#If I could eat melodrama by the spoonful I would

[defiledtomb]

im always down for mc risking their life for ros, like I live and breathe for that drama

If a story doesn't make me go

then what the hell are we even doing here. what's the point

[namjoonchronicles]

the money project | 7

↳ pairing seokjin x you

↳ genre melodrama, angst, enemies-to-lover, fake marriage, intense pining on each other

↳ words 7.8k

↳ warning slightly strong languages, fluff, suggestive content

↳ song ‘marmalade’ by nep, ‘postcard’ by troye sivan ft. gordi, ‘car’s outside’ by james arthur, ‘forever’ by labrinth, ‘ghost of you’ by 5sos, ‘cloud 9’ by beach bunny

↳ chapters one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten completed!

.

.

.

Do you know the feeling where you look at something and they begin to shrink in size despite you just standing there? That’s how you know you’re panicking. People are talking but you can’t really hear what they say. Then when they call your name, you look up and everything turns to normal again.

“So a scientist? You do research and develop medicines, like that?” Seokjin’s mother was gentle, with an elegant undertone that you managed to pick-up after listening to her from several calls she had made to you over the days.

“That would be a great summarization, yes…” you ensure that a smile is present on your lips and you watch her manicured nails slide down the back of her phone as she sets them down on the table. Seokjin's mother lives in a mansion, southern Jeju Island. She had recently moved here and loved the view and the healthy air, away from the traffic and pollution Seoul embedded with. The properties here are expensive and the locals don’t really like town people, she said. So she had always been an outcast. This too, you found out from her. Her home was littered with rare artworks and paintings that reminded you of an art gallery, and it was fitting considering how interested she was in them. She was such a beauty. Still is.

“I would never dream Seokjin would aspire to have a scientist wife, I know he could be really impatient with things,” she chirped and the light reflected in her eyes, “But I’m sure he had given you a long thought. It’s always a joy having you around. I’ve received the homemade kimchi you sent. I only eat 4 slices a day…”

“But why? Didn’t they taste alright?” you sparked an obvious panic.

“No, no,” she raised her hand slightly from the table, shaking her head, “Quite the opposite. I was being careful not to finish it too fast…”

“Oh I could make one jar for you right now, we can go get the things in the nearby grocery!” You suggested.

“I think that’s a grand idea!” she smiled.

The helpers arrive with a trolley and they begin arranging the food on the table. Seokjin mother excuses herself to catch another call and that’s when you snuck your hand under your thigh massaging it tenderly because they begin to go stiff. You take the time to peek at your phone. One unread message from Seokjin.

“How’s the dinner?” - Seokjin

“Pretty okay…” you replied.

When you lifted your head up, the maid was done setting up the table. It was a formal dining setting. The kind that you see in hotels and expensive restaurants. You widened your eyes and took pictures of the arranged cutleries. There’s more than one spoon on one side and also forks and knives too.

“She does that to scare people,” Seokjin replied with a laughing emoji.

“Well, it’s working,” you typed back.

Seokjin wouldn’t help. He would rather watch as the chaos takes place and probably would ask his mother about it so they could laugh about it together. Frantically, you search google. There’s pictures on how to set them up but not really how to use them. They do explain how to use it but it’s in essays. You darted at the view of his mother’s moving shoulder from the corner of the balcony outside, scrolling down the said essay when Seokjin’s caller ID flashed your screen.

“Tsk, I was reading…” you groaned into the call, tapping ‘Answer’.

“Listen up, focus,” he commands under his breath, “You used the silverwares from outside to inside. The weird knife is for fish. The spoon that’s oddly big, is for soup. The spoon at the top is for dessert. Got it?”

“Outside in. Weird knife, fish. Big spoon, soup. Top spoon, dessert,” you repeated.

“Atta girl, I have to go now,” Seokjin said in a rush and you could hear some ruffling and then the line cut off before you could say bye. A tiny ‘thank you’ escaped your lips at the view of the ‘Call ended’ screen.

Why did it matter to you that you don’t mess this up? You know in your heart that when you stepped into this mansion, you wanted Seokjin to be proud. You wanted to carry yourself with pride. You wanted to walk into his mother’s life and made sure she will never forget your company for as long as she shall live. And not only that. You were indebted with her son. Without him, your mother would have to still wait for her turn. And now, by next week, she could be home. She doesn’t need to be hospitalized anymore. Your father can pay his bills with the work that he had. Your brother no longer had to worry if he could afford the next semester fee. You owe so much to Seokjin. Pretending doesn't feel like pretending anymore. It wasn’t as agonizing anymore. It is starting to blur.

Seokjin’s mother jogs to the table, apologizing profusely about the delay. You made some mistakes during dinner, using the dessert spoon for the soup and she didn’t really mind. She said she thinks the soup spoon is way too big for her mouth anyway. She was actually pretty chill, pretty laid back. You could see why some of that rubbed off on Seokjin. She has such a magnetic smile, a personality that just reels you in. When she speaks about the art, her face lights up and she gets you interested in many of the arts that she collected. She showed you a room full of sculptures. You couldn’t help but let out a gasp.

No matter how much you try to remind yourself that the sculptures are stones, the carvings were immaculate, that it seemed that it was covered in veil. One particular sculpture was pushing away a male figure that was holding her thigh. Her face displays a dire need to escape his grasp. It was so vivid, it felt as if you were right there watching it unfold.

“Bernini’s,” Seokjin mother smiles fondly, “It’s called the rape of Proserpina.”

“Simply exquisite… the marble looks like flesh,” your voice drifted, taken over by the admiration you felt.

“Seokjin liked this one too.”

⸻

Seokjin flew from one place to another for his work. Buying materials for the housings and having them bought and shipped to his home country. You both would call frequently to check on one another. It was never planned, you just began taking his calls whenever he did.

“I have started to pack the things and wait for the moving truck to arrive,” you showed him the old apartment’s empty spaces and the boxes outside the door, “I am excited to start redecorating the new place with prettier things. You told me to get an air fryer, so I went to shop for one but I can’t really understand the specs…”

“Why do you need to understand specs, just get one…” Seokjin turns to his computer. He had set the phone to stand from the side so you could see his side profiles while he works.

“I don’t know, I’ve never used one,” you shrugged, “Should I just get the one you used?”

“Yeah, they work great…” he drawls, hanging his jaw open while his face is shone by the light from the computer screen.

“Listen,” he started, “I’ve checked my past transactions and I realize that some of those didn’t go through for the last three months, can you double check your bank account? Did you receive the amounts at all?”

“Um no, I stopped getting texts from the bank,” you tuck your hair behind your ear as you sat on the floor to unscrew a trolley with a screwdriver, “I still have a lot so don’t worry about that.”

“But that’s the agreement, it isn’t an agreement if the payment isn’t done,” Seokjin writes something down on a small paper, “A contract is a contract.”

Blinking at the screw you’re undoing, you muttered out half-heartedly, “Y-yeah…” When you couldn’t recognize the somber tone leaving your lips, you cleared your throat and tried to liven up the mood, “All I’m saying is you should take your time to figure that shit out. I know a contract is a contract.” Hoping Seokjin didn’t catch it.

“Seokjin…” you called his name, barely a whisper.

“Hmm?” He hums back, peeling his eyes off the screen and turns to you on the phone.

“I met someone,” the doorbell rings from your side, “He asked me out this weekend. And he's here to help me move.”

⸻

The notice was written on a piece of A4 paper and was stapled on all four corners on the board. It reads, ‘Research Assistant. Major: Pharmaceutical. Contact: XX-XXXXXXX’

You hoped to meet a dependable one. You set the notice up at noon and by 4pm, you already received a text. It was odd to apply for a research assistant through a text rather than a call, but you decided to let that pass. You don’t want to be flaky, this person might be shy. His name is Kim Namjoon, he is in his third year going to four and would be very interested to be a part of your research team. A junior, and very eager. You asked to meet at the university’s coffee hub. He agreed. Said that he will be there right after his afternoon lecture ends.

The coffee hub is a haven to all coffee lovers who enjoy a quiet time, and some reading space. It had vine walls, with an open air balcony away from the road which reduces the sound pollution and it’s really relaxing. The croissant here is also really good. Ian and Suri hate this spot, it’s too windy they say. She doesn’t like her hair ruined, and Ian doesn’t like anything Suri doesn’t. From the distance, you see a tall young man in khaki trousers and black buzz cut hair walking towards the coffee hub entrance. He had one strap of his backpack sling over one shoulder and a book in one hand.

When he climbed up the stairs leading up to the balcony where you were, you slipped your hand over your ring. Slowly, you wriggle the ring off. Then you slid them inside your jean’s back pocket as you stood up to greet Namjoon. He bows. Towering you even from two-arm length away. He came with a beaming smile, with crinkles around his eyes, a dimple appeared in his cheek— and you forgot how to breathe.

He sets the book on the table.

“Haruki Murakami’s Norwegian Wood, I see you’re a man of taste…” you smiled back at him. He charmingly returns the warm gesture, the welcoming introduction.

“It is not easy to find a like-minded soul in a place like this,” Namjoon chuckles handsomely, “Kim Namjoon,” he stretched out his hand for a handshake which you gladly take.

Without realizing, you spent hours talking to him about books, poetries and talking about museums— which was something you couldn’t share with Ian and Suri because they were never interested in those. While you were working, you would find time to escape the scientific world and dive into the deepest mind. Science has always been necessary to sustain life, but art is what we stay alive for. You felt heard. You talked about your interests, the things you like and adored. He too exchanged his magnificent view of the world, and it seemed like he had given a lot of thoughts about the world, life and produced social discussions. Talking about the core of problems, and with every question you provided every mechanism that could have led to it. And that was how it goes, back and forth.

Realizing that the sun is beginning to set and the people are starting to leave, you looked at the time.

“Oh my goodness, I’ve taken so much of your time and I didn’t ask anything about the research assistant post that is open,” you sat up, shaking your head trying to make sense of what has gotten into you. Namjoon titters in return.

“Has it not said much about the chemistry we have?” he smartly replied.

You smiled to your lap and lifted your head up to say, “I agree to the notion, and I hereby welcome you to the team. We start August…” you tipped your head to the side and looked into his dragon eyes, not realizing how magnetic they were, reeling you in. You couldn’t look away and he didn’t try to break the contact. It didn’t feel dangerous— if anything, it felt inviting. Irresistible pull. The gaze. Warm and alluring. His pupils dilated. Even his face was hit by the sunlight. His skin turns bronze. It was when the waiter came to your table that the magic dissipated.

Namjoon kept his gaze on you briefly despite that. Then he darts his eyes to the side before biting his lips, thinking.

“There is an exhibition tomorrow,” he clears his throat, “I think you’ll enjoy it…”

“Oh, is it only tomorrow, because I need to pack my things…” you begin to pack everything into your bed as he says, “I’m moving soon…”

“Oh,” Namjoon nodded.

You hurried to stand up and thanked him for his time. Then he watched you leave.

You took the bus and walked up your old apartment, hoping to get dinner delivered and then begin packing a few more boxes. You were digging the key into the keyhole when your phone rang an unsaved number.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” the deep voice greeted.

“Namjoon?” you asked.

Namjoon was sitting in his room on his bunk bed, throwing the tennis ball to the wall until it bounces back into his grasp, his large hand making it look small. Phone against his ears.

“Do you need help with moving?” he asked.

“Um, not really?” you replied.

“Oh I was just trying to find an excuse to meet you again, and I don’t,” you could hear him smile and you could almost see the shy smile he wore.

“You’re right, I don’t need help with moving I’m afraid…” you grinned as you pushed the door open with your body and set your bag on the counter.

“But you do have an excuse to meet me though,” he straightens up and bit his smile. The tennis ball bounces on the opposing wall, up the ceiling and into his hand in a rhythmic beat.

“Oh really, do I?” you sang.

“Yes you really do,” he darted playfully.

“Is that so? Mind elaborating?” you hunched over the counter, a flirtatious smile playing on your lips.

“You took my book home,” Namjoon’s tongue peeps out between his lips.

You frowned immediately, tipping your head to one side in confusion. It didn’t sound like you. You were ready to deliver a powerful rebuttal but as you try to recall whether or not you left the book on the table, your memories turned blank. It refused to create memories that didn’t happen. When you checked your bag and the red cover stood out, you held your breath and pinched the bridge of your nose.

From the silence, Namjoon caught you.

“So I’ll see you tomorrow and help you with the moving you didn’t need help with,” Namjoon smiles at the wall.

“I want to apologize about this, I don’t steal. I never steal, I promise,” you started explaining yourself, “I must have been out of my mind, that I just gathered everything into the bag.”

“Look it’s fine, Harumi Murakami’s work is a steal I agree,” he tutted his tongue, “Let’s arrange a proposition, I help you with the moving and not report you of stealing my book or you don’t accept my help and I get the police to arrest you. Choice is yours.”

You gave it a thought. It was obvious he wanted more time with you. He seems nice and you never really hear about him from the seniors and your current batchmates so it’s safe to say that he is pretty harmless. If he wasn’t, you’d be the first to hear.

“Fine,” you dropped your shoulder. The tennis ball stopped bouncing and remained in Namjoon’s hand. Then, “I could send the book over if you want?”

“No, I’ll come fetch it, chivalry is not dead,” Namjoon darted.

⸻

His slender fingers danced on the keyboard. Empty mug on the right side of the table left abandoned till the coffee stains a ring at the bottom. Seokjin cracks his head to the sides. His forefinger and thumb pinches his shoulder and a sigh leaves his lips. The window on his left is foggy, no trace of light except for the lamp by the roadside. He rests the back of his head on the chair, his eyes clenched as he frowns. The stress from staring at the screen for a long period of time started to tax him mercilessly.

“My daughter,” Seokjin heard your father say, “She’s not easy to love.” Seokjin’s brows twitch as he ruminates the night you had dinner with him and his father on the ship.

“I am afraid that you will not treat her well,” your father said, “She’s been through so much. She had saved her mother, and me, more times than I could count. She had spent her life dedicated to us. I don’t want you to hurt her,” he continued. With the puzzling and aggressive warning, Seokjin tried to control his expression so as to not put off the elder man. Despite the rejection, Seokjin grabs a tong and places a lobster on his plate.

“You yourself are an attractive young man, I’m sure you have choices of women far better than my daughter. Do you understand what I am saying, boy?”

Seokjin directs your father to the grill where he could watch the chef grill the lobster he chose, and while they watch the flames go up in smoke, Seokjin replied, “It’s quite the opposite, sir. Your daughter has choices of men far better than me. But we chose each other. And if you fear I hurt her, I’m afraid about that too. Not by me, but my surroundings.”

Seokjin blinks to the black screen of his computer, taken back to the present. He peeks through his bangs at the view of the airline tickets website heading to Seoul wondering if he could jump into an airplane right now. That’s right, he must have been away for too long. The moment you said you met someone, his heart sunk to the bottom of his stomach. He went to sleep right after the video call you both had. And when he did, he had a dream. In that dream, he was in the middle of a faceless crowd who was unaware of him there. He caught a glimpse of you and suddenly, these crowds turned into walls then to a maze. The vines grew but when he touched them, his fingers bled. He walked through the columns he was in, turning at the corners after corners, after endless corners to never see the way out and always catching only the sight of your fingers slipping at each edge. It was always close enough for him to touch but because of his doubt, his fear, he didn’t. As the maze grew in size it seems, Seokjin braved himself to touch you. After several tries, he managed to catch your hand and held it firm, enough to yank you towards him. That’s when the walls crumble into sand.

You looked at him unsuspectingly.

“I met someone,” your voice was distorted and detached. The moment your hands slipped out of his grasp, he shook himself awake.

And that’s why he is at the airport now, trying to catch a flight home to Seoul from Beijing. He is gripping on the bag strap until his knuckles turned white with eyes burning into the ‘departure’ sign at the top of the automated glass doors. He passes the ticket to the stewards and heads into the plane.

And I chase it down with a shot of truth.

In the plane, Seokjin requested for today’s newspaper. The front page reads “Kim Holdings Bribed Me.” Seokjin straightens up in his seat.

Seokjin checks for a press conference held by the accuser. He was wearing a black mask and held his face down in shame. The housing project Seokjin had started is under the scrutiny that the money obtained was a bribe and there was an alleged attempt for money laundering. The accusations came from none other than the Devil uncle and his illegitimate son, Ian. Seokjin believed that the sex tape scandal will soon follow if he dare to continue with appointing the new CFO* to replace the uncle.

CFO* : Chief Financial Officer

The Devil Uncle started several NGO* orphanages homes to avoid taxes and in turn, the orphans under the care were abused and severely neglected. Seokjin was trying to uncover more evidence to yank it from the nub and he cannot do that if he is in Seoul because the uncle and everyone that helped him will keep everything hidden. That’s why he had to leave. While the cat’s are away, the mice will play. He was collecting the evidence that would help him convince his father and the lawyer to get rid of the uncle. He was so close.

However, along with this news, Kim Holdings will look bad. What’s worse is that, Seokjin along with the new appointed CFO as the new faces of the company, would be most likely to be kicked out. Synonymously, new faces are expected to have less experience and usually shoulder the blame for the downfall of a project. The outermost layer of the wall gets the most abuse. Considering the years, Kim Holdings is no stranger to scandals like this. The same thing that gets them into trouble, is the same thing that gets them out: money. So what is the next step?

The division will try to contact Seokjin. The legal team will get involved, and Seokjin’s best bet is that they have already gotten their heads together. First, they will ensure if the accusation is legit and run in-house investigations. The financial department and ‘The Money Project’ team will be placed on lockdown. All paperwork are skimmed through and transaction records will be audited. When an accusation as serious as this occurs, it is absolutely fundamental that every single person involved is put under serious scrutiny and that includes the project leader: Kim Seokjin. He already expected his father would not come near him until he had fixed the whole problem and started with a clean slate. However,

His father is contacting him right now.

“There has been an attempt to cut you off the board of members,” Senior Kim sounded out of breath, “The legal team is investigating, where are you right now?”

“On my way home…” he said, pinching the bridge of his nose then glanced at the iPad screen on his lap.

“Good-good,” Senior Kim sounded pleased, “With how quick things are going, I am under the suspicion that someone in the board is trying to sever your project. I know you have a clear name in your head, but I believe there is more. I have just released the family registrar a week ago and I am certain someone is not happy about it.”

“I have more than one name,” Seokjin expressed.

“I know,” Senior Kim shot back, “There are several transactions that are disputed from your personal accounts that I would like to ask you about—”

“Dad,” Seokjin tries to explain, “It is not a bribe. That one is not a bribe, I promise.”

Senior Kim nods, “You’d think you’d be dumb enough to do bribes with a personal account? You’re my son, you can’t be that stupid. I believe you. I believe you now.”

Seokjin held his breath. The validation he had been begging for, all his life, is handed to him in a phone call. Seokjin knows how lonely it was for his father. He cannot trust many people and he had led a lonesome life with his reclusive attitude. He only had one friend, and that was your father. He is under the impression that everyone who knows him as a business magnate has no other intentions but to bring him down. And that belief can make someone very defensive even when he has no need to.

Midair, Seokjin learned about the scandal. He isn’t going to lie, running away from it would have been desirable albeit stupid. But knowing that you’re on the ground, with the possibilities of handling this alone, unsettles him. He is terrified. So many things could go wrong. But knowing that his father is on his side, eases him a bit. Having Senior Kim ensures experience. The rest, he will have to rely on the legal team and public relation (PR) team. He doesn’t know if you have learned about this. You said you were going to the lab for the morning. Upon remembering you, he texted Yoongi.

⸻

Seokjin pierced through the crowd, making his way through. Shoulders brushed, he muttered meaningless apologies. When he stepped out the glass doors of the arrival, he saw you. His feet lunge with gusto at the sight of you. He hopes to close the distance as quickly as he can. He leaves his luggage bag behind him, rolling on its wheels idly.

He collects you in his arms, burying his nose into your hair, inhaling your scent like he was deprived of it. His eyes are wide open, as if he couldn’t believe that he is on the soil of his home country after months away— and holding you in his arms. He couldn’t quite word his feelings. You were so tiny in his arms, and despite the impending fall that is waiting for him, it was you he was worried about. The worry was based on the understanding that you weren’t born in the limelight and all this is new to you. Seokjin doesn’t want the scandal to bludgeon you without him explaining the situation properly so he had Yoongi to conceal the whole thing. Only for Yoongi to reveal that you found out that he was on his way home and is already at the airport, waiting.

But when he loves me I feel like I’m floating. When he calls me pretty I— feel like somebody even when we fade eventually, to nothing— you will always be my favorite form of loving.

Patting the middle of his back gently, you wore the ring he gave you. You smiled into the rib-crushing hug, sighing contently. He rode his palm down one side of your body. Engulfing, it is almost as if he is a part of you— a part of you that you lost a long time ago. Your hand slid down the back of his head, down to his neck. It is the kind of hug that was compelling, different. When you feel his heartbeat, hear him breath, and the warmth radiating from him— you somehow lodge yourself in the state of acceptance; accepting that a part of you will always belong to him. You scratched mindlessly, the fabric of his long brown coat that he wore before sliding the tip of your nose on his shoulder and collarbones to shatter the moment with a chuckle, “That was some hug.” You felt his scruffy chin on your head. Pulling away, you stroked his chin with your thumb, back and forth.

“You need a shave,” you grinned, hoping to cheer him up but his smile was so brief. Wearing a worrisome expression, he dropped his gaze to the floor and swallowed his saliva. In the car, he was deathly quiet. All you could hear is the car engine emitting a soft purr at the acceleration. His beautiful face ghosts on the reflection of the car window. Restless eyes with a calm outward appearance. It was a confusing pair. Your fingers inches towards him, then you hold it out with faith that he will capture them. He caught it in a hindsight, immediately. You both sat there in the backseat of the sedan, looking out the car window on each side— fingers laced, hands intertwined, uncertain of the future and the fate it brings, but certain of each other.

Under the advice of the PR team, Seokjin and you will be housed together. The car stops in front of the house Seokjin had personally curated according to your wishes and dreams. In front of the poorly lit front door, Seokjin pressed his thumb on the pad next to the panel and the door’s shaft retracts mechanically, revealing a spacious living room with several pieces of furniture you remember picking out. Seokjin stood with his back leaning against the door, waiting for you to come in. The walls along the doorway were ash green, with beige-colored wood panels and wall skirtings in pearl white. The lights on the ceiling lit up as you walked in. Seokjin studied your back as he walked behind.

“I am still waiting for the bench to arrive from Japan. It will look better—” he spoke in one breath.

“ — it’s already so beautiful,” your voice softens, “You really tried to make my dreams come true. This is so-so much better than I imagined.”

“You haven’t seen the best thing,” he guides you to the kitchen. The marble counters lit, wide spaces and oven and microwaves. He pushed a button underneath the counter and it moved up and down; adjustable heights. Fridge camouflaged as cabinets. Hoods to suck in the smell away. Cutlery from Italy. Collection of knives from Japan, custom-made. Dishwasher. Glass cabinets. Everything is complete. The sink has a garbage disposal installed so you don’t have to deal with bones and icky things. Your hand glides hesitantly on the finishing, unable to wrap your mind around it— your dreams, realized. Seokjin leans to his side with folded arms on the wall opposite to the kitchen counter wearing a faint smile on his lips.

Your surgery is this week too. The look on his face was perplexed at how the situation would unfold. But who could have known.

“I’ll be home more, not sure if that’s to your likings,” Seokjin unfolds his arms and pulls out a tall stool from underneath the counter. He hangs his head down, avoiding eye contact with you. He clasped his hand, then unclasped them. Darts his eyes to the side and blinks repeatedly. He opens his mouth to speak then closes them again. You clasped your hand over his knuckles and squeezed them.

“I don’t know what it’s like, can’t really say I understand but,” you leaned your hip on the counter, patting your own hand that covered his, “You seem to be worried that things might get worse than it is, but here’s one thing I can assure you that you’re doing well… you’re keeping me safe like you promised.” He lifts his eyes slowly to meet yours. Standing in close proximity like this allowed you to count his lashes, the pore in his skin, and the way his lips shaped. Inching closer, you rested your head on his shoulder. His hand moved to conquer yours, sandwiching them together as he studied the lines in your palm— intently. You could feel how he was breaking inside, trying to stay strong, to put a believable front. Not because he is, but because he was expected to be.

You bear witness to him holding on the bits of strength he had— dying in the process. His stubbornness, the way he gets angry, and what gets him angry, how he smiles, how his lips curve— the memories etched in your memories. Your soul ignites when you’re with him. You’re unsure if he noticed but the distance had made your heart grow fonder. Every time he calls, his voice holds you captive like the sound of the falling rain. No one was ever interested in your life before, and with him, you felt you have an earnest audience who, no matter how stupid your presentations were, would clap for your efforts. You didn’t have to hide anything from him, you felt safe and protected. You might not know everything about Seokjin, but in this moment, you wanted to believe that you did. So you don’t have to feel alone anymore.

With your head pressed on his shoulder, he felt complete. He worried that the fact that he hasn’t showered would have made him smell repulsive, but you haven't budged in disgust. The sound of the rain hits the glass window, pattering. Your stomach growls.

“Moment’s ruined,” Seokjin jokes.

“Isn’t it,” you shot back, agreeing to his remarks. Hoisting yourself away from him, you dashed towards the fridge asking semi-loudly, “Should we cook some food?”

Seokjin’s eyes followed you, “Sure, what do you have in mind?”

“Have a seat and watch the TV, you had a long day,” you fetched the apron with a strange string and had trouble putting it on. Seokjin moves next to you and helps you with it.

“I can peel stuff, and debone things,” he offered help.

“Please, please, let me have this kitchen to myself,” you begged him, while pushing him out to the living room, “I don’t want you to be playing around in the kitchen. Go check your emails or stock market prices or whatever it is you businessmen do in your free time.”

Seokjin pushes his back into your hands lightly. You pushed him with all of your might until he finally gave up. He disappears into his home office. Seokjin leaves the door ajar so he could peek at you getting busy in the kitchen. Poking your head in the fridge with your bum out, you snatched spring onions, some tofu, eggs, minced beef. Adding minced garlic to the gochujang, you beat the eggs to make thin omelets on a different pan. Then you sliced the spring onion thinly, some sausages and uncooked ramen. You added some peeled and cubed potatoes as well. On a large circular flat pan, you arrange sliced sausages, onions, potatoes, fishcakes and minced beef. Chili powders, peppers. Sliced kimchi and marinated beef.

You added beef bone broth into the arrangements on the pan then added the premixed sauces, before putting it on the stove in the middle of the dining table. You ignited the flames on low and skipped to his office room. You bit your smile and proudly called him for dinner.

White rice in a bowl, the Army Base Stew is ready as it simmers slowly into a boil. Seokjin ate appetizingly. He barely spoke and kept stuffing his mouth with more food. You pinched the last slice of fishcake into his bowl with your chopsticks. He thanked you with his eyes. Eyeing his luggage in the dark corners of the living room, you asked if he needed washing and offered that you could help him with that. He replied that he will do it on his own later and he suggested that you could share the washing machine so it could run at once. You nodded.

“But what about my clothes? My PJs…” you asked him.

“There is some in the closet upstairs,” he slurps the leftover soup in.

You lifted your eyes at him, flickering hesitatingly. Your brain was processing that perhaps the available clothes were a handover from Rachel’s stay.

“Are they Rachel’s—”

“No.”

He stood up abruptly, collecting your empty bowl and placed them on top of his. He pushed his tongue against the wall of his cheek, trying to force the remnants of food from between his teeth. His eyes burn into the view of the finished food, focused into cleaning up.

“Go take a bath, put your dirty clothes outside the door,” he adds, turning his back to you. You stood up slowly, the chair pegs dragging against the wooden panels. You inched next to him to wash your hands. You disappeared upstairs. Seokjin stops washing the dishes momentarily. The water gushes out the tap onto his veiny hands and redden knuckles.

“What the hell does she take me for? Putting her in Rachel’s old clothing? That was such a damaging accusation,” Seokjin hisses under his breath before resuming to wash the soap away, “Do I look like a guy who would do that? After all that she-devil did to me and will do to me?” He nags into the sink. After the dishes were hung to dry on the dish racks, Seokjin unbuttons his dress shirt and removes his belt as he climbs up the stairs. Sliding the fabric off of his shoulder, he fetches the towel before unzipping his pants. As the soiled garment pooled around his ankles, he wrapped the towel around and tucked the end low on his slim waist. He collects your clothes with one swoop of his arm and he dashes to the laundry room.

He placed your blouse and his dress shirt into the same compartment. His jeans and your slacks next. He worked on the detergents and pressed on the buttons for the machine to begin washing. It wouldn’t be weird to sleep in one bed, would it? You’ve done it so many times before. He returns to the bedroom. Your phone on the bedside table, flashes. He didn’t mean to. He swore he didn’t mean to.

[Namjoon] Movie in an hour?

[Namjoon] sends an image.

He squints his eyes and lowers his upper body for a closer look. Forefinger swipes to clear all notifications and he realizes you don’t have any passwords on. He glances over the shoulder to see if there are any signs of you but from the sound of the shower turning on, he concludes that he is safe for now. He locked them again and placed it facedown on the table. He smashed his lips together and padded to the bathroom door, grabbed the knob and carefully twisted them. He saw your silhouette on the shower curtain, and turned to the sink. His heart is pounding against his ribcage. He knew because he placed his palm on top of his chest, attempting to calm his raging nerve. His eyes hooded, darkening.

He advances to the shower curtain, rips it open. Before you could even make sense of what was happening, Seokjin’s lips were on yours, pushing you against the mosaic tile wall. His hands were sleek on your skin. His back muscles stretch, shoulder blades move in sync with the movement. Steams puffed up the ceiling as you continue to elicit sinful noises. Hand marks drawn on the wall while you clawed his back, leaving red trails along his ribs. Water cascades down his body, pooling on your feet, trickling down his chin. Your hand sought purchase on his biceps as he devoured you whole. He bit your lower lips and dragged his teeth slowly to graze them. Ask you if he could have you.

But he didn’t. He stood there with his hooded eyes, watching your silhouette from the reflection in the mirror.

The curtain rings cling against each other as you step out of the shower. You put on the towels calmly when you see Seokjin. He was brushing his teeth, one hand clutching the brims of the counter. Glued his eyes to the mirror in front of him. Moving next to him, your hand grabbed the toothbrush and toothpaste.

“What did you do while I was cooking?” you asked.

“Watched the news…” he answered simply, “Your good friend Ian was there with the accuser.”

You brushed slower now. Can’t seem to meet him in the eye. Seokjin’s arm traps your upper body to the counter as he fetches the shaving cream and the shaver. You caught a glimpse of his side profile from the mirror, sending flutters to your heart. You are going to live with him for now. And this is the view you have to get used to. Naked, wrapped in towels in the same bathroom. Sleeping in the same bed, waking up next to each other. Eating on the same table, cooking together. Asking about his day and him asking yours. You choked on the foams and he gave a half-hearted glance. He was unaffected. Continued his task of smearing the shaving cream over neck and jaws. He starts from the base of his neck. The blade tipped upside down, his eyes thinned as he tilted his chin upward.

You watched the blade erase the trace of the foam, revealing his skin from underneath it. Simply incredible.

“What is it?” Seokjin tutted his tongue and placed the shaver down. He frowns at you.

“OMG chill, I haven’t seen anyone shave this close. I find it oddly, sexy,” you shrugged nonchalantly, grabbing the tube of your facial wash and moving away.

“Where are you going with that?!” He eyed the facial foam.

“Washing my face downstairs!” you rolled your head, walking behind him.

He caught your wrist. He yanks it back to where you were.

“You have a habit of saying notorious things and then walk away without dealing with it's consequences, do you do that to everyone you meet?” he resumes shaving, his eyes glide to you, sideways.

“I don’t exactly know that many people,” you darted back and began splashing your face with water, “I say whatever that is on my mind, and it’s not like you don’t know you look good…”

Seokjin fights the urge to pout, to give out any definable expression, “What’s the use of looking this good if—”

You gasped, “Oh my god...my eye. The soap got into my eye, help…Help!” You patted the air and tried to find his body, and when you did, you glided your palm down and yanked his arm towards you. Pulling the face towel from the wall, the metal ring rattle against itself. He wipes the soap away from your eyes, while hushing you to stay still. But your hands flap, whining that the pain was still there. Seokjin turned on the tap and guided you to the running water. He continued shaving while you wiped your face down. You left the bathroom and got dressed. You hear the shower being turned on. The television flashes on and the midnight news is on. Of course, the news covered Seokjin's case. The accuser who made the police report was an architect in-charge of the older version of the blueprint. And Seokjin was right, Ian was standing on behalf of the accuser, wearing a black mask and dark grey suit. He scratched his temple and his wedding ring was on display.

The accuser finished his statement, bombarded by questions by reporters but he refused to entertain any. Not only that, he was seen leaving the premises in Ian's protective arms as he was swarmed by hounding reporters who could be heard asking repetitive questions. This was such a confusing situation. While Seokjin is away, you learn a few things about him from Yoongi. His likes and dislikes, his antics and how he manages his problems. He was like the ocean. He can look so calm, hiding violent creatures within him. Or like an onion, layer by layer coming off. You climbed on the bed into the duvet after the news ended. Seokjin got dressed and went downstairs.

He grabs a tall glass of water and punctures a blister of anti-allergen pill. For the garlic he ate from your cooking. He didn’t want to tell you and gave you unnecessary panic. He slips the tiny yellow pill into his mouth and drinks water. He fetched a bottle of Zoloft and slipped them in his mouth. He heard the stairs creak when you climbed down. He didn’t glance up to see who it was because he knew.

“What’s that?” you asked.

“Anti-anxiety,” he said, “Helps me relax...”

Slipping in the duvet together, you both stared at the ceiling. You heard the raindrops from outside and the thunder rippling through the sky. The weighted blanket feels like a hug and despite you trying to hide it, your heart is at ease, knowing that Seokjin is right beside you tonight. Unlike always.

“Well, this is strange,” you huffed.

“I know…” he shot back.

“When we’re apart, we call each other every other day and I get to talk to you until you fall asleep and now that we’re next to each other… you feel like a stranger,” you let out a small giggle at the end.

“Am I?” he blinks at you, lying next to him.

Not exactly. Your heart whispered.

“Am I?” he turns to his side, tipping his eyes downwards where your lips are then back to your eyes.

He spoke in hushes, “Your voice helps me sleep…” his eyes darted left and right, seeking for yours, “You keep running in my mind like a broken record.”

Your eyes flutter as his finger grazes your skin. He hooks his fingers, pushing away the baby hair from your face. Just then, the lightning flashes at the window and you jump closer to him, grabbing the front of his pajamas and he wraps one arm over your shoulder. With his neck in your face, you held your breath and gulped. You could see his Adam’s apple bobbing hesitantly. Bergamot, clary sage notes on his aftershave balms. His skin looks smooth and so inviting. He stiffens. Froze when your lips brushed against his neck next to his Adam’s apple.

Pulling away slightly to find his clouded eyes, widening against yours. You slipped out a smirk on the corner of your lips. Fully aware that he caught it.

“I find it pleasing that we are not from the same field. I know nothing about your business and you know nothing about my research and yet we are here in this room together…” You returned to your side of the bed, putting one hand on top of the other, staring at the ceiling, “You hide things so well… I wish to be like you.”

Seokjin blinked to the side where you were. How will he explain that his staidness isn’t to hide the things he fears but to fit whatever narration the office gave him? How will he explain to you that hiding fear isn’t strength? He is hanging by a strand of thread at the edge of the cliff and his father is holding the other end. His mind flashes to the sight of Ian in the media conference siding the accuser. He is sure that Ian’s father would have a key-role to the accusation considering how sloppy and uncoordinated the attack was. Seokjin is sure that he doesn’t want to keep that uncle in the association. The corporation is no stranger to false accusations but this was indeed too much.

“Seokjin,” you softly called his name, “Are you asleep?”

“Hm…”

“Will this affect our contract?”

Do you want it to?

.

.

.

.

To be continued…

Copyright © August 3rd, 2021 namjoonchronicles do not repost, and thank you for reading :)

[Note] Taking this chance to apologize for the delay and would like to thank you for taking the time to wait so earnestly for my entry. And just like that, my semester break is gone. I will begin my second half of the final year in a week, and I would like to stress that this is not a hiatus announcement but rather a formal notice, a sort of note to my loyal friends who diligently wait for my updates all this while. Please look forward to the next chapter <3

[the-darkfactory]

A SICK GIRL.

This text was written and published in November 2018. This is the first time I translate to English. Hope it reaches those who need to read it most. Much love.

I was born dying. I was dragged from my mom's belly straight to the intensive care unit and spent a month in the incubator until I could breathe without machines. I was also born whole and no one ever told me that, one day, my mind was going to split in two.

I was very little when I first felt strange. Very strange. I was already 5’6 feet tall when I started my last year in primary school, finding clothes that fit me was torture. However, for my graduation party, I found a purple dress that seemed perfect. When I tried it on, under that all-showing light in the changing room, I felt fat. That was the first time I was disgusted by my reflection.

After a summer tinged with school farewell melodrama, I started high school. I spent most of my free time studying, listening to the Backstreet Boys or reading Harry Potter. At the end of the first semester, I got the best grades in my class. While everyone at home was happily celebrating, I made a pact with a friend: I was going to stop eating.

My thinness brought about new habits and what I remember the most is how cold I was: during school recess, my friends would go out to play and I would stay in the classroom wearing every sweatshirt I could find. It would take me forty-five minutes to eat an apple and before going to sleep, I would go over each food item I’ve had in the day and calculate the calories. I also learned that I had to get up slowly to avoid the dizziness that turned my room into a washing machine.

One day my family and I went to one of those “all you can eat” restaurants. After two sandwiches and a bit of cake, I started crying because I had an intense stomach ache, but it was all a premeditated drama I staged so they wouldn't make me have dinner. Two days later, my mom dragged me to a clinic. I had to take off my clothes and stand on an ice-cold scale. "You weigh 39 kilos," the doctor announced. "You're anorexic."

I was taken to a hospital that had a team specializing in treating people like me. We waited for hours until my name was called and I was met by an anti-anorexic army: a nutritionist, a clinical doctor, a psychiatrist, a psychologist and others I never understood who they were. They made my parents leave and Anorexia and I were interrogated. They asked us if we vomited, if we had thought about committing suicide and if we had ever been abused. When we talked about my parents' divorce, we burst into tears. Then they faced the back of two chairs and asked us to separate them according to how far apart we felt they had to be from each other in order for us to fit between them. We did it and passed the test: we knew we were tiny. The doctors said I was on the verge of hospitalization. I was a sick girl.

Once our relationship was made official, we went to the hospital three times a week. Long waiting, weighing, talking. We were forbidden to be physically active and we had to write down how much of what we ate a day. Mom sometimes comforted us and sometimes shouted at us. One night she yelled a lot because we had only had a piece of fruit for dinner, but how could I explain to her that eating made Anorexia hurt and so it hurt me too? We were sent to a psychologist we stared at in silence for an hour. We finished our junior year with straight As, enslaved at home and undernourished.

Anorexia and I did everything together. I would start a sentence and she would finish it. When I moved my hand to grab something, she was the one who forced my fingers closed, and if something bothered her, I did whatever was necessary to calm her down. One afternoon, we went cycling with our friends and we were carried on the handlebars so we wouldn't move. Everything was going beautifully until a sudden stop made us fall face first to the ground. We got up spitting teeth and blood. We broke our four incisors, skin came off our lips and we split the right side of our face. That night before showering, I stared at our skeletal, beaten up reflection. Days shy of my fourteenth birthday, I cried my heart out asking Anorexia what the fuck had she done.

I wanted her to go away. The only thing I could do to get her to leave was eat. Sometimes she won, sometimes I won. Once, she lost 100 grams and I went home after the medical check up feeling a killer urge. Another day, I gained 200 and that night she didn’t let me sleep. It was war. If Anorexia told me to hide food, I ran off to snack with my brother. If she hated sandwiches, I'd buy a dozen of my favorites. For every complaint of hers, a food bite of mine, and so, bite by bite, I filled her mouth with silence until I could no longer hear her speak.

I started my second year of high school with a seemingly healthy weight. I went to the hospital once a week. Eventually, I was told I could go once a fortnight, once every twenty-one days and, somehow, I stopped going altogether. I don’t remember how or when that decision was made. The only thing I do know is that during all that time I ate almost nothing from Monday to Friday and a lot from Saturday to Sunday in order to weigh more at the Monday check-ups. The thing was that once the pact between Anorexia and I had been made, she would try and talk to me every day. People didn't notice but I knew she was still there. We were still the best students, we lifted weights after eating a salad and we never got our periods. We were stopped on the streets to be offered jobs at modeling agencies and we realized that our bond had the aesthetic approval of society. I forgave her for all she had done and gave her, again, space in my body to grow.

When we turned seventeen, Anorexia changed. She screamed at me and didn't feel like doing anything. We quit the gym, gained weight and developed insomnia. One drunken night, we came home and went straight to the kitchen. We opened the fridge and devoured, on our knees, all the leftovers from dinner. We then shoved our fingers down our throats. That's how Bulimia arrived.

Bulimia was fiercely hungry. My cheeks, arms, and chin grew like a fatty bubble. I was disgusted by my body and I got dressed in the dark. I stopped studying, I couldn't concentrate on anything else. At prom I had two drinks and passed out. I woke up in hospital with an IV in my arm and my worried mother by my side. I didn't know how to explain that for weeks and in order to be skinny that night, everything I ate, Bulimia vomited.

I wanted to feel normal. I was very weak and exhausted, but Bulimia was young and confident. She never shut up, she would even eat raw polenta in spoonfuls and vomit it all, leaving me tired and confused lying in my bed. Her arrival was abrupt because Anorexia had already drilled holes in my head: they were different versions of the same thing and a pattern of destructive habits that infected everything. They turned my life into a living hell.

We vomited so much that we spent hours burying our heads in the toilet seat and we would only stop when we saw the first thing we had eaten leaving our body. We did it five, six times a day. We used every bathroom we set foot in. The ones at school, my friends' houses, restaurants, my grandmother's, my dad's. I developed arrhythmia and thought that Bulimia was going to get me killed. Some nights, while dreaming that I was violently bingeing, I would wake up desperate and ready to stick my fingers in my mouth until I realized that, that one time, the binge had been a dream. That feeling of “fake need to vomit” was the closest thing to peace I felt during those times.

Bulimia didn't want me around anyone. She made me think I was crazy and that I would never be able to be separated from her. I stayed away from my friends. I stopped having dinner with my family and we would lock ourselves up in my room. Mom would bring me trays of food that Bulimia kept in plastic bags. I once found a rotten chicken inside the closet. It was full of maggots. We were almost found out when my brother saw a glass of vomit in the bathroom that we had forgotten to flush down the toilet. He brought it to me and said, "Is this yours?" while retching. We nodded and took it away from him as if it had been a misplaced shoe.

I don't know how I managed to free myself from anorexia and bulimia, but for the last three years I have hardly felt their presence. Sometimes I wonder if I started traveling around the world to confuse them and leave them stranded in another part of the planet. Maybe they got bored of my criticism and couldn't stand my will to not share my body with them. One thing I’m sure of is that love played a major part. It was crucial to understand that I did not choose to live with them and that asking a person with compulsive thoughts to stop having them is like asking a paralytic to simply stand up and walk.

Anorexia and bulimia stole my time and energy. I gave them my will to live, my projects and motivations. In return, they gave me anxiety, panic attacks, depression and suicidal thoughts. They still whisper to me every now and then but I can ignore them. It’s not always easy. I don’t know, this coexistence has been very strange but they definitely don’t own me anymore. Looking for the reasons I developed this disorder is complex. I know that I was affected by the pressure I felt from a very young age to be perfect, the weirdness that arose in my family dynamics after the divorce and feeling that for society I was worth more as a woman the skinnier I was. The final trigger must have been a genetic predisposition and a bit of mystery: there is still a lot that science doesn't know about all this. Once my disease was established, it became a vicious, out-of-control cycle that was perpetuated by the worst evil of all: silence. I felt a deep shame, thought it was my fault and that, hence, I deserved what was happening to me. That made me sicker and I vowed to hide it, which was possible because these disorders are invisible: they lock themselves inside bodies of all types, gender, background, shape and turn them into slaves.

When I stopped vomiting and regained control of my hands, I wrote this. It feels weird. After seventeen years of being in a symbiotic relationship, there is something I still don't understand: if I am no longer a sick girl, then who am I?

[honeypwark]

[ A Cup of Soup ]

  ↳ Clé : LEVANTER era

     ↳ Xiang takes care of Seungmin when he's sick.  She makes soup.  He asks her to sing for him.

m.list

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Xiang turns the stove off and moves the pot of soup off the hot burner before finding two mugs and scooping a decent amount into each.  She places a spoon in each and carries them out of the kitchen.  She nudges a bedroom door open with her foot and steps inside.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you care about me."

"Whatever would give you such a preposterous idea?" Xiang asks as she walks over to Seungmin.

Seungmin caught a cold a few days ago that hit its peak yesterday but left him feeling pretty crappy today as well.  She waits for him to sit up before handing him the slightly fuller cup of canned chicken noddle soup.

"Well, despite my protests, you insisted on staying to take care of me instead of going to see Knives Out with everyone," Seungmin says.  "And you made me tea earlier and soup now."

"Ah, but you see, I have an ulterior motive," Xiang says, sitting on Hyunjin’s bed across the room from Seungmin.

"What's that?"

"If I take care of you, I can convince Chan to bring us back takeout."

"If you asked, he'd do that even if you weren't taking care of me."

"Shut up and eat your soup."

Later, Xiang finishes her soup first and sets her mug on the ground.  She fishes her songbook out of her bag then settles in to write.  Seungmin sips spoonfuls of soup at a time as Xiang hums to herself, writing down lyrics as she thinks of them.

"That doesn't sound like a rap," Seungmin speaks up.

"It's not," Xiang sings to the tune in her head, "Good songs have more than just raps."

Seungmin laughs lightly as she sings her sentence, which brings him to cough.  He clears his throat then sips some of the broth.

"Will you sing what you're writing for me?"

She lifts up her songbook, "This?"

Seungmin nods.

"It's not finished yet.  I haven't even gone back and looked for grammatical errors."

"That's fine, it'll just sound like you when you talk, then."

"Hey!"

Seungmin laughs.

"Fine, smart ass.  I'll sing what I've got so far."

The song Xiang sings is melancholic in a way that tugs at Seungmin’s heart.  It's lyrics are about working hard for something and losing a piece of yourself along the way.  You've achieved your goal but the ending isn't quite as happily ever after as you'd thought.  You struggle silently as the world watches on unknowing to the pain that goes into being and maintaining what you've worked to become.  It's so raw, just Xiang's voice and her lyrics, unfiltered emotion that one could never get after hours of editing and production.

When she reaches the end of the chorus, she stops without a proper ending, yet that seems to fit the song perfectly.  Xiang looks up from her notebook and finds Seungmin looking at her with soft eyes.

She laughs breathlessly and looks back down at her scribbled lyrics, "It's just a song, overdone melodrama and all that."

"It's good," Seungmin says.

"Thanks," she says softly.  She notices the empty mug in his hands, "You're finished?"

She takes his mug and picks hers up off the floor, leaving for the kitchen.  She washes and dries the mugs and spoons when she normally would have just left them to air dry.  She takes a breath once she's finished before returning to Seungmin's room.  Seungmin has laid back down when she comes back inside.

"Are you tired?" she asks.

"Not really.  Will you sing something else for me?"

Xiang nods, "Sure, any requests?  I can pull up an instrumental on YouTube-"

"No, something you wrote.  I like it when it's just your voice."

Xiang takes a breath then says, "Okay."

She flips through her songbook to find a song that's a little less self-projecting.

Her second song is motivational.  The lyrics have a simplistic beauty to them.  They assure you that even when bad things happen, it will get better.  You've got to fight your way through for now and struggle now so that in the future you can move on and find your way.  No matter what happens to you, there will always be a light at the end of the tunnel.  Keep going and one day everything will be alright.

When Xiang finishes, Seungmin is half asleep.  Regardless, she finds another song to sing.

This is a song that tells a story of a young boy.  A boy wants to be something impossible so badly.  He strives to be it and everyone expects him to be this impossible thing.  For so long that is all he was supposed to become.  He realizes as he grows older that he'll never be what he's expected to be.  He feels like a failure, as though he's let everyone down.  He is unhappy with what he has to be resigned to be but works toward improvement and becoming something that he can love.  He learns that you must learn to accept yourself, if not as you are then as what you can become.

When she finishes, Seungmin is sound asleep.  Xiang smiles fondly at him then turns to a blank page in her notebook.  She stares at it for a moment, pencil hovering above the paper but never touching.  With a soft sigh, she instead flips back a few pages to her song of melancholy and continues to write lyrics for it.

[sundaywonder]

the lost song : yoonmin

Getting ready to start fresh in life, physical education professor Park Jimin is just waiting to migrate to Australia with his daughter and girlfriend. Everything gets topsy-turvy when world-class music producer Min Yoongi—and also his secret ex-boyfriend—comes back home to South Korea to marry his it-girl fiancé. If that wasn’t bad enough for Jimin, Yoongi invites him to the wedding. It gets worse; it leaves him no choice but accept it to avoid spilling the beans.

Although the worst happened back then, it’s not enough for their forsaken what-ifs and unsaid feelings from making itself clear. The situation makes Jimin realize how jaded he was without Yoongi all the years they were apart—and vice versa. As they slowly pick up the broken pieces of the past, reality hits hard back at them again. There are two choices: to give up on love and live in the present or to run away and never look back.

Genre: Romance, Adult Fiction, Melodrama, Erotica

Fandom: BTS, BLACKPINK, Red Velvet, IU

Pairing: Suga & Jimin, Jimin & Rosé, Suga & Jennie, IU & Jungkook, Wendy & j-hope

Rating: M or R-18 — contains sensitive themes, strong language and graphic depiction of sexual activity

Status: Ongoing — 6/12

Link: Wattpad, ao3

Excerpt: The Flower Bloomed — 10 Years Ago

Yoongi, 20

I hurriedly go down the stairs while vigorously drying my head with a towel. I knew I would oversleep. Aside from being a deep sleeper, I’m also not used to waking up as early as 7 a.m. Nine is still pretty early if you’d ask me. The cool air last night made everything even worse. I shouldn’t have opened the windows.

Good thing my grandma heard Aunt Hyeja yelling outside our house. If she didn’t, I wouldn’t have even noticed that her and our other neighbors’ missed calls and text messages.

“Make sure none of the kids get injured, okay? We don’t have money for their hospital bills if ever,” reminds grandma as she followed me down. I don’t hear and comprehend what she said until five seconds later.

“Got it. Bye.” When I get out of our gate, I immediately see Aunt Hyeja who was waiting for me outside.

“We’ll get going, Auntie Dooshim!” exclaims Aunt Hyeja.

“Alright, have a safe trip!”

“I’m so sorry, Auntie. I really am.” She walks so briskly that I have a hard time catching up with her. Regardless, I feel like that’s how should it be; I must walk maybe two or three steps behind her after what I’ve done.

“Don’t think about it anymore. The kids are already in there. You know our numbers so contact us immediately if anything goes wrong. There’s a ton of food on the table so feed yourselves when you get hungry. Don’t leave at least one of them unattended. Never attend to the gate if it’s a stranger and refrain from telling them that an adult is not present—oh, how old are you again?”

“Twenty.”

“My bad. It slipped my mind that you’re already an adult. Anyway, did you understand everything clearly?” I just nod. Aunt Hyeja doesn’t seem to be mad but it’s fairly obvious that she’s already dying to leave. I discreetly peek at her watch which says 7:15 a.m. I can’t help but shake my head. I reminded myself endless times to do well in this babysitting gig but I still ended up ruining the first thing about it. There must be something really wrong with me.

After arriving in front of the home of my best friends, brothers Seokjin and Taehyung, she tells me, “Also, your Aunt Misun told me that Jimin won’t be able to attend the excursion because he’s sick. He’s going to be home alone today so I told him that he can contact you if he needs anything.”

I gulped as soon as I heard Jimin’s name and forced myself to act nonchalant. “W-what happened to him?” It was definitely hard to do so.

“He has fever,” she replied. “Don’t you guys get more written projects in lieu of not attending out-of-the-classroom activities?”

“Yes.”

“So, does it mean you like completing paperworks instead of attending trips and such?” I just let out a fake chuckle and nodded. I’m sure it wouldn’t sit with her when I say that I don’t like socializing and going to places with a lot of people. Aunt Hyeja is a social butterfly and—I don’t want to sound like I’m judging her (but maybe I am)—she’s not exactly the type of person to bother understand things deeper if it doesn’t concern her. Besides, it’s lengthy and we’re not that close for me to open up to her. An awkward giggle is probably better than an explanation.

The Kims already left when I entered and all the four kids were sleeping on the sofa in the living room, not even noticing my entrance. I decide to just sit on the floor and watch TV in low volume. My body is asking for me to sleep so badly that pinching myself isn’t working anymore. A faint regret is starting to form in my chest but I cut it out immediately.

After getting bored of the morning makjang drama that I forced myself to watch, I turn around to check on them. Jingoo—a cousin of Seokjin and Taehyung, as well as Namjoon who is also a cousin of the two—is already up but still lying on his stomach while silently watching the drama with me. Our eyes meet but he doesn’t say a word and just shifts his eyes back at the screen.

“Have you eaten breakfast yet?” I ask. Jingoo just nods. “What did you eat?”

“Seaweed rice balls and jeon.”

“Tell me when you’re hungry.” He just nods once again.

Our conversation awakens Taejoon, Chanbin and Yeongyu. Unlike Jingoo, they wanted to eat so I prepared the food that was left for us. Being alone with these kids who I barely know suddenly makes me feel weird for some reason. It’s probably because I don’t have any experience in babysitting. So far, it’s an alright deal. The money is good and you practically get paid to stay at home.

I leave them and go back to the living room, sitting beside Jingoo’s feet who hasn’t moved an inch ever since he woke up. “Where did they go?” He asks, not moving his eyes from the screen.

“A trip.”

“Event aunt and uncle? I thought it was a school trip.”

I let out a sigh and close my eyes. Some sort of hot energy constantly forms in my head the longer I talk to this kid.  “I don’t know why. Ask them when they come back later.”

It got rowdy when they started to play. This is way worse than I imagined. Toy cars and guns are all over the place and I need to remind them every two to three minutes that they shouldn’t be shooting bullets on the TV screen, as well as the vases and figurines. None of my words seem to get to their tiny heads.

I take back what I said. I don’t want to this ever again. I wasn’t like this when I was a kid. Even my friends. We weren’t anything like this. Not even close. We were well-liked by the neighborhood in general because of that.

Out of the blue, my phone suddenly vibrated. My heart almost dropped on the floor when I read Jimin’s name on the screen.

[JIMIN :)

1 NEW MESSAGE]

All of a sudden, my heart started to pound like it wanted to get out of my chest. I took a deep breath before flipping my phone and pressing View.

[JIMIN :)

Hey, can I go there? It’s getting a little boring here.]

[ME (draft)

Of course! Bring what you need!]

I delete it before I could even think twice. I cringed at what I just typed.

[ME (draft)

Okay, but it’s a little loud here]

Maybe not. He might end up not going if I say that.

[ME

Sure]

[JIMIN :)

I’ll bring ramen]

[ME (draft)

Okay]

I press the end call button and just fold my phone instead. I immediately go to the bathroom and wash my face with soap and water. I run my wet hands through my hair as well. Just as I got out, someone knocked on the door.

“Don’t shoot on anything!” I yell before walking out the door.

“Hey,” greets Jimin as soon as I open the gate. Unlike his usual self, the gloomy aura surrounding him can be clearly felt. His face and shoulders seem wretched as well.

“Are you alright? You look so pale.”

“Trying to be.”

“Stay in Seokjin’s or Taehyung’s room if you want to get some rest. It’s a little rowdy in the living room.”

“Thanks. I’ll go text him.”

As soon as I hear Seokjin’s bedroom door close, I make an announcement to the kids. “Jimin’s sick. Don’t make any loud noises from now on.” It did subside but only for a short while. “You kids, anyone who makes loud noises will not get to eat lunch.” They stop playing tok look at me with a weird expression on their faces, as if they’ve never heard someone say such a thing to them before. A hint of fear can also be seen. I fucked up again, didn’t I?

Unlike what I said, I started to prepare lunch when the clock hit noon. The kids gathered at the table and chowed down as soon as the food was ready. Meanwhile, I got my own food and ate in the living room.

[ME (draft)

Hey, lunch is ready. Can you go down here?]

[ME

Lunch is ready, feel free to eat here.]

[JIMIN :)

What’s for lunch?]

[ME

Pork belly, barbecue, dumplings, rice and kimchi]

[JIMIN :)

Damn, will go there ASAP]

I wipe the droplets of sweat on my forehead. My breath keeps on running as if they are trying to get away from something… or someone. I don’t know. I don’t even want to think about this. It only makes me go crazier and crazier. Even my well-trained emotional suppression skills are barely working. Helpless, hopeless—that’s what I am.

“Hey!”

“Shit!” I hold to my chest in shock and turn around. “I-it’s you.”

“Yes, it’s me. You okay? You’re deep in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice me pass in front of you,” asks Jimin.

I shake my head. “I just zoned out.”

“Shit!” Taejoon mimicks while the other three laugh.

“Shit!” Chanbin and Yeongyu repeat in unison which makes them laugh even harder.

“Are you kids an adult to say that?” I ask.

“Shit!” The three exclaim, not even bothering to answer me.

Suddenly, I hear Jimin giggle softly—making me look back at him. “So, you can already laugh. Feeling better now?”

He just nods with a faint smile and takes a spoonful of kimchi stew. “Mmm, delicious. Did you cook?”

“Nope, one their parents probably.”

Neither of us talked after that; I just pretended the focus on my food while his eyes wandered around the place. Even though it feels like I need to say something, not a single word’s coming to my mind. My mouth is left agape from the urge to speak but not knowing what to say. For some reason, it seems to me that he’s feeling the same way. But how can I know for sure?

The kids come back to the living room not long after they have finished eating. I couldn’t thank the heavens enough; this is the only time today that I’ve actually become happy about their presence. Before they can even settle on their seats, I stand up to play the first Disney DVD my hand landed on: The Incredibles.

Jimin passes behind me so I look at him. He’s bringing my dirty plate with him to the kitchen. “Hey, s-sorry. You didn’t have to.”

He looks back and says, “Huh?”

“The plate.”

“Psh. It’s nothing.”

I follow him to the sink where he’s silently washing the dishes. He almost looks like he’s zoned out and submerged in his deep thoughts.

“Hey!” I jokingly yell from his back.

“Sh—!” He accidentally loses his grip on the plate he’s holding. It falls back to the sink, causing a small chip on the edge. “Oh, no…”

“I’m so sorry,” I say as I try to catch my breath. The plate looks expensive with all those blue Chinese prints. It most definitely came from an expensive dinnerware collection and Mrs. Kim would kill me if she sees this. I might have to babysit for nine or ten more times just to pay for the damage.

“Don’t worry about it. It was an accident.”

“But it looks expensive!”

“I was the one who lost grip on it, what are you being so worried about?” Jimin says with a faint giggle. I’m not buying it; he doesn’t sound amused at all. “Also, wanna watch?” He nonchalantly asks.

“This?” I ask back, pointing at the TV.

He just shakes his head. “Seokjin has a big collection up there.” I just looked blankly at him, deliberately making it obvious that I need more details to get what he’s saying. “Sola Aoi, Asami Yuma, Haruna Hana and so much more. We have everything we need up there!” I feel my whole body suddenly heat up upon hearing what he just said and my legs seem like they want to give up on me. “Hey, you okay?”

“Th-the kids…”

He takes a peek at them. “They’re already asleep.”

I look back at the kids and close my eyes in panic. Images of him being half-naked while beating off instantly flash in my mind. I vigorously shake my head along those thoughts. I can’t count how many times I saw him naked in the past. We even used to take a bath together along with the other guys when were younger. But this time everything’s different, especially to me, and it sucks big time. “Okay, then…”

He opens the dish dryer and puts all the now-squeaky clean plates, glasses, spoons and forks. “Don’t be so nervous. They’ll probably stay asleep until twilight or something.”

“Maybe,” I replied to him even if his words just seemed to bounce against my head. Naked. Naked. Naked. My mind just doesn’t seem to get tired about this goddamn word and keeps asking for more. Now, even the way he looks and smiles at me is starting to mean something else.

Jimin grabs my arm and pulls me until we reach Seokjin’s room. Before I could even react, the door was already locked and his pants and underwear were on the floor. My manhood starts to throb and harden as soon as my eyes lands on his half-naked body. He’s grown much bigger and thicker ever since I last saw him. That was a few years ago—same situation as now but with Hoseok and Taehyung, minus the feelings. To stop myself from completely breaking down out of panic and ruining everything for good, including our friendship, I just turn my head at a random teddy bear on Seokjin’s bed.

I sit beside him on the carpet and before also taking off my short pants and underwear. A strange kind of electricity seemed to charge on my body when I saw him look at my manhood. His mouth slightly gaped but he immediately closed it and focused on operating the DVD player. Since the tapes weren’t labeled, we don’t know what those contained. Jimin chooses just whatever. The video begins, and we see Sola Aoi who was wearing a provocative nurse uniform enter the hospital room where the middle-aged male patient was in.

I lean on the bed to relax and force myself to focus on the film. Jimin’s already starting to touch himself. He looks back at me with an unexplainable expression in his eyes. It’s been a while since I did this with them but I’m sure we didn’t look at each other while beating off, or maybe I’m just forcing weird meanings. At this point, I can’t even trust myself anymore.

I couldn’t help but start to actually beat off as soon as Sola started to moan. All of us in our group likes her the most for how irresistible she sounds when she’s getting fucked. It makes the film feel like 5D.

The film already ended but neither of us reached climax yet. When I was almost there, I stopped. I don’t know why but I felt like I needed to do so. As I try to catch my breath, I watch him while he did his business.

To my surprise, Jimin also stops and joins me in leaning on the bed, panting hard. He looked at me straight in the eyes, then his gaze dropped on my lips. “They look dry…”

Before I even knew it, our lips were all over each other and his tongue has successfully penetrated my mouth. Jimin’s hands start to explore inside my shirt before pulling it off of me. He removes his own next. My hands are frozen on his groin in disbelief. Everything seems like a dream but all of these are a hundred percent real.

“Jimin…” I mindlessly say.

“Do whatever you want to do to me.” He grabs my hand and places it on top of his manhood. “Don’t hold back.”

I pull his head and kiss him hard before pushing him down. Only God and I know how much he looks good with nothing on but his golden rolo chain necklace. “As long as you let me, I won’t.”

—

If you’re reading until here, thank you so much! The Wattpad and ao3 links where you can read the whole story are available above.

[stellaluna33]

I, K, Q for the asks :D

I.  Guilty pleasures, you say? Well... I usually like to imagine myself to be a pretty mature person, fairly committed to nonviolence, but... but I get an OBSCENE amount of fiendish glee out of seeing Logan Huntzberger get punched in the face. I usually don't like melodrama, but I will eat that up with a spoon.

K.  The angstiest idea I ever came up with was probably when I thought it was a good idea to get into Jess's head at the end of Season 3 of Gilmore Girls.  I don't regret it, because I thought it was important, but BOY did I have to go to a dark place to write it. I had to wrestle with a lot of my own demons in the process and it wasn't fun. It was, however, cathartic, and if I helped even one person understand what he was feeling and why things happened the way they did, it was worth it.

Q. A discarded project of mine... (well, we'll see) I wrote a SORT OF au fic of Jess and Lane slacking off in gym class together, and my original plan was to turn it into this whole series where people could tell me how they used to avoid participating, and then I'd use them to write all sorts of slacker hijinks for Jess and Lane. It... never panned out. But I'm sure it would have been fun!

Thank you SO MUCH for asking! 😊

[fallinnflower]

evening by evening

ren x reader (demon!au, angst, fluff)

a/n: as described by one of my friends, this is a slice of life but with a demon! don’t really know how that works but i wrote it i guess. anyways stream “bet bet”~

“Since I didn’t mean to summon you, doesn’t that mean you can go?” You ask, arms folded over your chest as you stare at the demon now sprawled comfortably over your couch. “I mean, I’m not about to strike a deal with you, so shouldn’t you leave?”

The demon lifts his gaze to yours lazily; he smirks, just slightly, tilting his head to one side as he regards you with his inhuman eyes. You suppress a shiver under his gaze, narrowing your eyes.

“I could leave,” he simpers, eyes heavy-lidded. “If you ask nicely.” You blink once, but continue holding his gaze.

“Okay,” you reply, “Can you please leave my house? I need to go to bed.” The demon’s jaw drops, and you’re shocked by how quickly his cool countenance falls away into what you can only describe as pure melodrama.

“What?” You ask, slightly alarmed, and he leans up off the couch.

“You weren’t actually supposed to ask me to leave!” He cries, “I was just getting comfortable!” His expression seems to be one of genuine horror that you would even do such a thing, and you furrow your eyebrows, feeling far too tired for this.

“What, do they not have couches in Hell?” The demon pouts at you. It’s unsettling insomuch as that it’s actually kind of endearing on him.

“It’s Hell, what do you think?” You hold his gaze for a moment, and he folds his own arms across his chest as he huffs and leans back against your couch cushions. You glance at the clock above his head and sigh — it’s way too late for this shit. You run a hand though your hair and shrug.

“One night,” you say. “You can stay on my couch for one night. But you’re leaving tomorrow.” His expression brightens, and he shoots up out of his seat, extending his hand to you.

“Deal!” He chirps, and you stare quizzically at his hand for a moment before shaking it.

The demon’s eyes suddenly flash gold, and you feel a burning sensation in your palm, pulling away with a hiss. You look from your palm to the demon, who’s grinning smugly at you.

“Congratulations,” he says. “You just made a deal with the devil.”

The next day, you drag yourself out to the kitchen and find the demon lounging on your couch with a bowl of cereal, watching tv.

“Is this mark gonna go away anytime soon?” You ask, holding up your palm to show him the strange, somewhat shimmering circle right in the center. The demon doesn’t even spare you a glance.

“Nah, it’ll be there ‘til I settle the score.”

“I thought the deal was that you could sleep on my couch for a night?” You ask, turning your coffeemaker on. Now the demon turns his gaze to you.

“Yeah, I meant to ask— where am I sleeping tonight?” You open your cupboard and realize with a huff that the demon is using your favorite mug for his own coffee.

“I don’t know,” you snap. “Maybe your bed in Hell?”

“No can do,” he chirps, happily munching down on your cereal. You wonder if demons have money, or if you’re just going to have to foot the bill for this unexpected guest. “I can’t go back there till I’ve settled my debt with you.”

“So, what, I have to make a wish or something?” You ask, and now when he turns his gaze to you he looks almost frighteningly serious.

“Not quite,” he replies, and although this voice is nonchalant his eyes somehow look even less human in the morning light filtering through your curtains — almost kaleidoscopic.

“It’s a blood debt.” You nearly drop your mug and your own bowl of cereal when he says this.

“A blood debt? For sleeping on my couch?” You hiss, and he shrugs.

“I don’t make the rules.” You set your bowl and mug down on the table and immediately rest your head in your hands. The beginnings of a headache have started to manifest in your temples, and you’re really about done with this whole day and it’s not even 9am. Thank God it’s your day off.

“Okay,” you say, mostly to yourself, lifting your head up. “Okay. If you’re staying here, we need to set some ground rules.” The demon sits up, intrigued by this.

“First off, do you have a name?” He looks confused at first, but his expression quickly shifts to one of amusement.

“Some call me Ren—”

“Fine. Ren.” He pouts at having been interrupted, and you take a sip of your coffee. “The couch is a futon. It’s yours now. Try not to overdo it on the TV, we live on a budget in this apartment. Don’t fuck up any of the appliances or the walls or else I’ll never get my security deposit back. Also, if you’re going to eat all my food, I expect compensation.”

The demon, Ren, blinks at you, and then lets out a laugh you can only describe as cute.

“What,” you snap, mouth full of cereal, and Ren meets your glare with an unaffected smile.

“You have a demon in your house and you’re worried about the most mundane things,” he says, shaking his head.

“Well, it’s not like anyone would believe me if I told them you were here,” you say, pointing at him with your spoon. “They’d just think you were some friend of mine with weird eyes.” He has the audacity to look offended, raising a hand to his face.

“I happen to think they look nice, thank you.”

“They make you stand out. Invest in some contacts if you’re gonna be staying with me.” You get up from your seat to go wash your bowl, then give him a pointed look.

“Also, if you eat something, you clean up after yourself. I’m not your mother or your maid. Got it?” Ren sighs and waves a hand.

“Yeah, sure, got it.”

“Don’t give me that tone,” you say, and he turns his kaleidoscope gaze on you. It’s somehow less unnerving than it was before, but maybe it’s just because you’re irritated. “I’m being gracious enough to give you a place to stay, all I ask is that you follow my rules. So, am I clear?” Ren blinks at you once before sighing and letting out a somewhat sarcastic,

“Yes ma’am.” You count it as a victory and move into the kitchen, half-heartedly listening to the discontented grumblings of the demon in your living room. When he comes home with groceries and contacts two days later, you don’t ask how he managed to afford it. You’re pretty sure you don’t want to know.

You wake up with a feeling you can only describe as dread forming in the pit of your stomach. You roll over, reaching for your phone to check the time, only to find the other side of your bed completely empty. Feeling that same sense of dread wash over you again, you sit up, only to find yourself less startled and more irritated by what you find.

“What are you doing?” You ask, your voice coming out rough and, honestly, gross. Ren shrugs, chewing on something that you can’t quite make out in the dark, your phone in his hands. The light from it illuminates his face strangely, casting severe shadows and making his eyes look silver.

“Twitter.” You rake your hands through your hair, already thoroughly done.

“On my account?” You ask, finally. Ren shoots you a look out of the corner of his eye.

“No. I made a side account for myself,” he replies, lifting his chin haughtily. “I have better things to do than watch clips of k-pop idols on variety shows.” Before you can manage a retort, he looks back at you for slightly longer this time, and you raise an eyebrow. He lets out a little hmph, which might be a laugh, before turning his attention back to your phone.

“Your hair looks terrible.” The sound you let out as you flop back onto your bed seems to startle him, at least, and you think he deserves it after his comment.

“What time is it?”

“Three,” Ren replies. “Witching hour. Me time.” You scoff.

“You’re not a witch, and you’re spending your time on Twitter.” You can just see enough of Ren’s face from the angle you’re at to notice the annoyed crumple of his brow before he turns to you.

“You’re mean,” he whines. “Why aren’t you scared of me? I’m a demon!” A little laugh escapes you as you curl yourself back into your blankets.

“Don’t ignore me!”

You fall back to sleep anyways.

Sundays are your lazy days. You let yourself sleep in, then you throw some stuff in the laundry and just relax until it’s done. This Sunday, despite having a new demon roommate, you opt for your same routine — you refuse to let this new pain in your ass ruin everything.

That is, you were going to relax, until you walked into your bathroom and found your normally white sink covered in a mess of hot pink.

“Ren!” You yell, whirling around in the doorway and stalking down the hall. Ren is sitting, unbothered, at your dining room table, his hair concealed in a shower cap. He takes a sip of his coffee before turning his bored gaze to you, but you can see a spark behind his eyes as they shift from blue to red. You feel your nails biting into your palms.

“What did you do to my bathroom,” you manage to ask through gritted teeth, and Ren blinks at you.

“I dyed my hair.”

“You made a mess!” You snap, running a hand through your hair. “This is supposed to be my day off— wait, no, it is my day off.” You fix him with a glare.

“You are going to clean my bathroom, or so help me God—” Ren visibly shrinks, frowning, at the use of the Lord’s name, and you point in the direction of your bathroom.

“Now,” you say. Ren sighs, sinking lower in your chair,

“Can’t it just wait till my hair is—”

“Now, Ren.” The demon huffs and gets up from his seat, letting the chair legs scrape against your floor. You respond in kind, lifting your chin and entering your kitchen to make some coffee for yourself.

Secretly, as you hear him grumbling and rustling around in your bathroom, you imagine his dye job coming out patchy, and smile behind the rim of your mug.

Your body jerks awake at the sensation of falling, and you can’t help the gasp that leaves you as you open your eyes. Your dream… you don’t remember it now, but as you begin to calm yourself down you notice there are tears on your cheeks. You can’t place exactly why you feel as anxious as you do, your mind reeling to try and come up with the answer.

Your breathing just won’t even out, though. You feel horrible and you don’t know why you just can’t seem to stop crying.

Ren suddenly appears in your room.

“What’s wrong?” He asks. You don’t think you’ve ever heard him sound worried before. In the darkness, all you can see is his eyes, glowing the way a cat’s might and causing you to cry all over again. The demon at the foot of your bed halts in his steps as he notices you recoiling away from them, and you want to apologize but you can’t find the words. There’s a frown etched deep into all of Ren’s features, and it doesn’t suit him, but you can’t make it go away.

Ren furrows his brows and suddenly he’s at your bedside, his hand resting on your forehead as you continue to cry. His eyes glow gold as he looks down at you.

“Get some rest,” he whispers, and as he passes his hand over your eyes, you fall into the most restful sleep of your life.

Come morning, you remember nothing.

It’s been a week. Long, torturous, and definitely enough to make you stop by the convenience store on your way home for some cheap alcohol to soothe your soul. You thank God that you have this Saturday off, even if it meant working hellish swapped shifts, because it means you really and truly have a weekend again.

And that means you can drink as much as you want to tonight, sleep in tomorrow, and binge watch Netflix if that’s what you want to do.

But the one thing you forget to account for, yet again? The demon leaving dents in the cushions of your couch when you get home, playing games on your old phone you had reactivated for him. He lifts his head as you open the door and toe off your shoes, an ironically devilish grin splitting across his face,

“Y/N—”

“No,” you say, firmly, not even looking at him. “Tonight is a self-care night,” you announce, producing the cheap bottles of rosé you had purchased and setting them on the counter. You hear Ren scoff as you dig around in your cabinets for glasses, settling on a mug because you’re so tired.

“You know, most people don’t consider getting drunk self-care.” You turn to him with a scathing glare.

“Do you want some or not?”

Your resident demon, as expected, smiles and shrugs and holds out a hand. He raises a brow when you pass him the mug, and you sigh as you shove his legs aside to settle onto the couch.

“If you want a wine glass, you can get it yourself.” Again, as expected, Ren shrugs at the thought and takes a sip of the wine, lips curling into a grin. After managing to dig the remote out from under a couch cushion, where you’re almost certain Ren had intentionally hidden it, you start scrolling aimlessly through Netflix. Somewhere in your feed you stumble upon some American horror movie one of your friends has said they liked, and while you aren’t normally a fan of the genre you don’t feel your interest piqued by anything else on your lists — so you press play.

And it’s no more than ten minutes until Ren is huffing in annoyance,

“That’s not how demons look. I’m not ugly.” His commentary doesn’t stop there, however; he criticizes their depictions of exorcisms, and demonic summoning and possessions, and eventually you pause the movie out of pure annoyance, unable to pay attention to the subtitles well enough to know what’s going on when he’s just babbling.

“Alright, Ren, either shut up or go somewhere else.” The demon blinks at you, and for a moment you think you see a bit of hurt in his expression, but he mutters something under his breath as he raises his mug to his lips, nodding for you to press play. A part of you feels smug, but another part of you feels bad for snapping at him; in reality, you know he has nowhere to go, he doesn’t even have a room in your apartment! Just because you’ve had a shitty week and he’s a little annoying doesn’t mean you want him to look like a kicked puppy, even if it’s just for a second. You bite your lip as you settle into your cushion more, then lift half of your blanket and offer it to Ren as a truce. It makes you feel marginally better when the pink-haired demon accepts, keeping his commentary to a minimum for the rest of the film.

At some point in the night, after one bottle has been finished and you’re starting to dissolve into giggles, you notice that Ren seems to have gotten closer to you — or maybe it’s the other way around, but you’re both leaning fully against one another as you watch some corny film, Ren laughing every time you do.

If he weren’t a demon, it might be kind of endearing, but you’re not intoxicated enough to forget that. At least, not yet. It doesn’t stop you from playing with his hair when the movie stops being interesting, however.

But by the time the second bottle is half-finished (mostly by you), you’re barely able to keep your eyes open as Ren drags you to go brush your teeth. He (with surprising ease) supports your weight as you sway in front of the sink, and you giggle out something about him acting like your boyfriend with toothpaste foam falling from your lips, but don’t bother to look at his reaction. But you mean it, deep down; when Ren isn’t annoying the shit out of you he’s basically your type — and even when he is annoying you he’s your type, but you’d deny that to the ends of the earth.

You don’t remember much after that, but the reality of the situation is that Ren lies in bed with you and watches stupid YouTube videos with you until you fall asleep, letting you play with his hair even though you’re turning it into a complete mess. Even with the videos, you can’t seem to shut up, and it’s surprising how unbothered Ren seems.

At some point in the night, before you fall asleep, you start poking at his cheeks and booping his nose, laughing when he swats your hand away. You press your hand against his to compare the size, and you’re not as fazed as you thought you’d be when he slots his fingers between yours. When your gazes meet, his expression is more soft than you’ve ever seen it, even with the harsh glow of your laptop playing along his face, his eyes shifting like clouds. He licks his lips, as though he’s about to say something—

You dissolve into laughter again, letting your clasped hands fall between you on the sheets and scooting closer to nuzzle your face in his shoulder.

“I’m tired,” you whine, and Ren chuckles. You think you vaguely feel his hand on your hair. “Goodnight, Ren.”

You can feel yourself falling asleep, your eyelids becoming heavier with each breath, and yet somewhere in your mind you still hear his voice.

“It’s Minki,” he whispers, sounding oddly choked up. “My name is Minki.”

And with that, you succumb to darkness. You wake up in the morning with a pounding head, spread starfish on your bed, unable to remember anything but the last stupid movie you had watched.

You roll over and go back to sleep, and the demon you hadn’t noticed in the corner of your room frowns to himself and slips out the door.

Your date had gone surprisingly well, you muse, leaning into Jinyoung on the sidewalk as he escorts you home. You had a somewhat nice bottle of champagne from your birthday in the fridge you had been saving for something, and you figure you might just use it as an excuse to get your crush from Literature into your apartment for a bit. A secretive smile plays at your lips as you both near your building, and you link your arm in his. Jinyoung was every part the gentleman you’d hoped he’d be, and now your only concern was whether Ren had actually tidied up before leaving the apartment like you’d asked him to.

Jinyoung hovers behind you as you unlock your door, both of you chuckling at a joke he’d told. One of his hands rests on your hip, and you turn around to grin at him before opening the door,

“I have some champagne in the apartment, if you’d like to come in for a glass?” Jinyoung smiles, his dark eyes glittering and the hand on your hip briefly squeezing.

“I’d love to.” You giggle, feeling your cheeks burning with blush.

You open the door only to be greeted by a large, snarling black (or maybe brown? It seemed to be glowing red beneath its fur) dog. Its ears are pressed flat back, its sharp teeth bared as its whole body trembles; its yellowy eyes look almost through you, focused directly on Jinyoung.

You turn to reassure him, already feeling an icy dread pooling in your stomach as his hand falls away from your hip.

“I, uh—” he chokes on his words, gaze not leaving the dog’s. “I don’t think your dog likes me.”

“It’s not—”

“Maybe I should go,” he says, taking one step back and then another, shooting you the least convincing smile you’ve ever seen.

“See you in class, Y/N.”

He’s gone down the stairwell before you can protest, and when you turn around again Ren is suddenly leaning against the wall near the kitchen, head tilted with a strange look in his eyes despite the grin playing at his lips.

“So that’s the infamous Jinyoung?” He tuts, shaking his head. “You can do much better. He couldn’t even handle Dolly.” At the name, the dog suddenly settles, sitting down and turning its head to face Ren. With its large tail wagging and black tongue lolling out of its mouth, it almost looks like a normal dog.

You know better. You slam the door shut, your whole body feeling taut like strings about to snap. Ren’s gaze is challenging, but his posture is relaxed; it makes you even angrier, somehow.

“You summoned a hellhound in my apartment?” You hiss, and Ren shrugs.

“Don’t give me that!” You snap. “You— I ask for one thing, one evening since you’ve made my life a living hell for the past six months—” You feel your body shaking the longer you go on, your vision blurring. You swallow the burning lump in your throat, but it doesn’t help.

“Why can’t you just pay your debt and leave me alone?” You ask, your voice hoarser than you expected it to be, falling unexpectedly heavy in the silence. Ren’s gaze doesn’t falter as he closes the distance between the two of you. You cover your face with your hands, not wanting to see him, wanting nothing more than to curl up into a ball and sleep through a whole winter.

“I can’t do that,” he replies.

Ren’s hand is cold when it brushes along the side of your face; when both his hands envelope your own and force you to look at him. You feel the tears burning hot behind your eyes, but you meet his anyways.

“Why not?” He looks almost bashful, maybe even a little guilty as he formulates his reply, still holding your hands.

“My name,” he whispers, so softly you almost don’t hear it. You swallow hard, having forgotten until that moment about the night he’d told you his true name, while you were half-asleep and drunk, but your mind whispers it softly now, Minki. You find yourself lowering your own voice in response, feeling as though the two of you are shrinking somehow, being consumed.

“What about it?” He looks up at you, his eyes changing colors like the sky.

“I wasn’t— no mortal is supposed to know my name. Now that you do, I...” His grip on your hands tightens, his thumbs running over your knuckles as if he’s nervous.

“I’m bound to you. Eternally.”

You’re not sure what to say, then, staring into his eyes as they shift colors. You feel overwhelmed — as if the past six months hadn’t been enough, now this. The tears spring to your eyes once again, and you let out a sob, though for what reason you can’t quite tell, before promptly collapsing to the floor.

You wake up in your bed, and all the memories from the previous night come rushing back to you. You sit up immediately, heart pounding, but Ren is nowhere to be found in your bedroom. You close your eyes as the blood rushes too quickly from your head, stars floating behind your eyelids as you attempt to sort out your thoughts. Everything feels like just a little too much, but you know you can’t leave things as they were the night before. Eventually, you drag yourself from under the covers, throwing on a sweater that you’d had draped over your desk chair.

When you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror, you almost want to cry again. It’s obvious that Ren had attempted to remove your makeup, but there are dark smudges left under your eyes from your eyeliner and mascara. It’s a sweet gesture, but there’s still a tight knot in your stomach.

Eternally, he’d said. You’ll never live a normal life — it’s going to be you and Ren, forever, and you can’t decide how you feel about that. You sweep your hair up into a bun and shuffle tiredly out of your room.

Ren is lying on your couch, but you know he’s not asleep. The curtains are drawn; he just lies in the dark. You can see a lump on the floor beside him glowing faintly orange, snoring.

“She’s still here?” You ask, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. Ren doesn’t even look your way as he replies, voice strangely hollow,

“Hellhounds can’t be summoned for less than twelve hours at a time.”

“Oh.”

You shuffle awkwardly into the kitchen, putting on the pot for coffee before leaning against the threshold to look at Ren. You lick your lips and look down at the floor.

“I’m… I’m sorry about last night.” You can feel Ren’s eyes on you, but you’re too nervous to look up. All of your emotions are running high, and you just can’t seem to get your mind wrapped around this whole eternity business.

“Why are you apologizing?” He asks. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” As if hearing the desolate tone of his voice, Dolly whines and raises her head to look between the two of you. Her eyes no longer glow an unnatural yellow; in fact, she could easily pass for a normal dog now.

You pour two mugs of coffee and nudge Ren’s legs off the couch,

“Let’s just… talk.”

You don’t think you’ve ever seen him eye you so warily, his eyes all different shades of blue and purple and gray, but he takes the mug you offer and sits up against the arm of the couch. You do the same, tucking your knees to your chest.

Ren is first to break the silence as you sip at your coffee, not caring that it burns your tongue a bit.

“I know you have questions,” he says, and it’s as much permission as you’re going to be given. You stare into the dark, steaming liquid in your mug.

“If nobody is supposed to know your name,” you start. “Then why tell me? If the consequences are an eternity with me, then why?”

“Can I ask something first?” His voice sounds strained, and when you look up his eyes have gotten darker in color, his forehead crumpled. You nod.

“Do you hate the idea so much?” He asks, and you think you hear his voice crack. “Do you hate me so much?” You feel your heart drop, and you clutch your mug tighter in your hands. Dolly nudges your foot, and you wonder if she has some sort of emotional extra sense.

“No,” you say, softly. “I don’t hate you, I’m just… eternity is a long time, Ren.” He swallows hard and looks down into his coffee.

“I know,” he intones. “I guess— I guess I just got attached to you. That’s why I told you my name.” You nod, but you’re not really sure you understand entirely what he means.

“I’m not trying to force you into anything,” he says. “And I don’t need an answer now. I just want you to know that, even though I’m sorry about it, I’m being genuine when I say that... that I don’t think an eternity with you would be bad. At all.” You nod again, and you look up to meet Ren’s eyes. He still looks extremely concerned, his eyes dark and shifting rapidly.

“Okay,” you reply. “It’s going to take some time for me to wrap my head around this but... okay.” Ren still looks as though he’s going to be sick any minute, and so you nudge his leg with your foot, watching as his expression morphs into a slightly annoyed pout. You pull your leg back and adjust yourself, sitting with your legs crossed so you aren’t so closed off.

“Stop looking so anxious, you’ll get wrinkles.” Ren rolls his eyes, but his expression does soften when he looks back at you and takes a sip of his coffee. His eyes gradually start to lighten to a mix of browns and dark oranges and reds, and a hint of a smile plays at the corners of his lips.

For the first time in probably twelve hours, you finally feel as though there isn’t a massive weight on your chest — instead there’s one on your lap as Dolly suddenly leaps up onto the couch between the two of you, her large head resting on your crossed legs. Both you and Ren let out a little laugh at her antics, though Ren is soon whining as her tail slaps his nose in her excitement.

You smile behind the rim of your mug, watching him through your lashes; you have a feeling, somehow, that everything is going to be okay.

[dirtreally]

top 5 manga/doujins

okay i spent a lot of time thinking about this and i don’t think i can really rank them in any significant way other than the order that they popped into my head after reading this and hopefully that will speak for itself

1. Fukaboku

its fuckiiiiiiiiin fukaboku babeyyyyyyyy!!!! the first chapter of this dropped a couple of months after i began understanding myself as nb and it just continued to kill it for like 8-ish chapters afterwards, during which i ended up finding the courage to actually think of myself as an nb person rather than [assigned gender]. i feel really weird about putting this as #1 cuz as the months go on, it’s becoming increasingly clear that what i want from fukaboku and what it wants to do with its premise are gonna become harder and harder to resolve with each other, but it’ll always have a special hold over me cuz it was the #1 thing i was looking forward to reading every day for like 6-ish months www

2. My story of being loved

yeah this kinda sucks. i reread it just now and one of the dramatic plot twists actually made me burst out laughing. but there’s something really sincere and sweet about it?? i don’t like reading into works in this way but it really does feel like the author just wrote this to communicate something to a specific type of person in the most blunt way possible aka a thinly-veiled author insert character who spends most of the oneshot reacting to the other girl. i think a lot of why i like this one so much is cuz even all of its’ weird writing decisions feel like the manga tripping over its own balls because it’s so excited to sell you this specific story

3. Her Pet

this one’s a little rough because while it’s not overtly horny about its high school-aged cast there’s definitely a lot of horny undertones to it and i dont want to eat my own ass for her pet because its absolutely written and marketed with that in mind but it’s also the only story about bullying that i’ve ever actually connected to specifically because of this, because of how it shows how bullying fucks up your ideas of romance, intimacy, and sexuality, because of how it showed a character who got abused for so long that she was unable to create an intimate relationship with an entirely different person without recreating aspects of that abuse, because of how even the happy ending where she gets over all of this has her relapse into this sort of thinking (its played off as kind of a joke but it still sticks out in my mind a lot because MAN). it’s genuinely a really dense piece of work, narratively, but it’s really worth it and imo it’s one of the best manga/comic/manhwa out there about abuse because even though it’s steeped in melodrama all of the neat narrative choices about the aftereffects of gayoon’s shitty school life bleed into the text in a bunch of really subtle ways? there’s definitely some narrative tension into Wanting To Do A Melodrama With A Whacky Slightly Horny Marketable Hook and Wanting To Be Tasteful And Frank About It(which, to its credit, is the one that wins out most of the time) but it gets resolved really well by the time the whole thing ends off.

4. Girl’s last tour

If girl’s last tour didn’t exist i absolutely wouldn’t be doing art right now. I spent 2 years feeling extremely exhausted with contemporary pop art (both in anime/manga and broader pop culture) and images in general because i felt like i was looking at the same images repeated ad infinitum reduced into the barest of shapes like some night in the woods type thing. artistically, girl’s last tour felt like the one thing that actually understood what i was going through. reading the manga, yuuri and chiito are both drawn as these vague shapes that are definitely meant to be people but feel like they are animated by the wind rather than by like, muscles, or something. their shapes bleed into each other, and into their surroundings, and it feels like if you poked a spoon into any page of the manga you could stir it around and see these shapes swirl into each other before slowly becoming even more indecipherable. even the architecture feels vague, meant to give off the IMPRESSION of a building/monolith in such a way that it sometimes feels like the drawings are barely holding themselves together. like if you looked at a road too hard it would break in half. this is a really hard thing to communicate but i hope that you get what i am saying. the art of GLT felt like it embodied the same feeling i had for years at that point, where i felt like my lineart was barely holding myself together, and if i let my guard down for a second i would spill into the floors and drains of the buildings around me and only be able to exist by being acted upon. with that in mind, it was absolutely lifechanging that the actual narrative content of glt is about two people who are alienated from their environment in every meaningful way and no doubt have the same variety of brain shit i do, but are still able to find happiness even just by being alive. There’s a longer version of this part where i go on to talk about what the narrative actually does and the larger tkmiz mythos surrounding it, and how THAT became it’s own obsession that used to be an extension of my love for glt but now exists as the main thing and w glt as an extension of THAT. but this is maybe getting too long and i think you probably get the idea now. i know this is a lot coming from someone who only does one okay art thing every other month but like even though it makes me feel like shit 90% of the time drawing stuff is the one part of my life i feel like i actually have some Ws in, and without glt and without tkmiz’s larger work in general, i wouldn’t even have that much going on

5. vector spectacle

to be honest, vector spectacle isn’t nearly my favourite touhou doujin(at chirei no contest), but it feels so special just because of how unlike anything else i’ve read it is. There’s so much energy in the pages, it’s basically a pop-up book. i can feel the almost nauseating, manic, energy bouncing from page to page, that itself feels directed at nothing and everything all at once; at whatever point in time this was drawn, wherever in the world it was drawn, the person who drew this felt this exact emotion

[moonlight-at-dawn]

I wish you could write a fic where Noctis eats beans and won't stop sobbing to Luna the entire time about how it's complete and utter torture.

“I brought us snacks,” Lunafreya smiled, slippered feet softly stepping towards him on the carpeted path to the sitting area. She carried two bowls and Noctis perked up, straightening up and making sure she had a comfortable place to sit. It took her an almost comical moment before sitting, as she carefully aligned herself with the cushions. He held out his hands in silent offer to hold the bowls for her, but she either didn’t notice or chose not to accept, and she plopped heavily back with a soft sigh and satisfied groan. He reached out immediately to settle a hand on her pregnant stomach, which seemed larger every day this week as they neared the eighth month.

She smiled at him, and then she held out a bowl for him, and he froze. She smiled knowingly, and handed it more insistently.

“I’ll pass, thanks,” he smiled wryly. And with a hint of concern. She did not seem willing to back down. “I really don’t like beans, Luna…”

“This is a Tenebraean recipe, you’ve likely never had them like this. Try it. And eat it, even if you don’t like it. They’re good for you, and you need to lead by example for our precious little one.”

“But- I-” He wasn’t getting out of it, not with her looking at him like that. This was all because Ignis had made a fuss the day before about his diet, he just knew it. Resigned to his fate, he took the bowl and looked into it with a distasteful frown. The smell was awful. Vinegar? He poked around the bean salad with his spoon, seeing what all was in there, and he was not enjoying the smell. “Are you sure this isn’t just a weird pregnancy craving? People can’t possibly actually eat this on a normal basis…”

“They do, and it’s good for you, now eat.”

“It smells-”

“My sense of smell is nearly as good as Umbra’s right now, so you can manage. Eat.”

Pouting, he would at least try it, and he held his breath as he lifted the spoon up. Smell was the largest part of taste, was it? He remembered Ignis saying something of the sort, when rambling about cooking, not that Noct usually paid attention to such lectures. Ignis just gave them often enough that some words eventually stuck.

It didn’t help. Not with the texture. What had Takka said, treat them like little meatballs? Well, not the way Luna ate them, that was for sure. It was like a wilted salad covered over in vinegar to hide that it had gone bad, and the food was disintegrating into dust and ash in his mouth. His face screwed up and he swallowed thickly, then chased it with a swig of his soda.

“Luna, this is gross,” he whined with a cough, and he handed his bowl towards her, wanting it and its offensive smell far away from him.

“Lead by example.”

“I won’t let my child eat something this gross! I might write laws against it!”

“Oh, stop that,” she laughed at his melodrama, wiping at the corner of his mouth with her thumb and leaning in for a kiss. Her lips tasted of vinegar and he frowned comically. “Come on, a few more bites! You can’t be sure after one!”

“Yeah I can! Watch!”

“Noctis,” she said in a warning voice, but with a pout on her lips.

He couldn’t refuse that.

Sighing heavily, he ate another bite, and he swore there were tears in his eyes as he suffered through it. Forcing down a third, once he swallowed it, it felt like a softball had just passed through his throat. “This is torture,” he muttered as he sputtered and coughed, choking on his soda, a tear sliding down his cheek.

She laughed and wiped the tear away, then she took his bowl and dumped its contents into hers. “Alright, alright, if it’s really that bad, you can stop. Pick out a movie for us?”

“Saw.”

“Not horror!” she laughed, knowing he had been joking with his suggestion, and he grinned and winked at her as he got up from his seat and picked their afternoon entertainment.

[narutowtfareyoudoing]

Hm so do you remember when Kakuzu mentioned that he fought the first hokage when he was young and his job was to assassinate the man. So what if Kakuzu's mission was just to gather intel on the first hokage but then he ended up falling for Hashirama's femso or someone who Hashirama was pursuing? Good luck on your blog btw♡♡♡ I already love it c':

Thisis a really interesting ask and I really hope I do it justice! Also thank you for the good luck! Ithought this one could be a little angsty, a little heart breaking,just a little bit different than my normal writing and this seemslike the perfect ask for this. Because pining over someone you can’thave just screams melodrama to me.This is my first proper scenario/imagine I believe, I hope you all enjoy!

—   Itnever should have happened, you never should have caught his eye butwhile he was spying on Hashirama putting intel together toassassinate him of course he saw you, Hashirama’s S/O you werepractically everywhere he was the only time you weren’t was when youwere babysitting a little blonde girl, Tsunade the grand daughter ofHashirama. You were an abnormality in his plan, someone he hadn’tbeen told about, the last he had heard Hashirama had split with Mitoand he was single but that was clearly outdated information. So hehad to find information, fill in the blank that was you…howannoying.    Hemust’ve spent two weeks solid just gathering intel on you, who youwere, where you came from, your status as a kunoichi and it didn’tread right to him, you didn’t read on paper as someone sweet whichwas how you appeared when he’d watched you…it didn’t add up at all.Had you beaten him to the punch? Were you another spy or assassinfrom another nation? How could that be? Neither your face nor namewas in any Bingo book he owned…who were you? If you thought youwere going to steal his target from him you were dead wrong, he’dnever failed a mission and you weren’t going to change that.    Anear month had gone by and by now he knew both your and Hashirama’sschedule probably better than Hashirama did. He was going to pay youa visit and see what you were all about, if you put up any fuss he’duse you as bait to lure Hashirama wherever his village elders toldhim too and if you was another spy he’d get all the information hecould out of you and then make sure you never had the chance to giveit to anyone else.    Hesaw his opening when Hashirama had gotten more paperwork and you wasat home by yourself, while Kakuzu had to qualms if a little brat waswith you in these kinds of intel missions it’s better to not have ablood trail and he knows children go noticed when they go missing. Hecame up behind you while you was in the kitchen making dinner sosilently that you just kept on cooking to your knowledge Hashiramawould be home soon. You knew Hashirama would never eat the Ankimo asit was so you had sauteed mushrooms hisfavouritein hopes it would hide the flavour of liver which in your opinion heneeded more of in his diet, hecouldn’t live off of ramen to spite what he said.You turned around to put the mushrooms into a bowel when youpractically came nose to nose with Kakuzu making you scream and thefirst thing that came to mind was to hit him with the pan whichdidn’t do much. “Gods! What’s your problem?! Why don’t any ofyou guards know when to knock?!” You demanded. If he was here thatmust mean Hashirama had sent him to tell you he wouldn’t bearriving for dinner. “Great, let me guess…he’s swamped withpaper work and can’t make it? Guess that’s a good thing since youjust made me spill half of dinner!” You sniped.   Were youreally that thick to think he was one of the Hokages guards? Well hecould use that to his advantage and he had to remind himself this wasan intel mission which wasn’t about blood because if it was youprobably would have been on the floor. “Wasn’t my intention.”He gruffed out.    You sighed and looked away from the mess onthe floor and up at him, now that wasn’t a face you’d everseen…certainly eyes you didn’t even know could exist. “Wow.”You accidentally let out.   Kakuzu knew he had to play this smartto spite how much he hated it this was an easy in and an easy way toget close to whoever you were. So reluctantly he started to pick upthe mushrooms to try and appeal to your good side. You quickly joinedin helping to pick up the food with a quick thank you.

   Itdidn’t take long to clean up the mess. “Are you hungry? Hashiramaisn’t going to eat this without those so…” You sighed pointingat the soup.   “Whatis it?” He asked carefully, if you were trying to pull an innocentfacade that could be poisoned.   “Ankimomore or less monkfish liver soup. It’s my first time trying it butI think it came out okay.” You said shrugging and smiling a littleat your work. “Hashirama can’t stand liver, you’d think I waspoisoning him by the way he reacts.” You scoffed with a laugh.   Thishad to be a set up Kakuzu thought. His favourite food prepared by abeautiful woman? This was too much to be coincidence. Had you seenhim while he was watching and looked him up? Were you the silentkiller type? All that was practically thrown out the window as youtook a spoonful of soup. “Yeah it came out pretty damn good.” Yousaid nodding.   Itwasn’t good.Hashirama was right liver kind of tasted like dirt but maybe youcould convince this new guard otherwise and he’d stay for a little?There was just something about him that made you want to know more.Maybe it was the deep voice? No, it had to be his eyes, you’d neverseen eyes like that and they had to have a story behind them.    “Fine.”He agreed.    Kakuzu even in his youth wasn’t a particularlypolite man. Which you noted but more in a mysterious way than in arude one, your judgment clearly clouded by him. You filled two bowlsand placed them on the small dining table, there was a much largerone in the dining room for when you and Hashirama had guests but theone in the kitchen was for when it was just you two, it was close andcreated an intimate atmosphere…which you wanted right now? Is thatwhat you wanted right now?    It was too late to turn back now hewas already sitting so you joined him. “So, you’re a new guardright? I’ve never seen you before.”   Hereally couldn’t tell with you if this was a facade or not…it hadto be. You had to be trying to get a leg up on him but that innocentcuriosity written on your face said differently. “Yes, justyesterday I joined.” He lied.   “Where are you from?” Youask.   “Whydoes it matter?” He asked back.   “I’vegotta know where on earth eyes like yours come from.” You saidlightly pointing to them and smiling but the smile wasn’t returnedso maybe you needed to butter him up a little bit more to get ananswer. “Where men like you come from.”    “Men like me?”He asked. Were you about to reveal yourself? Were you about to callhim out for being a spy?   “Yeah,you don’t see people who look like you.” You said nodding. “Yourskin, your eyes, your height.” You said laughing a little at theend, the man was massive and broad. He looked incredible.   Maybeyou’d been too bold because now he was just staring at you, youtried to seem less interested and tried to get a hold of yourself bybusying yourself by eating your soup. Oh yeah that did the trick, Godit was like eating dirt…this was going to make your breath smellhideous.    Kakuzu couldn’t believe his ears you werecomplimenting him. It seemed genuine but it couldn’t possibly be hewas a deformed monster, he’d made himself that way with deadlyJutsu. How can you mentioned everything but the stitches that linedhis face and body? Stitches that were clearly visible but you didn’tseem to notice…how was that possible? He stared at you trying tosee if he could see any bit of deceit in your features even a twitchbut no…nothing. “There are no other men like me.” He settledon, he couldn’t cough up a thank you but he had to say something.    God his voice was so deep, you could listen to it all daythere was just a quality you couldn’t name about it that madeshivers creep up your spine. “Well who am I to argue that?” Youtried to joke with a laugh but once again he just stared at youbetween spoonfuls of soup. “So what do you think? How’d I do?”You asked gesturing to the soup.    You had to get him to talk,you needed to that voice of his more…you couldn’t begin toimagine how good it would sound if he sang your praises with it.“Decent.”    Decent? Just Decent? You’d gutted this ugly fishyourself, you’d let it rest and marinate for three hours, you’dcooked it for nearly 2 and you’d made that broth from scratch andall he’s got to say is decent?! “I think it’s a little bit morethan decent.” You said making an unpleased face at him. “I didthis all from scratch, I made it with love…and you just think it’sdecent?” You asked.   “Loveisn’t an ingredient…you can’t taste it.” He said and hesounded almost amused at your anger. He was.   “Yes you can, ifthis was made in a factory it’d taste worlds different. You canmost certainly taste love.” You argued.   “And what does ittaste like?” He scoffed.   Ohyou could win this argument, oh without a doubt you were goingto win this argument.    The only thought of proving your pointon your mind you pulled him forward and kissed him and the moment hedidn’t kiss you back everything threatened to come crashing down inyour mind, the reality of what you were doing, what was truly atstake. But a rough, warm hand knotted into your hair and a hot tongueentered your mouth and everything that threatened to spill over topushed to the far back of your mind. Everything about him wasoverwhelming his taste, how tightly he held your head in place.    Kakuzu was no stranger to lust but this didn’t taste likelust…if this was love this is what he wanted it to taste like. Itwas submissive, it was soft, it tasted familiar and foreign all atthe same time, it confused him but he wanted it, he wanted you. Ifthis was what your mouth tasted like he could only imagine what therest of you tasted like but he was pulled out of his thoughts by thesound of the front door opening. He couldn’t risk the mission.   Beforeyou could even blink he was gone and you felt empty, he’d beenfilling something you didn’t know you needed. Why had he gone?“Something smells kind of funky!” Was laughed through the frontof your house by a voice you’d forgotten all about.   And everything that had been shoved to the back of your mind came forward andshattered, Oh God what had you done?

———————————————————————–

   Itwas a near year later before he saw you again and it wasn’t on goodterms. Both he and Hashirama had injured each other to the neartipping point of death and for a moment he allowed hope when he sawyou. Hope you’d rush over to him but you went straight toHashirama.    Love tasted bitter and he never wanted to taste itagain.~Admin Coral

[elliemuze]

I never even finished the game, of which I had been out of my mind excited for. When I say I reached peak feral energy on the eve of its release, that is not hyperbole. I was vibrating. I was crying. I inhaled my dinner so fast, I didn't remember eating. I threw together another half-assed meal, nearly choked to death, and realized I was a hobbit upon noticing the first set of dishes in my sink.

I stayed up until midnight to download and play. My internet at the time was also dreadful, so watching the dl bar slowly progress into the twilight hours only heightened my state of instability.

I played the first game on PS3 the day it came out, almost start to finish. Didn't plan to, but I simply could not be torn away. Got all the achievements over the course of a few weeks, just as an excuse to keep going back and learn everything about the world and its characters, inside and out.

I then bought it on PS4 and went through the entire process all over again. 2 platinum trophies, same game. To this day, TLOU holds strong as my favorite game ever made. And I play a LOT of games.

TLOU2 was one of the most disappointing experiences I've had in my life, discluding real life tragedy. It immediately started me off on the wrong footing, forcing me to play as Abby when I'd been waiting almost a decade to see Ellie and Joel again and step back into their shoes.

I didn't give a shit about Abby, or her people. I didn't know her. I didn't know them. They were strangers. I was not compelled in the slightest by whatever story the narrative was trying to tell me. Perhaps this could be partially attributed to my annoyance at being spoon-fed these characters when I couldn't have been more focused on wanting to see my og duo, but even as time went on and more exposition surfaced, I didn't care. Abby's story, her people, meant nothing to me. They were interlopers. They were there for the express purpose of manufactured controversy. They were not fleshed out. They had no depth. They felt like CW brand instigators. Each moment spent in their corner only made me angrier and more frustrated.

To stress again: I didn't know them. You cannot introduce a whole mess of people with hackjobbed personalities during the intro of what had to have been the most anticipated video game of the decade. And certainly don't introduce these nobodies just to kill one of the main characters we grew alongside, traumatize the other, and then expect us to ever sympathize with Abby's cause.

We KNOW Joel's story. We KNOW Ellie's story. We lived it. We survived with them. We cared about them. They mattered to us. Don't add salt to the wound by keeping us narratively in Abby's corner while trying to romanticize or excuse what she did. I don't give a fuck. I don't care why she did it, whether or not it was justified, and I sure as shit don't care about the whole melodrama or bush league machinations of her group. They killed Joel. He helped her, he saved her, and she killed him. The end.

I only played to around where Ellie and Dina got captured and escaped again, then couldn't stomach any more. I've since been made aware of how the game ended, all the backstories, etc. I know why Abby hunted them down, and I still don't give a fuck about her. Correct me if I'm wrong, but her dad was one of the Fireflies Joel killed at the end of the first game, yes?

Like... good. The Fireflies were about to murder a kid. Grand scheme of things, what's one life compared to a cure for the whole world? I get it. However, it wasn't even a sure thing. Marlene pled their case, fed Joel some lines in an effort to save her own skin, said that Ellie would have wanted this. If that's true, why weren't they upfront with Ellie from the start that they intended to kill her? Why'd they try to stop Joel from seeing her, or saying goodbye, or telling her the truth? The Fireflies were shady as hell in the end, and wanted to be the saviors. Look for the light, leave it to us, etc. Were there worse people out there in the world? Sure. But just cuz the bar's low, if you try to kill my kid, I'm shooting first. I'm shooting until there's no one left trying to kill my kid, or they kill me first. Oh, she maybe would have consented to having strangers play hot potato with her brain? Damn. Sucks to be you, assuming that'd change my mind.

I don't know if Abby's dad was one of the people calling the shots, or just some dude following orders. The latter is not an excuse whatsoever, mind you. Everyone has a choice. He didn't have to stop what was happening, but he could have walked away. "Just following orders" is not an absolution. Some truly heinous, EVIL shit has come to pass throughout history, and its ridden on the backs of men just following orders.

Abby was also a child at the time, or at least much younger. She knew him only as her dad, not what he stood for or allowed to happen. I get it. Really, I get it.

Bottom line, right or wrong, the narrative did a piss poor job of getting the audience to care about Abby's group. Because no one KNEW them. They showed up, killed a main character, and fucked off.

I think putting out a dlc with them prior to TLOU2's release would have really benefitted the story Naughty Dog was trying to tell, or at least have made it more palatable. Idfk. Because even the non-antagonist characters were pretty cardboard. I cared about Ellie, Joel, and Dina. That was it. I appreciated Tommy and Maria, because there was history there and they're great characters.

Maybe the fact that we were so spoiled in the first game played a part, too. I dunno. Tess, Bill, Sam, Henry, Tommy, Sarah, Marlene, even David - were rich, well-rounded characters. Even if you spent little to no time with them, they were memorable. The game felt LIVED IN. It felt nuanced. The story was devastating and painful, but in a way that respected the subject matter and the impact it had on its characters. Both as individuals and how they related to each other.

TLOU2 was just... a failure. I don’t believe it was a cash grab by any means. I know many, many people worked on it and put their whole heart into it, but they completely missed the mark in every way. I can't even fully quantify how much of a disappointment it was, because there's so many layers to it beneath the botched script itself.

Parts of it felt like I was being marketed to, or pandered to, I guess is the most articulate way I could put it? Which, shattering immersion for the sake of preaching basic decency to irl homophobes is not the ally win you think it is ND. I'll try to be as clear as possible here, given that one scene in particular just gave me an overall gross feeling and it's taken me a long time to unpack why, with actual words.

The scene where it's implied that an older man in the survivor colony called Ellie a slur and was coerced into an apology... was just cringeworthy. It was unnecessary. As a queer person, it made me uncomfortable to watch. Not because of a dialogue gaffe, but because it was a clear dig at the loud minority of real people who were upset that Ellie was gay. The ones who vocalized their grievances when the dlc came out, and when the preview scene dropped with her and Dina.

First of all, the scene with the old dude took me completely out of the story with its meta clapback at the homophobes. Those people don't need a clapback. They don't need to be held accountable in a fictional world. They're toxic, vitriolic assholes who deserve nothing more than to be ignored. Calling them out achieved nothing. Acknowledging their hate and giving it a voice, even in an effort to villanize it, does not help the queer community. You think you're defending us, but really you're just drawing attention to something painful for no narrative purpose.

Which brings us to secondly: It really did serve nothing to the story, other than to give a real life queer person PTSD. I realize it was born of good intentions, but goddamn it couldn't have been more tonedeaf. At least Ellie's discomfort and desire to be literally anywhere else was accurate. Cuz, like... what queer person wants to be strong-armed into an awkward social exchange while a homophobe stumbles through a fake apology? Maria thoughtless as hell for that one.

I know I'm not alone in how that scene rubbed me the wrong way, either. Because that shit is real life. Queerness will never be normalized in society if media is constantly shining a light on those who won't tolerate it.

Which brings us to thirdly. Let queer people just EXIST in these worlds. No speeches, no using us as a prop for your morality or how progressive you are. The assholes will always be assholes. Our existence does not need to be quantified or commended at the expense of immersion, nor for any other reason. It does not require a disclaimer or production of activism. Not when we can just be.

Do you have a shy friend? Do you think loudly announcing their shyness to a crowd of strangers upon introduction benefits them in any way?

This was something else TLOU handled spectacularly. When we as the audience realized Bill was gay, there was no grand fanfare, no horn tooting. The guy just happened to be gay and liked his magazines. He was a fully realized character, entrenched in this fallen world, and his queerness was revealed in the same manner one might remark upon the weather. Cool fucking beans. Chef's kiss.

Same with Ellie in the dlc. Oh, she's in love with her best friend? Makes sense, checks out. These next events are really gonna hurt like a bitch, huh?

All the little easter eggs, the secret notes you could find as you explored. Presumably same sex lovers, based on their names, reaching out in their final moments, or just to say what they should have said a long time ago.

None of this derailed the story. Even the initial scene ND released of Ellie and Dina was bittersweet and lent a naive hope that things could one day be normal again. Perfect, in tone and delivery. Here are two people connecting who've been through hell, during a time when all a person can do is have hope.

Let's be real, huh?

In a game about enduring the fucking worst an apocalypse has to offer, with a message built upon the struggle of survival, no one gives a shit about homophobes or soapboxes. There's a fungal virus turning human beings into zombies and making everyone eat each other. People are gutting their neighbors over canned goods and gas cans. We're well past bigots. Tbh, I'm pretty sure they'd stop giving a shit about us too if suddenly they had "avoid bloater" occupying their list of concerns. That shit's living in your head, rent free, forever.

[TLDR] Which one of you dorks put a quarter in me and let me ramble til I was blue in the face? To summarize, cuz this is honestly obnoxious:

Yeah, TLOU2 is balls.

Still desperately optimistic for the HBO series, because not only do I adore PP and BR, it turns out I'm a sucker for punishment.

Rip.

"Subverting expectations isn't the same thing as disappointing people [...] This game took a risk betting everything, every element of its narrative that it could make you sympathize with Abby and care about her as much as the first game did with Joel. [...] Abby never did anything that redeemed her murder of Joel in my eyes, and the devs could only come up with pairing her with a cute kid and hope the first game's magic would rub off on her. Forgiving someone who loved you and who you loved back over a lie is a far cry different from forgiving someone you never knew who showed up one day and tortured someone you loved to death, destroyed your entire world and who never once sought forgiveness or showed remorse. [...] Abby got her vengeance, it was practically served up to her on a silver plate; she was never once sorry for it and wasn't punished to the same degree [as Ellie], and will now get to have a life bonding with Lev just like Ellie would have had with Joel if not for her. To me, Abby is a fundamentally horrible person that did nothing to earn mercy from Ellie".

- Dartigan (Gaming Sins) on The Last Of Us Part II ending.

No words need to be added. I'm on one of those episodes when I get reminded of the shameful disgrace that was Part II's story and ending even more than a year after its release and how it completely destroyed everything that was good and beautiful about the first game.

[mirajens]

melodrama

an installment from I’ll crawl home to her.   paring: miraxus rating: m genre: angst  found on ff.n

A breakup, told from end to beginning.

5.

“So?”

“So?” Laxus echoed. He continued to peruse his menu.

“You wanna tell me why I saw Mirajane cuddled up over cannoli with someone not you?”

Laxus considered it. He met up with Jellal at the campus cafe with the most decent coffee to catch up on lost time (and so Laxus could ask/coerce Jellal into fixing his busted laptop). Jellal had arrived later and instead of greeting Laxus, announced that while he was walking to the café, he saw Mirajane cozied up with some droopy-eyed dude in the restaurant next door. Laxus wasn’t sure he wanted to talk about it. But it had to not be a big deal, right?

“We’re not together anymore. She can date whoever she wants.”

“Is that right?”

“Yeah.”

When Laxus didn’t come outright with any more information, Jellal ground his teeth. Did Erza know this? No wonder Laxus and Mira have been fielding invitations to get together. To double date like they used to. Jellal kind of felt like a dick.

“How long ago?”

“Eh. Seven months, I think.”

“Seven months.”

“Yup.”

“So you guys broke up 5 months after moving in together?”

“Nice deductive skill, Fernandes.”

“But, uh. You guys still live together?”

“It’s our signatures on the lease and our names on the mailbox. So yeah, sure.”

Jellal winced. “Shit buddy, that’s rough.”

Laxus shrugged. “I haven’t had lunch yet. Can we order already, or do you want to discuss the results of my last prostate exam, too?”

“Sounds lovely. You should tell me all about it.” Jellal said in a deadpan. He signaled the waiter over. “I’ll have the lasagna and an Americano. And if you have the craft brew, we’ll have a pitcher. My friend here has a boo-boo on his heart.”

–

4.

Laxus tried not so hard to think about whether or not Mirajane was seeing someone new. Actually, he tried very hard not to meddle with her life in general, but it was kind of hard not to, seeing that they lived together.

He tried to be just a roommate. One that only talked to the other when the rent was almost due or when their propane tank needed to be recharged. It was next to impossible. Laxus was big enough to admit that he still found no magical switch for his feelings so he indulged his angst and still wondered about Mira. Wanted for her, too, when he was feeling particularly cruel to himself. That was fine, wasn’t it? It wasn’t like he was intruding.

She wasn’t home very much. Some nights he wouldn’t hear her come to bed until it was well into the morning. Some nights he’d make dinner and she’d say she already ate. He knew Mira didn’t like eating alone. Once when he was pawing through the laundry for pants, he picked up one of her shirts, smelling like someone else’s cologne. There was only so much a guy could do to keep deluding himself.

It was fine. He never bought it up. It wasn’t like he had the right to.

–

3.

Here was a shitty feeling for the books: going along with what boundaries Mirajane set and not having a say in it. Normally, that would have been a-okay. He could respect boundaries, but that was with the condition that he actually knew about them. Mira just seemed to erect boundaries left and right without telling him, then got angry when Laxus overstepped. What did she expect, really? He couldn’t read minds.

Sometimes it was easy enough to ignore. Laxus would use her shampoo but buy some other household item they shared. He didn’t really think about it much until one morning when she got mad because she was late for class and he’d used up all the shampoo. Since then, it was declared that their shampoo-sharing days were over. No big deal. He bought his own fucking shampoo. Same brand, different formula just so he could tell which was his from hers.

Sometimes, Mira was downright unreasonable. Like that time they argued about paying the bills. He’d pay for cable, she’d pay for wifi. Water, electricity, rent, sure, they could split. But there had to be responsibilities, she said. He had to be responsible for some of their bills on his own; it wasn’t enough that he forked over money to compensate his half. It was a fine thought, but it grated on him how she said it, as if she was insinuating he wasn’t ever responsible. Laxus would admit to some shortcomings, but in his defense, she had volunteered that system in the first place. If she wanted to change it up, she could tell him properly, not wait until the last minute to get into hysterics.

But that was fine. He’d sleep on such events and forget about his anger the next day.

The truly bothersome change was weaning himself from the habits he’d formed as part of a couple. Laxus thrived off touch, and sometimes, he forgot himself. He’d brush past Mira and lay a hand on her hip and only remember it wasn’t allowed anymore when she’d give him one of her looks. It wasn’t a mean one. It was a look that said try harder. Try harder to unlearn how he liked being near her, or how he craved her warmth against him, or how he just took comfort in the easy instinct of touching her.

Mira looked like she understood. These weren’t things one could unlearn overnight. She, too, would catch herself imparting casual touches which would make her lips thin in disappointment. In him for being too near all the time or herself for being too weak to know better?

It was fine. Laxus was just glad she wasn’t too hard on him about it.

They still slept in one bed.

One time, Laxus thought about asking her if she wanted to get rid of the king bed and get two singles they could push up against the farthest walls. It would be pretty fucking weird and too tight to be comfortable in their cramped master bedroom, but if it came to that, there really wasn’t a choice. Of course, he didn’t actually say it. Maybe he was a fool for hanging onto whatever scraps he could get. He wasn’t ready to not sleep beside her. And it made him feel better to think that if Mira did want them to sleep on separate beds, she would have no problem saying it.

Laxus was a grabber in sleep. Mira, even when they were together, always slept with her back to him and she was such a peaceful sleeper that she’d wake up in the same position if Laxus didn’t pull her to him in the middle of the night. Laxus tried to mirror her habits. When they broke up, he went from falling asleep spooning Mira to falling asleep facing his side of the bed.

To no avail, it seemed. He’d still wake up with his arms and legs wrapped around Mirajane, like he was scared of letting her go even in sleep.

Thankfully, Mira never chastised him for it. During mornings he would feel her peel his limbs off her, slow so she wouldn’t jostle him. One such morning, he saw through his lashes the unreadable expression on her face. Like she wanted to scold him but felt too sorry for him to do so anyway.

It was easier to pretend he was still asleep.

–

2.

The look in Mirajane’s eye unnerved Laxus. He might have his dick in her lovely mouth but he was aware enough to feel anxious. Normally, he’d never be able to relate to how that felt like (that is, getting a blowjob and retaining a conscious train of thought throughout it), but to be fair, he’d been on guard for a while. It felt like tiptoeing around eggshells with Mira these days.

And now, she wore the same look from when she was about to say something unpleasant. He’d seen it many times before. Mira was a sweet thing but she had a cutting tongue when her patience was stretched a little too thin. And Laxus was born with a sterling propensity to test the elasticity of any living creature’s tolerance for bullshit.

He might have found it sexy. A hot girl between his legs, kneeling on the floor, looking like she wanted to turn him into stone while she blew him. He wasn’t a very hard man to rile up, anyway. But it felt different today. Admittedly though, not different enough to not blow his load.

The endorphin rush wasn’t even over when Mirajane flipped the mood a whole one-eighty.

“Laxus?”

Panting and still weirdly turned on, Laxus looked at Mirajane. She was sitting on her calves, wiping the corner of her lips. He cocked a brow at her, dread filling his gut before she could even say what she wanted.

“Let’s break up.”

Laxus, when overwhelmed, got cotton in his ears. At least, that was the only logical but not so scientific explanation for why he couldn’t hear her all too clearly. “What?”

Mirajane did another familiar look: one that meant she was trying to be patient when he was being too slow. “I said, let’s break up.”

“Why? Because I came in your mouth?” He already felt stupid before he could finish talking.

Mirajane shook her head, turning away from him. She was not quick enough to hide the small smile that tugged at the ends of her lips. She could still find him funny, after all this. It was a weird comfort. Laxus didn’t know if it bothered him that she was taking this so lightly. That he was taking this so lightly. Is this shock, he asked himself. Feeling the ground crumble beneath you but being too numb to want to do anything about it?

His pulse raced as he watched Mira get on her legs and pad to the bathroom. He should say something. Anything. Maybe beg her to reconsider. Maybe throw up because he was so astounded.

For a man that was often told he perpetually had a foot in his mouth, he couldn’t come up with anything to say. He couldn’t even feel the omnipresent fierce reaction under his skin. Dazed, he only followed her into their en suite. He was still trying to come up with anything. Mira gathered her hair into a high bun and tied it before getting under the shower. The water from the nozzle hit her right on the chest.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now, Laxus.” She said when he failed to speak.

“Will we ever?” Or are you just going to leave me hanging like this?

She reached for the body wash. “Yes. Just not right now.”

Laxus wondered if he looked stupid right now. Was his mouth hanging open as he tried to process what was happening while his girlfriend took a shower, seeming not at all bothered? Could he even still call Mira his girlfriend? Did label privileges expire when one party declared intent for separation? Or was that yet to be decided until both of them came to an agreement on the break up? He was wondering about the most irrelevant things. Why couldn’t his brain fixate on what was truly important right now, which was mustering up eloquence?

“You can’t just dump me and not explain it, Mira.” Yes, that was good. That was something, at least.

Mirajane gave him another look: one that said wanna bet this time. Now it was her turn to forego speech. Her look said enough.

Laxus left her to shower, defeated. He entered the bedroom and wondered what this would mean. Was that it? Did he have to move out? Did she? Were they not together anymore just because she said so? Did he have a chance to refute? He should, shouldn’t he? What did they call that shit in court? The right to cross-examine? Fuck. He should ask Jellal. What else were fancy ass pre-law friends for?

Laxus told himself to get it together. He almost slapped himself. His heart was racing and his mind was spinning. He could hear Mira turn the faucet off and stomp her feet on the foot rug. Still speechless, he watched her cross the room to get clothes out of their dresser and clothe herself with the towel still on. So he wasn’t even entitled to seeing her body anymore. It must be official now.

Mirajane got dressed and combed her hair and left the room to watch TV in the living room and in that span of time, Laxus still couldn’t manage to snap out of his funk. Still naked, still reeling, he reached for the bottle of tequila he kept under his side of the bed.

It was probably too late to say anything now, anyway.

–

1.

Was there a term for a feeling of impending doom? The French had a lot of suave-sounding terms for all kinds of shit, didn’t they? Ah, it didn’t matter. Laxus wasn’t a man of articulacy, anyway.

It just felt fucking weird. Things with Mira, that is. Mira, who he’d been with since highschool, who he moved halfway across the country with to attend some university he didn’t really feel so strongly about that he’d’ve left his home for it, who suggested they find an apartment and move in together to save up on rent, who he signed a scary 24 month lease with, who was now giving him at least 3 cold shoulder treatments every week since they settled into their new apartment three months ago.

Laxus wondered if this was normal. At the risk of sounding like a dick, he thought that moving in together would mean crazy rabbit sex 24/7 and more fun domestic stuff. He wanted to cook average food for her, take turns doing laundry with her, go to the grocery store at 2 am with her, figure out how to assemble the expensive bed they got. Stuff like that. He’d anticipated it. He didn’t know why she was having the sudden change of heart now that things were actually pretty fucking official with the lease. Mira never got like this.

It wasn’t that she was mad mad. They never had a fight, it was just that she started being distant now that they lived together. They could be sitting in the same shitty sofa they found at his old dorm’s storage and he would feel like there was something preventing him from talking to her. He supposed part of it was his fault, too. He should just talk to her if he wanted. It was just that he couldn’t help feeling uneasy.

Laxus tried to pinpoint the fault, because knowing the problem would make finding a solution so much easier. At a guess, it would have been when he left for home the summer before they got the keys to the apartment. His grandfather had been sick and Makarov was far enough in age that every call from the aged home had Laxus fraught with nerves.

He caught a redeye and texted Mirajane the details en route to the airport. She didn’t really seem mad but she was probably pissed that she had to pack her stuff and his and find a way to get it into the new apartment. But what did she want him to do? Leave the old man to marinate in sickness all by himself? Sure, Makarov didn’t end up kicking the bucket like he and all the caregivers thought, but still. Family first, and all that shit, right? Laxus didn’t understand why Mira would be mad about that, which was probably why he didn’t assume it really was the reason she was acting this way. When he came back from visiting his grandfather, things were just different. They had pleasant talks but it wasn’t like it used to be. And soon, that furtive little infection spread and next thing Laxus knew, he was struggling for the right moment, the right mood, to open his mouth and ask her if she wanted to order out for dinner.

Maybe love was supposed to be like this. Not sweet and easy and made up of kisses and quirky grocery runs and domestic anecdotes. Maybe love was supposed to be an enigmatic thing that made one question everything they thought they knew. Maybe love was taking big steps and wanting to falter back just when it was too late, maybe love was stretched silences and grasping for words, maybe love was something that made two strangers out of a couple.

[securepain9-blog]

crispy rice and egg bowl with ginger-scallion vinaigrette

It’s really unfortunate timing, because we’ve got a long year to go and I at one point had many great and luminous cooking plans for it, but they’re all cancelled now because on the afternoon of January 4th, before 2019 had really even kicked in, I ate the best thing I had or will all year or maybe ever — because what would the internet be without some unnecessary melodrama — and I threw it together from a mess of leftovers in my fridge.

Don’t you hate it when those lifestyle guru-types tell you about the meals they threw together from their leftovers, which just happen to be in tip-top shape, chromatically balanced, and Instagram-perfect. In real life, or at least mine, leftovers are a lot of Let’s Never Speak About That Again, the best of intentions cut short by poor planning, the now shamed and guilt-ridden humans responsible for the disgrace vowing to do better by that murky bag of herbs and liquefied cucumber next time.

But not last week. Last week, on January 1st, I made David Chang’s Bo Ssam, something I do once a year or so when I want to make a jaw-dropping feast for a crowd with exactly three ingredients (pork shoulder, salt, sugar) even a person living through the aftereffects of an evening of daquiris can handle. Of course, because most three-ingredient recipes are a lie, there are a few other things you make to serve with it: a Ssam sauce (it’s like a vinaigrette), a ginger-scallion sauce (a riff on the classic Cantonese sauce), rice, and I always like to serve it with marinated julienned carrots and thinly sliced cucumbers so needless to say, these leftovers were well above-average. Bo Ssam makes a lot; we ate it on the 1st, the 2nd, and the 3rd before we were finally out of pork, but I still had a smidge left of everything else so for lunch on that 4th day of the year, I put it all in a bowl and topped it with a crispy fried egg.

But first, I crisped the rice. The world of crisped, stuck-pot, scorched, fried, and tahdig-ed rice is vast and nuanced and fascinating and I’m not going to even try to do it justice here, but what they all have in common, what they all know, is that cooked rice that’s been allowed to crisp is a glorious thing. My favorite — short-grain brown or white rice — is particularly good at this, starchy and thick enough to be both crackly edged and tender-centered in a single grain. (What a showoff.) It, apparently, smells like popcorn when you cook it.

I have told every single person I’ve seen or spoken to since about how amazing this lunch was (their eyes mostly glazed over, it’s fine, I understand) and now it’s your turn. I’ve tried to pare it down to just the most essential parts — crispy rice, a crispy egg, and a ginger-scallion-sauce-meets-vinaigrette — plus whatever crunchy or leftover vegetables you have around. I hope it becomes your new favorite 2019 meal, too.

Previously

One year ago: Boulevardier Two years ago: Crusty Baked Cauliflower and Farro Three years ago: Ugly-But-Good Cookies and Swiss Chard Pancakes Four years ago: Mushroom Marsala Pasta Bake Five years ago: Coconut Tapioca Pudding and Chicken Pho Six years ago: Ethereally Smooth Hummus and Gnocchi in Tomato Broth Seven years ago: Apple Sharlotka Eight years ago: Vanilla Bean Pudding and Pizza with Bacon, Onions, and Cream Nine years ago: Barley Risotto with Beans and Greens and Poppy Seed Lemon Cake Ten years ago: Almond-Vanilla Rice Pudding and Light Wheat Bread Eleven years ago: Lemon Bars and Crunchy Baked Pork Chops Twelve years ago: Balthazar’s Cream of Mushroom Soup and World Peace Cookies

And for the other side of the world: Six Months Ago: Bourbon Peach Smash 1.5 Years Ago: Confetti Party Cake 2.5 Years Ago: Peaches and Cream Bunny Cake 3.5 Years Ago: Green Beans with Almond Pesto 4.5 Years Ago: Sticky Sesame Chicken Wings

Crispy Rice and Egg Bowl with Ginger-Scallion Vinaigrette

Servings: 4

Time: 10 minutes

Source: Smitten Kitchen

Print

I make this with cucumbers and carrots because it’s what I have around most often, but I think this could be good with many other vegetables, even leftovers, so go ahead, clean out your fridge before it gets terrible. If you have extra time, I like to toss the carrots with 2 tablespoons each rice vinegar and water, 1/2 teaspoon sugar, 1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt to coat the strands. They begin to marinate/gently pickle while you do everything else. But the dressing is sufficient to flavor them if you’re in more of a rush.

While this is best with leftover rice, cold from the fridge, I made some fresh and cooled it to almost room temperature and it was, in fact, almost perfect (and it crisps faster). I really like the starchiness of short-grain white and brown rice here; I did not test this with long-grain rice but have crisped longer-grain rice in other recipes with success. This recipe presumes 3/4 cup cooked rice per person; adjust it to your preferred serving size, if this is not it.

This recipe has many things in common with dolcet bibimbap, which is served in a sizzling stone bowl that crisps the rice, nd is topped with a raw egg (which cooks in the hot rice) or meat, and fresh and pickled vegetables — although this is in no way intended as what would be a very poor imitation. But if you like the flavors of bimbimbap, you will definitely like what’s happening in this fridge-scavenged hybrid recipe.

1 1/4 cups minced scallions, both green and white parts (from a 4-ounce bundle)

2 tablespoons minced or finely grated fresh ginger

Neutral oil (such as grapeseed, safflower, or sunflower)

1/4 cup sherry or rice wine vinegar

Fine sea salt

About 1 heaped cup julienned or coarsely grated carrots (from about 8 ounces fresh)

8 ounces small (Persian-style, about 2) cucumbers, thinly sliced

3 cups cooked, cooled rice (my favorite here is short-grain brown or white)

4 eggs

Soy sauce or tamari (to serve)

Toasted sesame oil (to serve)

Sriracha, gochujang or another hot sauce of your choice (to serve)

Make the vinaigrette: Mix scallions, ginger, 1/4 cup oil and sherry or rice wine vinegar in a bowl. Season with salt (I use about 1/2 teaspoon fine sea salt). Set aside.

Crisp your rice: Heat a large frying pan over medium high. Add 1 to 2 tablespoons oil; you’ll want to coat the bottom with a thin layer of oil all over. Nonstick pan (as I used) are more forgiving here, so you can use the lower amount. Heat the oil until it’s hot, another minute, then scatter half the rice over the surface; it’s okay if small clusters remain. Season lightly with salt and do not touch it. In 3 to 5 minutes, the underside will become golden brown and crisp. Use a spatula to flip it in sections then fry on the other side until it is also crisp. Divide between two bowls and repeat with remaining rice, dividing it between two remaining bowls.

Crisp your egg: If there isn’t enough oil left in the pan (you want a thin layer), add another splash and heat this on high heat. Add eggs one at a time and season lightly with salt and pepper. Cook until brown, lacy, and crisp underneath, and the whites are opaque, bubbly and dramatic and the edges are brown. You can spoon some oil from the pan over the egg whites to help them cook faster. Place one egg on each bowl of rice.

Assemble bowls: Arrange some cucumbers and carrots to each bowl. Spoon 2 tablespoons vinaigrette onto each bowls. Drizzle each egg with a half-teaspoon of tamari and toasted sesame oil, letting it roll onto the other ingredients, plus hot sauce to taste. Eat immediately. Repeat frequently.

Do ahead: The dressing will keep for 5 to 6 days in the fridge; the chopped vegetables will keep for 3 to 4.

Source: https://smittenkitchen.com/2019/01/crispy-rice-and-egg-bowl-with-ginger-scallion-vinaigrette/

[bodegacowboy]

Winner takes all

It’s still April 3rd somewhere in the U.S

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sunday

“The problem is Sakura-chan, and this is the way I see it, you have the right to ignore my love for you, but you ignoring me doesn’t stop me from loving you. I am dreamer Sakura and in this case, the only solution is for me to wake up. You’ve got to wake me up, you’ve got to reject me for real.”

Sakura who had been half-way through a ramen slurp choked momentarily on a noodle.

“Naruto, you’ve got to let a girl finish slurping before dropping that kind of talk on her.”

“Before you reject me. Give me a week.”

“What?”

“Give me a week to win you over.  If I can’t win your heart by the end of the week, you can reject me for good and I'll move on forever.”

Sakura glanced over her shoulders to see if anyone at the Ramen Ichiraku was eavesdropping on their suddenly serious conversation.

“Let’s slow down for a second Naruto, I’m still trying to process the unusual direction this conversation seems to be taking.”

“Sakura, I know this sound strange. But I’ve made this promise to myself to finally win your heart.”

“You made a promise to yourself?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Just now.”

“Just now?”

Naruto nodded. “Yes, as I watching watching you slurp I promised that I’d put everything I have on the line to win you over. But I need you to give me a chance. Give me a week.”

“Okay let’s summarize all of this. You, just now-made a promise to yourself to win me over in seven days.”

“If I can’t do it in seven days I’ll move on.”

Sakura looked at Naruto closely now, gauging his seriousness. “I appreciate the melodrama. I actually enjoy melodrama to be honest, but it’s not--”

“All I need from you Sakura is a chance.”

“Naruto..”

“You can reject me at the end of the week” Naruto interrupted. “No hard feelings.”

“I understand what you’re saying but--”

“We’ll still be friends, as close as ever, I swear.”

“That’s good to know bu--”

“One week Sakura, just give me one week.”

She sighed. “There’s literally nothing I can say right now that’s going to stop you from going through with this right?”

“Right.”

Sakura took a moment to consider this. “How do you plan on--.”

“I don’t know. But it’s gonna be romantic and it’s going to be memorable. I guarantee that it will blow you away.”

“Is it wise wise to make that kind of guarantee when you have no idea what you’re going to do?”

“If I knew how to win your heart Sakura, I would have already done it. But I am going to do it, I just need you to open to it. Just give me a chance Sakura-chan.”

Again Sakura paused to reflect. “You’ve....okay you’ve got a chance.”

“Thank you.”

XXXXXXXXX

Monday:

When Naruto suggested they go see a foreign film Sakura was surprised. Her surprise then changed to amusement when he made a valiant but ultimately disastrous attempt at pronouncing the film’s name.

“What’s it about?” She asked.

“I’ve been told its a very artistic love story.”

“Do you even like romantic movies Naruto?”

“Do you?”

“I am a fan of the genre.”

“I am a fan of making you happy. So if this movie makes you happy, it’ll make me happy, and if I am happy that means the movie made me happy and that will make me a fan of the movie.”

Sakura found herself heading into the movie hoping it would be a film they could both enjoy. She knew the descriptive label “artistic” however was a broad term. An artistic experience could be a culturally enlightening one or an uncomfortable one, depending on one’s taste.  By the second scene of the movie, when the hero and heroine started having sex – not gentle, loving and beautifully lit sex, but bouncing off the walls, sadomasochistic, close-up and loud sex, Sakura felt her hopes for enlightenment diminish substantially.

Sakura fidgeted in her seat a bit at first but when her arm brushed against Naruto’s she stiffened. She straightened her posture, locked her eyes on the screen and tried desperately to hide all traces of her embarrassment. Her head held high Sakura glared at the movie, determined to appraise it on its merits as a medium of visual storytelling as any other dignified and cultured adult would.

The plot of the movie barely established itself in between one scene of graphic sex after the other. It was at the start of the third act, when the camera zoomed slowly in between the heroine’s legs that Sakura began contemplating escape. She had in fact just identified all the exits in the theater when Naruto leaned over and whispered,”Sakura..."

So absorbed had she been in masking her own embarrassment that she had forgotten Naruto had been beside her. She turned wondering if the movie had affected him in anyway. She looked at him and then he looked away. In the cool light of the movie screen she saw that his face was glowing red.

“I'm sorry, I didn’t expect this...” He said not looking at her.

Sakura stared at his face and then burst out laughing.

Twenty minutes after her laughter had died down, Sakura weathered the mean looks from her fellow audience members with grace as she and Naruto exited the theater.

“I get that they’re upset but there is no need for the death glares. I think someone put  a curse on me as we were getting out of our seats.”

“You can’t really blame them” Naruto smiled. “You were a giggling mess right up to the credits.”

“Well that’s partly your fault. It wouldn't have gone on that long if you hadn’t joined me.”

“I only started laughing because you couldn’t stop laughing.”

“Well you can’t blame me for that. I’d never seen your face that red before.”

“I, I don’t think that’s very funny,” Naruto stammered.

“You don’t think the sight of you almost glowing in the dark is even a little funny?”

“Okay, maybe it's a a little funny” Naruto conceded.

“It was unprecedented and hysterical.”  

Abruptly Naruto stopped walking. “Sakura...I didn’t know the movie would play out like that.”

“Naruto you may not be a perfect gentleman, but you try to be. If I was in anyway uncomfortable it wasn't because of you.”

“So you had fun?” He inquired.

“It was a highly enjoyable experience all things considered. But I am going to guess things didn’t turn out the way you wanted.”

“Well its not so bad,” He offered. “I still have six more days left to win you over don’t I?”

“Yes you do” She answered.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Tuesday:

"Good evening, Mr. Uzumaki. Your table is ready for you and Ms. Haruno.”

The head waiter grabbed two menus and led them through the restaurant to a candlelit table for two in a cozy corner of the room. The waiter pulled out a chair and seated Sakura. He then placed the napkins, handed them their respective menus and vowed that someone would be along shortly to take their order.

“Well this is fancy” Sakura remarked when the head waiter disappeared.

A triumphant grinned spread across Naruto’s face. “Are you surprised?”

Sakura answered quickly. “Yes

“I can be very fancy Sakura-chan.”

“I see that now” Sakura said glancing about the restaurant.

Naruto reached across the table and took her hand.

“Sakura-chan” he began, his voice soft. "I never thought I’d say this but...."

Naruto glanced down at her hand as he gently stroked it.  "I think you might need a manicure."

“Oh you jerk” Sakura said as she pulled her hand from his and lightly slapped it away. “I thought you were about to say something serious.”

Naruto chuckled. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“So let me try and wrap my head around this mister-please-give-me-chance. You set up a romantic dinner but you can’t even keep yourself from pranking me.”

Naruto sighed, pleased with himself. “It’s nice to be with someone who understands me.”

Sakura folder her arms over her chest in mock indignation. “Just because I understand you doesn’t mean I like you. You ever think that my understanding might actually be the barrier between us?”

“I think I can break through that barrier.”

“Oh really?”

Naruto smiled broadly “Yep, because I may have a few more surprises left for tonight.”

Their server interrupted at that exact moment, introducing herself while delivering a basket of warm bread, herb butter and a pitcher of water. The server continued on about the appetizers but Sakura didn't pay very much attention. She was focused entirely on Naruto. He was peeking up at her despite appearing to be staring down at the menu with interest. Sharing his attention with the menu, the chatty waiter, and her, he wasn’t fully aware that her gaze was on him. She saw the cycle of emotions in his eyes, nervousness combated self confidence, and occasionally adoration flashed towards her revealing the inner secrets of his heart.

“Miss?”

The single word from the server snapped Sakura out of her thoughts.

“I’ll have the avocado salad” she said.

For his appetizer Naruto ordered a spicy soup.  When the waiter left Sakura asked, “Aren’t you  betraying your precious ramen?”

“I heard the soup here is legendary. There are actual chili peppers in the soup. They say very few people can handle it. I couldn’t pass up the challenge.”

“Are you trying to impress me with your spicy soup eating skills?”

“Of course”

They chatted inconsequentially for a few minutes after that. All the while Sakura continued to muse on the fact that a man who was instrumental in saving the  world was trying to impress her. She wondered to herself how she had gone so long in the past without noticing the depths of the feelings he had for her.. The more obvious it seemed to her now, the more thick-headed she felt she had been.

The server returned with her salad and the bowl of soup for Naruto. Sakura started in on her salad and Naruto brought a spoonful of chili pepper packed soup to his lips.

"This is really nice," Sakura whispered, as a comforting sense of tranquility settled upon her.

“This was a mistake” Naruto said.

“What?” She looked up at Naruto. Sweat streamed from his every pore, tears rolled down his cheeks.

“The soup was a mistake.” Frantic Naruto snatched the pitcher of the water off the table and poured the contents down his throat.

Sakura grimaced, she knew that the worse thing Naruto could have done for the pain was to drink all that water. As if confirming her immediate thought Naruto’s eyes bulged in their sockets, he gripped the table with both hands and let out an agonized primal howl followed by some very dramatic panting.

“You need some milk!” Sakura cried.  “Milk will help!”

His eyes tearing, his nose running, Naruto leapt out of his seat knocking the table over. Sakura watched as Naruto, yowling in pain, bowled over the restaurant staff as he disappeared past a revolving door into what she assumed was the kitchen.

******

Sakura reached into her shopping bag and fished out a carton of milk.

It had been an interesting walk home from the restaurant.

One that required a stop off at a neighborhood store for milk and peanut butter.

“See the chemical compound responsible for the burning sensation is called capsaicin. It binds to pain receptors in your mouth, which then can trigger a reaction like your eyes tearing up or your nose running,” Sakura explained.

Without a word Naruto accepted the carton and popped it open.

“Capsaicin is a non-polar molecule and dissolves in other non-polar molecules, milk contains non-polar molecules, and so does peanut butter.”

“So what you’re saying Sakura-chan” Naruto started, forcing the words out through numbed lips. “Is that milk and peanut butter will end the torture?”

“Well they can help you cool your mouth after eating spicy foods.”

Naruto nodded and brought the the milk up to his lips. They walked along quietly for awhile as Naruto drained the milk carton. He kept a straight face and even straighter posture as he marched beside her, but Sakura knew that he was upset. She had no need for any special abilities to sense the aura of disappointment radiating from Naruto’s body.

She broke the silence when a thought occurred. “Naruto, I didn’t think your face could get any redder than last night at the movies but then tonight happened.”

Naruto who had a gulp-full of milk in his mouth did a spit-take. He stared at  Sakura for some time before his body started to shake as if he had the sudden attack of severe hiccups. Laughter then exploded out of him shaking his entire body.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist” Sakura stated.

When his laughter ceased, Naruto wiped tears from his eyes. “Sakura, I have five days left right?”

“Yes, yes you do

XXXXXXXX

Wednesday afternoon:

“What kind of flowers are they?” Sakura asked.

“They’re a new breed. The Yamanka clan has managed to cross-pollinate Lilies and Jasmines. The look beautiful and they smell nice. I thought they would uh brighten up and freshen up your office.”

Naruto then offered her the bouquet of flowers.

Despite the smile on her face and the blush on her cheeks, Sakura shook her head disapprovingly.

“I can’t accept this Naruto. In fact you shouldn’t be in here with those.”

“What, why?”

“Lilies are dangerous for allergy sufferers because the pollen is so thick and the Jasmines heavy scent– while fragrant-can cause incessant bout of sneezes. These are some of the two worst flowers for allergy suffers combined into one form. You can’t have that out in the open in a hospital.”

“Oh.”

She could see he was at loss for words. He turned his head and spotted a handful of medic-nin guiding a group of shinobi down the hallway. They were headed in their direction. Panicked Naruto opened up his jacket and stuffed the flowers inside.

“Alright so, how about I treat you to lunch? I thought a picnic maybe?”

Sakura smiled but shook her head again. “I’d love to but there’s actually a lot going on right now.”

“My leg!” Someone exclaimed in horror from behind the door to the hospital room Sakura had been standing in front of as she talked with Naruto.

Startled Naruto glanced at the door. Then he glanced back at the herd of shinobi and medics still shuffling down the hall towards them.

“I noticed there were a lot of people in the triage Sakura. Is there a war going on that I don’t know about?”

“There was a major accident in one of the armories and some exploding tags went off..” Sakura sighed, “It wouldn’t be so bad if Tsunade wasn’t suffering from a long night.”

“Hangover?” Naruto guessed.

Before Sakura could answer the door behind her slammed open and Tsunade stepped out holding an icepack against her forehead.

“Sakura a busy medic has no time for breaks, no time for lunch, no time for sleep...”

She stopped and glanced at Naruto.

“And no time for romance!”

“It’s not like that!” Sakura flushed. “I’ll be back in a moment!”

Growling loudly Tsunade popped back in the room, slamming the door shut behind her.

“It’s a mild hangover” Sakura said. “I’ll probably be busy for the rest of the day.”

“That’s fine” Naruto sighed. “I still have four days left.”

Sakura looked at him.

“Naruto, are you sure you're all right?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve got big red splotches spreading all over your face- You’re breaking out into his hives!”

“What?” Naruto declared.  

“Are you allergic to those flowers?”

“No, I mean I don’t know.”

He stopped mid-sentence when she took both his hands and he noticed the rash spreading across them.

“Well guess we will be spreading lunch together after all” Sakura said.

XXXXXXXXX

Thursday evening:

She had just gotten home from work when the messenger-nin knocked on her door. She greeted him but before she could ask for the scroll in his hand the messenger-nin deftly unrolled it himself. He then cleared his throat.

I offer you a special gift

You may accept or reject it

But I lay it at your feet

My heart pure and sweet

When in the dark I see the worst case

A world without you is a suffocating place.

But  if someone else says I love you

And it turns out you love them too

Do like me and give them your heart

And I'll wish that you two  never part

Sounds strange? It’s hard to explain

The uniqueness of this kind of pain

Though I would wish you for me

I want most of all for you to see

All I want is for you to be happy.

Forgive me if this sounds too sappy

But this is the poem I had to write

Because it's what I could think of tonight

So now you know

How far I'll go

Some may see it as a tragic flaw

But my feelings are real umnmm Samara?

"Who the hell is Samara?!" Naruto and Sakura shouted in unison.

“Naruto?” Perplexed Sakura looked past the messenger-nin to see Naruto land a few feet from them.

She concluded that Naruto must have been hiding and spying nearby. He likely sprang from behind the large tree in her front yard.

“It’s Sakura, it says Sakura!” Naruto blurted out with a hoarse cry.

The messenger now aware of Naruto’s presence glanced down at the scroll in his hands. “Are, you sure?”

Stunned beyond belief Naruto clutched at his blond hair. “I wrote it! Of course I’m sure!”

“Dude your handwriting is so terrible I had to take a guess at the name.”

“ It’s Sakura, it says Sakura!” Naruto approached the messenger, nostrils flaring.

“But Sakura doesn’t really rhyme with flaw, not by any pronunciation I’ve heard of.”

“You son-of-a” Naruto growled as he took another step towards the messenger.

“Naruto, calm down” Sakura said as she stepped in between him and the messenger.  “Not all poems have to rhyme.”

“You gotta admit that at least Samara rhymes with flaw alot better than Sakura does!” The messenger declared. “The poem actually flows a lot better with Samara. You’re better off finding a girl named Samara.”

“Okay sir” Sakura turned towards the messenger-nin, a scowl on her face and a large vein throbbing on her forehead. “You’ve done your job, may go now.”

A pained expression flitted over the messenger’s face.“No tip?”

“Go!”

Naruto and Sakura stared daggers at the messenger and he crumpled under the combined weight of their glares and scampered off.

“He asked for a tip...” Naruto croaked, his voice raspy. “You know I wrote Sakura and not Samara right?”

“I know, Naruto.”

“I should have read it myself.”

“Why didn’t you?” Sakura asked

Naruto looked away. “I thought that guy would be a professional. It’s his job to make it an romantic experience!”

Sakura rolled her eyes. “Here’s what I think, I think you’re not fully over that allergic reaction from yesterday. I suspect you still have rashes and I suspect you have a sore throat. No I suspect your throat is killing you like I said it would be yesterday. you should have taken the day off.”

“He had a better speaking voice anyway. He sounded great for ninety nine percent of it” Naruto said in a very scratchy voice.  

“You need some sleep Naruto. Take the rest of the night off”

“Fine” Naruto said staring out into space. “I’ve got three days left anyway.”

XXXXXXXX

Friday evening:

Sakura thought it strange that whenever the group of friends came together at Shikamaru’s home, their night always followed the same pattern. They always ordered take out, more food than they usually ate individually, they always ate most of the food outside on the Nara clans’ patio and then they devoured the rest inside in front of the Nara’s cozy fireplace. This ritual had occurred at least two Fridays of every month since the war. And though the nights rarely deviated from their usual pattern Sakura loved them.

Shikamaru lay stretched out on his couch, Ino and Choji  on chairs on either side. The rest of the infamous Konoha 11 filled out the rest of the Nara living room.

“Why do we always order takeout?” Choji wondered as he brushed loose strands of white rice from his lips.

“What, you want me to cook for you guys?” Shikamaru asked.

“You know a man who can cook is  very sexy” Ino declared.

“Who do I need to look sexy for Ino? You guys? I’m not trying to impress anyone.”

“Oh we know, no one is as impressive at not impressing anyone as you are.”

This brought out a snort of laughter from everyone in the room as Shikamaru waved Ino’s comment off dismissively.

“Wait a minute. Where are the fortune cookies?”  Choji blurted out.

“I got them!” Naruto said.

With unexpected enthusiasm he sprinted out of the room and returned with a handful of fortune cookies. With a grin on his face that went from ear to ear Naruto passed them out.

As tradition dictated everyone broke into their cookies, snacked on the pieces and then read their fortunes out loud.  

“Mine is ‘Believe in yourself, and others will, too.’ I like that.” Lee crowed.

“Mine says ‘A new voyage will fill your life with untold memories’ Not bad” Shino announced with his usual solemn charm

“Mine says ‘Your future will be happy and productive.’ Sounds good” Sakura said.

“Wait, what?” Naruto’s said his face growing dark.

“Um guys, my fortune says ‘in a crowded room a lover’s eyes will search for you’ That’s weird” Choji.

“Oh, crap!”

All heads turned to Naruto as he closed his eyes and ran both his hands across his face..  

Choji looked at Naruto for a moment and then to Sakura. Not knowing how to respond she shrugged sheepishly.

“Well, I don’t think this is meant for me” Chouji said his voice tinged with disappointment.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Saturday afternoon.

Sakura stopped jogging when she saw it. A giant box, sitting right in the middle of the training ground where she and her team had undergone the survival training with bells. She allowed her curiosity to draw her closer to the box. When she neared, she discovered that someone had written her name in bold, along the surface of the box. Still coming down off a runner’s high Sakura only found this situation mildly questionable. She was two or three steps away from the box when it burst open and Naruto sprang up like a jack in the box.

“Congratulations Sakura, you solved all the clues for the scavenger hunt. Now come claim your prize!”

Sakura considered the situation. Then she responded. “That was really....fun Naruto.”

“It took you awhile to get here what clue tripped you up?”

Sakura glanced off to the side, avoiding Naruto’s gaze. “Um the last one?”

“What about the theme did you like the theme? I thought that was pretty clever.”

“Yes” Sakura said succinctly.

“You spent so long getting here I was a little worried you didn’t find the first clue.”

Sakura forced out a chuckle in response. “Hahaha.”

When she turned back to Naruto she found herself under his scrutinizing gaze.

“You did find the first clue, right Sakura?”

“Of course, I......wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t right?”

“What was the first clue?” He asked.

“Um”

“You didn’t find it did you?”

Sakura considered the situation. Then she responded. “No.”

“‘I left it on the welcome mat on your front porch.”

Sakura sighed. “I had an early shift at the hospital, I was running late and I sort of rushed out.”

“If you didn’t find the clue how did you even get here?!”

“I always jog through the training grounds on Saturday.”

“So this is all a coincidence?!”

“A meaningful one” Sakura smiled.

Stone-faced Naruto sank back into box out of view. Sakura stepped closer to the box and peered inside. Naruto sat still staring blankly at the opposite wall of the box.

“So what was the theme?” She asked

“Medical stuff, and the village” Naruto answered. “Each clue related to some organ in the body and a section of the village.”

“Awww, that was clever. What was I supposed to win?”

“My heart.”

“Awwww. Naruto I’m  so sorry.”

“No, it’s okay.”

She studied him. “Naruto, maybe we should talk.”

“Sakura-chan, just give me one day. We can talk tomorrow okay?”

Sakura drew in a deep breath and let it out. “You’re not going to come out of the box are you?”

“Not until-” He looked up at her his eyes fill with renewed mischief. “Not until I’ve come up with a new plan.”

XXXXXXXXXX

Clenching an umbrella with a tight grip, Sakura waited for Naruto right outside his house. She knew Naruto wasn’t home so she stared out into the street. Quietly she peered through the almost impenetrable curtain of rain for an hour or two until she saw the vague outline of a familiar form. Naruto appeared before her drenched and shivering, his clothes soaked all the way through.

She saw that he was surprised to find her there.

She spoke first. “I heard through the grapevine that right before the storm hit someone was seen attempting to vandalize the Hokage monument. They say the storm winds sent him skipping across the Third’s forehead.”

“Ah” Naruto said understanding. “Word really gets around in this village.”

The rain had had disheveled his hair, water dripped from the beak of his nose.

“You were feeling nostalgic?”

“A little” Naruto laughed.

“What was the message?”

“Nothing complicated. A simple ‘I love you Sakura-chan.’”

“Short and sweet. I would have loved that.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah” She sighed. “You should get inside and get out of those wet clothes.”

“I should” Naruto shrugged. “But what’s the rush?”

“The rush is to keep you from being sick in bed for about week.”

“No need to wait, I am feeling pretty bad right now. I am starting to think I don’t have what it takes to make you happy.”

“Why would you say that?”

“I’ve run out of ideas to win you over.”

“Well, you can stop trying so hard to win. This game is already won.”

“I don’t understand” Naruto said.

Sakura met his gaze. “Yes you do, you do understand. You just don’t believe. Sometimes when our mind's made up. When we feel like we’ve got it all figured out, when we feel like we’ve got ourselves and others figured out, we miss the obvious signs.”

Naruto said nothing as he seemingly considered her words.

“For awhile now I’ve been trying to think about how to get you to believe that I’d really changed my mind. I didn’t really know how to do that, without dragging up some painful memories. So when you came up with this plan I thought “hey just let him win’”

“Let me win?”

Sakura nodded. “This game is fixed, it’s rigged, the outcome has already been decided. You’ve already won me over. I was just waiting for you to figure that out.”

Naruto studied her face. His eyes searching. “So you were going to let me win?”

Sakura nodded. “Think about it, why would I even agree to this game in the first place?”

Naruto turned his attention to Sakura’s umbrella. “You mind if I get in there?”

“Well it is big enough for two. But I don’t think it’ll help you too much at this point.”

Naruto took the umbrella when Sakura offered it to him. He then held it up over the both of them.

“Sakura, I am an idiot.”

“I know, of course it takes one to know one.”

“Can two idiots make a good couple?”

“Only time can tell.”

“We’re going to get it right eventually, right?”

“Believe it” Sakura grinned.

Naruto smirked, and then he leaned forward and kissed her forehead once, "I believe." he whispered, and kissed each of her eyes as they closed. Then he kissed the tip of her nose, and, cupping her beneath the chin, he lifted her lips to an upwards tilt and then came down, gently letting his lips press against hers.

“You did prove one thing this week Naruto.” Sakura said when the kiss broke.

“What’s that?

“I may have already made my choice. But you made me sure that I made the right choice.

XXXXXXXXXX

So for the lend me a line contest I did use a line from an anonymous person. The other lines sent my way had potential but I couldn’t find a place to fit them unfortunately. Thanks for reading if you like the story let me know.

[buri-art]

Detective Genius: Part 4 of 8

Chapter Four: The Justice-Selling Nurse and the Case of the Fancy Salmon Lunch

Synopsis: Yoon is a financially struggling nurse and recognizes a trauma victim, Taejun, as someone from his boarding house. The victim’s brother, Kyoga, suspects foul play and offers Yoon money to figure out who caused this. The landlord, Soo-won, discourages Yoon from getting involved, but in order to support himself and his adoptive father Ik-soo, Yoon investigates the suspicious other residents--and then some. Genre: Modern Day AU, (Attempted!?) Murder Mystery in Classic ‘Who Done It?’ Style, General. Could be read as comedy, drama, or melodrama. Words: 3,268 Warnings: I don’t kill anyone, but I do make them suffer a little (sorry, Taejun, somebody had to be the victim). Probably nothing that would make people squeamish, as the focus is on the plot. Find the other chapters in the master post.

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

I had a monthly arrangement with Yuno to use her homegrown herbs, make an extra portion, and have her chip in for the ingredients. She was excited about this because it was a way for her to learn new recipes; I was excited because we got to eat nice food with fresh, fragrant seasoning that lingered in the kitchen for hours. If you closed your eyes and breathed deeply, you could imagine that you were in a kitchen warm with natural sunlight from a large window that didn't face the brick wall of a neighboring building. 

Today it was salmon and rice pilaf with a side salad. I told Ik-soo to go ahead and eat without me, since I had things to do. Today I was busy, so I figured I would let Yuno take her share from the Tupperware and then I'd scarf the rest and get back to work. I already had enough joy from the cooking side of things, the pleasure of eating was only a bonus. 

I took the elevator up one floor and knocked at her door on the south side, and when she opened the door the scent of steam and rosemary wafted toward me. Yuno had her hair in a loose bun so her dangly earrings shone brightly, and she wore an apron over her frilly blouse. "Oh no!" she gasped and put her hands over her mouth. “I forgot!" 

"Yes. Seems I caught you cooking something else."

"I'm so, so, so sorry! I'm cooking for Geun-tae today. I'm trying out the chicken and veggies in the cute little aluminum foil packets that you taught me how to do. Please, come inside while I find you some cash."

"That's alright, I should have doubled checked with you. And I wouldn't want to impose."

"It's no trouble at all, Yoon. Come inside!" she started pulling on my wrist, and due to carrying the Tupperware I couldn't fight her. Inside, her big and scruffy boyfriend immediately met my eyes. Yuno smiled and said, "This is Geun-tae. I've told him all about you and Ik-soo and how nice you two are!" 

"Pleased to meet you."

"Same," he gave me a simple wave.

"Now where did I put my purse... " I had a guess that their date yesterday had continued on through this morning, but there was no polite way to ask and confirm Yuno's whereabouts between 5 and 7 last night. I took a more general approach. "Did you hear what happened to Kan Taejun last night?"

"Hmm? Who's that? A TV star?" 

"No, Taejun who lives here. He got a head injury and had to go to the hospital."

"Oh, that's sad," she said. "Wait, which one is he?" 

"The guy with the long hair and earrings."

Yuno's shoulders tensed for a moment. Geun-tae noticed this as much as I did. "Is that the guy?" he asked her. 

"Ummmmm..."

"What guy?" I asked him. 

"Yuno said there's a pervert in the building."

"What?" my jaw dropped. "Taejun was bothering her too?" 

"You mean he's already been bothering someone else?" he growled. 

"Yona, across the hall."

"Oh?" Yuno turned to face me. "I hadn't noticed that, that's terrible. She really has so much going on."

"So much?" I asked. My hands itched for my notepad, but my hands were still full. 

She frowned. "I used to think she was such a nice girl, but lately I don't know. It sounds like a different man over there every night--oh, although I know one of them is Soo-won. But I hear so much arguing lately, and..."

"And?" 

She put her hands to her cheeks. "It sounds like she's beating someone up--there's yelling, and then there's big thumping noises, but then there's all this laughter."

"Hahaha!" Geun-tae slapped his knee. "That means she's taking her safety into her own hands! Sounds like she's practicing self-defense, good for her."

"A-are you sure?" 

"Of course. And if you ask me, Yuno, you're probably safe from that pervert in your room because these smelly flowers could ward anyone away."

"They're not smelly, they're fragrant!"

I cut in. "What's been going on, Yuno?"

"I," she hesitated, "I've been hearing things that bother me, that's all."

"Like what?" 

"Like footsteps creeping up the stairwell, or very lewd noises like... Nevermind, it's gross, I don't want to talk about it. It's probably nothing."

"If you're scared, it's not nothing!" boomed Geun-tae. "The moment that pervert tries to bother you, I'm going to give him a piece of my mind!" 

"Oh, Geun-tae!"

They embraced, and I remained stuck with Tupperware. Yuno noticed a moment later, gasped, apologized, and returned to looking for her purse. She found some cash, a fair amount more than her share of the groceries. I freed one hand and accepted, and then as she saw me out she apologized again and suggested I share the extra portion with someone else.

That was what gave me an idea to go talk to Hak. It wasn't the greatest idea for striking up a conversation with someone you suspect of attempted murder, but I trusted myself to make it work. 

***********

Minutes later I found myself locking eyes with Hak at his doorway. He seemed as surprised as I felt awkward. Now that he was towering over me in a tank top, I had a good understanding of how easily he could have overpowered someone like Taejun. “Um… hi!”

“Hi.”

“I’m Yoon from Room 302. This is a little bit sudden, but I made too much food, so, do you want to have lunch together?”

I held up the Tupperware (open to give him a tantalizing whiff of the aroma and an eyeful of the masterfully prepared ingredients) and tried to look as innocent as an experienced nurse could muster. Hak leaned closer to get a good look, then asked in a flat tone, “You accidentally prepared too much salmon?”

My shoulders sank. “No. I usually make extra for Yuno in Room 401 but she forgot today.”

He stood back upright with a smile. “Ah. In that case, I’ll help you out with it, thanks. Hang on, I’ll grab a plate.” So saying, he left the door partway between closed and open. He returned shortly with a plastic plate and a large spoon, ready to dig it in.

I drew back from the attacking spoon and fumbled for words. “Ah—er—I thought it’d be nice to eat together, if you’re not busy. Is that alright? I understand if it’s not, you can still have the food.”

He peered at me a moment before replying, “Sure. Okay.”

This time he held the door wide open for me to walk in. His apartment was simple; the futon was covered with a dark grey bedsheet, there were some plastic dishes left out on his old coffee table, and the curtains were simple and dated. Nothing in there matched, there was some dirty laundry on the floor, but it wasn’t especially untidy. He motioned me to sit on the futon and then cleared away the breakfast dishes.

“I hope you like dill. I usually cook with Yuno’s herbs.”

“It’s fine. Do you usually eat with her too?”

“Sometimes, depending on what we’re up to.”

“You’re the guy who lives with that other guy, right?”

“Yes, he’s my… he’s Ik-soo. You’re Hak, right?”

“Yup.”

“I heard you’re friends with Soo-won and Yona.”

“Yup.”

“Ah. They’re nice.”

“Yup.”

The lack of things to say didn’t seem to bother him, and he dug into the food with his spoon. He served us two equal portions on two plates, and asked if I wanted anything to drink. I said water would be fine and thanked him. The tap water tasted as bad from his faucet as it did from mine.

“This is good,” he said while chewing his first mouthful.

“I know, right? It’s just the right amount of lemon.”

“I wouldn’t know. You like to cook?”

“It’s one of my talents.”

“Cool,” he said. He took another bite, but he stopped mid-chew and his dark eyes grew wider. He took a quick glance back at my face. “You were there this morning, weren’t you?”

“Yes,” I gave him a wry smile.

“Don’t worry about that! That was just some guy I know.”

“Your social worker.”

Hak flushed red and he averted his glance. Having already taken the plunge, I went on.

“Yona mentioned you were in foster care before. You don’t have to be embarrassed about it.”

“If you can even call it that. I’ve been living with Gramps for as long as I can remember, it’s not as if I was tossed around the system or anything.”

“Neither was I.”

The depth in my tone caught his ear, and he looked back as if pressing me to go on.

“I was never put in the system. I was tossed around between family members until Ik-soo showed up and took me out of it. We were scared for years that social services would eventually catch up to us and ask for paperwork. Nothing was ever official.”

“So that means he’s not…”

“No, he’s not my father.”

“I was going to say your brother, but okay. Does he have a job, or just you?”

“Only me. I’m smart enough for both of us combined, so I skipped high school and got into a trade school, and started working before I graduated.”

“That’s impressive.”

“I am impressive, but it’s because I didn’t want to deal with welfare and have them dig up paperwork that doesn’t exist. What about you? Your social worker is still on your case?”

He put a hand to his forehead and sighed through his nose. “Technically I don’t have a case anymore, I’m aged out. I got into fights as teen sometimes, and that was ages ago, but he never lets me live that down.”

“Can I ask what happened?”

“I punched a guy in the face.”

“I was hoping for a little more context than that.”

“Something came over me, and I took it out on him. I never meant for it to happen, I wasn’t in my right mind,” he shrugged. I narrowed my glance at him, as this was sounding exactly like some of the patients I’ve had. He took notice, and offense. “Don’t stare at me like I’m some kind of drug addict! That’s exactly what it was, but I never meant to ingest anything like that. Not that anyone will believe me when I say so.”

“It was something you ate? How can you accidentally ingest something like that?”

“It was a mistake I will never make again. Forget it.”

“Hak, wait, I’m a nurse. This sounds like something serious. When did this happen?”

“Tuesday. It was this past Tuesday. It was sitting around in my apartment so I ate it and I didn’t think much of it, but I started feeling weird about an hour later. Like I had all this pent up energy. So I went outside for a run, but then when I came back, there he was, picking on Yona. Or I heard he was being a creep, I don’t remember exactly how I knew. I was still so pent up that it was like all my anger went right to my fist, and next thing you know, I ran up and punched him.”

“Where was that?”

“Right outside the building. It was broad daylight, so someone must have saw. Joo-doh said he got a call from some neighborhood watch committee or something.”

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. “What about the guy you punched?”

“It was one of the guys on the second floor. He’s been avoiding me ever since, but for all I know he still went after Yona after that.”

My hand started moving for my notepad in my pocket, but I resisted. We had plenty to get to the bottom of, and recording it would have to come later. I never imagined narcotics were involved!

Hak was calmer, like his thoughts had drifted somewhere else. After a moment he spoke in a low voice, saying, “I don’t think Yona knows that I punched him. Don’t tell her.”

“Alright,” I promised. We sat in silence for a moment, and I recorded the details in my head. My best guess was that Hak had punched Taejun. That would make it seem more likely that Hak had also attacked him in the alley last night, but why would he openly admit to one act if he wanted to hide the other? Taejun didn’t seem like the kind of guy to take something like that lightly, why didn’t he complain to anyone after being punched in the face? Maybe because he knew it would shed light on how he had been bothering Yona?

“She doesn’t tell me anything anymore.”

His words shook my thoughts. “Yona?”

He nodded, sinking his face behind folded hands. “I’m worried about her.”

“Because of Taejun?”

“Taejun’s easy. I’m more concerned about who else she’s spending time with lately. She’s been so shifty, and gets mad whenever I try to ask. She chews me out and says it’s none of my business. What is she thinking? Of course I’m only going to get more worried about her safety if she’s hiding things!”

“Well, I don’t know for sure, but I heard she might be practicing self-defense.”

“I could have done that!”

“What, her defense? Heh, Kija offered the same thing.”

Hak’s face became shrouded in shadow and a deep grimace. The change was so sudden that I drew back a bit. He wasn’t like this when we were talking about Taejun.

“By the way, Hak, what were you up to yesterday? The guy across the hall from me said he heard Yona and Taejun arguing about something. I was at my shift, it but it had me pretty concerned when I heard about it later.”

“They were?” his brow furrowed. “When was that?”

“Around 5 or 6.”

“I was working out.”

“And you didn’t talk to Yona at all after that?”

“Not since Thursday, no. Is she alright?”

“As far as I can tell she is. But when I checked in on her this morning, it didn’t seem she wanted to talk about it. After all, Taejun was—”

“…Was what?”

He was leaning toward me and focused. He was hanging on my words, but for what? To be informed of Taejun’s fate, or to pounce on me the moment I said something that could expose him?

“…Was in her apartment when they were arguing.”

His eyes flashed wide. “He was?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“But it couldn’t have been Taejun,” he thought aloud, wrapped up in whatever web he was spinning in his own head. “She wouldn’t have had to—”

Knock-knock-knock-knock!

We both jumped at the sound at the door. Hak acted like he recognized it and called out for the knocker to hang on, and after a few large, quick steps, he opened the door. There stood Soo-won in a light sweatshirt and jeans, holding a package of sweets with a sunny look on his face. “Hey, Hak,” he said, “I had to replace Joon-gi’s crème puffs, so I got an extra package that we could spli—ah? Yoon?”

“Hello,” I nodded my head to him.

“Come on in,” Hak said, “We were eating lunch.”

“Oh, did Yoon make it? Yuno always tells me how good at it is. Could I try a bite?”

“Help yourself,” I answered, and he borrowed Hak’s fork and plate.

“Wow,” his eyes lit up, “That’s the perfect amount of lemon.”

Something wasn’t right with Soo-won’s cheerful tone. It was too cheerful, as though he was trying to cover something else he was feeling. My heart started racing and my hands felt cold.

“You want a plate?” Hak asked him, ready to head back to the kitchenette.

“No, I already had lunch, thank you. What brings you up here, Yoon?”

“I-I made too much food. And Yuno already had other plans.”

“Hmm, with her boyfriend, I suppose. That’s great that you guys get along so well as neighbors.”

“Actually, we had never spoken until today,” Hak said. “But it was nice. He’s a cool guy.”

“And he’s really smart! Did Yoon tell you he’s a nurse?”

“Yeah, you did mention that, didn’t you?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m not around much to socialize. I thought I’d take advantage of a Sunday while I have it.”

“His roommate Ik-soo is a really nice person too.”

I felt myself getting paler by the second, but there were no openings to give myself an escape, so I stayed there through another several minutes of small talk and a couple tiny crème puffs. When it started getting closer to 2pm, I thought I could give myself an excuse to leave, but Soo-won spoke faster, with the same smile that hadn’t left his face since he walked in. “Yoon, would you mind helping me upload some things into the storage closet?”

************

What room did I have to refuse? Soo-won was going to find a way to speak to me in private one way or another. We said good-bye to Hak and I followed him to the elevator. In there, he hugged the crème puffs and stared off with a hum in his voice, and then we turned straight to the supply closet. It was large enough for us both to fit comfortably among the shelves of cleaning supplies and items like brooms hanging on the walls, and he closed the door behind us and went straight for the freezer. He put the crème puffs away, then turned and faced me with a glare.

“I thought I asked you to drop it,” he said.

“Not explicitly,” I replied.

“Hak’s got nothing to do with Taejun.”

“He’s got the most plausible motive. He practically admitted to using violence against him earlier this week.”

“He didn’t do it.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m his alibi. Hak was with me in my room when it happened. Listen,” he sighed, softening up his tone with exasperation. “I’m trying to avoid getting everyone worked up over a silly thing. I’ve got it handled, alright?”

“You’ve got what handled, Soo-won? What exactly is going on around here?”

“Everything! I’m the landlord, what goes on inside this building is my business, not yours,” he took to a smile again, one gentler than the one plastered on upstairs. “I take responsibility for everyone who comes through my doors, even if it’s the small things like Joon-gi complaining about stolen crème puffs.”

“If it’s in your building, sure,” I said, a hiss become increasingly apparent in my voice, “but what if it’s outside of the building, in the alleyway?”

His smile was gone; it was replaced by something colder than those crème puffs, and a whole lot less sweet. He walked forward, I backed away until my spine banged into one of the shelves, and rolls of paper towels toppled around me. I flinched, and upon opening my eyes, Soo-won was inches from my face.

“Remember that you’re always only one big expense away from not paying your bills, Yoon. I’m telling you this for your own good; leave it be.”

We faced each other a few more seconds until he asked if I understood. “Yes” was all I could say. He seemed pleased with that and told me to remember saying so. He left the storage room first and I heard his apartment door open and close, and then my knees gave way beneath me and I sank against the shelves.

[ashleyjohnson-lit206-blog]

Blog #7

Do you detect consistencies with Plath and Atwood based on their work here? Why or why not?

In Sylvia Plath’s “Mirror,” which is told in the first person, the narrator of the poem is impartial and unbiased while the woman the narrator is describing is not. The narrator opens the poem by stating, “I am silver and exact. I have no preconceptions. Whatever I see I swallow immediately just as it is, unmisted by love or dislike. I am not cruel, only truthful....” (Plath 1050). It is then revealed that the narrator is a lake. A woman visits the lake, and the narrator/lake makes sure to “reflect…faithfully” (1050). The narrator continues to remain impartial and unemotional, but the woman is upset by her reflection. This is evidenced by the way she reacts with “tears and an agitation of hands” (1050). Despite her dislike for looking at her reflection, the woman continues to visit the lake. The narrator states, “In me she has drowned a young girl, and in me an old woman rises toward her day after day…” (1050). This shows that the woman is ultimately unhappy because she is getting old.  

Similarly to Plath’s “Mirror,” the narrator of Margaret Atwood’s “Waiting” is unbiased and impartial, though the narrator makes no explicit claims about being unbiased or impartial like the narrator of “Mirror” does; rather, the narrator does not exert opinions and emotions and simply describes the main character in a factual way. In the case of this poem, the person being described – the main character –  is “you” as the poem is told in the second person. (Atwood 1206). The poem opens with, “Here it is then, the dark thing, the dark thing you have waited for so long. You have made such melodramas” (1206). Something (though the reader does not know what at this point) has arrived that the character, “you,” clearly thought they would dread. If “you” had not been dreading it, it would not have described it as “the dark thing” (1206), and you would not have “made such melodramas” (1206). As the poem goes on, it is revealed “the dark thing” (1206) is age. This is revealed when the narrator is reflecting upon how “you realized for the first time in your life that you would be old…and now…the dark thing is here” (1206). However, instead of feeling negative about aging, your fear regarding age is simply a memory and not something relevant to your current feelings. The narrator explains how the “now” that came true is not a big deal: “You have long since forgotten [that now has] come true” (1206). The character, “you,” described in Atwood’s poem is therefore different than the woman described in Plath’s poem. In Plath’s poem, the woman was upset about aging, while in Atwood’s poem, the character does not care.

Atwood’s “Morning in the Burned House” is from the first person point of view like Plath’s “Mirror” is, but it is solely describing the events of the narrator, not a separate character like “Mirror” and “Waiting” does. Also in a different vein than “Mirror” and “Waiting,” the narrator of “Morning in the Burned House” is not impartial. The narrator is in denial. This is shown in the opening of the poem, which states, “In the burned house I am eating breakfast. You understand: there is no house, there is no breakfast, yet here I am” (Atwood 1209). This statement of being someplace and doing something while not actually being at that place or doing that activity shows the narrator is in some kind of denial, though at this point in the poem, the reader is not sure what the denial is about quite yet. The poem then goes on to show the narrator is in denial about loss. The reader is first clued in to this fact when the narrator describes the absence of her family: “Where have they gone to, brother and sister, mother and father? Off along the shore, perhaps. Their clothes are ill on the hangers” (1210). The reader knows this is still denial and not just a simple question because the clothes cannot be on hangers because the house no longer exists. The reader is further clued in that the denial is over loss when the narrator expresses, “…this house has long been over, kettle and mirror, spoon and bowl, including my own body, including the body I had then, including the body I have now…” (1210). The narrator has confirmed the loss of her or his body, implying the narrator is now old, since one “loses” their youthful body upon aging. While an argument could be made the narrator is a ghost who lost her or his body through death, the idea that youthfulness instead of life was lost is hinted at when the narrator mentions they can “(almost see)” (1210) “bare child’s feet” (1210). The denial throughout the whole poem implies the narrator is unhappy about the state of her or his life, similarly to how the woman in Plath’s “Mirror” is unhappy but dissimilar to how the character in Atwood’s “Waiting” is apathetic.

The selected poems by Plath and Atwood all focus on age, but there are only some consistencies. “Mirror” and “Waiting” both have an impartial narrator while “Morning in the Burned House” has an emotional narrator. “Mirror” and “Morning in the Burned House” both describe characters who are unhappy with their state of affairs while the character described in “Waiting” is apathetic. “Mirror” and “Morning in the Burning House” are both from a first person point of view, but “Mirror” describes a character besides the narrator while “Morning in the Burning House” does not. Meanwhile, “Waiting” is told in the second person point of view. Overall, there are some consistencies but not a significant amount. (It is interesting to know that there are the most consistencies between Plath’s “Waiting” and Atwood’s works, while the most inconsistencies among the selected poems exist between Atwood’s two poems.)

Works Cited

Gilbert, Sandra M., and Susan Gubar. The Norton Anthology of Literature by Women: the Traditions in English. 3rd ed., vol. 2, New York, NY, W.W. Norton, 2007.