularly intense situations, he strongly interjects with 「You idiot!」, which is fun for me too.

–Kusuo is always extremely popular regardless of gender, Kamiya-san, if you were in his position, what would you do?

Kamiya: If each of them stays with me with the awareness that we're friends, then I will gratefully accept that.

Kaidou Shun’s Voice Actor

Shimazaki Nobunaga-san

Interview

Right now, I’m at my peak chuunibyou stage in life.

–If you were to express the growth and changes of Saiki Kusuo in the second season from a  chuunibyou perspective, what would that be?

Shimazaki: 「Jet Black Twilight - Ragnarok of Chaos」 Reason: it just sounds cool!

–Shimazaki-san, please tell us a particular 「Kaidou’s charm point」that you’d like to recommend right now.

Shimazaki: I find the contrast between Shun in his full-blown chuunibyou Jet-Black Wings mode and his natural self, who is a bit of a coward but is honest and caring about his friends, to be appealing.

–Shimazaki-sama, if you discovered a completely soaked Kaidou on a rainy day, what would you do?

Shimazaki: I’d protect him!!!

–Please tell us the episode or moment that made you laugh whilst portraying Kaidou.

Shimazaki: In the 2nd season, episode 4 of episode 8x, the loop episode 「Another Time Leap Challenge! I remember saying the same line over and over again like a broken record, it left a very strong impression on me. It was fun!

–Kaidou is still in full-blown chuunibyou mode, but Shimazaki-san, when were you the most chuunibyou-like in your life? 

Shimazaki: Right now. I seriously imagine using magic and saving the world every day.

[i-heart-hxh]

Does killua know gon loves him?

Hi anon! This is such a simple question, but not a simple one to answer. I'll do my best, though!

So, I think the answer is both yes and no, in different ways.

Yes, in the sense that Gon has directly expressed his appreciation of and admiration towards Killua multiple times, said he enjoys being with him and wants to stay with him, and even called him his best friend at the end of Greed Island (really BEST friend, 最高の友達, saikou no tomodachi--I think the translation of "best friend in the whole world" gets the emphasis of this phrase across pretty well).

He said it "Has to be Killua," (キルアじゃなきゃダメなんだ, Killua ja nakya dame nanda) in the dodgeball match, which has implications both during the match and outside of it, that Killua is the only one he fully trusts and the only one who can be by his side for something this pivotal. This phrase has romantic implications, essentially the subtextual meaning is "Killua is the only one for me," hence why Killua reacts as strongly as he does to it. Notice how much he hides his face on this page.

So, I think it's silly to say Killua has no idea Gon cares about him deeply and values him. There are so many moments where Gon says things like this. It's partly why Killua loves Gon so much, because Gon isn't afraid to express that level of love and care and appreciation towards him, as uncomfortable as he acts about it. He's just unused to that receiving kind of praise and attention simply for being himself, rather than being praised for his abilities.

With Killua's views of himself, it's hard for him to fully accept Gon's affection and take it to heart, but luckily Gon is straightforward and doesn't hold back, and keeps repeatedly telling Killua how much he means to him. As the series goes, they form a strong mutual bond and relatively good understanding of each other.

The problem is that multiple things happen in Chimera Ant Arc to disrupt Killua's sense of where he belongs in Gon's life.

He "fails" by fleeing from Pitou with Gon and "leaving Kite to die." While Gon doesn't blame Killua for the decision he made and neither does Kite, Killua nonetheless certainly blames himself for this to a degree. (Remember the scene with Morel and Knov mocking him?) It doesn't help that Bisky tells him that because of his inability to face opponents he sees as stronger than him, he'll eventually leave Gon to die. Then he watches the awful ramifications of what Kite's death does to Gon, knowing he had a role in what happened.

Gon goes on the date with Palm, and Killua variously misinterprets this whole situation to mean that Gon has been on real dates with women previously (I do not think he had been on any dates in an actual romantic sense), Gon actually might have romantic feelings towards Palm, and that they're in some degree of a relationship even after Gon tells her they can't be together and Palm quietly dumps Gon in favor of Knov after the date. This sends Killua spiraling into his whole "Are we friends? Or are we teammates?" concerns, in conjunction with the next factor.

Gon's "I swear... I'll take on that bastard myself," about Pitou, and the later "This has nothing to do with you," line. Remember how much Gon relied on Killua in the dodgeball match, and how much that meant to Killua? Remember how Killua very nearly died and his last thoughts were apologizing that he wasn't more useful to Gon? Killua stakes his whole sense of self on being useful to Gon, so when Gon makes taking down Pitou a solo mission, Killua doesn't know what role he has at Gon's side any more.

I'm sure there are plenty more factors I'm leaving out, but these are the main issues that lead to the gulf that develops between them during the course of Chimera Ant Arc.

Ever after all of this, they're still friends, they're on reasonably good terms when they part even though it's complex and fraught, but there's just so much they're not saying to each other about how they really feel.

I think Killua still knows Gon cares about him with the way they leave off--they agree to stay in touch, say they'll meet again, Killua even teases Gon about the way he treated him a few times and sees that Gon feels awful when he brings it up. I'm sure Gon apologized to Killua when they first saw each other again after all of that, no matter how non-comprehensive that apology may have been.

But, I do think Killua sees his feelings towards Gon as deeper and of a different nature than how he assumes Gon feels towards him. He may even feel a degree of guilt about the extent and nature of his feelings, with an assumption that, as much as Gon cares about him, Gon doesn't reciprocate Killua's romantic feelings. It may be one of many puzzle pieces contributing to the separation.

I think Killua has strong beliefs about Gon not returning his feelings in a romantic sense, which is part of what leads to how much pain he goes through in Chimera Ant Arc and beyond. But these beliefs are less about what Gon does or doesn't do--because *I* believe Gon has romantic feelings for Killua, even though he likely doesn't recognize them as such yet, and obviously in CAA his relationship with Killua is not at the forefront of his mind--but more about how Killua sees himself and how he projects that self-perception on Gon.

The thing is, Killua hasn't directly expressed his feelings (even on a friendship level) towards Gon either. and even hides how much he does for Gon, so Gon also doesn't fully understand the weight and degree of Killua's feelings for him either. He sees what Killua does for him and I'm sure he knows that's a way Killua expresses friendship to him, but at the same time, the reasons or feelings or depth behind those actions remain unspoken, so how is Gon supposed to know fully where Killua is coming from?

As much as he may have some inklings of Killua's feelings from reading his body language and all the time they spent together, it's not something that has been confirmed or stated the way Gon has expressed his feelings. So, it makes sense that these two boys might assume the other doesn't love them back the same way they love each other, because their own self-esteem is so low and they don't see themselves as deserving of the kind of love they have for each other.

So, in response to your question, both yes and no, and "It's complicated," too.

[tobiasdrake]

Watching episode 2 of Ranma reboot and it remains like a blast from the past.

Gonna be posting spoilers and screencaps to talk about it, so all of that's after the jump.

I'm sorry that I didn't appreciate the slapstick of the original manga because Rumiko Takahashi is kind of brilliant at it.

This gag sets you up to think Akane's about to hit him for yelling misogyny at her early in the morning, but then out of absolutely nowhere his fucking dad erupts from the aether and clocks him for it instead.

That's fantastic. It uses the familiar language not just of Ranma and Akane's established dynamic but of tsundere romances in general to set the gag up, and then hits it with a startling and unexpected swerve that still pays it off but in a way the audience didn't see coming.

Speaking of Genma, bits like this:

Ranma defeats Genma using the "Look, a distraction!" technique and it's funny because he won with what most martial arts anime would consider a cowardly tactic.

But it's funnier when you know the actual art he practices, 無差別格闘�� musabetsu kakutou-ryuu. Separately translated as either "Anything Goes Style of Martial Arts" or "Indiscriminate Grappling". The latter of which is hilariously specific, as 格闘 kakutou can mean wrestling or grappling but simply refers to weaponless styles of hand-to-hand fighting.

He's a fisticuffs brawler by trade, contrasting the various adversaries he faces throughout the series who are mostly tool- or weapon-based fighters, to varying degrees of esoteric oddity.

But what makes this so funny in hindsight is the "indiscriminate" part. Ranma's martial art is built around the idea that there are no rules and whatever gets you to the finish line is fine. This distraction isn't Ranma being cowardly; It's actually part of his martial art. This is how he was trained to fight. XD

You know, I actually forgot that Dr. Tofu... existed.

But setting that aside, once I remembered who this guy is, I forgot that he's implied to be an exceptionally talented martial artist. Capable of masking his presence so thoroughly that even Ranma can't detect his movements.

That's really interesting. To my recollection, Dr. Tofu never has a single fight in the entire series. Instead, his expertise simply serves as an explanation for his familiarity with all the wild and bizarre mystical maladies that come his way.

It lets him be like, "Oh yeah, the reason you're deathly ill is because someone hit you with the 5,000 year old forbidden Chinese Slow Death Syphilitic Pressure Point technique. Here, let me apply the three-step acupressure reversal technique that was lost to history."

But now I.

I kinda.

Want to see him fight.

(Has this dude been like the DBZA Popo of Ranma 1/2 this entire time?)

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA She clocks him with the water kettle to make him respectfully bow.

I did not have the cultural context to understand that joke when I was young.

Rumiko Takahashi is so good at slapstick.

Yeah, okay, I don't remember half of what I said about Akane when I was young but I recant all of it. She is so fucking cool.

Imagine if you had to do this every single morning. Every morning. No exception. Just to get to school. At sixteen.

And keep in mind that this is sexualized violence. These guys are trying to overpower her because they think she'll have to be their girlfriend if they beat her up. Every single one of them is sexually harassing her. With violence.

Fuck this entire situation, y'all. I hope she gives them all life-ruining physical injuries that ruin their ability to get scouted as professional athletes at this critical age and turn them into bitter and misanthropic thirty-somethings whining on the couch about how they peaked in high school.

That's probably not how it actually works in Japan. My American is showing. But nonetheless!

She said "Kuno-senpai". She addresses him formally using his last name because that's a normal thing to do in Japan.

Subtitles, why are you changing the way characters speak to each other? The show is released with a dub and a sub alongside one another. If people are choosing to watching the sub, they don't need you to hold their hand and Americanize it for them.

She correctly calls him Kuno in the dub here. The dub is more accurate than the sub about this line. Don't. Do that.

This guy is such a dweeb he makes Jou-senpai look cool. They nailed Kuno, King Dipshit of the Jackass Mountain Akane has to climb each morning.

This is the guy who came up with the whole "Whoever beats the shit out of Akane may claim her as their trophy" thing. He probably watches Andrew Tate videos and writes internet screeds asking why women don't respect his authority and strength. Fuck this guy.

Seriously. He just. Said this. About some girl in another class. And the boys in the school were all like, "Oh, yeah, that sounds reasonable. First one to break her leg gets the girl! Thanks for showing me the best way to express my masculinity, bruh!"

A wacky setup for Akane's personal background but also a chillingly accurate metaphor for how the Manosphere functions.

For his part, it's pretty clear that what Kuno is attracted to is martial strength. He becomes interested in the "Mystery Girl" that appeared after Ranma "fled" pretty much right after she beats his ass.

He's kind of an interesting parallel to Shampoo in that regard. I never really thought of that before, but both of their interests are predicated on how strong Ranma is.

He also makes for an interesting dynamic for Ranma, from a gender perspective. Ranma's curse and the constant menace of Kuno forces Ranma to endure firsthand the kind of harassment that Akane has to undergo in her day-to-day life.

Of course, this being Ranma 1/2, Ranma's going to be getting that from both genders throughout the series. Rumiko Takahashi created a harem dodecahedron for her story, with Ranma and Akane being beset not just by rival suitors but also by rival suitors for their rival suitors trying to kill them and win the rival suitors' love.

Kuno's just one of the crowd.

But it was nonetheless an interesting choice to give Ranma a toxic male harasser as one of his suitors, that speaks to the interesting gender dynamics at play in the series.

One last thing. Something I really love about Ranma 1/2 is the way it uniquely changes the experience of just. Being around water. Like, the ever-presence of water especially in an island nation such as Japan is a constant threat.

You really don't think about how much water there is in everyday life until you have a Jusenkyou curse.

[ninja-muse]

August is over! My reading month felt like it took forever even though otherwise, the month flew by. I blame this half on my top two reads of the month, which I was only reading in short snippets, and half on a number of lackluster reads and DNFs. I'm hoping to get back into my usual habits in September.

I did do better on reading off my physical TBR though! Even though one book was a "aw man, what do I read now?" and two more were, "I'm behind on my goal, quick, read something fast!" Plus the T. Kingfisher, which was graciously provided by my work, as was Running Close to the Wind. (Finally a month where I didn't spend money to add to my library!)

As for my top reads, The Salmon Shanties would be near the top of my list even if there wasn't a degree of reverse-nepotism involved. Absolutely excellent poetry collection, very layered and complex. If you're into Canadian poetry or poetry-of-place, pick it up! And Rose/House, once I got it back from the library because my Libby hold ran out, was absolutely fantastic! As was the quality of the French translation, because it sounded like Martine. So very, very glad I had the nerve (and linguistic ability) to read it. Super-creepy and I'm glad Tor's picked it up so I can hype the heck out of it next year. And then there's Jinn-Bot, which I wrote an actual review for.

On the other end of the list, sigh. I DNFed one book for feeling kind of trite, and another for being too predictable, and probably should have DNFed Voyage of the Damned for being uneven but I needed to know who the killer was. The Library Thief I'm also counting as lackluster—very good book, just wasn't for me or what I was expecting. Still deserves a 7.

Lula Dean, on the other hand, was surprisingly good! Fun and satirical and just plain entertaining. Read it in a couple days and it would likely be higher on my list except my reasons to be "glad to have read them" this month are less about quality and entertainingness than usual. I can't put "really liked this" above "finally I get to read a new book by X!", for instance. Or necessarily above "learned stuff!"

You might notice a distinct lack of any other news, and that's because there is none. September may be marginally more exciting, we'll see. (I know there'll be a bigger book haul.)

Anyway, on to September now, and in the meantime, here's my list everything I read this month, in the rough order of how glad I was to have read them.

The Salmon Shanties - Harold Rhenisch

A collection of poems centered on and celebrating Cascadia in all its facets (or taking it to task, as the case may be). Out in September.

10/10

🇨🇦

warning: mentions racism, colonization, genocide

digital reading copy

Rose/House - Arkady Martine

There is a body within Rose House—two, if you count its architect, who ordered the house shuttered with his passing and left to its AI. Only one person is allowed to enter now, and she’s accounted for. And yet there is a body within Rose House….

9/10

🏳️‍🌈 author

warning: descriptions of a dead body

library ebook

The Jinn-Bot of Shantiport - Samit Basu

Lina and Bador want freedom: from surveillance, from power structures, for their city, for all bots, or just for their family. This might come from cunning, or revolution, or a lost ancient artifact, or an underground bot-battle, or swaying a visiting space hero or the Not-Prince. Much more than an Aladdin retelling.

8/10

🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (multisexual, achillean), Indian-coded cast, Indian author

warning: discusses colonization and oppression, references police violence

reading copy

Unwritten, Vol. 8 - Mike Carey with Peter Gross, Dean Ormston, Yuko Shimizu

When Tommy Taylor learns that Lizzie is trapped in the land of the dead, he goes to rescue her—but he’s unprepared for his adventures there, or the wider implications.

8/10

Indigenous Australian secondary character

off my TBR

All Quiet on the Western Front - Erich Maria Remarque

Paul Bäumer recounts his time serving in the German army in WWI.

7/10

warning: war, death, animal death, gore, injury

off my TBR

A Sorceress Comes to Call - T. Kingfisher

Cordelia’s terrible mother has decided to marry a squire. Cordelia knows he and his sister don’t deserve that—but how to stop her, when she can do magic?

7.5/10

warning: child abuse, torture, murder, animal cruelty and death

finished copy received through work

A Man and His Cat, Vol. 4 - Umi Sakurai

Kanda gets the courage to make a new friend and revisit an old situation.

7/10

Japanese cast, Japanese author

off my TBR

A Gentleman from Japan - Thomas Lockley

The true story of a Japanese man who was brought to the court of Elizabeth I and influenced early modern English science.

7.5/10

warning: slavery, orientalism, war and violence

library book

Lula Dean’s Little Library of Banned Books - Kirsten Miller

In Troy, Georgia, the fight for public decency is kicked off by Lula Dean, who craves attention and loves her Southern history—and her fencepost library, where someone’s put wholesome jackets over books she’s tried to ban….

7/10

ensemble cast including Black, 🏳️‍🌈 (gay, lesbian), and Indo-American POV characters

warning: Nazis, anti-Semitism, anti-Black racism, homophobia, rape, suicide

reading copy

The Library Thief - Kuchenga Shenjé

Florence talks her way into a job repairing a lord’s library, but is quickly drawn in by the mysterious death of the lady of the house. A gothic novel centering race, gender, and other marginalizations in late Victorian England.

7/10

Black British main character, Black British secondary characters, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (trans woman, sapphic), Black British author

warning: racism, including slurs; rape, abuse, misogyny, queerphobia

library book

The Voyage of the Damned - Frances White

A grand state voyage is upset by murder and it’s up to the lowly, non-Blessed Ganymedes to catch the killer before they dock. Goddess help them all if he doesn’t….

5.5/10

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (multisexual), fat protagonist, 🏳️‍🌈 secondary characters (nonbinary, ace, trans man, sapphic, achillean), Indian-, African-, and Japanese-coded secondary characters

warning: murder, injuries, blood, colonial thinking, attempted genocide, suicidal thoughts

reading copy

DNF

Remedial Magic - Melissa Marr

Safe and ordinary Ellie meets a mysterious woman in her library, and is whisked to a fantasy world where she’s probably a witch—and almost certainly in trouble.

🏳️‍🌈 protagonist (sapphic), 🏳️‍🌈 secondary character (sapphic), 🏳️‍🌈 author

reading copy

Casket Case - Lauren Evans

Garrett stops to ask for directions at Nora’s casket shop and they hit it off. Unfortunately he works for Death…. Out in September.

African-American secondary characters

reading copy

Currently reading

A Natural History of Dragons - Marie Brennan

A memoir by Lady Trent, renowned natural philosopher and adventuress, but covering her childhood and first expedition, to the mountain highlands of Vystrana, and the troublesome dragons encountered there.

library book

Music from the Earliest Notations to the Sixteenth Century - Richard Taruskin A history of early written European music, in its social and political contexts. The Penguin Complete Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle Victorian detective stories.

disabled POV character (limb injury), occasional Indian secondary characters

warning: racism, colonialism

Monthly total: 11 Yearly total: 70 Queer books: 1 Authors of colour: 3 Books by women: 6 Authors outside the binary: 0 Canadian authors: 1 Classics: 1 Off the TBR shelves: 4 Books hauled: 2 ARCs acquired: 3 ARCs unhauled: 6 DNFs: 2

January February March April May June July

[laxmiree]

[CN] MLQC’s Lucien - Flavor Date - English Translation

⚠️ SPOILER ALERT!! ⚠️

This post contains a detailed spoiler for a date that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation~

It feels like all my other senses are being fully engaged and heightened by him as well.

As Lucien and I taste the same flavors, my eyes are filled with Lucien, my ears hear only his voice, my nose is enveloped by Lucien's lingering fragrance…

In my heart, there's only Lucien.

Translation under the cut!

[T/N: This date has a theme that is a kind of continuation to his car UR MQ, [On Fire MQ]; So please give it a read if you haven’t! I personally love this date because it’s sort of role reversal for them? I think Lucien truly understands her struggle here because he used to go through the same thing (losing his ability to sense the world around him to some degree) before meeting her :” So he sincerely wants to help her regain them]

[Subbed Video]

[Transcript Ver]

=[Part 1]=

Waiter: We used horseradish cheese sauce and basil pesto in this dish, resulting in sour and spicy flavors. Please enjoy the meal.

The waiter eloquently introduced us to the newly served exquisite dish. Lucien nods and takes a bite.

Lucien: Mm, the sour and spicy flavors make the ingredients themselves taste more refreshing. It's delicious.

Watching Lucien savor the dish so attentively, I also take a bite, my heart full of anticipation.

MC: Uhh…

MC: [unconsciously frowns in disappointment]…ah…

Seeing my slight frown, the waiter immediately becomes a bit nervous.

Waiter: Madam, is there something you're not satisfied with about our dish? Please feel free to share your feedback…

MC: No, no, the flavor is quite good!

I wave my hand, signaling to the waiter that he doesn't need to continue attending to us. After he leaves, I turn to Lucien and let out a long sigh.

Lucien: [chuckles] How did your face turn so sour* while eating?

MC: Ugh, it's all because of my tongue…

Last week, the flu virus spread explosively through the company, and I unfortunately became one of its victims.

By the time I finally managed to break the fever and stop coughing, I discovered I had developed a bit of an "aftereffect."

My sense of taste... has undergone a subtle change.

MC: I can clearly tell that this dish is sour, and that dish is salty, but no matter what I eat, there's no lingering flavor…

MC: Lucien, I finally understand what 'taste like cardboard’ means!

I listlessly poke at the food in front of me with my fork as I speak. Seeing me like this, Lucien can’t resist chuckling.

Lucien: [chuckles] It’s indeed painful for our gourmet Miss MC not to be able to experience the deliciousness of the food.

MC: The pain doesn't stop there.

I can't help but start counting on my fingers, listing them one by one.

MC: You have no idea how expensive and hard to book this private kitchen is!

MC: I booked a month in advance, battling countless scalpers on their app, and finally managed to snag a VIP table for two.

MC: I specifically chose today to celebrate the end of your research project…

MC: Argh, and I was even planning to take you to try out this newly opened specialty cocktail bar after this meal!

Before I can finish my grumbling, Lucien suddenly takes hold of my fingertips.

Under the warm light, his smile is gentle and clear.

Lucien: So, are you regretting the money you spent, the loss of your taste, or the fact that our date isn't going as planned?

MC: You tell me.

I hook my finger around his, pouting justifiably*.

MC: Can the clever Professor Lucien help me think of a way to turn this "tasteless" date into something more "flavorful"?

Lucien tilts his head slightly, pondering seriously for a moment.

Lucien: Then let's change our date plans. After dinner, let's do something that doesn't require a sense of taste.

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[T/N]

Fun fact, him finally reaching the end of his important research project is something that also recently happened in main story SO yeah imo main story and dateverse are indeed connected-

*: Lucien uses the word "苦瓜脸" (bitter melon face - kǔguā liǎn) to teasingly describe her facial expression😂It is a Chinese idiom used to describe someone who looks unhappy or has a sour expression. It implies that her expression resembles the bitter, wrinkled appearance of a bitter melon!

**: The phrase used here is 理直气壮 (lǐ zhí qì zhuàng) which is a Chinese idiom that describes someone confident and assertive, often due to having a strong justification for their actions or words. It literally translates to "reason is straight, spirit is strong.". MC feels wronged because the date doesn’t go as planned, so she assertively challenges Lucien to ‘turn the tasteless date into something flavorful’ and feels justified to do so~

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

=[Part 2]=

After leaving the private kitchen, I hand full control of the date over to Lucien with complete peace of mind.

We stroll along the riverside path, petting kittens at pet stores, gathering flowers still damp with evening dew, and finally arriving at a used bookstore.

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

MC: Lucien, is this the book you've been looking for?

Lucien: [with a surprised tone] Where?

Lucien takes the old book from my hand and flips through a few pages, his eyes light up noticeably, and a surprised smile appears on the corner of his mouth.

Lucien: [delightful gasps] It really is this one... good thing you have a keen eye; If it were up to me, I'd have definitely missed it.

MC: Heh, I have a keen sense for anything related to you.

I proudly nuzzle against his arm and then lean my head against him.

The bouquet in my arms, the faint scent of ink mingling with the fragrance of Lucien's clothes, all lingered around my nose, drawing a contented sigh from me.

Lucien: [chuckles] What's wrong?

MC: It's nothing. I just suddenly realized that although my sense of taste wasn't indulged today, all my other senses have been thoroughly delighted thanks to your arrangements.

MC: I'm really happy, so I want to cuddle up to you for a bit.

Lucien lowers his head at my words, a hint of smile playing at the corner of his lips.

Lucien: [chuckles, then whispers softly] I'm also very content and happy today, and I don't want to just ‘cuddle’ with you.

I understand the meaning behind his words and deliberately elongate the end of my tone.

MC: [interesting word choice you got there MC] Ah, it's not really appropriate in a bookstore, is it~?

MC: I'm also feeling a bit tired now. Shall we head home?

Lucien: [chuckles] That's just what I was thinking.

I carry the flowers, and Lucien carries the old book as we head home together.

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

As soon as I push open the door, I notice a pile of delivery boxes stacked next to the shoe cabinet. Lucien also notices my gaze and starts to explain.

Lucien: They're all your packages.

Lucien: I happened to run into the delivery person on my way out, so I signed for them.

MC: Ah, I don't recall buying anything recently?

Lucien: Hmm… it seems MC was indeed a bit out of it from the fever a few days ago.

Lucien picks up the scissors to open packages, struggling to suppress the laughter in his voice.

Lucien: That night, weren't you a bit out of it from the fever, refusing to go to bed, and ended up watching a bunch of food live streams?

Lucien: [his tone when he imitates the notification sound asjjxjdjdkl] During that time, I heard a lot of ‘ding ding ding, payment successful’.

MC: —I remember now!

Heat rushes to my face in an instant, and I bury my face in my hands, feeling a little embarrassed

MC: …As expected, it was a combination of cravings, impulsive shopping, and a viral invasion that left me with no rationality at all.

Lucien: I actually think it was a good thing that the food livestream distracted you that night, so you didn’t feel so uncomfortable.

Lucien helps me take the snack bags out of the box, then soothingly takes my hand and leads me to the sofa to sit down.

Lucien: Besides, I'm also curious to know if these snacks are as delicious as the live streamers described them to be.

Remembering the live streamers' over-the-top expressions, I also get curious and take the initiative to tear open a bag of sandwich cookies first.

I chew and swallow with the utmost seriousness, but I can still only taste bland saltiness and sweetness.

Seeing my increasingly dejected expression, Lucien is about to offer words of comfort, but I quickly stuff the other sandwich cookie from the bag into his mouth.

Lucien: [confusedly] Um…?

I prop myself up on a pillow, lean closer to Lucien, and wink at him.

MC: Hehe, I want to watch you eat it.

MC: If you think it's delicious, then that means I think it's delicious too.

Mirroring my gesture, Lucien winks back, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallows the cookie.

Lucien: [chuckles] So, you want me to be your ’tongue’ then?

MC: Exactly, you describe it, and I'll imagine it; that's not a bad idea either.

MC: Maybe if I keep imagining and imagining, my sense of taste will return as well.

Lucien can't help but smile, his eyes curving with amusement. He leans down and places a kiss on the corner of my lips.

Lucien: [kiss sound] I’ve noticed that a certain little foodie’s resentment towards not being able to enjoy delicious food has become as deep as a black hole.

MC: Haha, it's not that exaggerated…

Lucien: I completely understand how you feel, MC.

Lucien's sigh-like whisper overlaps with my words, swallowing my dry laughter entirely.

He doesn't say anything more, but I know he understands my current frustration and dejection.

I let out a long sigh, then bury my head in his chest affectionately, murmuring softly.

MC: I really want to get my sense of taste back soon…

Lucien: Then, how about we try making a plan to reawaken your taste buds?

MC: What?

Lucien: Taste buds are essentially signal receivers. When they malfunction, your brain also experiences cognitive errors, leading to a decreased sensitivity to taste.

Lucien: The tongue is most sensitive to sweetness first, then saltiness, followed by sourness, and finally bitterness.

MC: What about spiciness?

Lucien: Spiciness is actually a sensation of touch, not taste.

Lucien: How about we try this: starting tomorrow, you taste, and I describe. We can use synesthesia to try and awaken one flavor at a time?

MC: That might actually work. So, which flavor should we start with?

Lucien smiles, then unwraps a toffee candy, holds it between his teeth, and leans towards me.

Lucien: [chuckles, kisses, then whispers hoarsely] …Sweetness.

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

=[Part 3]=

Perhaps because I'm looking forward to Lucien's ‘taste buds awakening plan’, I wake up really early without needing an alarm.

I yawn as I drag myself into the bathroom and find that Lucien is also washing up.

Lucien: Good morning. Have you decided where we'll carry out our plan later?

MC: There seems to be a highly-rated dessert shop on Floral Road. My colleagues have recommended it before. Let's go check it out.

I squeeze out some toothpaste and start brushing my teeth, continuing to chat with Lucien with my words slightly muffled.

MC: By the way, I happn to fearch for popular science articles 'bout tafe recobery before going to bed, it said… Lucien! Lucien! (By the way, I happened to look up some science on taste recovery before going to sleep, it said… Lucien! Lucien!)

Startled by my voice, Lucien immediately lifts his head from the towel.

Lucien: Hmm? What's wrong?

MC: I think I can taste a bit of toothpaste!

At this moment, I realize with a mix of delayed comprehension and crystal-clear certainty—my sense of taste seems to be gradually returning!

Lucien is momentarily stunned, then he also breaks into a chuckle.

Lucien: That's great, it seems like this afternoon we should be able to… Mmm.

The rest of his words are cut off as I pounce on him, kissing him. He widens his eyes slightly in surprise, but almost instantly, he happily accepts my lead.

I grasp his arm, and with a sense of satisfaction, I lick my lips.

MC: Did you taste it?

Lucien: Mm, it's the taste of white tea and pomelo.

MC: Right, right! Although it's faint, I can finally distinguish some of them now!

MC: I almost don't want to rinse my mouth.

Lucien's smile deepens as he hands the glass of water to me.

Lucien: Well, this classmate still needs to rinse their mouth. Otherwise, how will you be able to taste the deliciousness that's yet to come?

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Lucien: [teasingly] You look as nervous as if you're about to go to a job interview.

MC: Regaining my sense of taste is a big deal, of course I'm going to take it seriously!

I'm sitting up straight in the dessert shop, looking at Lucien with a serious expression on my face.

MC: On the other hand, does Professor Lucien have the confidence to be a good ‘tongue’ for me?

Lucien raises an eyebrow at me noncommittally, then picks up the menu.

Lucien: Hello, I'd like one macaron, one red velvet cake, one Basque cheesecake, one Napoleon pastry…

I watch Lucien expertly order a mountain of desserts, and I can't help but feel a little guilty.

MC: [worriedly] Wait a minute, can we really eat this much?

Lucien: No need to worry, if you can't finish them, just hand them over to me.

Lucien: Besides, you're still in the recovery phase of your sense of taste. Of course, you need to try as many different flavors of sweetness as possible in order to remember them well.

I nod in partial understanding. Soon, plate after plate of desserts are brought to our table.

Vibrantly colored jams, intricately patterned cream, and delicate little candies…

They are arranged across the table and dessert tower, resembling bright and vibrant gems under the afternoon sun.

Lucien picks up a cupcake and holds it near my lips.

Lucien: [chuckles] You first.

I take a bite of the cake, and the moist, soft texture instantly fills my mouth.

Lucien: How does it taste?

MC: Hmm... It seems like it's light cream with a tart fruit jam?

Lucien: [chuckles] You got most of it right.

MC: Then what's the remaining small part?

Lucien doesn't answer right away. He lightly trails his finger across the frosting on the cupcake.

The fluffy frosting rests on his finger like a tiny cloud. He lowers his eyes and sticks out his tongue, slowly and carefully licking it.

A small amount of the thick and sticky jam escapes the lingering sweep of his tongue, slowly slides down the skin of his knuckles.

Lucien's voice is neither hurried nor slow, each word enunciated with a hint of honeyed sweetness.

Lucien: [why his breathy and husky voice sounds so seductive here-] The cream melts quickly, leaving a slightly fatty, sticky coating on the tip of the tongue, but this sensation is soon overtaken by the sweet and tart flavor of the jam.

Lucien: [x2] In the end, they blend together, creating a gentle and delicate flavor.

Even though I haven't taken a second bite of the cake, Lucien's description makes me involuntarily swallow.

That's the most fundamental desire—known as appetite*.

I don't know why, but I'm suddenly thinking about that deep kiss from this morning.

Looking back, I definitely should have kissed him a few more times.

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[T/N]

Can confirm that MC kiss isn't just a peck on lips because the summary of the date phrase it like this: “顺便也尝了尝许墨嘴里牙膏的味道” (while at it, I was also tasting the toothpaste in his mouth), the text uses "嘴里" (zui li), which literally means "inside the mouth”, and add the fact that she was not just ‘visiting’, but tasting…. the kiss was rather an… intimate exploration🤪

*: the use of 食欲 (appetite; desire for food) is interesting because at first, you would think she was referring to the food (and it IS more commonly used for food), but then instead she thinks back to the kiss they shared that morning.... like, ma'am are you confusing lust with hunger again just like in the qixi AU LOL

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

=[Part 4]=

Lucien: [gently] Basque cake is very thick and sticky, not quite like the filling of an egg tart. You can slowly and gently stir it with the tip of your tongue to melt it…

Lucien: The Napoleon pastry from this particular shop is generously filled with almond slices. As they blend with the flaky pastry, you can slowly distinguish their textures and flavors…

MC: The puff pastry is crumbly and buttery, while the almond slices are smooth with a slight chewiness?

Lucien: [chuckles] Well said. Would you like to try the apple pie?

MC: I'd love to!

I take a bite of the apple pie he cut for me, chew carefully, and my eyes widen in surprise.

MC: I can taste it... this apple pie is a bit tastier than the one we had last time!

Lucien: [chuckles] It seems that classmate MC is starting to develop a standard for distinguishing similar flavors?

As Lucien speaks, he takes a bite of the apple pie and nods.

Lucien: Hmm... it does seem like it. I think the difference might be that they added a bit of liquor to the filling, which gives the apples a more fermented flavor. Can you smell it?

I lean closer, my nose twitching slightly. Sure enough, amidst the rich aroma of apples and cream, I catch a faint whiff of alcohol.

MC: There really is a hint of alcohol! How did I not taste it earlier?

Lucien: [chuckles] That means it's time for you to try the next dessert and awaken your taste buds further. Here, have a macaron.

We taste various desserts, and Lucien continuously describes the different textures and aftertastes to me, guiding me to gradually recover my sense of taste.

This ‘awakening plan’ seems to be doing more than just reawakening my sense of taste. It feels like all my other senses are being fully engaged and heightened by him as well.

As Lucien and I taste the same flavors, my eyes are filled with Lucien, my ears hear only his voice, my nose is enveloped by Lucien's lingering fragrance…

In my heart, there's only Lucien.

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Lucien: [chuckles] What are you writing?

After returning home from the dessert shop, I excitedly open my computer and create a new document.

MC: Now that my sense of taste is back, I definitely need to rearrange the gourmet plans that I put on hold over the past couple of days.

MC: It's the first time I've truly felt how much having a sense of taste can enhance happiness!

MC: How about we go for a hot pot this weekend?

MC: It's also time to stimulate my tongue with some salty and spicy flavors!

MC: I know you said spiciness is a pain sensation, but hey, they are all handled by the tongue anyway…

Lucien leans back on the sofa, listening to my chatter, nodding with a warm smile beaming on his face.

Lucien: [chuckles] Only planning for next weekend? I was actually thinking about what we could eat together tomorrow.

MC: Of course, we should also plan for tomorrow! Let me see if there are any good places to eat nearby…

MC: Oh! There's this too!

I lean over and grab those bags of snacks from yesterday, the ones I couldn't taste when I ate them.

Rich cheese, tangy plums, savory dried meat... I savor each snack, one by one, and a feeling of immense happiness wells up in my heart.

MC: Sniffle sniffle… Lucien, those streamers weren't lying! It really is delicious, you should try some too!

I hold out the snacks to Lucien's lips like I did yesterday, but he doesn't open his mouth. Instead, he just looks at me and smiles.

MC: Why the smile? Do you think I'm being too greedy?

Lucien: [gently] Of course not. I just realized there was an idiom I didn't like before, but now I don't feel the same way about it anymore.

MC: Which idiom?

Lucien: "饮食男女" [yǐn shí nán nǚ - literally mean drink, eat, man, woman, it is derived from what Confucius once said, "饮食男女，人之大欲存焉 (Food and sex are the greatest/basic desires of humans) -T/N]

Lucien: Food and sex are the greatest desires of humans. These are the most basic and instinctual impulses of human beings, and there's nothing vulgar about them.

He reaches out and gently wipes the snack crumbs from the corner of my mouth.

Lucien: On the contrary, they're very endearing.

MC: Of course, being able to experience and engage the world through one's nature is a very endearing thing.

MC: And haven't you noticed that your perception of the world is becoming increasingly nuanced, vibrant, and lively?

Lucien: Are you referring to our 'taste bud awakening plan' today?

MC: Far more than that. It's also the text messages you sent me, the photos you took and gave to me, and all our trivial little chats;

MC: We're experiencing the beauty in all the small, ordinary things together. Even if it’s merely a tiny change like adding a bit of alcohol to the apple pie…

I gently nuzzle my cheek against his fingers, which he hasn't yet withdrawn, smiling with contentment and pride.

MC: It's because I'm endearing that you're becoming endearing too.

MC: We're endearing people who enjoy the basic desires of humankind.

Lucien: ….

Lucien is momentarily stunned, and then his narrow eyes suddenly lit up at my words.

His lips open and close, but in the end, no words come out. He just leans toward me slowly.

The atmosphere becomes somewhat suggestive. I realize what he's about to do and quickly cover my mouth, leaning back.

MC: Wait... Not now!

Lucien: [chuckles then asks gently] Why?

MC: I just ate jerky, dried fruits, and cookies, now my mouth tastes like a mess.... So, not now!

I twist my waist, trying to dodge him. Lucien, resigned yet amused, can only straighten back up.

Lucien: [chuckles helplessly] I'll brew you some plain tea then.

Lucien finishes brewing the tea and hands it to me. I accept it a bit awkwardly and sip slowly, regret starting to creep into my heart.

Why am I even bringing up rinsing my mouth? When I was brushing my teeth this morning, wasn't it natural to just pounce and kiss him directly?

Besides, Lucien wouldn't mind if it's me…

Now it's like this, my mouth doesn't taste bad anymore, but kissing has become this serious and stiff affair, like some kind of formal ceremony.

MC: I really…

Lucien: What?

MC: It's nothing, it's nothing. I meant... I finished my drink.

I pull Lucien's arm, then, feeling a bit uncertain, lower my head to huff a breath.

MC: It should be fresh now, right...?

MC: Lucien, why do I feel like I'm starting to doubt my sense of smell again?

Lucien: [whispers] No need to doubt.

Lucien cups my face in his hands, and his scent, like that of green tea, envelops me completely.

In the moment of our intertwined breaths, Lucien personally confirms the answer.

Lucien: [breathes then whispers huskily] Very sweet.

— — — — — — — —FIN — — — — — — — — — —

[Bonus Moments - Dull Interdental Pain]

(this is just so funny I can't resist translating it LMAOO. Man really got toothache from too much sweet he ate for her sake skksks)

Lucien: Sweetness is both a kind of joy and a lingering dull pain.

MC: Have you taken some painkillers? Maybe you should go see a dentist tomorrow QAQ

Lucien replied to MC: Dentists are very scary, I don't dare go alone.

[T/N: it's read: let's go but you have to accompany me *insert pleading pink rabbit xm here*]

✂— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

[Afterwords]

HELLO LUCIEN'S COPYWRITERS???? how come you are able to write another banger even for a mere fragrant sunshine ER! There are many things that I like about this date and I'll slowly list them one by one~

Just like car UR MQ, the central theme of this date revolves around fully experiencing the world through your senses and his emotional growth.

How do I put it, but really, loving Lucien is like pulling a god down from his high altar. He begins as an indifferent observer, detached from the warmth of the human world, but with MC's guidance, he learns to immerse himself in it; What's interesting is that this date shows a kind of role reversal for them.

In both the main story and the 'date-verse,' it was Lucien who had lost his senses to fully experience the world, and MC’s presence helped him regain them and learn how to immerse himself in it. In this date, however, the opposite occurs—MC is the one who loses her senses, and Lucien helps her reawaken them.

Lucien genuinely wants to help her because he truly understands her struggle. He went through a similar experience, his senses used to be f*cked up due to the experiments he went through (as confirmed in S2 ch 33), hence hindering his ability to fully experience the world around him. And as I mentioned in his car UR MQ analysis, emotions and senses are linked, so his limited sensory engagement with the world naturally made his emotional perception and expression rather dull and detached.

With MC, Lucien slowly regains his sensory and emotional connection to the world, learning to immerse himself in it. This date is clear proof of his growth. Whether it’s him beginning to appreciate and savor food or finding beauty in the small, everyday things, his perception of the world has become vibrant and alive—no longer dull or detached.

Then there's also his emotional growth. Lucien's words that he didn’t like the idiom "饮食男女" reflect his earlier detachment from human emotions and basic desires. This dislike implied that he thought those things to be mundane or even vulgar aspects of human nature. Perhaps he even used to see himself as above them and wanted humanity to evolve beyond those desires. However, now, he sees these basic human needs in a different light. He now understands that there is nothing vulgar about these instincts—they are part of what makes life meaningful and humanity rather endearing🥺.

Lucien’s growth is a response to MC’s care and love. All of this (his emotional growth, his increasingly nuanced perception of the world) is influenced by MC.

MC: It's because I'm endearing that you're becoming endearing too.

MC: We're endearing people who enjoy the basic desires of humankind.

I like these lines because she basically mirrors Lucien’s earlier use of the idiom "饮食男女" (basic desires of humankind; food and sex). She reflects his words about how these simple, instinctual desires make people endearing. MC’s ability to embrace what makes us human rubs on Lucien, making him more "endearing" as well. I always love how they influence each other throughout the years🥹. Honestly, this date is another win for the writers!

[naisaspalace]

Personal Nakshatras observation series:

ARDRA NAKSHATRA Part 1:

obs: this series will have multiple sources from random websites to authors/professors that contributed to the creation of this "Article". my opinions are not the ultimate truth and everyone has a different understanding of the same topic. my purpose is to spread my interpretations to help people. contact info will be available at the end of the post.

Nakshatra Characteristics:

6.40 –20 degrees in Gemini.

Meaning: the star of sorrows.

Translation:  "The Moist One", "Fresh", "Green"

Deity: Rudra. (one of Shiva's manifestations)

this nakshatra story starts on the Rohini where Brahma (the creator) wanted to have an intimate relationship with his daughter, Rohini, so in the following constellation, mrigashira, Rohini turned herself into a deer to run from Brahma and he also became a deer to chase her and shiva became so furious that he opened his third eye in anger and from that a powerful spark emerged and transformed into Rudra and he cut off brahmas head to save Rohini.

this action shows the empathy and protective nature of Ardra.

ruler: Rahu. (north node)

element: water

guna: tamasic

dosha: vata

tree: Long Pepper or Krishna Kamal Flower (karimaram)

symbols: teardrop, diamond, and a human head.

yoni: female dog.

star: Belteguese

mode: balanced.

goal: kama (pleasure, desires, fulfillment)

Body parts: Top and Back of Head & Eyes.

Sex/Gender: Female.

Upward Facing.

Direction: West (or southeast). Color: Green. (mercury gemini)

Disposition:  Sharp and Forceful (Tikshna)

Chakra:vishuddha (throat chakra)

story interpretation:

Ardra nakshatra is the first rahu-ruled nakshatra of three and it comes after mrigashira, ruled by Mars, the previous constellation talked about a mind that was constantly chasing something that most of the time ended up being things that would bring a sense of temporal satisfaction. Those people are those who usually are lost trying to search for something to satisfy themselves and after they are satisfied they simply go out searching for the next thing.

But things change when they arrive at Ardra, here is the first time the mind starts to wonder about what the mind storms and turbulences mean, and this time they actually are focused on getting to the end of the search that usually started at mrigashira, by dissecting the problem and arriving at the end goal fiercely like Rudra.

The star of sorrows

The nature balances the universe with its constructive and destructive abilities. water creates lives and also ends lives by hydrating and drowning and by striking lightning to end the bad and damaged environment that can eventually become powerfully strong as a diamond or cause mass destruction. This is how Ardra's energy manifests itself they bring a storm that transforms us either for good or bad, you are the one who decides who you face this.

pop culture manifestation

effy stonem (drug abuse, destruction, illusion)

Kaya Scodelario has moon-ketu (conjunction) at Ardra and she played Effy a troubled teen who started to drink and use drugs to cope with her emotions and ended up bringing destruction to herself and the people around her.

she was often seen as this sexy attractive woman and she used a lot of her seduction to cause chaos among the men

the illusion of drugs that make you feel like the mind is now pacified

she loved chaos so much that she chased it constantly or at least thought she loved it.

a beautiful young woman having fun you might wonder what is wrong with that? effy grew up around an unstable family and this led her to idealize the use of substances to escape herself to a point where she would constantly run away and record vlogs asking her mom to find her and nurture her.

ardra is the first rahu constellation, also called as the “birth of rahu” or his “infant state” alongside rahu it comes with the birth of the intellectual mind ardra is also called the star of sorrows and the symbol is a teardrop

effy represents a state of disorganized destruction and the consequences of self-neglect created by Maya, illusions, where one fails to find the strength to leave their storms and continues to feed their infinite hunger for emotional satisfaction and the inability to face reality as it is

the storms come to us but they don't come to destroy us they are here for us to thrive above to raise the heavens, just like Rudra throwing his arrow to the sky.

"Rudra is known as the divine archer, who shoots arrows of death and disease and who has to be implored not to slay or injure in his wrath"

Effy ended up with a psychotic depression. She attempts suicide but Freddie (her boyfriend), foreseeing this, saves her and she is taken to the hospital and later, institutionalized. Eventually, she lost her memory because the doctor used strong medication and he also manipulated effy into breaking up with her boyfriend and attempted to make her fall in love with him and murder her boyfriend.

to me, this is where the actress ketu comes into play, as you know ketu represents detachment and liberation and she finally achieved her freedom by losing her memory even if it was momentarily she finds a few moments of peace.

three years after this whole situation she moves to another place but we find her, she seems to be better but she ends up being arrested at the end of the series for being framed by her boss, he frames his fraud crimes into her. Eventually, she told his superiors and he got arrested as well

refusing to heal her past traumas, ketu, she ends up being followed by outside storms that mirrored her mental state; The star of sorrow indeed.

Taylor Swift (profit, high goals and achievement, superation, philosophy, and fame).

taylor is a pop singer and writer who started her career at young age when she was discovered by a executive of a record label and became a famous celebrity later on.

revenge, pain, mental disturbance.

(The snake is one of the rahu's symbols, hes the head of the snake represents the mental part)

she became successful due to her telling her heartbreak stories on her music, specifically her ex-relationships, her sorrows became her brand and she is often described as a revengeful person because if you mess with her she will just write a song and win millions with all of this chaotic mess.

Taylor has ardra moon-jupiter and her birth time is not confirmed some will say she is a sideral scorpio rising and others will say she is a Sagittarius, I personally agree with both but for the sake of this interpretation, I will ignore the house where this conjunction falls and give a general interpretation.

moon grants taylor the emotional unbalancing experience and jupiter grants her the wisdom to work with multiple music genres and the writing ability. We all know that jupiter amplifies whatever he touches and this granted taylor her huge popularity and success and guaranteed that she would be able to rise above all of the chaos she faced during her career. Taylor also knows how to play some musical instruments and when she began her career she also had some acting jobs.

“Patience in the times of conflict, Humbleness in the time of success, Cleverness of tongue in company, Attack in battle, Wish during fame, Addiction in weaponry – These 6 virtues are in-built and can only be seen in the brave man. Whoever houses these virtues becomes a great soul. Thus, the one who wants to succeed and become greater than he is shall house all 6 of these virtues.)” ― HEM RAJ JAT, RUDRA: The Name of Destroyer

taylor symbolizes the high ambition and dreams of the ardra native, the amount of chaos she passed not only made her strong but she managed to won again and again jupiter guaranteed her success and the ardra moon gave her the ambition drive to achieve it all.

rahu is highly ambitious and material-obsessed/attached and taylor shows this attribute by never stopping working on her career, she is one of the few artists who did not have a pause during her musical career and during the pandemic she not only announced two new upcoming albums with new and expensive merchandise

the world was in a pandemic state yet Ms. Taylor didn't lose the opportunity to make millions she broke records and became even stronger. rahu is also the significator of social media and taylor is highly influential there.

her gigantic success overshadows her character flaws and she also managed to create this persona, illusion, of ultimate good and moralistic character. this is once again due to rahu being a good manipulator and liar.

don't be mistaken I was once a huge fan of hers but this is an analysis and I cannot act blind towards her motives and actions, she is talented and manages to earn her success and she has good and bad actions just like all of us but we shouldn't be blind towards Rahu, right?

overall she behaves like a good agent of maya making fame seem delicious, fun, and worth having. to me, her story is of superation, hard work, and good writing with philosophical intellectual exploration on her folklore and evermore albums and just like effy sorrows seem to follow her around.

Daenerys Targaryen ( illusions, transformation, strength, fantasy and victory)

Emilia Clarke is a famous actress most known by her role as Daenerys Targaryen and she have a possible ardra moon

daenerys had a hard life and she was dependent on her abusive older brother, Viserys, and was forced to marry Dothraki horselord Khal Drogo in exchange for Viserys' army to reclaim the Iron Throne in Westeros. she becomes the khaleesi and with this new title, she also gained three petrified dragons as a wedding gift.

a little time has passed and pregnant Daenerys loses her husband and child, but blood magic allows Daenerys to hatch three of her dragon eggs. The dragons provide her with a tactical advantage and prestige.

Oftentimes serpents were described as dragons and magic is also another significator of rahu.

she managed to conquer the seven kingdoms and became the queen after many years of pain and trial she won with fierce and ultimately strength

Daenerys finds her inner strength and courage and emerges as a natural leader adored by her people. She is often described as honorable and compassionate, if somewhat naive, although she can be harsh and vengeful against those who seek to harm her or her followers.

here ardra manifests as a warrior whos strength and ambition led her to the ultimate goal the throne that she had lost and was willing to fight until she won.

Don't forget that also took revenge and created destruction all around yet shes a manifestation of a fearless warrior determined to eliminate the opposition without hesitation, just like rudra.

however she had a sad ending, she was betrayed and killed by her lover Jon who was also another candidate for the throne, she found out near the end of the show, after she became mad like her ancestors

the mad queen was dead but her legacy and story lived on to show how great one can become by using the right methods and having a good character one is also capable of greatness but just like all of the ladies before the sorrows followed her into her death.

okay being serious the last season was awful and neither her nor Jon had a proper ending we didn't get the chance to see her becoming mad like her father and her character was destroyed yet her story was awesome i dreamed of jon having the throne and i hated the forced sibling rushed romance and I've loved jon i am a sucker for the forced to become a hero trope fight me ... she was doomed to fall because of the prophecy and she did but she didn't enjoy the throne and deserved better.

End of the first part of ardra analyses.

this was my first post analysis so please be kind and i did my best to be impartial because i do enjoy taylor's work and the other two characters are good! i did not intended to throw hate at any these women i just did my personal observation using the constellation behaviour i hope i was able to spread some knowledge and also to help those who desire to learn.

please share your thoughts and if you want to recommend a theme for me to talk about feel free to do so.

and my reading services are open.

contact info.

[dirtytransmasc]

One of my head canons is that Navi (or at least the Omaticaya) can't thermo-regulate very well. They're so SKINNY, and both the places we've been to look to have very warm and temperate climates. It's just something that they never evolved to do because they never needed to. Humans thermo-regulate pretty well, and I think this ability would translate somewhat to the avatars.

This breeds some "Jake is weird" moments where everyone is getting out thick blankets and starting many warming fires because of a cold night or the onset of a cold season and Jake is just standing there like, "Y'all it's not even below 60 degrees" (I'm a fahrenheit person). Neytiri thinks she's struck gold because her Jake gives of body heat like nobody's business and is perfect to be next to on cold nights.

Spider, fully human, is even more of a personal furnace. The kids FIGHT over who gets to cuddle with him on cold nights. Meanwhile him and Jake are looking at each other like, "I feel like it could be way colder" "oh it can, on earth the rain turns into mini-ice when it gets cold" "damn" "yeah, this is way better"

I love this idea, it fuels me sometimes.

spider is like a personal heated pillow of sorts, cause not only is he warm as fuck compared to his siblings, but he's also very squishy compared to them, and in general (cause the kids buff as shit and muscle is super soft when not tensed up). I'd be fighting over him too, he'd gotta feel like a big teddy bear, even just to other humans, let alone the na'vi.

I like to think that in the case of spider being accepted by neytiri as a kid, him and jake were forced to sleep in the middle of the pile to keep everyone warm when they wanted to be edge sleeps so they could sorta cool off and not overheat. neytiri would also steal spider from the kids and hold him all night long cause she's his mom and she has first dibs on using her son as a personal space heater.

I do also love the idea of jake and spider constantly overheating when doing things the na'vi way, especially during the cooler months, cause while the na'vi are freezing at the absolutely frigid temps for mid to low 60s, jake and spider are like, at the optimal temp. so when they get blankets and shawls piled on them like everyone else, they're legit dying. they have to have their own system to regulating their human/avatar temp needs throughout the seasons, cause otherwise they will die of heat stroke.

I'd love to see the sully family explore even colder climates, like, jake and spider having fun in the snow, while the kids and neytiri are literally popsicles. both boys resign to their fates as human defrosters soon after.

[swallowerofdharma]

Yesterday I reblogged some translated interviews that Yoneda gave, they aren’t recent, but I think they are still interesting. My intention was to write about something I have on my mind, but these days I think my brains have been slow cooking from the constant heat and are about done.

In this interview she gave in 2013, when volume 1 was published, she was asked about her characters and she had various things to say about Yashiro, and about Doumeki she said: “Doumeki is a character originating from Yashiro. It's like he started functioning because Yashiro existed”.

My point on entry to this manga was first and foremost Yashiro, too, he existed so vividly for me, it was easy to immerse myself into the story, easy to read through his expressions, the various degrees of lies and truths that came from his mouth, his sense of humor, his way of looking at the world. And I think it matters that when I started reading the story I was the same age Yashiro was. Now Yashiro has been 40 for quite few years I believe, how lucky. My birthday is next week, can’t delay it.

Doumeki was an afterthought for me, too. But regardless of what Yoneda said back at the start, I can see now how well she chose in terms of story and conflict and why she made some decisions that I wouldn’t have expected, thinking of a character that would have worked for Yashiro: like making him so much younger, for example, or not very expressive and not very experienced or smart in terms of dealing with people and situations. But the point is maybe that not many men would have been that good in creating a conflict that deep within Yashiro for change to happen.

Doumeki’s first name reveals to me the narrative function he has: force. When we strip down Yashiro of all his outer layers - and just as many layers of inner conflict- at his core he is like a trapped animal. I have tried to show how I think of what moves him in other analyses, and fear is the most deeply rooted, what stayed longer within him with a type of resignation, resilience and survival instincts that gave him the ability to withstand all. A bird in a cage who has been trapped long enough that even with the gate open he won’t fly away, his wings are atrophied. So what force would be strong or effective enough to make him move? What wind can lift him up?

I actually like the fact that Doumeki is that flawed as well. How easy it would be to make a perfect fictional character to be a love interest: someone dependable, stable, dedicated. But very boring and completely unrealistic or devoid of an inner self. A character like that wouldn’t have worked with someone with a strong personality like Yashiro to build a good story. On the outside Doumeki seems very manly and stoic, I have seen an expression used in fandom and fanfiction: “competency kink”. But the amazing thing is that that type of stoic person is very fictional. Who knows what hides behind a “proper” person who is regarded as competent and capable. Yashiro is the type of character that is constantly attuned to the fictional aspects of the world that surround us in his hypervigilance, like every good trapped animal is constantly aware of danger. Yashiro perceives many aspects of life as theater, role-playing, he has a very good sense of what is the reality behind any representation, or putting up appearances; he sees the incongruities, the contradictions and the fictional aspects all too well. Which is why I love him so much. This particular aspect is also something that gay men and queer people know on a fundamental level. And one element that makes Saezuru a story about queer characters to me more then a projection of the sexual fantasies of straight women: it is still “consumable” that way as a good yaoi - if one chooses to - or because one isn’t intimately attuned to the layered workings of putting on masks and the talents for misdirection that people who are covering up their pain or entire parts of themselves are inherently good at producing and revealing.

But let’s get back to Doumeki and his first name 力, Chikara, as omen for what he is in the story, what he is in relation to the “unmovable object” (or stagnant) that Yashiro can be. In my understanding, chikara means strength, power/potency and authority associated with masculinity. It reminded me of the Italian name Andrea, that is more commonly assigned to boys, because it comes from the Ancient Greek word and concept of ἀνδρεία, or courage, fortitude, manliness and valor in war.

So, at the beginning of the story, that force has been restrained and caged as well. Doumeki was in prison, he is impotent, he lacks purpose when he gets out. He doesn’t know where to direct and channel that force that came out on the surface in full once:

But after that, he never regained a balance, never had the opportunity to reconcile his emotions with the new reality that was presented to him when he saw what his father was doing. And he went on a route of passivity, all those emotions muted. He saw Yashiro and he felt something again, and he clung to that feeling, of coming alive, more alive that he ever was, letting it grow, until Yashiro was shot. After that we see Doumeki more desperate, less able to restrained himself, letting loose his aggression at various points, beating up people with too much strength and we can see Yashiro noticing. And his sexual impotency is also gone.

It would be interesting to analyze properly these chapters: I believe that after each of these episodes of violence there is a scene in which Doumeki puts his mouth on Yashiro and progressively becomes more insistent and unrestrained. These are parallels worth considering.

A young man who has a complicated emotional past, no real control over his emotions and a misguided belief that Yashiro is the person he needs to be close to and protect, because he is the only one capable, because that is what he can do, he sweared to, and he is singleminded determined to keep Yashiro in sight. Nothing about it speaks of balance, of maturity, of stoicism, Doumeki is progressively less in control, doesn’t realize that they need to prioritize the investigation on the origin of the threat and find a solution, he seems to forget about it in his anxiety to have and keep Yashiro for himself, to tie him to himself under the guise of being his arms and legs, his protection, his lover. He is dogged, insistent, he lets everything pour out at once, being it rage or sexual desire. And you can also call it love, because love often makes people lose balance quite easily. And this force that is a mix of things starts pushing Yashiro too, ways out of balance, ways out of his established emotional boundaries. Does it work as a love story? I believe that in some aspects it actually does, but in a much more crude way than expected. It surely cut deep. Yet, it isn’t all dark, it’s difficult, unresolved, but not really doomed. Because there is something in the other that they still desire.

[letomills]

The "requests are paused until I'm done with the current ones" thing was wishful thinking (a bit like the closing statements in my last yt video 🤓) and I am once again thoroughly overwhelmed with everything.

Requests are firmly closed until further notice. I said yes to the FtM hairs for anon and the Tiggerypum tunics & iamliz13 alpha dresses for children & toddlers for the other anon (I did get the links you sent to the meshes), so I still intend to complete both.

A novel's worth of life updates under the cut (content warning for struggle with bipolar type 2, including questionable choices which should not be taken as advice).

Well over a year ago I shared that my mother was going through a really bad bipolar type 2 depression episode (looking back, mention of it in that post was very euphemistic, I must have been hopeful). The reason why I didn't give any updates after a while is that there is no satisfactory narrative that I could easily spin into words. She's not all better, she hasn't died or lost her mind for good, things have just been evolving at a snail's pace through a whole spectrum of very bleak colors. She's not fully hospitalized anymore, she lives at home with my brother and me, with day hospitalisation activities several times a week. The myriad psychiatrists that she's seen have not been able to find the "right" treatment for her, but hey, after lithium sent her into such a state of confusion that we thought she might stay mentally disabled for the rest of her life, at least now we know that's not an option. A couple days ago her psychiatrist prescribed a new antipsychotic to replace the one she'd been taking. She started the transition, and today confusion started showing its terrifying face again so she's not taking that pill tonight, or to be honest ever again unless her psychiatrist somehow manages to convince us otherwise (she'll report her symptoms and get counsel at the hospital tomorrow). Her cognition is already impaired, her short-term memory and ability to focus especially. She can't live alone, I keep and manage her pillboxes, make sure she's eating right and the stove is off, that sort of stuff. But at least, until the introduction of this new drug, she'd made considerable gains compared to when she was at her worst last winter. No way we're going back to that again.

On a more positive note, about a month and a half ago I started work at a grocery delivery place just up the street (yes that's what I'm doing with my degree in Mandarin and my master's in English-French translation studies). It's intense physically, kinda stressful, and not very well paid, but I think I like it and the people are very nice. What scares me is that my trial period ends in about 2 weeks and I'm not entirely sure that they'll want to keep me, considering I've made several mistakes and they don't seem to think that I work quite fast enough (I know I said the people were very nice, they are, that's just the job). They keep saying the work load is gonna get crazier starting in September. The way they're saying it may suggest that they do envision me as still working there in September, but maybe they're trying to push me to work faster now and if I can't prove that I'm able to they won't keep me? Well I'm already doing my best, even if sometimes I end up finding myself crying over clients' items because my brain isn't able to focus anymore and I'm messing up and wasting time.

Emotional control has been harder because I unilaterally made the decision to taper off my antidepressant. Now before you facepalm, let me flood you with all of my best questionable arguments: • I do have an appointment with my psychiatrist, the earliest date I could get was October 1st (and I may have to postpone, depending on my work hours that day which I don't know yet). • I was already on the lowest dose that you can be on. • I tapered off very slowly. • I recently talked about it with the nurse that I saw for the mandatory medical visit I had to go to because I got the new job (idk if you have that outside of France). Naturally she was alarmed that I'd been weaning myself off on my own and she convinced me to see my GP asap and not change my medication without at least his input (which yes, I know). • the reasons I did it despite knowing that it's inadvisable are: 1) obviously I haven't been feeling depressed for a while or I wouldn't have done it, 2) the amount of endorphin-producing physical exercise I get from the new job felt like it could maybe do the trick so it was worth a try, 3) seeing how much my mom's medication has messed up her cognition over the years is scary. She's been taking way higher doses of antidepressants than me, along with other stuff, over a way longer period of time, but still. I don't want to be on it if it's not strictly necessary, so I wanted to try off. • I'm still taking my antipsychotic religiously and have no intention to stop that (I can't anyway or I won't be able to sleep and I'll definitely lose the job).

My plan with the antidepressant was to space out the doses and eventually get off it entirely for several weeks before reassessing, but after seeing that nurse, I started upping again to one dose every other day. I will admit, I was having suicidal thoughts after several days off, and now it's gone. Maybe I should find having suicidal thoughts more alarming than I do, the nurse's phrasing when she asked if I did - something that could translate to "no suicidals thoughts, riiight?" - was a good reminder that suicidal thoughts are really bad to have oh no. Of course I said no, why would I want her to interfere (leave me to make decisions for my own self thank you). Anyway, the appointment with my GP is in two days. He's gonna be useless on psych stuff but I guess getting his unqualified, predictable input is the responsible thing to do in polite society. More relevantly, the nurse also told me to go see him because my blood pressure is a bit low, or at least it was at 9/6 when she saw me, so I need to have it retaken and see what's up with that if anything.

And so yes, I have a ton of CC plans as always, I am positively drowning. Beside the two requests I mentioned above the cut, one of which I need to do a lot of learning for, I picked up work on Celestialspritz's beta Vincent skins and started converting afbodykimono for the usual roaster of breasted body shapes, like I did with afbodyqipao here and would like to do with more Happy Holiday Stuff outfits in the future. Although I told myself that I would stick to the body shapes that I've already done stuff for, I now also want to make a set of clothes for Lady Apple. I also have an idea about a set of scrawny body shapes for TU-EU inspired by Mrs Crumplebottom's body shape. I know Melodie9's slim family exists but to be honest those shapes creep me out and I want to see if I can do something less uncanny (it may end up looking too similar to the Androgyny body shapes, or to Faerie Gal, or it may not pan out at all, so don't hold your breath). I also want to do a ton of hairs in FakeBlood's palette + Naberius (tbh I'm still not 100% sure if I like Timebomb or Naberius more for my aliens, I need to figure that out once and for all). And of course I want to do more FtM & MtF hair conversions once I know how to do it well enough. There's a billion smaller projects I'd like to insert in between those, outfit conversions for one or a couple body shapes, repurposing of older meshes, a set of nude "outfits" for all the body shapes I do, etc.

[osarina]

Why is mori so obsessed with keeping reader in pm? 🤔 cause in canon he says to koyou who is very valuable in many aspects that he would let her leave and that she is capable of doing so and even though manipulative seems to care about pm members to a degree and respect their autonomy. I know fanfic is not canon but I wonder if there is reason and I hope it’s not because he has creepy intentions 😩

under cut bc it got a little long! don’t want to clog dash first thing in the morning

hmm, well i usually wait until sunday to answer asks but i decided to answer this one today because i have to say it threw me for a bit of a loop. i wont lie, i hope this wasn’t your intention, but it did come off a bit rude — i try to keep characterization as close to canon as possible even though “fanfic is not canon”. i’m not an expert on mori's character, of course, that being said, i dont think anyone is an expert on a character besides the creator themselves. i also am a bit bothered by the insinuation that there’s the possibility of a “creepy” relationship between reader and mori - i feel as if that was extremely unnecessary & i do feel as if ive done a decent job at ensuring that there were no implications of that in the fics and asks ive posted. if i failed at that, then this is me clearing that up: there is no creepy relationship between reader and mori.

anyway as for the rest of the ask, i think it's partially because i disagree with this interpretation of mori - which i mean, that's fine! we only really get the surface level of these characters so there's going to be some disagreement as to their actual internal thoughts and motives. but i'm of more of the stance that while mori portrays himself to respect the autonomy of pm members, he's still very carefully pulling strings in the background. i mean - i think this is pretty blatantly clear with his relationship with dazai — and mori admitted that he underestimated dazai which is what led to the defection. but my stance is that this also very heavily translates to other important members of the pm. i think i agree that he does care about pm members to a degree, but more that that he cares about yokohama and ensuring its safety, so he's willing to sacrifice some things to ensure it. i see him as willing to give in to some minor things (kouyou with letting kyouka go, akutagawa's tendencies to go rogue) so long as it doesn't put anything at risk and i think that him easing up on these smaller things lets him keep a broader sense of control and respect from them because it makes them feel as if they have more autonomy than they do.

i think i recall the conversation you’re talking about that he had with kouyou, and if i remember correctly, he was acknowledging her strength and her ability to leave & no one being able to stop her—i dont think acknowledging his subordinates levels of power is the same as respecting autonomy.

^^ if this is the conversation you were referring to

but yeah, i think it's just a difference in interpretation which is totally fine! i’m not angry or anything over the ask but the wording did throw me off, but i hope that wasn’t your intention!

[haechvn]

I'm Not Sure

Pairing: Shuri x F!Reader

Warning: Just sad really. Angst. Self-Discovery. Self Doubt

Summary/Request: Our baby Shuri has been through a lot and she needs an outlet.

Word Count: 1.4k+

Author’s Note: I know i've been releasing a lot of smut filled fic but I really wanted to capture Shuri is her truest form ( in my head at least)

Taglist :  @melodykisses, @blackhottie25, @tonakings, @coalmistyy, @szalipcombo, @prettyluhlaiiii, @yelenabelovasgf, @callmeoncette, @clqrosmgc, @beautybyfire, @homelessmicechild, @shurisbitch

Translations: Sthandwa = My love

Shuri’s head rests on your lap, hands caressing the sides of your hips as soft African lofi plays in the background while you two are resting in her bedroom. One of your hands travels through the maze of her curls, aiding in a soothing feeling to the woman whose mind did not allow her to rest. You are currently occupied with a book that T’Challa had left for you and Shuri to read that he had written for you. A token of love he felt for the two of you as individuals and as a pair he knew would stand the test of time. Sweet but also five hundred pages long. His heart was truly in it.

Today was one of those quiet days for Shuri. She barely responded to her colleagues at her laboratory, her mind constantly wandered to a thousand different realms during council meetings and she couldn’t seem to find her footing anymore when it came to building and trying to help her country.

Ever since she had lost her last family member, everyday Princess Shuri would always ask herself the same question and always come to no definite conclusion: who am I? For the longest time, her identity rested in her achievements or titles bestowed upon her by others. She wasn’t necessarily questioning her abilities to get tasks or assignments done; she still excelled as a scientist and during her training with the Dora but that’s just it. Is that all she is? A scientist and the Black Panther? These questions made her feel as though she was experiencing an existential crisis at the mere age of 21 but in all honesty, it has been making her so anxious and uneasy.

Turning to Bast felt like a waste of time to her since she was abandoned by her family in the ancestral plane and the last words she heard from her mother “show them who you are” didn’t resonate with her at any degree because who is she truly? Clearly her mother saw something in her that she still cannot and the fact that she doesn’t have any family to help her navigate this journey of self discovery at times pushed her over the edge.

How is she meant to find purpose and reasoning in this world that doesn’t seem to stop taking from her? She’s sure that pretty soon all that will be left of her is her name. The advancements that she has contributed to the world of science have only made it easier for her to ignore the deep rooted feeling of confusion that she felt within the depths of her soul.

Sighing out in frustration, Shuri quickly raised her head away from you, sending the book in your hand flying and giving herself an excruciating headache. Grumbling under her breath, she couldn’t help but feel pathetic. Even when she’s alone with her love, her mind still plays games on her and she seems to fall for it every single time. Luckily she has been more open and honest with you about how she has been coping with her state of being but it has been getting harder and harder everyday to put on a smile and march forward.

Climbing off the bed, she went to retrieve your novel for you, looking enticing might I add, with a simple white tank top and pair of black spanx that showed off her incredible physique that she has been training so hard to achieve. Delicately grabbing the book off the floor, Shuri felt her blood run cold as she skimmed the cover, eyes darting back and forth thinking this was yet again another trick being played on her. To My Loves by T’Challa Udaku it read. That is the name he had for the two of you, even far before Shuri had mustered up the courage to ask you to be hers. Tears filled her eyes and they eventually littered the novel in her hands. Shoulders slouched over, shaking with no intention to stop any time soon, she made her way back to the bed and buried her face in your shoulder crying until she didn’t have the energy to continue.

“Awe baby what’s going on? Is it the book? I’m sorry he told me to show it to you once I finish. I can put it away if–”

The cries became heavier and tears came out harder as she dropped her full weight on top of you, squeezing you in her arms as if you are meant to disappear at any second and honestly speaking you just might. Her mind goes back to the love her brother had for the two of you, always telling her, “Shuri, you know you’ve got a special one and you need to do everything in your power to keep her. You two are a lot more similar than you think.”

All this time she has spent searching, questioning and debating her existence and place in this world, it never dawned on her that the one person who knows her more than any other soul she’s come across might be able to truly navigate her feelings of despair. Of course T’Challa wrote a book for you and Shuri, he could never once hide his adoration for how much you have been able to help Shuri bring out the light that has always been inside of her and he also teased that the two of you would one day reign side by side as the Queens of Wakanda. If only he was here to provide his guidance to her just one last time.

“How am I supposed to be,” she sniffles, eyes meeting yours tears overflowing from her cheeks and staining her shirt, “your woman and love you the way you deserve if I can’t even understand who I am? My mind won’t give me a break and I can’t keep doing this.” Her speech is decorated with hiccups and pauses, showcasing a side of Shuri you haven’t seen in such a long time. She is normally so stoic and tall in her presence but she is now quite literally in shambles, unable to get proper handle for herself.

It’s about time she broke down like this. She’d been trying to just hold these feelings hostage without any real release and now she can truly start to move forward even if she didn’t see it that way.

“How does being the world's smartest woman or a princess help me deal with the fact that I’m lost sthandwa? How does any of this black panther nonsense help me—”

“Baby,” you cooed, wiping her tears, heart breaking at the sight ,”I need you to take a couple of breaths okay? Can you do that for me?”

Roughly shaking her head in disagreement, she continued “How is breathing gonna help if I don’t want—”

“Shuri! Please. Breathe. Right now.”

One, two, three, four, she counted in her head. Maybe she was doing too much or overreacting instead of thinking things through logically.

“Everything you are feeling is valid my love.” She has been doing a lot of thinking out loud in her most vulnerable moments. “The last thing you need to do is worry your pretty head about how you can be better for me when I accept you for all that you are.”

Shifting around in her grasp, you reach for the love letter her brother dedicated to her. Opening to the first page, you placed the book in her hands.

“Here. Read it. All you need right now is a little something to ground you.”

Deep down, she still has not been able to come to terms with her brother’s passing so the thoughts of reading his words, knowing his voice would be speaking to her scared her more than anything. Sensing her hesitance, you gently rubbed a hand on her back. “I’m right here with you. Don’t worry too much, okay?”

Slowly nodding, she gathered herself to uncover the true last words her brother had for her.

“To my Shuri. Firstly you are mine. Everything that you are comes from your heart and nothing can ever compete with how much you have changed me as a man—.” She closes the pages, heart fluttering at his kind words but the feeling of his absence taking over her once again.

Maybe this is exactly what she needed. A chance to see herself through the lenses of those who celebrated her the most. She always held her brothers’ words in the highest regard so maybe he hasn’t completely abandoned her after all. She can already start to feel a shift within herself.

Bast, she whispers in her mind, thank you.

Maybe it’s not so bad to believe again.