#because she talks about her family and her culture
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Yes. All of this. And to piggy back off of it, I feel like one of the big ideas the show highlights, particularly in the second season, is the way that trauma and pain can isolate us (especially women), especially when we're made to feel that expressing our pain and seeking help would be an annoyance or a burden to others and/or like our pain is misplaced or wrong because the perspective of everyone else seems to be that what we're experiencing isn't that bad, or isn't even bad at all. And in that isolation not only do we do things that close ourselves of from getting help from others, but it makes closes us off from seeing the pain the people close to us are struggling through.
I feel like the show was pretty explicitly critical of the way our culture treats trauma and the pain that comes from it and the way that "socially acceptable" ways of trying to deal and cope inherently isolate us from being able to both seek/receive help from others and offer help to those who need it.
Alison resorting to plotting to murder Kevin from the beginning of the show really highlights this, IMO, because it's made clear - particularly throughout the first season - that she's been made to feel like there's nowhere else for her to turn. She's surrounded by people who think Kevin is the greatest. Even the other women around her prop up this idea. There's at least one point where Diane talks about how great Kevin is and how lucky Alison is. Since she's known her Patti has been, from Alison's perspective, 'just one of the boys' when it comes to her relationship with Kevin. So when Alison looks around, it seems like she's alone. There's nobody who sees what she's going through, and with the way things are she understandably doubts that anyone would take her seriously.
And even when she and Patti do team up and start to see each other differently, there's still a lot of friction between them that comes almost solely from them continuing to operate like they were when they were alone because even though they are working together, they don't really know how to reach out to each other and ask for an offer emotional support. The culture they exist in doesn't teach them how to do that. And for them I think that's true twice over, because they both clearly grew up in families where that was the case, and the community they live in is clearly one where that kind of thing isn't really common or encouraged. It's not a coincidence that their relationship started getting healthier and more functional the more they both realized that they actually weren't alone in the things that they'd gone through and learned to both accept and offer support.
Patti and Alison really do represent the two different sides of this problem. Alison is self absorbed, she uses people, especially Patti, she often doesn't recognize what other people are going through, and she takes whatever help Patti will give her and then some without offering much in return. Patti, on the other hand, is constantly offering herself, her help, her support to Alison, even when it's detrimental to her life and relationships, even when she's getting very little, if any, help and support in return... but for much of their relationship, she doesn't really ask for it. There are points here and there where she blows up and points out how uneven their relationship is in this regard, but she always lets it go after that.
Alison doesn't know how to offer help and support, and Patti doesn't know how to ask for it. And when you look at their stories, it makes sense why that's the case. Alison has spent so long being so isolated, not really having any friends, the closest relationship she seems to have is with Diane, and even that seems pretty shallow. She's been stuck with this abusive asshole who sucks up all the air in the room, all the money she makes, all the attention and love from everyone in their lives, and through that all she has to watch and listen as people fawn over how great he is. She's been so alone in it for so long, with no relationships of any real depth. She's so self-focused because she's had nobody else but herself for so long, and nobody to see what she's going through. So when someone does see it and offers some kind of help and support, it makes sense that she would just take and take and take. It's like she's been stuck in the desert for so long and she's finally stumbled upon someone who's offering her a bit of water.
And in turn, it makes sense that Patti would continue to just keep giving, to just keep letting Alison take and take and take. She's been taking care of her brother for so long, even when he's an adult and he doesn't really need it, even when she know he's manipulating her so that he doesn't have to take care of himself. She found herself in this position when she was young where she had to take care of her brother, without anyone there to really offer and tangible help or support. She didn't really have any friends or close relationships of her own. Her life revolved around taking care of Neal, so the only 'friendships' she had were the ones she had through him, and while those relationships were shallow and empty they were the only ones she had. And she had them by way of taking care of her brother. She felt like she didn't have anyone to go to for help and support with her pain because not only did she not have anyone close enough to her to feel safe doing that with, but the position she'd been in since she was young made her feel like she was the one who had to take care of other people, not the one who was taken care of.
Alison and Patti were two women who had been traumatized at least in part by these roles they kind of ended up forced into, these roles that are very much consider expected and accepted roles for women in society. And society can be nasty to women who chafe against those roles. Especially when the men who make those roles miserable for them are so beloved by the community. Which just makes the women experiencing those traumas isolate themselves even more, and that results in them not being able to reach out to each other. It's also not helped by just the general way society teaches women to look at and think about each other. Both Patti and Alison express some pretty unflattering and stereotypical assumptions and perceptions about the other, which are based on (1) those cultural ideas about women, (2) the roles the society/culture they lived in forced them into, and (3) the roles they ended up in and the image they projected as a result of their isolation.
That's the tragedy that I think the flashback where they meet at the bar is really hammering home. These two had existed in each other's orbits for a long time, so close but just out of reach because of the way the culture and community they lived in taught them to isolate themselves, to wall themselves up, to shut up and deal with it themselves. If they had just been able to reach out to each other sooner, to both offer and receive help and support from each other, their situations never would have reached the extremes they did. But because they were made to think that they had to go it alone, that there was nobody else who could see what they were going through, that they needed to just keep their mouths shut and not make a fuss, they ended up having to struggle through it all by themselves for so long when they really didn't need to.
I've always felt like one of the biggest messages the show was trying to put out there is that there's no such thing as a 'perfect victim', and that a big reason for that is because our culture's relationship with trauma and emotional pain inherently puts people who have experienced trauma in a position that fosters those 'imperfect' things that can make victims selfish and mean and reckless and self-centered and irrational. No matter how much you'll see people online or in the media talking about self-care and mental health support and getting help, when it comes to actual people experiencing actual trauma and its aftermaths in an actual community, our society and culture is still very much set up in a way that discourages people who have been abused and traumatized isolated and alone, and I think Kevin Can F**k Himself did a really amazing job at really laying bare that reality, exploring just how damaging those norms are, and showing how powerful finding someone who understands and learning how to both seek and offer help can be.
A thing I find really important about the way Kevin Can Fuck Himself goes about its job: Allison is kind of a mess. She’s self-centered, she doesn’t put other people’s needs first, she makes reckless choices that endanger herself and others. And the show says: yes. Right. She’s flawed as fuck. And she still does not deserve any of what’s happening to her. It could be argued that she is, in fact, this flawed as a direct product of her trauma. Her self-absorption, unlike Kevin’s, is actually self-preservation. It puts Patty in danger. It tunes out Diane’s pain. It capitalizes on Sam’s relationship problems. And still, the show says: yes. Right. She’s going about this in fumbling, worrying ways. And she still does not deserve any of what’s happening to her.
Know how we know this? How we really know this, outside of our own objectivity, our own awareness of the abuse she’s enduring even to the soundtrack of laughter?
Because Tammy is the one to find her. Because Tammy is the one holding the cards at the end of the game. Tammy, who does not like Allison. Who sees so clearly the complicated, messy, dangerous person Allison can be. The mistakes she is prone to making in the name of desperation. How imperfect she is at every level. And Tammy, who is the character most explicitly set to call Allison on all of her shit, to drag her before a court of law, to lean on that hot-button of whether or not she’s a “good person” until it breaks—lets her go. Folds the cards up, puts them in her pocket, and leaves.
Because Tammy, like the show, like the thesis statement of abuse is never earned, never deserved, never warranted, understands. This is a world that so often sanitizes women after it’s too late to save them. A world that insists she should have done more to get out. A world that insists you should be kind and moral and perfect, or maybe you got what was coming to you. This is a world that sees fighting back as an equally heinous crime. As punishable, if not more so, than the actions of the instigator.
But this show doesn’t want to play that game. This show doesn’t want to fuck with it at all. Allison doesn’t have to be perfect and moral and above reproach. Allison has blood on her hands, and a DUI neatly ignored, and knowingly has an affair with her married boss. Allison hurts her friends sometimes, and she makes awful decisions out of desperation, and she doesn’t always pay attention to other people’s plotlines. And the show says: yes. Right. She’s making choices you probably should not agree with.
And she still does not deserve any of what is happening to her.
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Response to the Caitlyn haters ❤️
Yes, Caitlyn's arc absolutely, and intentionally, uses fascist tropes, but let’s be clear—people aren’t inherently bad; they’re brainwashed. Even though I might qualify as a “freaking misandrist lesbian witch with a capital B” and think all men are trash, that doesn’t stop me from believing in redemption, because I know they’re not trash. Society shapes them that way, just as Piltover’s society shaped Caitlyn. Fascism is driven by ignorance and manipulation (hello, Ambessa), and while we might not have media in this storyline, it’s the same mechanism at work.
So no, we can’t just write off Caitlyn by saying, “she’s privileged, she’s a classist, she always has been, she’s toxic, and Vi needs to move on.” No, no, no.
Yes, she lived in a bubble of luxury where everything was hidden from her and things came easily. But her family has done a lot for Zaun, and she was raised to respect people and value life. She’s cultured, intelligent, and just as much a pawn of this situation as Vi is. Vi’s use of the green is justified when she says, “We use the grey to clear the streets, to keep people safe.” Delusional? Maybe. But it’s Vi’s justification, and by extension, it’s also Caitlyn’s. Caitlyn wants Jinx, she wants to free Zaun, she wants peace. She doesn’t want to annihilate the population; she sends people to prison because that’s the law. She’s tough and maybe less flexible than before, but she isn’t the elitist fascist people think she is.
When she says “animal,” she’s talking about those who attacked a memorial with children there. She isn’t condemning all of Zaun’s people. Yes, the costumes, sound design, and coded language give her a fascist aesthetic—it’s designed to be that way and makes it “aesthetic AF”—but she isn’t a fascist, she isn’t out of character, and she isn’t toxic. Did she hit Vi? Yes. But Vi hit Powder and left her in the same way. (Sure, they were kids, and Caitlyn is an adult?) But what defines us as human is that we’re programmed to be overwhelmed by emotions. I think hitting someone is wrong, but I don’t believe it defines who we are.
As I’ve been saying in post after post, Caitlyn will come to her senses; she’ll understand it all, because she’s inherently good and intelligent.
I wholeheartedly thank the writers for giving us complex, quality content, with an arc that’s so much more than “they fall in love, fight for peace, kiss, and curtain falls.” It’s so satisfying to go on this emotional rollercoaster, and I’m confident we’ll reach even greater heights than that kiss!
#arcane#arcane season 2#caitlyn kiramman#caitvi#vi#arcane spoilers#caitlyn arcane#caitlyn x vi#vi x caitlyn#arcane thoughts#arcane s2#arcane league of legends#arcane theory#arcane s2 spoilers#arcane season two
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because even then, i knew — l.sm { 1 }
genre: non idol! seokmin x reader, stanger to lovers / kdrama au
cw: female reader, petnames, cursing, seokmin is desperately down bad, slowburn, pining, so much fluff, mentions of alcohol, consuming alcohol, nsfw, oral (f recieving) protected sex, mentions of cheating, angst
wc: 21k
tracklist: {spotify} {apple music}
navigation: {one} {two}
note: this story is my absolute baby. i stared writing it one day with no plot in mind, and ended up with 45k. it's supposed to feel like a kdrama as you read it (and i mean this in every sense of the word—you will see), so please listen to the tracklist as you scroll. the songs are carefully timed in order to play as you read certain parts, but if you're not sure you're listening to the right song, part two will tell you where you should be and you will resync.
please love this story, it was written with an unbelievable amount of care, detail, and intention.
audio message from: seokmin <3
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။၊|• 0:58
“Hey. I know we haven’t talked in a while but… I wanted you to know that I miss you, and I miss us. And… I’m in love with you, if that means anything to you now.”
≡;- ꒰ ° one ꒱
Love at first sight is undoubtedly the biggest fabrication that the media and modern culture has ever tried to push on society. It only happens in the movies, and even then, it’s barely done right. There is no such thing as happy endings, because that’s not how things are in the real world.
Make no mistake; Lee Seokmin is not a pessimist, nor is he a bitter person. He’s the kind of guy who helps old people cross the street during rush hour, or helps kids pluck their balloons out of trees so they won’t cry. He actually does like long walks on the beach, as a matter of fact, and he happens to be a casual enjoyer of rom-coms, something his other male friends would rather die than admit to.
Once upon a time, he used to be a hopeless romantic, but that rug was pulled out from under him on a few too many occasions, and while he’s still a positive, amicable guy, he had learned that sometimes, things were too good to be true.
For example: when he was 7, he fell in love.
His 20 year old babysitter, who his parents had hired to watch over him on evenings while they were at work, was absolutely perfect—he knew from the moment he met her, she would be the girl he’d marry.
She was Korean, and a freshman in college with a major in business management. Every week, she would walk hand-in-hand with him to the corner store to buy him sausage sticks and sticky tteokbokki at the food cart with the money she could spare from her part time job as a tutor, since his parents would only leave money for emergencies. In return for her generosity, he’d sit still and play while she finished her homework, and occasionally, Seokmin would even pick flowers from his mom’s garden for her. This earned him a few scoldings, but that didn’t matter to him, because she was, and would always be worth it.
Until one day, where he had promised to behave while she finished a practice test. Poor, unsuspecting, seven-almost-eight-year-old Seokmin with his cheeks stuffed full of sausage and rice cake, overheard her calling another boy (albeit a boy her age who could actually reciprocate her affection) a sweet name over the phone. He dropped everything and stomped over to her, bursting into tears and rambling on about how she broke his heart. She was fired the very same evening as a consequence of his tantrum.
When he was 14, he fell in love again. And this time, it had to be love… right?
A family of foreigners had moved in across the street, and their daughter, who was the same age as him this time around, would come over to study with him after school and on the weekends. She’d teach him English, and he’d teach her Korean. She was his first kiss and his first girlfriend—they lasted a reputable two months—until they moved back overseas. Apparently, her parents had only moved there for the summer as part of a work-related trip, and when they said goodbye and promised to write, little Grace revealed she didn’t want a committed, long-distance relationship at the ripe age of fourteen.
In retrospect… maybe she was right, but Seokmin would never forget the way his heart shattered.
The only real, long-term girlfriend he’s had was a little over two years ago. They dated for over a year, she met his parents and he met her’s, the two of them even exchanged promise rings. At the time, he would gush to his friends about how he’d never met anyone as funny and brilliant as her, and how lucky he feels to have done so.
Then, the week before his birthday, Seokmin found out she had been sleeping with her best friend for months.
Love at first sight—true love—It was a flat out lie, and he refused to fall for its charm ever again.
So why, he thinks to himself, why can’t he stop looking at you?
He noticed you for the first time last week after his car had been totaled during an impromptu road trip the day prior. Soonyoung, one of his best friends, had gotten on the subway while drinking and somehow ended up eight stops away from his apartment at an ungodly hour in his wasted state. Seokmin was the only one that answered the phone. He picked him up, but on the way back, Soonyoung tried to crawl out the window of the passenger seat and Seokmin, whilst trying to pull him back inside, had crashed into a tree.
The car was old, and he was saving up for a new one anyway. That, and the insurance gave him some chump change for the wreckage, which was more than he’d thought he’d get, so it wasn’t too bad. The biggest inconvenience he faced now was getting to and from work.
Every night, after his shift at the flower shop, Seokmin would take the bus transit home. The first night, he only saw you in passing, because he practically had to run after the bus to catch it after arriving late to the stop. He took the first seat he could find, panting and exhausted after his long shift and the blip of a marathon he just ran, and sunk down into it.
Since he had never needed to take the bus until now, he spent some time glancing out the window and studying the route, discovering the stop near his apartment was the very last one, arriving at nearly 10:00 P.M. Yours was the second to last one, only a few blocks over. That evening, he only barely caught a glimpse of the side of your face as you climbed off, crossing the street and strolling out of sight with way too many things clutched within your jacketed arms.
The following night, he made it to the bus on time, thankfully, and spotted you sitting near the back, though that didn’t mean much to him yet. He took his same seat near the front, despite the many empty spots throughout the vehicle. And just like before, at the second to last stop, you walked down the middle aisle to exit.
This time, while wrestling your books, laptop case, walkman, and coat, your headset wire had snagged on the seat in front of him. He watched as you turned around and detangled it hurriedly, your gaze barely flickering up to meet his curious one for a split second. You flashed him a ghost of a smile and then, you were gone again.
Seokmin found himself looking forward to seeing you every single night from then on.
He decided to start sitting in the back of the bus too, blaming his avid interest in you purely on the distorted conclusion that it made no sense to sit in the front! He was always the last one aboard, and the back had so many more seats for him to get comfortable.
That’s what he convinced himself of, at least for the first few days. He tried sitting in a couple different spots, though he wouldn’t dare sit too close to you—he’s not that bold. He did, however, decide after his trial and error period that his favorite seat was the far left one on the last row. Your seat was forever unchanging, on the second to last row and all the way to the right.
This way, he could watch over your shoulder as you typed away on your computer. You seemed to be writing something personal, because night after night, you’d create paragraph after paragraph, working tirelessly to craft whatever it was that you were working on so extensively. He figured it couldn’t be just any assignment or work-related exposition. This meant something to you, and that only spiked his curiosity more. The only pause in your routine of clicking away at keys was skipping a song or two on your walkman or glancing out the window for inspiration.
He’s never sat close enough to actually read the words on your screen, but then again, that might be overstepping a bit. The urge does frequently bug him, though, especially when he notices how immersed you become the moment you lift the screen of your laptop and open your document. Every night, he watches you do the same thing, and every night, he fights the urge to strain his neck and catch a glimpse of a single word on your screen.
He contains himself, though, on the principle that eavesdropping is wrong, and he intends to never do you wrong.
On the sixth night he spends in his new seat, he notices about twenty minutes in when your fingers stop clicking away. At first, he considers the possibility that you may be thinking or planning your next sentence. But, as the bus nears your stop, you don’t move to start picking up your things. It immediately alerts him, and he sits up straighter as he realizes, you’ve fallen asleep.
He’s never given something so simple so much thought in such a short time. He can feel the bus slowing down, and he can hear the brakes screeching and wheezing. Would he feel worse for disturbing your rest and making an inevitably awkward first impression, or letting you continue to sleep and possibly (definitely) miss your stop?
Certainly the latter.
Without a second thought, Seokmin hurriedly slides out of his aisle and climbs down the two steps of the back row to reach you at your seat, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder and giving it a light shake. You don’t budge, even when he calls out to you.
“Excuse me, Miss. Miss?”
As the bus comes to a full stop and the engine’s roar becomes suppressed, he can hear the music playing through the headset that sits still over your ears. With a grimace, he softly slips them off, and the action is enough to stir you awake. You blink in confusion as you adjust to the brightness of the lights inside the bus, and your eyes land on his widened ones.
“Sorry for waking you, but,” he gestures outside, “this is your stop.”
You look around to confirm, and upon seeing the familiar intersection and corner store, you realize what he’s saying is true.
A few things go through your head: First of all, the stranger in front of you has the kindest brown eyes you’ve ever seen. Secondly, his nose is absolutely huge, and for some reason, he knows your stop, which makes you wonder where else he’s capable of poking it. So naturally, you ignore the sweet charm behind his eyes and shrug off his arm, grabbing your things quickly and booking it for the door that the bus driver has to reopen when he sees you approaching.
You climb off and consider taking a different route, but if he knows your stop, he likely knows which way you walk every single night. You curse at yourself for even falling asleep in the first place, then drag your feet along towards your apartment after accommodating your headphones back over your ears, your walkman clutched in hand, its music swirling in your ears once more.
Because of this, you miss the way Seokmin shouts after you for leaving your phone behind, and the way the bus driver then shouts at him for holding him up.
“I’ve got a wife to get home to, kid. Get back on the bus or I’m leaving you here.”
He looks between the device in his hand, you, and back at the burly bus driver who raises a threatening brow his way.
In defeat, he gets back on board and walks down until he’s reached his seat, but not before stopping at yours, or rather stumbling there with how aggressively the driver steps on the gas and sends him flying. He does a quick once over your seat to make sure you haven’t left or dropped anything else, but your phone is the only thing you forgot in your rush.
The drive to his street is rather short, and when he does some calculations on the maps app, he discovers it’s at most a half-hour walk from his place to yours. That revelation makes him regretful, because as he dismounts the bus, crosses the street, and climbs the flight of stairs to his apartment, he realizes he could’ve run after you and given you your phone and just walked home after. It would’ve allowed him to explain that he’s not a creep, and that he only knows your stop because you’re the only other person on the bus at that hour.
He thinks about his encounter with you the whole way to his apartment, and even at home while he takes his shower and brushes his teeth. And still, when he plugs your dead phone in, so that he can give it to you fully charged the next day. As it comes to life, half a dozen messages come in with a series of ‘dings’ from a contact you have saved as just a heart. He can’t read what the messages say because of the privacy settings you have in place, so he just silences it as more messages come in. He would have tried to let them know your phone isn’t with you, but the person with the heart alias never tries to call, and so there’s nothing Seokmin can do about it but hope tomorrow comes quickly.
That thought brings him back to you, and as he lies down, he finds himself tossing and turning in bed, unable to fall asleep because he’s mulling over the way you shrugged him off. It’s only the long day at work, where he spent eight hours on his feet watering ficuses and making arrangements with daisies and lilies, that manages to silence his brain and lull his eyelids to a close so he can get some rest.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
His shift at the floral shop had gone by painfully slow today. The hours that usually pass relatively quickly with the friendly faces of Korean grandmas that stop by after going to the market, have dragged on for an eternity.
He reminds himself that he’s going to see you tonight and that thought gets him through the day. He’ll at last be able to redeem himself of the interaction that’s been haunting him for the last twelve hours. He even dreamt about you, specifically about the conversation going a completely different way than it did.
“Sorry for waking you, but this is your stop.”
“Oh, my god,” you said. “Thank you. I didn’t even realize I drifted off.”
“No worries,” Seokmin would flash you a smile and help you with your things, since he had noticed your tendency to travel with more than you could carry. “Here.”
“Thanks again, uh…”
“Seokmin.”
“Seokmin,” you’d repeat, and even in his dream, he had reeled over the way his name rolled off your tongue.
In an extra effort to mend things over with you, Seokmin dips into his weekly paycheck at the end of his shift to buy you a tote bag from the shop. That way, you’d have a place to pack your laptop when you weren’t typing up stories, and your coat that you insisted on draping over your arm? It could go in there, too!
Why you chose to listen to music on a walkman in today’s modern age, he has no idea—but now you’d have a place to store it so you won’t leave it behind like you had your phone.
The tote bag he picks out for you is the nicest, most sizable one in stock. It’s the first time he’s bought anything from the floral shop, so the measly ten percent employee discount he got was rather underwhelming. Still, it would be worth it. He’d hand you your phone, explain himself to clear up the previous night's confusion, and offer you the tote bag as a gift.
When he climbs on the bus later that evening, you’re sitting in the same spot as always, except this time, you’re expecting him. Your eyes flash up at him then fall back to your laptop. Subsequently, you slump further down in your seat, and Seokmin quickly realizes you’re trying to avoid him.
Now—he had talked himself through the plan of approaching you all day, it’s all he thought about during the less busy hours of his shift to pass the time. He had walked through the process once, twice, and then again in hopes of nailing down every detail, but he didn’t once account for your very obvious disinterest.
It offsets his mood entirely, which was confident and sociable just moments ago, and he trails down the aisle, past your seat, and to his own instead with discouragement.
The moment he sits, it’s as if someone winded up his leg: it starts restlessly bouncing, and his mind mirrors the action, his inner monologue providing no relief for his grief.
If he was any other rational person, he would’ve taken your coldness with a grain of salt; he’d hand you your phone, say “you left this.” and go on about his day—no, his life, as if this moment, as if meeting you, was nothing more than an insignificant scene in the story of his life. He wouldn’t spend every hour overthinking your first impression of him, or feeling disappointed that it wasn’t what he wanted it to be. And he certainly wouldn’t be here, talking himself up to the task of walking over to you once more.
Even his own forgiving conscience is embarrassed when he readies himself to stand, chanting “Ok. 3…2…” and then sits back down in defeat.
This goes on for the better part of an hour, until Seokmin remembers you’d be getting off soon. This realization materializes as the last person besides the two of you gets off, and the familiar buildings that are just a few blocks away from your stop come into view. At the same time, a new string of messages come in from the same individual who was writing to you last night, and Seokmin decides it’s about time that he returns your phone to you—for real this time.
With a nod to himself, he pushes off the chair with his legs and forces them to move him over to you, where he stands for a few seconds, waiting for you to notice him. In one hand, he’s holding out your phone, and under his other arm is the folded tote bag he’s planning to give you. He can’t get his tongue to comply, making his feet work was hard enough, so hovers over you a little longer until you practically feel his eyes on you and look up.
“Hi–”
You slide your headphones off one ear, and he clears his throat.
“Hi.” He repeats, “My name is Seokmin. I’m the guy who woke you up last night.”
“I know.” You cast your eyes down to your phone and he leans it closer to you.
“You left your phone here.”
Your lips purse contemplatively as you take it, mumbling out a quick “thanks,” and unlocking it to inspect your pile of notifications. Seokmin only clears his throat again.
“I also wanted to apologize for yesterday. I didn’t mean to come off as a weirdo, It’s just–”
You seem to lose focus of what he’s saying as you read through the messages on your phone, a deep frown molding over your features. The fact that you’re not listening at all trips him up, especially when he’s trying so hard to recite the mental script he prepared for this very moment.
“Uh, I just… The only reason I know your stop is because it’s only you and me on the bus this late. So, you know–”
As he points this out, you perk your head up and look around, as if to check for yourself that this is, in fact, true. It doesn’t ease your apprehension about him, but his kind eyes look so desperate in their plea for your understanding that, for a fleeting instant, you manage to hone in on his explanation and dismiss your suspicions about his nosy tendencies.
“Naturally, I just noticed, and I didn’t want you to miss your stop.”
When you nod once and say “ok,” he almost wishes you hadn’t said anything at all. That’s it? That’s all you have to say to ease his discomfort?
“Oh, I almost forgot,” he didn’t almost forget, he just wanted to sound nonchalant, “I got you this since you’re always–”
“Well, Seokmin…” It’s even better than in his dream, hearing you say his name, “You should know better than me by now that,” you point outside and the bus reaches a halt, “this is my stop.”
Hurry up, Seokmin. “I got you this bag for your things.”
You take it from his outstretched hands with the smallest mutter of gratitude, but don’t bother to inspect it or put it to use. You simply pile it atop of your laptop and coat with pursed lips, not sparing it a second glance. He’s almost confused about why you’re still staring him down expectantly after that, until it becomes clear to him that he’s blocking the aisle and in turn, your exit.
Somewhat awkwardly, Seokmin moves aside, and you waste no time in passing right by him and heading for the door with all your trinkets stacked up in your arms.
Dejection is an appropriate word to describe how Seokmin feels right about now. So is frustration.
Even after you leave, cross in front of the bus, and make your way home, Seokmin stands in the same spot, dumbfounded. He stays like this for a few seconds, even when the bus moves and messes with his balance. It’s not until his annoyance really settles in, nestling in his bones and making his face glow red, that he manages to stomp back over to his spot and plop down.
You are easily the most irritating person he has ever met; ill-mannered, ungrateful, rude, and downright selfish. Seokmin stopped going to therapy months after he recovered from his ex, but he finds himself regressing in the ‘self-recognition’ area at this moment. Although he can consciously acknowledge that his anger stems from your interaction not going as he wanted it to, he still decides to dump the blame on you and call you all these names in his head. Why he so desperately wants to be liked by you, he doesn’t know. Why he’s irrationally spiraling in the absence of your approval, he also doesn’t know.
What he does know is that the next twenty-four hours are going to be just as bad as the last, and he’s going to be kicking himself until he sees you again and gives you a piece of his mind.
Tonight, he rolls around in bed longer than usual, until the clock strikes two and he can’t keep his eyes open any longer.
The next day, when Seokmin boards the bus, you’re nowhere to be seen. You’re not at your seat, nor anywhere else for that matter, which he decides is for the best, because he’s able to swallow down his explosive complaints for another day instead of possibly causing a scene on the bus.
Ha! You’re lucky you didn’t get on tonight, he thinks, I'll spare you from my lecture for another evening.
Except the following night, you aren’t there either.
As it turns out, you aren’t on the bus for the next six days straight.
And instead of recovering from his emotions like a normal person, Seokmin is only spurred on, tormented and pursued by his thoughts of you. They've shifted, because now he can only help but wonder what you’re up to. He’s back to square one, wondering if he weirded you out so much that you resorted to finding another means of transportation with the sole intention of avoiding him.
Then, he reproaches himself, his rationale telling him that surely, there must be another reason for your absence—one that isn’t at all related to him. He ponders this as he piles a few stems of lilies and eucalyptus on one another, wrapping them and tying them closed.
“Seokmin-ah. What’s the matter?”
He turns quickly to face Ms. Boo, the owner of the flower shop and the grandmother of his best friend. On more than a few occasions, she had acted as a grandmother to him, too—bringing him lunches and pestering him about eating enough, or nagging him for not dressing properly in cold weather.
“Nothing!”
“Look what you’re doing to my flowers.” She narrows her eyes, extending a wrinkled finger out in his direction.
Seokmin glances down to find that his knuckles have gone white against the stem of the baby’s breath he's been unconsciously shaking like a rattle. The delicate white flowers have been pulverized, reduced to white fuzz on the arrangement he was attempting to make and the surrounding surface of the work station.
“Ah, shi-“ She gives him a glare, “Sorry.” He quickly rephrases, “I’ll clean this up.”
As Ms. Boo straightens out some gardenias in a vase, she asks him again, “What’s wrong?”
He takes a deep breath, reaching for the dustpan under the counter. “It’s just… Someone I met on the bus.”
“Is she pretty?”
“Very.” He nods, then sighs. “I just wish the conversation we had went differently, that’s all.”
“Well,” She seems to be mustering up her years of wisdom, eyebrows raising as she fixes her apron, “You’re a handsome boy, Seokmin-ah. And you’ve got good sense. God knows you’ve got more than Seungkwan,” she grumbles the last part, and it makes Seokmin’s lips curl up a bit. “Your car isn’t fixed yet, right?”
He shakes his head, “No.”
“So, then get back on the bus tonight and talk to her.” She insists with the assurance only an 85 year old grandmother could have.
“I would, but…”
“And stop moping. You’re making the flowers sad. They feel these kinds of things.” She nods, feeling the petal of the lily between her fingertips. Suddenly, she snaps her fingers, “Finish this arrangement and get back to work.”
He finishes brushing the white fuzz of the carnation into the dustpan and discarding it before tackling the bouquet he was previously working on with a tad more care. He finishes after deciding the pale flowers need a touch of color, so he adds a few pink roses and places it in a bucket near the front window of the store on display.
He takes a moment to glance outside at the busy street, watching the people that pass by. Couples stroll hand in hand, and more often than not, the girls will stop their partner to point out the flowers. This was a common occurrence, and if Seokmin was lucky, the displays would draw in a few more customers than usual.
Not today, though. As he does a once over every arrangement he’s chosen to display on the window, he realizes they all lack something besides effort. He can’t put his finger on exactly what they’re missing, but Ms. Boo was right— the plants do feel emotions—and these weren’t particularly joyous creations.
As he sprays the leaves with a little mist bottle he carries around in his apron, he watches through the window each person that passes by in an effort to pass the time. It isn’t like there’s much to do during the less busy hours, and there’s only so many arrangements he can make when they’re all coming out dull and lifeless to match his gloom.
So, Seokmin opts for people watching, until a specific individual catches him by surprise.
At first, he thinks he’s seeing things.
Not only have you stopped outside the shop to gaze and gawk at the flowers while wearing a soft, admiring look, but soon enough, the bell above the door has chimed, meaning you’ve actually come inside.
He would greet you, as he’s supposed to do when a customer enters the shop, but he… can’t—at least not from where he is now, ducking behind the sales counter.
Before you could have spotted him, his fight or flight reflexes, or in this case just flight, had kicked in. He could’ve easily ran behind the curtain to the room where some of the flowers are stored, but then he would’ve ran into Ms. Boo, who would have questioned his reasons for leaving the counter unattended.
Then, he realizes that Seungkwan wouldn’t be coming in until later, and their other part-timer Eunchae didn’t work today because she had an exam at school.
The service bell at the counter rings once and he grimaces, full of hopeful thinking that you’d just go away if no one appeared. Instead you ring it again, and he ducks lower, until some shuffling behind him and the voice of his best friend’s grandmother gives him away.
“Seokmin-ah, there’s someone at the counter!”
There’s a pause, and though he can’t see how your ears perk up at the sound of the familiar name, he knows he’s absolutely busted because even if you didn’t correlate that ‘Seokmin’ was also the same guy who woke you up on the bus, he’d be forced to show himself before long. Ms. Boo continues to ramble, much to his dismay.
“Are you still sulking over the pretty girl from the bus?” Yeah, that’ll do it. “Ah, Seokmin-ah… I don’t pay you to sulk.”
At this, Seokmin covers his face with his palm.
He has no way of knowing that as he’s willing and pleading with the ground to swallow him whole and spare him from the incoming embarrassment, Ms. Boo’s comment had brought a little smile to your face. You’re peering around the shop for him when you see someone start to peek out from the other side of the counter.
First, his fingers. They land on the marble surface, and less than a second later, his dark mop of hair follows, appearing past the slope. Then, his kind eyes, big nose, and his teeth, clenched together tightly in reluctance as he takes in your amused gaze.
You cross your arms over your chest and Seokmin scoffs, shooting up suddenly.
“This is unbelievable!” His laugh is loud and theatrical, though a touch ironic, given the whole ‘hiding-from-you-behind-the-counter’ situation just seconds prior. He doesn’t let his obvious preposterousness stop his rampage, though. In very Seokmin fashion, he commits to the bit, puffing up his chest a little. “You call me a stalker and now you go and stalk me to my place of employment!”
“I never called you a stalker.” You say simply, and his face falters only slightly. “Nor did I stalk you.” Seokmin rolls his eyes as you continue. “Also, who even says ‘place of employment?’”
As if straight out of a bad middle school play, which Seokmin had plenty of practice at back in his day, he regains his confidence at his turn to speak his line, scoffing again at your nonchalant attitude. Why were you so unbothered about the way you treated him? He ignores your question, and readies his next comeback.
“Yeah? Well, then how did you know where I work, huh?”
When you wordlessly turn to show off the tote bag slung over your shoulder, a few things occur.
The color of Seokmin’s cheeks become very red, very fast. His ears quickly glow a similar shade to match. He completely deflates—letting up on his accusations and dropping the theatrics. There’s a reason he’s a florist and not an actor.
Then, he realizes what you’re showing off—the tote bag! You’re wearing the bag he got you! You’re actually using it! He can see the wire of your headset poking out of the top, and the square mold of your laptop filling the material!
At the same time, however, his eyes land on the only design or pattern it has. Sewn in black, the bag boldly displays the name of Ms. Boo’s flower shop. At this, Seokmin smiles sheepishly and scratches the back of his neck.
“I figured I’d find you here.” You mumble, taking a look around, “it’s a pretty place.”
“Yeah.” He nods, but he’s still eyeing you suspiciously, waiting for you to announce the reason for your visit.
“I came to…” your fingers reach over the counter to brush off the fuzz of the baby’s breath that remained on his dark green apron, and Seokmin tucks his chin to his chest, exposing all of his chins as his eyes shift between your hand and eyes that are both set on his torso.
”There.” You sigh, “I came to apologize. I was going through a… Well, anyway, I wasn’t exactly nice to you, so…”
“Yeah, that’s an understatement,” Seokmin grumbles.
“Sorry. And thank you.”
“For?”
You swing the bag around again, “It came in handy.”
”Oh,” He knew it would, “I’m glad.”
“Seokmin-ah… There’s someone at the—Oh, hello.” Shuffling over with a wad of eucalyptuses in her arms, Ms. Boo smiles warmly at you, as she does with all customers who stop by the shop.
”Ms. Boo, this is…“
”Y/N.”
“Y/N.” Both of them echo your name, though Seokmin does it under his breath, in a quiet affirmation to himself. He decides instantly that it’s perfect, and that it suits you perfectly. He doesn’t intend for it to be a Tony and Maria situation, but the way it sounds, rolling off his tongue, is seamless and simply, right.
”It’s lovely to meet you,” Ms. Boo adds.
“Likewise. Excuse me, I wanted to know if I borrow Seokmin real quick? I owe him a coffee.”
Seokmin hisses apprehensively, reinstating his act momentarily as he begins rolling up his sleeve to search for the time on his watch. “Yeah, well, my break isn’t for another—“
”Take him, please. But only give him back when he’s in a better mood.” She gives him a light-hearted glare as she scurries away, calling out, “every plant he’s walked past today has wilted.”
“I plan to do just that. Thank you.”
He makes it look like he’s in some kind of distress when he unties his apron and lifts the neckloop over her head, but really, he can’t wait to cut work for a coffee with you. There’s a little cafe nearby, and he’s almost sure that’s where you’ll be taking him. He also can’t wait to recommend his favorite drink to you, though part of him worries you might not enjoy it and consequently bruise his ego a little—given the fading but still ever-present grudge he’s holding against you.
Seokmin can’t help but prolong the act of clocking out: changing shoes, grabbing his wallet and phone from his cubby, folding his apron (instead of hanging it up in whatever state it’s in, as he usually does), while you shift your weight between your heels and gawk at him in wait. He does all this in an effort to extend the minutes he has with you. His break is fifteen minutes, but those fifteen minutes can’t go by if the clock technically hasn't started counting.
You stand by patiently, following him around with your eyes as he tidies up a single flower out of place or wipes his hands down on a rag. When he’s finally ready, and can’t be bothered to pretend that lacing his sneakers actually takes longer than two minutes, he joins you on the other side of the counter and follows you to the door.
Feeling a little nervous, he clears his throat. “You don’t have to do this, you know. We can just go our separate ways.”
“I do. This way, I can properly convey my apology and gratitude. You know: two birds, one stone.”
“Those are two separate things… It’s only right that you would owe me two coffees then.” The way he grumbles under his breath unveils some of his bitterness, though you can tell by the half-hearted side-eye he gives you as he fights back a grin, that he’s really only messing with you.
So you laugh, and Seokmin feels his heart do a somersault in his chest. With a shake of your head, you turn to him, defeated. “Alright. You can get a coffee and a muffin.”
Suddenly overwhelmed with the need to see your smile again, he brings his hand up to rub his chin, “Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t really like muffins.”
“Well, then I’ll just have to stop by tomorrow, too.”
At this, Seokmin smiles from ear to ear, tilting his head away towards the street so that you don’t catch the way he lights up at the prospect of possibly seeing you again.
As the two of you cross the street, you notice a bus stop a little up the way, nodding towards it so he can look. “Is that where you catch the bus?” He nods. “Funny, my stop is only two blocks down the street we came from.”
Seokmin reaches for the door of the cafe, holding it open for you to walk through. To his delight, you seem to be fascinated by the space—meaning it’s likely you haven’t been here before. He watches as you study the rustic lights on the ceiling, the shiny wooden tables, and the botany at the window.
“These look like the ones from your shop.”
“That’s because they are.” He stands beside you. “The owner of the cafe loves the classics. So do I. So, in exchange for a floral arrangement or two, he lets me borrow a book.” He watches your gaze leave him to face the singular bookshelf he had gestured to, a tall collection of literary classics neatly sorted by author. Your eyes almost bulge out of your head as you take it in, mouth agape as you slowly step toward the shelves.
Not yet grasping the extent of your fascination, and with the line to order clearing out, Seokmin remembers he’s on a schedule. “Do you wanna order?”
“I…” You shake your head, fingertips ghosting over the spine of the books without grazing them, because you know better than to touch an antique collection. It doesn’t stop you from admiring them, mumbling out a response to the boy next to you without giving it much thought. “I usually get… You know what, just order whatever for me.”
You dig for your wallet in the tote bag, handing your card to him without tearing your eyes away from the sight before you. Seokmin only laughs and takes it without the slightest intention to use it. He orders you the drink he thinks you might like the best, as someone with a taste for the traditional things--like classic literature and walkmans--and orders himself a more sugary poison to nurture his sweet tooth.
When he pays, he doesn’t use your card, but he wraps the receipt around it anyway so you won’t holster any suspicion that he did exactly what he did. He only checks over his shoulder to make sure you’re still distracted, and you are, ogling the books as if you had never seen anything as marvelous as the contents of this bookshelf before.
He feels something fluttering in his chest, and he knows very well what caused it, but he pays it no mind—opting instead for leaning into the cashier who he’s frequently talked to during his coffee breaks with his caffeine crazy friend, Boo Seungkwan.
“Hey, Josh. Do you know if Mr. Kim is in today?” Kim Jongdae, the owner of the cafe, had a soft spot for the flower shop boys ever since they helped make him a beautiful bouquet for his wife’s birthday. Then, for their anniversary and every celebration thereafter.
Joshua shakes his head, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as he starts on the drinks. “He’s out for the day. It’s the little one’s birthday.”
“Shame. I wanted to borrow a book.”
“I mean… You know you can just grab any off the shelf.” He mumbles, hissing as he nearly burns his finger with the steaming espresso maker, “Which one do you want?”
“Whichever one she does.” He turns to you,“That’s why I wanted to ask. It’s not for me, but for her.”
“Ah.” Joshua looks between the two of you, without missing the gentle smile on Seokmin’s face as he watches you. He only manages to look away when the older boy at the counter sets both drinks down and clears his throat. “Here.”
“Right.”
“And about that book,” he gestures to you, “I’ll ask Mr. Kim when I see him tomorrow.”
“Thank you, I appreciate it.” With both drinks and your card wrapped in his receipt all clutched in his hands, he makes his way over to you quietly, as if any abruptness would disturb your studying of each and every title. But you hear him coming—that, or you smell the fresh coffee nearing you—so you spin around on your heels quickly, whisper-shouting as if he wasn’t right beside you now.
“This is incredible. I’m usually at the library until I get on the bus but–thank you,” You take the drink and instantly bring it to your lips for a sip, “Even the library doesn’t have this good of a–ah, hot!”
“Be careful!” Seokmin fights the urge to beckon his hand closer to you, but his shoulders still jolt up in concern that you may have burned yourself.
“–good of a collection–wow, this is really good.” Your shift in focus makes him hold back a snort.
“You like it?”
“Yes, thank you. Should we sit?” He follows you to a table by the window, where the two of you can glance out at the bustling street as you chat.
“Ms. Boo is nice.” You comment, as you notice one of the displays from the shop sitting at the sill.
“She is. She nags, but it’s only because she cares. I wouldn’t change anything about her.”
You wear a warm smile on your lips as you take another sip, savoring the rich taste of your coffee. “I really like my drink. What did you get for yourself?”
Seokmin’s fingers move lazily to push the cup towards you. “Do you wanna try it?”
You hesitate, your gaze flicking between his inviting smile and the drink. After a moment’s pause, you reach for one of the wrapped paper straws sitting near the sugar and salt. You peel it open, pop it into the cup, and take a sip. You seem to like it at first, but then, the overwhelming sweetness hits, a syrupy storm that floods your taste buds, and you immediately regret your decision.
Your face scrunches up in disbelief as you try not to choke on the sugary onslaught, your throat resisting the thick sweetness. “Oh god,” you gasp, your eyes wide.
Seokmin’s laughter bubbles up effortlessly, and he rolls his eyes, clearly entertained by your reaction. You slide the drink back across the table to him, still reeling from the shock of it. “That’s—how can you even drink that?” you manage between soft chuckles.
“Really? It’s not that bad,” he says with a teasing grin, unbothered by the fact that you’re clearly struggling. “I’d say your drink needs an acquired taste.”
“Mine? I’m drinking coffee.” You set your cup down, now fully convinced that whatever he’s drinking is a bizarre concoction. “I don’t know what you’re drinking.”
Seokmin shrugs, his grin only widening. “Agree to disagree.” His cheeks aching from the persistent smile that seems to be permanently affixed to his face now.
You laugh in disbelief before taking a few large gulps of your own coffee, feeling its familiar warmth wash over you and effectively wiping away the remnants of Seokmin’s sugary disaster from your palate.
“So,” you begin, eyes narrowing slightly as you shift your focus to him, “how long have you been working there?”
“For a year now.” He leans back slightly in his chair, clearly more relaxed than before.
“Do you like it?” you ask, your curiosity piqued.
He pauses, as if considering his words carefully before answering. “It’s… I mean, yes.”
You raise an eyebrow, “I spotted some hesitation there.”
He sighs, a quiet exhale of air as he rubs the back of his neck. “It’s not like I wanna be there forever.” His tone shifts, like he’s trying to brush off the weight of the subject, but it lingers.
Glancing down at your cup, you swirl it around absentmindedly to cool the contents. You try to lighten the mood, teasing him, “Not taking over Ms. Boo’s position in the future?”
Seokmin smiles, clearly amused by the suggestion. “I’ll leave that to her grandson. He works there, too.” He shrugs, a nonchalant gesture, but there's a quiet finality in his words.
Feeling the need to dig a little deeper, you sit up straight, eyes bright with curiosity. “Okay, so what is it that you wanna do?”
Seokmin’s smile falters just a fraction, and for a brief moment, the easy-going confidence he always wears slips. His fingers fiddle with the edge of his cup, and he looks off into the distance, his expression turning distant. “It’s nothing,” he mutters, his tone dropping low.
You pause, sensing something behind the simplicity of his words, but you don’t press further. “It isn’t nothing.” You shake your head, “It’s what you wanna do with your life. I wouldn’t call that nothing.”
After a brief pause that consists of looking between your eyes and playing with the syllables stuck thickly in his mouth, Seokmin mumbles a single word. “Music.”
“Music?” You echo him, then stay silent so he can elaborate. You can tell he feels some degree of discouragement, obvious in the way his shoulders slump down. His hands start fidgeting and he looks out the window again as he seems to recall some memory.
“But it’s nothing serious right now. I mess around with my guitar and write stuff every once in a while, but… I haven’t really played since—“
“I would love to hear,” you cut him off, leaning forward, “If you ever feel like showing someone, I would love to listen to you play.”
There’s a sudden bitterness in his throat (that definitely isn’t his coffee) as he recalls a slightly stirring memory. It’s not as distant as he would like it to be, despite his attempt to store it in the ‘do-not-open’ file of his mind, but it doesn’t stop him from nodding along and agreeing to your offer with some apprehension, because truthfully, you had no part in carving that scar.
Simply put: you were not her.
“I haven’t played in a while,” he rephrases, “but when I pick it up again, you’ll be the first person I show.”
It doesn’t take long before you start telling him about your studies, now that you had succeeded in interrogating him with a few of your burning questions, and it becomes apparent to Seokmin very quickly how easy conversation flows with you. Each word you utter is warm, welcoming, almost familiar, as if he had known you for longer than he did–and he suddenly feels very guilty for having misjudged you.
It’s not like you know of the way he bad-mouthed you in his sensitive mind, so there really is no need to compensate for it. Even then, he feels he owes you something—like he should make it up to you for thinking such things about a person of your nature.
He learns that you’re a student who’s majoring in English literature, with the aspiration to be a writer. The two of you agreed that he’d show you his music, and you’d show him what you’re working on—the last of which delighted him, seeing as he’d spent weeks trying to guess what your fingers typed away on your computer each night on the bus. You hate sugary drinks, that much you made clear, and you had a strong distaste for the smell of holiday candles.
Every word you’d spill left him on the edge of his seat, wanting to know more about you. If it wasn’t for the fact that he needed to go back to work, he’d have sat with you for the whole afternoon listening to you talk.
But instead, you join him on his walk back to the flower shop, unknowingly having fulfilled your promise to bring him back in a better mood.
“Ms. Boo?”
“Seokmin-ah? You’re back right on time. There’s a customer who needs a graduation arrangement for their son.” Seokmin can tell she’s in the backroom, wrestling the hose to fill the watering can from the strain in her voice.
“I’ll get my apron on!” He calls, then spins around to face you, “Thank you for today. I liked my coffee, even if you didn’t think it was great.”
“Good to know. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”
“Tomorrow? Won’t I catch you on the bus tonight?” As soon as the words leave his mouth, he hopes you didn’t catch the disappointment behind them.
“Tonight’s the last night of my study group, and those usually run late.” So that’s why you hadn’t been taking the bus lately, “So, tomorrow it is. Unless you don’t want that second coffee…”
“I do.” He insists, and your lips curl up as you reach for the doorknob.
“Alright, then.”
The instant the door shuts behind you, he starts counting down the hours until he can see you again.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
Seokmin’s shift could not have gone any slower. Unlike any day before, the hours could not seem to pass, despite how badly he willed them to. Aside from Seungkwan’s occasional side-eyed-glares and complaints of his uncharacteristically fast work pace today, Seokmin has managed to complete his tasks for the day and more: he prepared two graduation orders placed last minute and a walk-in customer who was uncertain of what ‘I’m sorry’ bouquet to get his girlfriend, all while trying to appease potential buyers who entered the shop, drawn in by the six new bouquet’s he’d made this very same morning and displayed at the window.
All that, and it’s only fifteen past eleven in the morning.
“What has you in such a rush? I’m like four orders behind you. Usually, it’s the other way around.” The last part is but a grumble under his breath.
Unable to explain, because he isn’t exactly sure of the answer either, Seokmin brushes Seungkwan's suspicious raised brow off and mentions something that would pique his interest instead, in hopes of changing the topic.
“You know Soonyoung said Chan blew him off for a date? They were supposed to go out drinking and then—”
“And then Minji called him and he bailed, I know. Can’t say I’m surprised.”
“And then—”
“Slow down!” Seungkwan all but yanks the scissors from his best friend’s hands, which is, needless to say, not the safest thing to do, and puts them at his own station. “You’ve been hogging them for the last hour.” he hisses, “If my grandma comes in and sees that I’m this far behind, she’ll make me skip my break.”
“I just need time to pass by quickly. I figure if I keep myself busy, it just might.”
“Time doesn’t work like that, idiot.”
“Actually, it does. Idiot.” He sneers back, and Seungkwan could not look more offended if he tried—eyes wide, lips puckered to shape a word he doesn’t quite get to say. He swings back his arm, but before Seokmin could get smacked by the handful of tulips in his grip, Ms. Boo comes bustling through, humming a mindless tune as she clutches a pen and a few envelopes in her arms.
“Boys, I've got your pay for this week and the next. I have an appointment with Dr. Hong next Friday, so I won’t be here. I expect you’ll take care of the shop while I’m—these arrangements are lovely. Who made them?”
The boys look between each other, and Seokmin huffs out before answering. “We both did, Ms. Boo.”
“Good work. Lovely…” She starts mumbling to herself again as she shifts her attention from the flowers at the windowsill to the bills in her hands, counting them and separating them into two even piles.
At Seokmin’s reply (call it an unspoken truce), Seungkwan visibly relaxes, releasing the flowers before he could ruin them and scurrying over to his grandma. “Have you been taking your medicine? You know he’ll scold you otherwise.”
“I’m too old to be scolded,” She replies stubbornly, and their conversation fades momentarily as the door chimes again.
“Welcome to Botanical–oh.” Seokmin’s scripted introduction is cut short as he notices that it’s you who has entered the shop, wearing a small smile.
“Hi.” You greet him, “and hello, Ms. Boo.”
“Hello.” She chirps, “Y/N, was it?”
“Yes, that’s right.”
“Hey,” Seokmin’s wide smile, which nourished the moment he laid eyes on you, suddenly falters as he realizes the time. “Shit, are you here for-”
“Language.”
“Sorry,” he bows his head apologetically at Ms. Boo, then grabs your arm to drag you a little further from the pair, “I can’t take my break right now.” He tells you, regretfully. Your smile falls a little.
“Really? I was looking forward to our coffee time. Plus, I desperately need some caffeine. I’ve been reading this boring manuscript since seven.” You scowl, gesturing to the stack of papers overflowing from your bag.
That pout, the one on your lips: it needs to be fixed as soon as possible. Seokmin holds a single finger up as he scours his brain for a plan, “Wait here a second. Let me see what I can do.” With that, he turns around and speedwalks over to Seungkwan, who hands him his half of the money.
“Here.”
“Thanks.” Seokmin takes the bills, not quite meeting Seungkwan’s eyes as he pockets them. “Hey, listen…” His voice drops, just low enough that it almost feels like a secret. “I need to take my break now.”
Seungkwan blinks in confusion, his brow furrowing. “What?!”
“Shh!” Seokmin urges, his face a mix of impatience and pleading. He tugs at his sleeve, leaning closer so only Seungkwan can hear. “Please.”
“No way,” Seungkwan protests, shaking his head and crossing his arms over his chest. “I take the morning breaks, you take the afternoon. That’s how this works.”
Seokmin’s expression hardens just a fraction, the edge of desperation creeping in as he stands a little taller. “Seungkwan, I’m begging you to switch with me just this once.”
Seungkwan stares at him, weighing his options. His arms remain crossed, a stubborn defiance settling into his posture. “No way.”
With no other option, Seokmin huffs and crosses his arms firmly over his chest.
“Fine,” Seokmin finally says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ll just go tell your grandma how many customers I’ve helped today and that all the displays were my doing and—”
“Okay, okay!” Seungkwan interrupts, throwing his hands up in surrender. “God, dude, you really suck. Don’t make this a habit, yeah?”
Spoiler alert: he would.
Seokmin’s face lights up with a grin. “Thank you!” he exclaims, not even giving Seungkwan a chance to protest before his apron is untied with a swift yank. It’s tossed into Seungkwan’s arms, and Seokmin is already dashing toward the back, his shoes clacking against the floor with each hurried step.
He doesn't wait for the usual stream of complaints to catch up to him, knowing full well that they’re coming. Quickly, Seokmin kicks off his non-slip shoes in one fluid motion, leaving them in a pile as he slides into his own sneakers.
Less than a minute later, he joins you by the door.
“Coffee time?” His tone is playful, and you mirror it as you nod once.
“Coffee time.”
The cafe has a few students scattered around with their laptops when you enter. There’s also a few others, people who Seokmin knows work in the stores and buildings nearby. They stop by occasionally for their lunch and coffee breaks, but even then, the cafe is emptier than it is most days at this time. Mr. Kim is alongside Joshua, tending to something on the register, when the two of you approach them.
“Morning,”
“Good morning, Seokmin.” Kim Jongdae offers the boy a warm smile.
There’s a bit of small talk exchanged between them—Mr. Kim asks about Ms. Boo and Seungkwan, Seokmin asks about his son’s birthday—until Seokmin goes to introduce you, but turns around to find you near the bookshelf once more. This seems to remind Mr. Kim of something he discussed earlier with Joshua.
“My answer is yes, by the way.” He starts, “Joshua asked me this morning. He said you, or rather, she wanted to borrow a book. Go ahead. It’s the least I can do to repay you boys for the hard work you do to make this place look nice.” Mr. Kim gives him a firm nod, patting Joshua on the back after briefly explaining a new menu item on the screen. He walks off, and Seokmin calls out to him.
“Thank you, really!” He turns to Joshua, “and thank you, too. I’ll get the same two drinks as yesterday. ”
“You got it.”
He pays quickly and turns around, pausing for a few moments to admire you before taking two long strides over. When he’s beside you, he lowers his head so it’s by your shoulder and speaks quietly, so as to not disturb you. “Which one piques your interest?”
“Which ones,” you correct, marveling up at him before looking back to the shelves. “There’s so many. I wouldn’t know which one to grab first if I could.” Your index finger comes up after a pause, “Maybe this one.”
“Go on, then.”
“I wish.” you sigh, and he can no longer withhold his smile.
“I’m serious. Grab it. I asked the owner for permission.”
Your head cranes slowly over to him, eyes so wide he swears he could have seen his reflection in them.
“Are you serious?” Your voice is soft, unsure, surprised, grateful. You’re almost not sure whether to believe him or not, but when his gentle brown eyes look between you and the book, and he gives you a little encouraging nudge on your shoulder as a go ahead, you finally move to reach out slowly and pick it off of the shelf, cradling it in your hands as if it was a precious thing.
“Thank you. You didn’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” His voice is calm but sincere, and there’s a small, almost thoughtful smile tugging at his lips as he watches you. The shelf you’d been looking at earlier, once so absorbing, now feels distant as your attention shifts entirely to him.
You blink, unsure how to respond, and for the first time in a while, you find yourself lost for words. “Gosh, I-I don’t… I don’t even know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything.” He mutters with a crooked smile.
“Thank you.” You repeat the words, quieter this time.
“Anytime.” He shrugs. For a moment, the two of you are caught in a quiet, comfortable pause.
It’s only Joshua calling Seokmin’s name from across the room that snaps the two of you back to reality. You blink and suddenly remember—you’re the one who owes him a coffee, not the other way around.
“Wait, you ordered already?”
“I kinda had to.” Seokmin shrugs sheepishly, his eyes flicking over to the counter before returning to you. “Honestly, I’m more scared of going over my break time while Seungkwan is there than when it’s just Ms. Boo.”
“That’s your friend, right? Seungkwan?” you ask, tilting your head slightly.
“Yep,” Seokmin replies. “The one with the dyed blonde hair who always looks like he’s about to complain about something.”
“That’s Ms. Boo’s grandson, then.” You piece it together with a grin, and Seokmin hands you your drink. You take it but find your thoughts drifting again.
“What’s wrong?” Seokmin asks, noticing your distracted gaze.
“I still owe you,” you admit softly, looking down at the drink in your hands. “For the bag and the book.”
Seokmin bumps your shoulder lightly, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “I guess you’ll just have to keep stopping by.”
“I guess I will,”
To his delight, the rest of Seokmin’s shift was effortless and quick. There was the occasional bickering with Seungkwan, but that’s nothing out of the ordinary. And, for some reason, he didn’t seem to mind it as much today. Because, waiting for him at the bus stop when he arrived later that very same evening, was you, eager to tell him all about the book you had started reading.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
Seokmin had never been a fan of routines. His personality was spontaneous, and so the things he did on a day-to-day basis were too. Up until now, the only constants in his life were the flower shop and his friends, who provided their own random spontaneity in the form of unpredictable weekend plans or an ever-changing work environment that depended solely on which side of the bed Seungkwan woke up on that morning.
Seokmin gets bored easily, an issue he resolves with movie marathons or long walks or hangouts—just about anything will suffice, if it means his mind is occupied and distracted the majority of the time.
Lately, though, a new element has been introduced to his daily life. A routine.
A routine where, during every shift, you stop by after your time studying at the library and pick him up for ‘coffee time’ during his breaks (much to Seungkwan’s disappointment, coffee time was usually during the first half of the day). Then, you’d stay at the coffee shop reading the book—because despite Seokmin insisting that it was okay for you to take home, you’d always refuse—until his shift was over. He’d find you at the bus stop, waiting for him, and the two of you would chatter on until you were dropped off at your stop.
In a way, he had become dependent on this routine—something he thought could never happen. It was admittedly his favorite part of the day, catching up with you, hearing what you had to say or what thoughts you had cultured after your time reading the book. And when you finished that one a few weeks in, he made sure to take some new potted plants and flowers over to Mr. Kim in exchange for another.
And for some time, that’s the way things were. He had contemplated asking to do something with you outside of the usual bus or coffee shop pattern, but everytime he intended to ask, he’d cower and procrastinate. Next time, he’d tell himself.
Early on a Sunday morning, Seungkwan came into the shop rambling about how his Grandma was at his older sister’s house and wouldn’t be coming by. It’s not like the two of them couldn’t handle the shop alone—they had done it countless times before—but her presence was primarily longed for when it came to getting the two of them back on track. Especially on Sundays, where the task at hand was to clean, fertilize, and redecorate wilted displays. For obvious reasons, this was something neither of them enjoyed doing.
At the moment, it’s just him in the store. Seungkwan was taking his morning break that he insisted was non-negotiable today and Seokmin only agreed so easily because Sundays are the only days he doesn’t see you.
The doorbell jingles softly as you step into the flower shop, and Seokmin glances up from behind the counter looking for a customer or Seungkwan, his hands momentarily pausing in their careful arrangement of flowers. A surprised look crosses his face as you poke your head in.
“Hey,” he says, his voice lifting with a bit of surprise, but the smile that quickly forms softens his expression. “I didn’t think you’d stop by today.”
“Actually, I only came by to see Ms. Boo,” you tease, and Seokmin hisses through his teeth.
“I regret to inform you, she’s not in today.”
You grin, stepping further into the shop, the familiar floral scent filling the air around you. “I’m kidding. I was nearby and I thought I’d keep you company for a bit.”
“It’s not usually this quiet around here,” he says, his hands brushing against the flowers almost absently as he talks. “It’s kind of nice when it’s just me, but I guess I don’t mind the company.” He rolls his eyes, but it’s easy to see right through him when he’s so clearly beaming that you're here.
Your presence, standing so casually by the counter, feels like something he didn’t know he was waiting for. He’s used to the steady hum of the shop, the quiet buzz of the day, the mildly irritating sounds of Seungkwan, but with you here... it’s different. He can’t quite pinpoint why, but there’s a feeling in his chest that settles somewhere between contentment and something else he’s been trying to ignore for a while now.
Before he can dwell too much on it, the door jingles again, and Seungkwan strides in, looking as effortless as ever. His eyes dart between you and Seokmin, already catching the shift in the air.
“Why, hello,” Seungkwan says, grinning widely as he crosses the shop and leans against the counter. “I was wondering when we’d be properly introduced.”
“You must be Seungkwan,” you say, arching an eyebrow at Seokmin, who rolls his eyes in mock exasperation.
“And you must be Y/N. It seems like I took my break right on time.” Seungkwan continues, throwing an exaggerated glance at Seokmin. “He can’t shut up about you.”
Seokmin groans as he shifts uncomfortably behind the counter. “Seungkwan, please. You don’t have to make it sound so weird.”
You smile at the light teasing, the way Seungkwan’s attention naturally shifts to Seokmin with that familiar comfort only best friends seem to have. It’s clear they’ve known each other for a while. Seokmin, though, is less than amused by Seungkwan. His cheeks glow pink as he glares.
“Well, you are weird,” Seungkwan mutters.
“Alright, Seungkwan,” Seokmin says with a sigh.
“Okay, I’m off to the back to unload fertilizer.” He announces and you give him a polite wave as he turns to you, “It was nice to meet you.”
As Seungkwan heads out the back door, Seokmin lets out a quiet breath, shaking his head. The shop feels quieter, now that it's just you and him. It’s strange, but Seokmin finds himself oddly aware of the space between you two.
He glances over at you again, trying not to seem too obvious, but there’s something about the way you’re standing there—easy, comfortable, but somehow still pulling at him in a way he can’t ignore. His fingers hesitate over the vase in front of him, caught in the motion of arranging flowers but not quite focused on the task.
“So,” you say, breaking the silence. “I guess you get to work in peace for now, huh?”
“Yeah, it seems that way.” Seokmin huffs. He takes a step toward you, to reach for something behind you. His hand brushes over a batch of roses, then pausing as if he’s suddenly unsure of the next move, painfully aware of how close he’s gotten. He clears his throat, the casual tone of his voice not quite matching the thoughts swirling in his mind. “So, um... you like flowers?”
You tilt your head, a teasing smile on your lips. “Is that a serious question?”
“I-” Seokmin laughs softly, his fingers running over the petals of the flowers before grabbing them and attempting to focus on his station.
You lean a little closer, your voice light but playful. “Well, I like you, don’t I?” The way you say those words with a teasing tone makes Seokmin nearly choke, “So I kind of have to like flowers. Otherwise, how am I meant to hang around you?” You gesture at the shop.
Seokmin’s breath catches, and for a moment, he feels like he’s losing the thread of the conversation.
"I didn’t expect to find you working today. I didn’t even know the shop opened on Sundays," you say casually, glancing up at him. “I’m sure the flowers appreciate the extra attention.”
"I’m pretty good with the flowers, but I think they’d appreciate the company more if you came by more often."
You arch an eyebrow, “Oh? You think they’d enjoy my company more than yours?”
“I know Seungkwan would.” You laugh at this, and Seokmin revels in the sound, joining you.
After a pause, he shifts his attention back to the flowers, showing you the final product. “What do you think?”
“They’re pretty.”
“I think so, too.” He decides, not necessarily talking about the flowers, “Even though I was a little distracted.”
"Distractions can be good, though,"
"Well, you’re a pretty good distraction," he tries for the words to sound casual, but his tone betrays him. He also said it much quicker than he intended to, and he’s grateful for the chance to turn around while grabbing another pot because it offers him a means to hide his reddening cheeks.
You let the words hang in the air for a beat longer than usual, enjoying the teasing, the way it feels easy between you two. "Good to know," you reply, smirking.
Before Seokmin can respond, the door swings open and Seungkwan walks in again, wiping his hands on his apron and immediately launching into his usual dramatic self.
"I swear, I’ll never get used to that fertilizer smell," he complains, tossing his apron on a hook. He looks over at you and Seokmin, "Glad to know you two haven’t burned the place down."
You grin, "Not yet, but we’re working on it."
Seungkwan scoffs half-heartedly, glancing between you. "Nice to see him finally making some friends outside of the plants."
As Seungkwan heads toward the back, he gives you both a knowing look. “Don’t let him get too distracted, alright?” he calls over his shoulder with a grin.
“I’ll try my best.” You give Seokmin a wink and he shakes his head, showing you an idea for another potential bouquet.
The last hour passes seamlessly fast, now that you’re here. Before Seokmin knows it, you, him, and Seungkwan are locking up the store and parting ways from the blonde as the two of you walk side by side to the bus stop.
As he sits beside you on the bus later that night, looking over your shoulder at your collection of tapes for your walkman, he wrestles with the invitation that sits in the forefront of his mind. Spending time with you at the shop was great, but it somehow still feels like it follows your usual pattern. That, and Seungkwan’s presence, albeit lively and entertaining, keeps him from being able to spend as much time as he’d like with you—without the time constriction of a fifteen minute break or a forty minute bus ride. But like always, he decides to ask a different question in place of the one he really wants to.
“How come you use a walkman? I always meant to ask you.”
“I like the way the music sounds on it. I don’t know. It was my dad’s.” You smile warmly, “He used to let me borrow it when I was younger and I just kind of… inherited it.”
“It’s cool. Makes you look all mysterious. Like you’re from a different time.”
“You think?” He nods fervently, but your shoulders still sink in doubt as you fumble with the multicolored tapes. “Everything sounds nicer on it. When you listen to music on it, it’s like a mini time-machine. Or, it might just be me, I don’t know.”
“I’m sure it’s not just you. Here, let me try. Pick one for me.”
The corners of your mouth twitch upwards for a second as you ponder which song to play. Delicately, your fingers brush over each tape, hovering in thought like they had with the books on Mr. Kim’s shelf, until you finally land on one.
“It’s my favorite.” You tell him shyly, “I think you’ll like it.”
Carefully, you pull the cassette out of its case and click it into the audio player with a low snap. Seokmin watches as your hands slip the headset off from around your neck, watching as you shift in your seat and place them gently over his head. He tries not to think about how close your face is to his but… how can he not? You’ve leaned in to ensure that both spongy cushions are perfectly sat over his ears, and now you’re only a few inches away—close enough that he can catch the faint scent of your shampoo. It lingers, soft and floral, wrapping around him like the embrace of something he hadn’t realized he’d miss until you finally sat back, asking “ready?”
You press down on the play button and look up at him, eyes full of expectation.
There’s that familiar, comforting crackle of the cassette winding into motion, a sound that makes Seokmin feel as if he’s in an old-timey dream. And then, the music starts: your song—your favorite song—something you had chosen specifically for him to hear. Every note feels warm, intimate, melodic. For some reason, it temporarily diminishes his burning curiosity about you, but not because he finds himself any less intrigued, but because it finally feels like he’s taken a real peek inside your mind.
As someone who loves music, Seokmin is a firm believer that a person’s favorite song says a lot about them. The more it plays, the more he realizes that this song, in every sense of the word, is an extension of you.
As the melody flows, you watch him, eyes studying his reaction with that same teasing smile. You lean closer again, and he subconsciously holds his breath as you whisper, “Do you hear it?” He nods.
There’s a warmth in it, a rawness that makes it feel like more than just music. This was something deeply yours, a piece of your world that you were letting him in on, if only for a few minutes.
He listens with his eyes closed, letting himself drift along the rhythm, feeling the weight of each tone and key change and lyric the artist sings, full of intention. When he finally opens his eyes, he finds you still looking at him with a kind of question in your gaze, a quiet hope. The song fades out, but Seokmin keeps the headphones on for a second longer, letting the last notes dissolve into silence. He looks up again, meeting your gaze.
For a moment, he’s not sure what to say. Anything he could say feels too small, too plain for what he wants you to understand. So he starts with the only words that come out easily, his voice low and sincere. “I… I think I get it.” He pauses, then adds, “And this song… it feels like you.”
Your eyebrows lift slightly, a playful gleam in your eyes. “What do you mean?” you ask, though there’s a softness in your tone, like you’re hoping he’ll really answer.
He glances down at the walkman, watching your thumb tracing along the edge as he gathers his thoughts. “I don’t know. It’s just… this song is so warm. It’s like the way you laugh, the way you make everything feel a little bit lighter.” He feels his cheeks warm but keeps going, his words coming out before he can second-guess them. “It’s like a piece of you, and I can feel it, even with my eyes closed.”
You go still, your expression shifting, the playful smile that played on your lips softening into something more serious. Neither of you say anything for a moment.
The bus begins to slow, and you both glance out the window, realizing this is your stop. You reach up, fingers brushing his ear as you gently pull the headphones from him, careful not to disturb the sense of closeness still hanging in the air. You slide the walkman back into your bag, a little slower than necessary, as if that might make the night last, if just for a few seconds longer.
“This is me,” you say softly, feeling the finality in the words as the bus comes to a gentle stop and the doors sigh open. You start to stand but pause, glancing down at him one last time. There’s something unreadable in his gaze, as if he’s searching for the right thing to say, something more than just “goodbye.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow?” you ask, your voice soft, almost hopeful.
He nods, his smile widening just a little. “Yeah,” he says, gentle but certain. “Tomorrow.” You’re about to turn around when he adds, “but not here. I want to go somewhere else with you. I mean, if you want to, that is.” He finds his breath catching again, “The flower shop closes early on the weekends. I was thinking... Maybe we could go to the beach?”
With a grin playing on your lips, you nod, “Yeah. I’d like that.”
Giving him one last glance, you turn and step off the bus, feeling the warmth of his gaze linger behind as you walk down the street. As the bus pulls away, you catch his face framed in the window, waving until you’re out of sight. And though the music has stopped, the tune of this moment plays on, promising something to carry with you both until tomorrow.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
The sky stretches out in a hazy blue as Seokmin walks toward the beach, his guitar case slung over his shoulder. His fingers tap a nervous rhythm against its side as he looks around, hoping to spot you before you see him.
He barely slept the night before, having spent the better part of the morning hours contemplating and talking to himself with his guitar on his lap. It hadn’t been touched in nearly a year and a half, so he had to spend some time wiping it down, re-tuning it, and even fixing a string that had managed to come loose in the process.
He said he’d play for you, but then again, he hadn’t played for someone in a while and naturally, that made him extremely nervous, though that feeling didn’t even fully capture what he felt when he remembered he’d be playing for you. What would you think? Did you actually mean it when you said you wanted to hear him play? Or was that some automated response to boost his spirits? Would you even remember? It was weeks ago, on the first day at the coffee shop. Needless to say, he mulled over it endlessly.
Seokmin sighs, trying to calm himself down. By now, he had to slip off his shoes that were sinking in the cool sand, so he chooses to focus on the sensation of it against his skin instead of overthinking any longer.
He finally spots you standing by the water, arms wrapped around yourself as a light breeze blows through your hair. When you turn and see him, your face brightens, and that smile of yours—bright and open—fills him with warmth instantly. “Is that—” you begin, your eyes widening as you notice the guitar.
“Thought it was time,” he says, shrugging like it’s no big deal despite his heart thundering as he sets the guitar down and dusts off a spot in the sand beside you. You sit next to him eagerly, your excitement spilling out in the way you lean closer, eyes sweeping between him and the guitar case, as if you’re finally being let in on a long-held secret. And, in a way, you are.
He stretches his legs out, digging his heels into the cool sand. He watches you rummage through the tote bag beside you, and a curious smile tugs at his lips.
“You came prepared,” he chuckles, watching as you pull out a couple of neatly wrapped sandwiches and a small container of fruit.
“Of course I did,” you say with a smile, offering him a sandwich and holding out the fruit container. “I figured we’d get hungry eventually.” You shrug, glancing out toward the waves. “Besides, I thought it would be nice to have a little picnic.”
Seokmin accepts the sandwich with a grin, unwrapping it and taking a bite. He’s pleasantly surprised by the fresh crunch of lettuce and the perfect balance of flavors. “Did you make these?” he asks between bites, raising an eyebrow.
You nod, a bit of pride flashing in your eyes. “I did. You think I’d risk buying store-bought for a beach day?”
“Touché,” he laughs, grabbing a few grapes from the fruit container you’ve placed between you. “Honestly, this is already ten times better than what I packed.” He gestures vaguely to a plastic bottle and an uninspired granola bar that now seem almost laughable compared to your carefully prepared spread.
The sun has settled lower in the sky, casting the beach in a soft, golden haze. Seokmin leans back, resting his hands behind him as he glances over at you, a lazy grin playing at the corners of his mouth. The two of you have polished off the sandwiches, and now the empty wrappers lie folded beside the fruit container. He pops one last grape into his mouth, savoring the refreshing sweetness as he watches you tuck the food away with a little, satisfied sigh.
“So, did I earn any points for bringing the snacks?” you tease, dusting a few crumbs from your hands before looking over at him expectantly.
Seokmin laughs, squinting a little in the sunlight as he tilts his head, pretending to think it over. “Hmm… I’ll give you extra points for the sandwiches. But for the fruit,” he says, grabbing a couple of the last grapes with a mischievous smile, “I think you’ll need to try a little harder.”
“Oh, please,” you scoff, leaning back beside him. “You’re just mad you didn’t think to bring anything.”
“Maybe,” he admits, laughing as he looks out at the waves. “But next time, I’ll bring something better.”
“Alright, big shot,” you say with a smirk, crossing your arms. “What’s on the menu then? A charcuterie board?”
“Definitely,” he says, nodding with exaggerated seriousness. “Maybe even some tiny, fancy desserts, the ones that look way too pretty to eat.”
“Sounds like you’re trying to impress someone.” You raise an eyebrow, letting the words hang in the air just long enough that Seokmin can’t miss the playful edge in your tone. Not like he could have missed it anyway, with the way he hangs on your every word.
He laughs again, but there’s a slight flush to his cheeks. “Hey, I’m just saying I know how to put together a memorable picnic,” he says, attempting a casual shrug. “But, you know, only if you’re there to witness it.”
You grin, unable to help the smile that breaks through at his subtle, almost shy attempt at flirting. “I’d hate to miss such an extravagant spread,” you reply, matching his casual tone with your own. “Guess you’ll have to invite me.”
Seokmin pretends to think it over, tapping his chin. “Hmm, alright, you’re in. But no backing out,” he says, his smile widening. “I’m holding you to this.”
There’s an ease between you, a lightness in the conversation that feels effortless, and for a while, the two of you just sit there, chatting about nothing and everything. He asks you about your favorite places to visit and listens as you share stories about the other hobbies you have. In return, you ask how he met Seungkwan, and he tells you about him and Soonyoung, recounting each memory he has made with them with an enthusiasm that makes you feel like you were right there with him.
Then, as the conversation dips, he glances down at the guitar case beside him. He reaches for it almost absentmindedly, brushing his fingers along the edge of the case, but there’s a faint look of hesitation in his eyes that you don’t miss.
“You don’t have to, even if you brought it all the way out here. It’s up to you.”
Seokmin lets out a small laugh, scratching the back of his neck as he glances away. He’s more grateful for your patience than you could ever know.
“Yeah… I haven’t really played in a while,” he admits, his voice dropping slightly. “It’s been over two years, actually. I brought it… Well, because I think it’s about time I get back into the habit.” He trails off, watching the waves again, his mind flickering to a different time, a different place, one he’s not sure he’s ready to revisit.
There’s a quiet understanding in your eyes as you nod. You don’t press him, don’t ask for more details. Instead, you just let the silence stretch out between you, the sound of the ocean filling the space where words might have gone. It’s almost as if you’re giving him permission to take his time, to decide for himself if this is something he wants to do.
After a moment, he takes a breath, exhaling slowly. “I used to play a lot, actually,” he says, almost to himself. “Just… haven’t felt like it in a while.”
The air feels thick with unspoken things, but Seokmin pushes past it, fingers brushing the guitar case almost impulsively. The weight of the past lingers for a second, but with a quick glance at you, he lets go of the hesitation clinging to him. This is different, he reminds himself. This isn’t for anyone else, no memories he needs to cling to. Just the open beach, the sun dipping low, and you, waiting beside him with a patient, easy smile.
He pulls the guitar from its case, its weight grounding him, though it feels different today than it had last night. It’s less scary, now that he’s with you.
He glances over at you, a grin tugging at his lips. “Ready?” he asks. You nod, your eyes wide, leaning just close enough for him to catch the faint, floral hint of you drifting in the salt-laced air.
Seokmin strums the first couple of notes, letting the music rise and blend with the gentle crash of the waves. His fingers move on instinct, but his mind is all on you, capturing every little reaction—the way your eyes soften, the way your shoulders relax, reassuring him that his music is something you’ve been waiting to hear. He’s suddenly very relieved.
“I wrote this a few years back. It’s… Well, yeah. I think the lyrics speak for themselves.”
It takes a few seconds and one or two badly played chords for him to regain a little bit of the confidence he had lost some time ago. But his fingers find their place quickly enough, and he parts his lips to sing.
As Seokmin's voice fills the space between you, soft and hesitant at first, he notices the subtle shift in your expression. Your eyes widen ever so slightly, brows lifting in quiet surprise as if you hadn’t really expected him to sing so well. There’s a moment of stillness, only filled with his voice, warm and unpolished, floating in the air.
Your gaze flickers to and from him, watching the way his lips move to form each syllable, and then back to the water, where the waves blur in a streak of light. You can’t help but notice the way his face softens when he sings, his features loosening as he melts into the words.
You look back at him, your lips parting in surprise. There’s a shy kind of amusement tugging at the corners of your mouth, like you're unsure if it’s okay to smile just yet, but the quiet joy you feel is evident in the warmth that floods your chest. You tilt your head slightly, caught between admiration and a soft, disbelieving smile.
I should’ve told you I’m in love with you
Then I wouldn’t have been regretting right now
The longer you listen, the more the words he’s written seem bound to him, something like an itch he couldn’t reach. You find your lips curving upward again, but there’s a sad sentiment behind your smile this time, eyes full with a kind of quiet affection. Something tugs at your heart just then, causing your brows to furrow slightly. Maybe it’s from the lyrics he wrote, or maybe it’s the simple, unguarded way he sings, you’re not entirely sure.
When he looks up, your gaze meets his, soft and steady. You don’t speak when he finishes. Instead, you reach over, brushing a stray strand of hair from his forehead, your fingers as light as the spring breeze.
“Thank you,” you whisper, and in that moment, Seokmin realizes he doesn’t need to say anything at all.
You sit back, letting the sound of the water fill the space between you, the silence stretching just long enough for Seokmin to look out at the horizon, his fingers still idly plucking at the strings of his guitar. His expression has changed slightly, distant, like he's somewhere else for a moment, lost in thought.
You turn toward him, studying his profile. “Why don’t you play anymore?” you ask softly, not wanting to break the calm vulnerability of the moment, but still unable to ignore the quiet curiosity rising inside you. “I mean, you’re really good. Why keep it to yourself?”
He freezes for a second, his mindless strumming halting abruptly. He exhales, the sound almost like a sigh.
“I used to,” he begins to explain. His voice is quiet, almost like he’s talking to himself. “Back when I had someone to play for. It didn’t work out.” He swallows thickly. “She… She had been hooking up with her best friend practically since we got together.”
You wait, letting him speak, but his lips press together for a moment, unsure if he should say more. His gaze turns toward the ocean, but there’s a shift in his eyes, which are normally so kind and full of spirit—something like a hard edge, as if a memory he had thought of has sharpened into something more painful. “I played for her all the time.”
You can’t hide the surprise that flashes in your eyes, and Seokmin glances at you. He doesn’t want pity. He’s not asking for it.
“I stopped playing after that,” he continues, “It just... didn’t feel the same anymore. It was something I gave to someone who didn’t deserve it.” He shrugs, as if the words are too heavy for him to carry all at once.
You can feel the hurt in the air, hanging around him like a shadow. You want to reach out, but you don’t know how to offer comfort without crossing a line, so you just sit still beside him, close enough that he can feel your presence but far enough to give him space.
And at the time, you didn’t know it, but for him, it was enough.
After a long pause, you finally say, “I’m sorry. That’s... that’s a lot.”
He nods, and the tightness in his jaw softens slightly. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a little steadier. “But... maybe it’s okay.” Seokmin’s eyes flicker to you, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Today felt right, you know. Playing for someone who’s actually listening.”
And in the quiet that follows, he feels something shift between you, the weight of unspoken things starting to lift.
“Seokmin,” you say, your voice gentle, as if careful not to disrupt the quiet peace he’s settled into. He can tell you’re about to say something, maybe offer some comforting words about his story, but he’s already lost in thought.
It hits him, then, so suddenly it almost makes him laugh at himself. The way the late afternoon light catches in your hair, the soft curve of your smile, the way you’re watching him with that steady, thoughtful gaze. It’s all so striking that it feels like something he’s never noticed before, and yet it feels so familiar at the same time.
He decides then, that this is the prettiest you’ve ever looked.
Suddenly convinced you might be able to read his mind, he clears his throat, feeling a warmth creeping up his neck as he looks back down at the guitar, trying to hide the smile that’s fighting its way to his face. He wants to say it—wants to tell you that you look beautiful, that sitting here with you feels like some kind of dream he didn’t know he was allowed to have. But the words don’t come out; they sit, caught in his throat, trapped by the sudden nervousness that’s settled over him.
Instead, he finds himself brushing a hand over the guitar strings again, as if that small action might keep him grounded. “Thanks… for listening,” he manages, hoping it’ll distract from the fact that he can feel his cheeks warming.
You smile, nodding gently, still looking at him in that quiet, understanding way, and it only makes him want to blurt it out more. But for now, he lets the moment stretch, watching as you lean back in the sand, your gaze shifting back to the waves. The sun is sinking lower, and everything is bathed in that soft, warm light that makes the world feel as if it’s been suspended in time. And Seokmin realizes, right then and there, that this is one of those good memories he’ll hold on to; one he doesn’t intend to forget any time soon.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
It starts with a simple conversation over coffee, the two of you tucked into a cozy corner booth at the cafe, each with a steaming cup in hand as usual. It has become the norm, seeing you like this, nearly every morning and evening. Seokmin stirs a bit more sugar into his drink despite the crazed look you give him, then glances up at you with a warm, toothy smile as you tell him about your latest read. He leans in, listening intently, nodding as if every word you say is the most fascinating thing he’s heard all week.
When you pause, taking a sip of your drink, he takes a chance to jump in, “You know, I’ve been meaning to go to the art museum downtown. It’s supposed to have this new exhibit.” He hesitates, looking down at his cup for a moment, then back at you with a shy, hopeful glint in his eyes. “If… you’d want to check it out with me?”
You perk up at the suggestion, grinning. “I’d love that! Museums are kind of my weakness.”
Relieved, he chuckles, “Then we’re in good company,” he says, the words coming out a little softer than he intends. He clears his throat, trying to play it cool, but his heart beats a little faster as you chuckle.
“Alright, Mr. Museum,” you say, teasing. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
“Great,” he replies, glancing out the window at the overcast sky. “How about today, then?”
With a nod, you grab your things, sliding out of the booth as Seokmin hurriedly follows, waving goodbye to Joshua. As you both step out onto the sidewalk, he can’t help the familiar rush of excitement at the thought of spending the rest of the day with you. The two of you stroll side by side down the bustling street, exchanging small talk and the occasional smile, his heart lifting with every step closer to the city.
The walk to the museum is a mixture of laughter, subtle glances, and playful nudges that neither of you can seem to resist. The air is crisp, a light breeze tugging at your sleeves as the two of you meander down the busy street, dodging the occasional cyclist or dog walker. Every few steps, one of you makes a half-serious comment—maybe about the art you’re about to see, maybe about the bizarre mannequin display in a shop window you pass—and it doesn’t take long before both of you dissolve into laughter, your steps momentarily slowed as you lean into each other, trying to catch your breath.
Seokmin, hands stuffed into his jacket pockets, finds himself glancing your way more often than he’d like to admit, watching as you tuck your hair behind your ear or lift your face to the sky for a second, enjoying the clouds. He doesn’t know why he feels like a kid right now, heart skipping with each shared smile and laugh, but he can’t seem to shake it. The closeness of walking side by side with you makes him almost giddy.
At one point, you nudge him with your elbow, a light-hearted challenge in your eyes as you try to keep a straight face. “So,” you say, feigning seriousness, “ready to become cultured?”
He rolls his eyes, laughing as he nudges you right back. “Please.”
Seokmin steps into the museum lobby with you by his side, wandering across the high ceilings and polished floors. There’s almost a sacred quietness to the place, the kind that makes every sound seem amplified, even the shuffle of your footsteps.
You hand him a ticket that you get from the booth, brushing his hand lightly, and he tries to hide his smile, hoping you don’t notice the faint flush that blooms in his cheeks. He doesn’t know why he’s nervous; he always is around you, but he never knows why. Somehow today, he’s more nervous than other days. Maybe it’s the atmosphere, or maybe it’s just you—standing there beside him, glancing around with the same sort of wide-eyed curiosity that makes him want to see everything through your eyes.
The two of you wander through the galleries, pausing in front of each painting and sculpture, taking your time. Every so often, you glance at him to see his reaction to something particularly strange or fascinating, and catch him already looking back, smiling at your expressions just as much as he is admiring the art.
“Do you think they meant to paint it like this?” you ask, leaning closer to a particularly loud modern piece that’s all bright, chaotic lines. Your voice is soft, as though you’re afraid of disturbing the tranquility.
Seokmin leans closer, squinting as if trying to unravel some secret meaning, though he hasn’t a clue what he’s looking at. “Maybe they were just… feeling inspired,” he replies, lips quirking with a grin he can’t suppress.
“Or maybe they dropped their paintbrush,” you add, matching his grin.
The sound of your laughter echoes slightly in the otherwise silent gallery, and for a moment, he’s aware of how close you’re standing. The space feels smaller, and though there are other visitors around, it feels for a moment like the museum is yours alone. You move on to the next painting, your eyes bright with curiosity, and he follows, longing to shorten the distance once more.
He notices a stray piece of hair that’s slipped from behind your ear, and without thinking, he lifts a hand to tuck it back. But at the last second, he hesitates, his fingers barely brushing your shoulder as he pulls his hand back, a shy red spreading over his complexion. You don’t seem to notice, lost in thought as you step closer to the next painting, tilting your head to take it all in.
At one point, you point out a painting of a starry sky, something dreamlike. “Imagine being under a sky like that,” you murmur, almost to yourself, your gaze soft and wondrous as you look at the canvas.
More and more often throughout the visit to the museum, Seokmin finds himself staring at you instead of the exhibits. On this specific one, he can’t seem to look away from your face, your expression so captivated, as if you’re somewhere far away.
“Maybe one day we can find a place like that,” he says softly, almost not meaning to say it aloud. When you turn to look at him, a bit surprised, he clears his throat, pretending to be suddenly very interested in reading the placard beside the artwork.
Seokmin finds himself feeling almost weightless, caught up in the dizzying whirlwind of his own thoughts for a minute. There’s something about you—something he can’t quite put a name to—that makes him feel like he’s constantly walking on a tightrope, and with each step, he’s leaning a little further in, a step closer to letting go of the balance he’s tried for so long to keep.
You whisper an eager “come on,” and grab his sleeve to drag him further into the maze of galleries.
As you wander into a room filled with ancient statues, he catches you examining one with a particularly serious expression. “Thinking of getting one of these for your place?” he teases.
You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Only if you help me carry it,” you reply, and he finds himself grinning again.
Soon, you reach a new room, filled with work from the Renaissance, each painting rich with detail and vibrant colors that have held their vibrancy for centuries. You lean in slightly, admiring the delicate brushstrokes, and Seokmin watches you, his gaze drifting from the artwork to the fascinated look in your eyes—possibly for the hundredth time today.
“I feel like I’m supposed to be having some deep, life-changing revelation right now,” he whispers by your ear, half-joking.
“Who says art has to be that serious? Sometimes, it’s just… pretty.”
You’re just pretty.
As you move through the quiet museum halls together, Seokmin catches himself watching you again, realizing just how pretty you look in the warm glow of the exhibit lights. It’s not the first time he's felt this way; he remembers the flutter in his chest when you’d gone to the beach, and the way his thoughts had lingered a little too long on the curve of your smile. He watches as you lean a bit closer to a painting, eyes narrowing in focus, oblivious to his gaze. There’s a calmness to you here, the way you examine each piece as if it holds a secret, and he finds himself drawn to the little things: the way your fingers rest on your chin in thought, the faint lift of your brows when something catches your eye, and the gentle concentration in your expression.
He watches you for longer this time, taking advantage of the fact that you’ve busied yourself reading a plaque, and noticing things he hadn’t paid attention to before right now: today, your smiles linger a little longer, your laughter rings out just a bit brighter, and he finds himself captivated by these subtleties, like he's uncovering new pieces of you with each glance. When you look at him, eyes crinkling in a way he hadn’t dared imagine was just for him, his heart stirs, and he can’t shake the thought: Have you always been this lovely, or am I just starting to see it now?
His mind drifts, painting scenes of possibilities—fleeting, half-formed images of laughter, of late nights talking, of small moments shared just between the two of you. Each image feels almost real, so vivid he can practically reach out and touch it.
There’s a spark in his chest, a sensation that’s both exhilarating and terrifying. Part of him wants to pull back, to reel himself in, a quiet warning in the back of his mind whispering not to get carried away like he had before. But he can’t help it; there’s something magnetic about this, about you, something that pulls him closer despite himself.
He steals another glance at you, his heart racing as he does. You’re just looking at the art around you, as though this is any other day, but for him, it feels monumental. His thoughts get lost again, imagining what it might be like to hold your hand right now, to simply be beside you without any of this hesitation.
And then, you look at him and laugh, catching him staring, and his ears go red, a little embarrassed but somehow happy to be caught.
By the time you reach the last hall of artwork, the sun has started to set outside, casting a warm glow through the large windows. Seokmin watches as the light catches in your eyes, making them shine in a way that leaves him a little breathless. There’s a comfortable silence between you as you look around.
As you both step outside into the cool evening air, he catches your eye, intentionally this time, his smile small but genuine. “Thanks for coming here with me,” he says, his voice soft, almost shy.
“Anytime,” you reply, and the word feels like a promise.
˚ ༘♡ ⋆。˚
The night starts with laughter and neon lights as Seokmin leads you through the bustling street to the karaoke room, his two friends, Seungkwan and Soonyoung, trailing just behind and rambling on about something indiscernible. The place is lively, bursting with music from rooms down the hall, each one echoing snippets of songs and off-key shouts.
Seokmin can’t help but beam when he sees how easily you fall into conversation with his friends, joining in their jokes and even taking a dig at Seungkwan when he hypes himself up as the “true vocal talent” of the group. Having heard Seokmin sing just a few weeks back, you couldn’t help but feel defensive on his behalf.
Once everyone’s settled, drinks start flowing freely. The first few songs are cautious, each of you easing into the familiar, buzzing rhythm of karaoke night. But as the night goes on, any sense of shyness melts away in the glow of pulsing lights and laughter.
Seokmin watches with undeniable fondness as you and Seungkwan bicker over song selections, and he tries not to grin too widely when he catches you belting out the lyrics with Soonyoung during a duet.
At some point, he notices how naturally you fit with his friends—the way you make Seungkwan laugh with a remark about his questionable song choices, or how you nod along enthusiastically as Soonyoung gives a dramatic toast, proclaiming you as “one of them now.” For Seokmin, it’s everything he hadn’t realized he wanted: his closest friends getting along with you.
As the night hums along, Seokmin picks up the microphone, sending you a lopsided, slightly tipsy smile that makes your heart flutter before selecting a song. His choice surprises you—it’s one of those classic ballads that’s probably too high for anyone but the original singer to sing. The melody starts slow, and his voice flows soft and easy, but with a control that reminds you just how talented he really is. You practically feel your admiration soar, and as you watch him, his hazy, glossed over eyes settle on you.
Every so often, he adds a bit of exaggerated flair, trying to coax a laugh out of you, playfully stretching out the notes or adding dramatic hand gestures to match the lyrics. It’s impossible not to smile, and you feel yourself relax as his antics draw you in. The song suddenly feels a little less serious, a little more fun, as he throws in a wink here, a knowing grin there.
As he finishes, you clap, unable to hide your smile. "You know," you say, a little breathless, "it’s honestly unfair that you’re this good."
He laughs, cheeks pink from both the praise and the drinks. “What can I say? Talent just comes naturally,” he jokes, a little bolder, that playful gleam returning to his eyes. Then he looks at you, his expression softening. “How about we do one together?”
“Oh no,” you protest with a laugh, shaking your head, “I can’t follow that.”
“Come on,” he coaxes, handing you a microphone and grabbing you by your hand to pull you to your feet, “I’ll sing the verses, you can handle the chorus. It'll be easy.”
With a mix of reluctance and excitement, both of which mix together with the alcohol in your system, you take the mic, scrolling through songs until you settle on something you both know—The music starts, and the two of you exchange a grin before starting.
At first, you both sing a little awkwardly, tipsy laughter interrupting every other line as you stumble over the lyrics and try not to trip over each other’s parts. But as the song goes on, you find a rhythm, and every so often, Seokmin leans into the mic to harmonize with you, his voice blending with yours. By the end, you’re both laughing, the microphones forgotten as you clutch your sides and stumble around, out of breath and giddy.
Seokmin looks at you, eyes bright, face flushed, smile so wide that you could count his teeth if you wanted to. He reaches out, touching your hand ever so lightly, his fingers warm and steady. “You did amazing,” he says, voice soft, his smile a little shy despite everything.
“Likewise,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you that’s more than just the drinks. And as you both sit there, you realize that there’s other people in the room.
Before you even have time to catch your breath, Soonyoung jumps up, grabbing the microphone. “Move over!” he declares with a grin, completely ignoring the indignant look Seungkwan shoots at him as he stands up to join him. “It’s duet time for real now.”
Seungkwan, rolling his eyes, snatches the other mic and leans in with a smirk. “Prepare yourselves. You two are about to be outshined.” He cues up a song with exaggerated flair, and the upbeat tune starts, loud and impossible to take seriously as they start belting the opening lines completely off-time.
“They’re usually better than this,” Seokmin tells you, “especially Seungkwan. I think it’s the alcohol.”
You laugh as you watch the pair start to coordinate with each other, finally managing to sing to the beat of the song.
“It’s good!” You argue, “Are you all just super talented?”
Seungkwan’s voice suddenly cuts through, loudly. “Hey! I can’t hear myself over you two!” He shoots you both a look, his mock glare breaking into a grin as Soonyoung pulls him back to belt out the chorus.
Seokmin shakes his head, laughing as he leans in closer to you, his shoulder brushing yours. “I warned you about them, didn’t I?” he says, his voice soft, he’s close enough that you feel his breath beside you, gaze lingering as he speaks. He’s a little past the point of tipsy, cheeks and nose slightly flushed, but somehow the hazy glow of the karaoke lights makes him look even softer, easier to smile at.
You giggle, feeling a little light-headed yourself, but whether it’s from the drinks or the warmth radiating between the two of you, you’re not entirely sure. Your eyes subconsciously bat at him as they trace his features, tugging at his heartstrings as Soonyoung and Seungkwan sing with wild abandon in the background.
Seokmin’s arm rests casually on the back of the booth behind you. “You know,” he murmurs, leaning just a bit closer, “I’m glad you’re here.”
The words are simple, but somehow they send a warmth spreading through you, making the whole room seem to slow down. “Me too,” you say, a little shy but meeting his gaze, feeling that same unspoken something settle around you.
Then, somewhere between another toast and Soonyoung’s next drink, things start to get a little fuzzy for him. Soonyoung has, predictably, taken things a bit too far, eyes glazed as he sways to the music, occasionally belting out lyrics that don’t match the song on screen. Seungkwan sighs knowingly, standing and giving Seokmin a helpless shrug. “I’m taking him home before he tries to start chugging Soju.” He nods at you, adding with a smirk, “Good luck with this one.” And then, with a wave, they’re gone, leaving the two of you in the dimly lit room, half-empty drinks scattered on the table.
Alone with you now, Seokmin’s pulse races, the soft glow of tipsiness making him feel both bold and nervous. The room feels quieter, somehow more intimate, with just the two of you here. He reaches for the remote, scrolling through song choices, trying to keep his eyes on the screen and not on the way you’re leaning back on the couch, your gaze drifting over to him with a glint he can’t quite decipher.
“Do you want to pick the last one?” he asks, his voice a little more shy than he intended.
You smile, shrugging casually, but he doesn’t miss the hint of a blush on your cheeks. “Only if you promise not to laugh if I butcher it.”
He grins, feeling his own face warm. “I make no promises,” he teases. But there’s something in his gaze—a hint of anticipation that he can’t quite hide, even if he tries.
As you start singing, he watches, captivated by the way you let loose, tipsy confidence making you bolder. The words are a little off-key, your voice rising and falling with the tempo, but to him, it’s perfect. When you’re finished, he can’t help but clap, cheering as if he’s at a concert.
“You sounded amazing,” he says, his voice softer than the playful bravado he’d intended. He feels a little too exposed under your gaze, a little too aware of just how close you’re sitting.
“Thank you, thank you,” you reply with an exaggerated bow, but your eyes linger on his a little longer than they should, and the tension between you feels thick, heavy with possibility.
He clears his throat, laughing nervously. “You’re going to put me out of a job with that voice.” But his words sound almost sincere.
There’s a lull in the conversation, a quiet beat where neither of you says anything, just looking at each other, the warmth of the drinks and the moment settling over both of you. You move a little closer, your knee brushing against his, and Seokmin swears he feels his heart stutter.
“Seokmin,” you say, voice barely a whisper, eyes bright with that boldness that only alcohol can provide.
“Yeah?” His voice comes out breathier than he intended, and he has to resist the urge to reach for your hand.
You smile, almost shyly, but there’s a warmth in your gaze that reassures him. “Thanks for inviting me tonight. I had… a really great time.”
“Me too,” he murmurs, his eyes meeting yours. His hand, almost on instinct, drifts a little closer to yours, his fingers brushing against your knuckles.
As you step out of the karaoke bar, the cool night air feels refreshing, and Seokmin falls into an easy rhythm beside you. The streets are quiet, the lights soft and glowing, casting a warm hue on everything around you. He insists on walking you home, and you can see a bit of that familiar determination in his expression—a mix of sweetness and subtle nerves, the kind that makes him even harder not to smile at.
The two of you talk softly as you walk, laughter spilling into the night as you recount moments from earlier, but the conversation drifts into a quiet calm. Seokmin feels a little tipsy, though he knows it’s not solely the drinks making him feel this way. It’s the warmth in your laugh, the way your gaze lights up when you look at him. Everything feels a little brighter, softer, like the world’s colors are blurring into a hazy glow.
Eventually, you pause, looking over at the buildings below the hill you’ve climbed, and above them, the faint sparkle of stars cutting through the city’s glow. Seokmin stops beside you, following your gaze, but when he looks back down, it’s not the skyline he’s mesmerized by. It’s you, standing there with that quiet, contemplative look in your eyes.
At that moment, he’s overwhelmed. Something about this night, this moment, feels like a dream—one he’s afraid might slip away if he blinks too long. He wants to say something, to tell you how lovely you look standing there, bathed in city lights. He can feel his heart pounding. He’s been trying to find the right words for some time now, something that could capture the feeling building up in his chest when he’s with you. He’s not sure if it’s the night, the laughter still echoing in his mind, or just the way you’re looking up at the sky. Before he can overthink himself out of it, he takes a breath and speaks, his voice just a little unsteady. “You know… you look beautiful right now.”
It’s the first time he’s said something so openly to you, and he can feel his cheeks heat up the second the words are out. You turn to him, a bit taken aback, your eyes wide with surprise before a smile slowly spreads across your face, soft and a little shy.
The moment stretches between you, and for once, he doesn’t feel the need to fill it with laughter or play it off. He’s content just looking at you, watching that glow in your eyes as his words settle in.
A soft laugh escapes you, and you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, looking down for a second before glancing back up at him. “I was going to say the same about you.”
He can’t help but laugh, his own nervousness melting away a little. You both stand there, caught in the gentle pull between you, feeling a little bolder, a little lighter.
When you start walking again, his hand brushes against yours, and this time he doesn’t pull away, letting his fingers linger close enough that if you reached out, they’d intertwine. It’s a simple gesture, but it says everything he’s been holding back, and as you walk together through the quiet streets, he knows something has shifted.
The stone path thuds beneath your footsteps, clumsy and unsteady as you both navigate the uneven terrain, sharing quiet laughter over your shared lack of coordination. Seokmin, glancing down, suddenly stops.
"Look!" he says, his finger pointing at a small penny on the ground, glinting faintly in the light. “What’s this doing all the way out here? Take it. For good luck.”
You shake your head, amused, and explain, “It’s only good luck if it’s face up when you find it.”
“Ah.” Seokmin considers this, then immediately drops into a crouch, carefully flipping the coin over so Lincoln’s head is proudly facing the sky. He straightens up with a grin as if he’s just accomplished something important.
“What’d you do that for?” you ask, your tone laced with affection.
“Now someone else can have good luck,” he replies.
You feel something warm tug at you in response, watching him as he stands there, content with his small gesture of kindness. Suddenly, you see very clearly the kind of person Lee Seokmin is. It’s so like him—turning even the smallest, most mundane thing into something significant. As he begins walking ahead, you linger just a moment, looking back at the coin on the ground, then up at him.
You don’t move to follow him. Seokmin halts, slightly startled, his gaze questioning as he glances at you. But before he can ask why, you step closer, closing the space between you. You’re both quiet, caught in a bubble of giddy anticipation, his eyes searching yours, wide with surprise. And then, without a word, you reach up, resting a hand lightly on his chest, and lean in.
The moment your lips meet his, it’s like everything else falls away, replaced by a feeling that’s as soft as it is electric. He lets out a small, breathless laugh amidst his shock, hands stuck to his sides as your mouth presses to his.
When you pull back, you find him grinning, a little dazed, his eyes bright with surprise. Then he closes the space again, meeting your lips in another kiss, quick but more eager, like he’s savoring the feeling.
And then another. His hand drifts to your waist, drawing you in just a little closer each time your lips meet, each kiss growing a little bolder, a little sweeter, until the space between you disappears entirely. By the fourth kiss, his fingers have settled at the small of your back, warm and sure, and this time he lingers, letting the kiss deepen. It’s slow, unhurried, something unknown flooding through him as he feels your hand slide up to cup his cheek, tilting his face toward you so you can taste his mouth with ease.
You both feel a little unsteady, leaning into each other for balance, your hands anchoring each other as the world spins quietly around you. His heart races, thrumming against yours, and there’s a shy smile on his face when he finally pulls away, keeping his forehead close to yours, his eyes searching yours, dazed and happy and overcome with affection.
“I… I wasn’t expecting that,” he says, his voice a little unsteady but full of quiet excitement.
“I wasn’t planning it,” you admit, your cheeks flushed, but you don’t pull away, savoring the closeness.
For a moment, you both just stand there, eyes locked, breaths mingling in the cool night air, as if tethered to each other by an invisible string. Then, without thinking, you lean back in, your lips finding his once more. This time, there's no hesitation, no pause, just a shared need to be close—as close as possible. His hands tighten at your waist, pulling you in with a touch that’s both careful and desperate, as though he’s afraid you might slip away.
He lets out a quiet laugh against your lips, a sound that’s soft and breathless. It makes you laugh too, and you pull back for a moment, catching your breath, only to find his lips chasing after yours again. There’s something almost frantic in the way you keep returning to each other, like you’re both overwhelmed by the discovery of this closeness, unable to let it end just yet.
His hand moves gently to the side of your face, his thumb brushing your cheek as he deepens the kiss, and you can feel the tenderness in his touch, in the way he’s holding onto you.
His voice is barely a whisper, warm and a little breathless. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His words, shy and sincere, only pull you closer. Hand in hand, you start walking, the quiet night around you filled only by the soft sounds of your steps. He keeps his grip loose, fingers intertwined with yours, thumb brushing along the side of your hand as if he can’t bear to let go ever again. You walk in silence, the air thick with unspoken words and lingering touches, both of you stealing glances, unable to stop smiling.
Every so often, he pauses, as if some thread is tugging him back to you. He leans in to press a brief kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your jaw, reeling over the way your eyes flutter closed from the feeling, and before you know it, his lips are back on yours. You laugh against his mouth, feeling both light-headed and grounded in a way that’s wholly new and otherworldly. He pulls back with a grin, his eyes crinkling, looking both bashful and thrilled, like he can’t believe this is real. You’re unreal, you have to be. A fabrication of his imagination, so delicate, so perfect, so you.
As you continue walking, his arm slips around your shoulders, drawing you closer to his side. You lean into him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and the quiet contentment that settles over you feels as natural as breathing. When he stumbles slightly, you catch him, and he grins sheepishly, pulling you close again in a half-hug that turns into yet another kiss.
“I might never get home at this point,” You say breathlessly.
“Would that be so bad?” Each word is mumbled into your mouth as his fingers weave into your hair, holding the back of your neck and letting his tongue shyly lick your bottom lip.
The hum that you let out, either as a response to his rhetorical question or his tongue now moving against yours, makes his head spin. Your nails, raking down his chest over the material of his shirt, your hips pressing to his—it’s all too much and at the same time, not enough.
The closer you get to your doorstep, the slower your steps become, as if prolonging the walk will somehow stretch this night just a little further. Every so often, Seokmin pulls you close, and you laugh as he wraps an arm around your waist, leaning in to kiss you again, each one deeper and more unhurried than the last.
Neither of you speak, as if words would break the fragile spell cast over the night. Instead, you stand there, wrapped up in each other, exchanging soft, dizzying kisses that grow lazier, more lingering.
There’s a pause, a beat of hesitation, as he pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes warm and soft, and he murmurs, “I should probably let you go.” But even as he says it, his hand remains on your cheek as if he’s not quite ready to leave.
“Probably,” you whisper, lips barely brushing his, but neither of you moves. It takes a moment, maybe two, before he reluctantly lets out a quiet laugh and pulls away, his hand slipping from your cheek to squeeze your hand, holding onto you just a moment longer. He gives you one last look, filled with a warmth and tenderness that leaves you breathless.
“I’ll see you soon?” he asks softly, already a few steps down the hall, as though he’s hoping for just one more promise to look forward to.
“Soon,” you reply, smiling as he finally lets go of your hand and steps back, his gaze lingering on you as he walks away. You watch him go, the warmth of his kisses still lingering, the last few moments of the night settling over you as you turn to head inside, feeling light, tipsy, and wonderfully, utterly alive.
[click here to continue]
#seokmin x reader#lee seokmin x reader#dokyeom x reader#dk x reader#seokmin imagines#dokyeom imagines#dk imagines#seokmin fluff#dokyeom fluff#dk fluff#svt x reader#seventeen x reader#svt fluff#seventeen fluff#seventeen#svt#seventeen scenarios#seventeen imagines#svt reactions#svt scenarios#svt imagines#dk#svt dk#seventeen dk#dokyeom#lee seokmin#svt dokyeom
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Vladco Heiress au is constantly on loop in my head so here my ideas for the other DP characters:
Jazz - researcher psychologist with a focus on socio-cultural psychology. After Danny manages to come to a compromise with his rouges, creating a long-term truce, she becomes interested in cultural differences between Realm beings and Amity Parkers & later on how the two cultures started to blend and form unique social norms.
Tucker - didn’t go to college and just started immediately working at Vladco as Danny's assistant/advisor to help him out while he figured out how to run the company. Once Danny started getting things under control Tucker became an engineer (still at Vladco) to focus on his inventions.
Sam - she properly sat down with her parents and talked to them leading to them realizing they have been acting unreasonably and compromising. Her dad offers to teach her and Danny both business and how to lead a company as an olive branch. I imagine her family has a successful telecommunication company but for now her dad is running the company so Sam can start her own company which creates and researches eco-friendly solutions (e.g biodegradable plastics) while working with a bunch of eco charities.
Valerie - in my au she joins the Phantom team during 50 Shades Of Valerie Grey. The team has trouble trusting her at first but eventually they become close friends. I imagine that she took some odd jobs after high school trying to support her dad and then ended up with a security job she enjoyed. Once Ellie started traveling Danny hired her to act as Ellie's bodyguard because she's the only person he could trust keep Ellie safe. Whenever she's back in Amity she meets up with Danny and Tucker to have geek out sessions where they create ridiculous technology while not sleeping for 3 days.
Wes - became part of Team Phantom after Val but before the release of Pariah Dark. Became an investigative journalist so he travels a lot - this and his tendency to hyper fixate on his articles means that he's horrible at keeping in touch with people. He's closest with Valerie (she was the first one to properly accept him onto the team) and Ellie (they meet up whenever they are in same city and compare notes about rich people - Wes tells her which CEO's he thinks are doing shady shit and she tells him which rich people gave her bad vibes or are assholes).
#Vladco heiress#I am a Valerie fixes her own suit truther#GIVE ME MORE WOMEN IN STEM#was even thinking of making Star a biologist#perhaps working at S.T.A.R labs#I mean there a few S.T.A.R lab locations that focus on genetics#Honestly at this point I could make a series with fics focusing on different Amity Parkers#dc x dp#dpxdc#danny phantom
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Missing the podcast real baddddd
EP 1 - No Mean Girl References! Does Billie Like Her Gf's Family? Kimora Has Short Term Memory! You Are The Asshole!
Chapter one : podcast episode #1
Warning: none
Masterlist | next chapter
"Hey you!" Kimora points to the camera, "Were you bored scrolling on TikTok, ended up on YouTube, and realized you have a 'TikTok bird ass brain' that can’t focus on one thing for more than ten seconds? Did you see this thumbnail and think, 'Oh, there’s that Kardashian girl; let’s stare at her face for ten minutes and theorize what plastic surgery she's had'? If so, you’ve come to the right place." Kimora stands straight, looking at the camera with a smile, giving her best five-star hospitality attitude. "Hi, I’m Kimora West, daughter of Kim Kardashian and Kanye West—but you may know them as ‘Culture Vulture Gold Digger’ and ‘That once-good producer before he went... you know, crazy.' I now have a podcast with my girlfriend of four years, Billie Eilish." Billie slides into view and does jazz hands.
"Hi, I’m Billie Eilish, singer, songwriter, and more importantly, her girlfriend," the now-brunette says her short n' sweet line.
"We hope you guys enjoy," Kimora smiles, tilting her head to the side. "Or don’t—we still get paid either way, thanks to YouTube."
XXX
"Sup,kisses and hugs! It’s Kimora, and today is Wednesday, so of course, we’re wearing pink," Kimora says, showing off her baby pink tee and hot pink textured sweatpants. "And over there we have Janis..." The camera slowly slides to the right, revealing Billie in an oversized black shirt and oversized jean jorts.
"Billie," Billie smiles, then turns to her girlfriend. "I thought we agreed on no 'Mean Girls' references."
"Asking me not to make 'Mean Girls' references is like asking me not to be me," Kimora states, before looking back at the camera. "First on the list, a fan question for Billie. Billie, your fan, billiecanslutmeout, wants to know: ‘Do you like the Kardashian family outside of Kimora?'"
"Skip," Billie shakes her head, not wanting to answer because she feels it’s confrontational and doesn’t want to risk upsetting her partner or attracting hate from the 'Kar-Jenner' fanbase.
"Nope," Kimora emphasizes the last syllable. "Answer."
"We’ve talked about this before," Billie begins, but Kimora cuts her off, giving a direct answer.
"She doesn’t like them and is currently in her head trying to find a way to sugarcoat it."
"I didn’t say that," Billie throws her head back, laughing.
"You literally made a song about it—'Overheated,'" Kimora squints her eyes.
"I... I love you and every luxury pink baggage that comes with you. I have love for your family because you’re a product of them. And you are my favorite person in the whole world," Billie says sincerely. "But as someone who promotes body positivity, I don’t support the negative body-image messaging that is part of your family's brand, and there's the constant need for relevancy and exposure, which I’ve developed my own opinions on from behind-the-scenes stories you’ve told me about filming for the TV show."
"Smart answer," Kimora nods. "Now, what about my dad?"
"I honestly think your dad hates me," Billie shakes her head.
"He doesn’t hate you," Kimora insists, knowing deep down that her father actually appreciates Billie’s positive influence on her.
"He literally posted on Instagram that if I didn’t apologize to Travis Scott, he’d cancel his Coachella performance, which led his fans to flood my accounts with hate. I never even mentioned Travis—I was just helping a fan at my concert!" Billie exclaims, eyes wide.
"Yeah, he did do that," Kimora nods awkwardly, acknowledging that her father had actually done it without provocation, putting both girls in a difficult position. For Billie, it was a choice between saying what she truly felt and risking being bullied off the internet by his fans—or staying silent to avoid hurting Kimora. For Kimora, it was about deciding who would get hurt: Billie or her father. "Sorry."
"It was hurtful, but I think you handled it well, especially since it happened in our first year of really being together," Billie reassured her. "Like, as soon as you found out what was going on, you called me while you were driving over with my favorite food to make sure I was okay and could sleep that night."
"I just didn’t want you to feel like…like you and your mental health weren’t a priority for me," Kimora struggled with her words, trying to explain her motivations. "Because I know how my dad can get, and at the time, he’d been spiraling for a few days already. So for me, you were the top priority on my list. I didn’t want to just do nothing and make it seem like his actions were acceptable—because they weren't. I-I-I guess what I’m trying to say is that I wanted you to know I’d be there for you, even if it meant going against my family."
"Yeah," Billie smiled at her with ocean-clear blue eyes meeting warm chocolate brown, speckled with caramel, filled with love and adoration. "Even though we didn’t say it out loud at that time, that was one of those moments when I knew I was in love with you. You stayed with me that whole week, making sure I was okay and taken care of…and even called your dad to apologize to me and ask him to take down the post."
“Aww, you loved me only three weeks in?” Kimora gushed, leaning forward to offer a kiss. Billie smiled and leaned in as well, their breaths mingling in the close space between them. Gently, Billie lifted her left hand, tucking a stray strand of hair behind Kimora’s ear before tracing her fingers softly along Kimora’s cheek, savoring the velvet-like feel of her skin. With a delicate motion, she moved her fingers from cheek to chin, then closed the distance and softly pressed her lips to her girlfriend’s.
“I love you,” Billie whispered, her eyes still closed, their faces barely a centimeter apart.
“I love you, too,” Kimora replied with a smile, then leaned in for one more tender kiss.
"Do you remember how we met?" Billie asks after the ad, now reclined on the couch with Kimora laying across her, leg draped over her waist.
"We met through a reference from Justin, because he would always say we absolutely had to meet. Hailey was like, 'You two would be perfect for each other if you were to date, because you're opposites with a cohesive middle ground,'" Kimora recalls, remembering her conversation with the Biebers. They were very persistent about wanting the two young, popular stars to either befriend each other—or, in some cases, get married immediately.
"So when did we officially meet?" Billie smiles, playing with Kimora's curls.
"In the Met Gala bathroom," Kimora answers with a smile. "I was coming out of the stall, and you were staring at yourself deeply in the mirror. I told you, 'You don’t have to worry about your appearance anymore. By now, everyone is probably drunk off their rockers because the food sucks, so you could be butt naked and no one would even notice.'"
"I’m surprised you remember that," Billie kisses her forehead. "You’re terrible at remembering things."
"No, I’m not," Kimora pouts, playfully slapping Billie’s thigh.
"You literally forgot we were filming today and almost went to work, even though you scheduled the day off," Billie laughs.
"I have a good memory," Kimora insists. "I’m just busy with the new Skims launch, aka Skims by Kimora." Kimora sits up, looking directly at the camera. "Get your favorite new set for 40% off with code 'GirlsInPink,' no purchase minimum."
"During lockdown, we got hooked on Reddit’s 'Am I the Asshole' stories," Billie smiles, back in their original positions on the burnt orange velvet couch.
"I don’t have blood pressure issues, but these stories drive me nuts. Like, why even ask if you're the asshole when it’s so obvious?" Kimora frowns. "For our first Reddit submission, please welcome Georgina!" Billie holds up a pink square remote, and clapping noises fill the room.
"Heyyy!" Kimora pouts at the remote in Billie’s hand. "I was supposed to be Sam in this podcast."
"Well, now you’re Carly," Billie teases, sticking out her tongue.
"No fair," Kimora crosses her arms, playfully sulking.
"You’re acting like a baby," Billie rolls her eyes with a grin.
"Ok, and?" Kimora glared. "If anything, I'm a cute baby..." She turned her head away from her girlfriend and looked to the right, making eye contact with her best friend, Georgina Miller.
"Alright, first Reddit submission is...‘I am a mother of five, 3 bio-Brooke 22, Will 18 and Iris 16 and 2 bonus sons-Sam 26 and Jack 23. All of my kids are currently living at home with me and my husband for various reasons. Sam's girlfriend Tori 21 and Will's girlfriend Mary 18 also lives with us full time, and Jack GF stays over a lot.
We have a pretty good relationship with all the kids, we don't charge them rent but everyone contribute to the household. We have a couple basic rules-input on utilities, maintain the common areas, etc but one of the rules is no babies, we don't expect our kids to celibate. But we do expect them to be careful.
On Friday, I found a receipt and saw someone brought a pregnancy test. I immediately took a picture of the receipt and put in the family group chat, I figured the culprit would out themselves. No one confessed, so I said that all girls that live in or visited are taking a pregnancy test because I suspect someone is pregnant. They pretty much lost their minds and told me no and messaged that I was being weird and invasive.
That is when I got upset and said that if anyone refused a test, they would have to move out. Everyone freaked out and told me that I'm being emotional and crazy. They decide no one would take a test. I think they assume I will not kick everyone out, but I will because I feel like I'm being gaslit. My youngest Iris is the only one I don't suspect because she is gay, not openly, but I know. I have
given everyone the entire weekend to calm down because everyone has been avoiding me and giving me the cold shoulder. I have tried to discuss the situation repeatedly but I have been ignored in person and over phone.
At this point, I am ready to evict everyone because someone is blatantly lying and all of the others are backing a lie while living stress free in my house. My husband thinks I should let it go for now because the test might have been negative and if someone is pregnant we will know soon. But I feel it a larger issue now of my kids disrespecting me by lying to me. Am I being the asshole?”
“Yes,” Billie answered right when Georgina was done with reading the submission.
“You’re not an asshole… but you are,” Kimora answers. “I can see the problem from both points of view.”
“Same, but I think what makes her an asshole is how she’s handling the situation now that she didn’t get the answers she wanted,” Billie explains why she thinks the writer is indeed an asshole.
“Yeah,” Kimora agrees. “Like, I get it, you’re upset because your boundaries were stepped on, and that’s unfair to you. But at the same time, you can’t force someone to take a pregnancy test just because you want answers right now.”
“Exactly. Even though it was negative, that person probably needed time to think and process the results. They could’ve been reevaluating what to do better to prevent another scare,” Billie adds.
“Oh my God!” A thought hits Kimora's brain full force. “I have another day off—remind me to register to vote.”
“Baby,” Billie looks at her with concern. “You registered last week at the same time as me when my mom was doing hers and asked if we wanted to come do ours.”
“Ohhh.”
“We’re gonna work on your memory, don’t worry,” Billie rubs Kimora’s thigh with sincerity.
“Anyways,” Kimora brushes off the awkward moment. “At the end of the day, you own the house, and if you feel gaslit and your boundaries were crossed, then kick them out, I guess. Just be prepared for the consequences that come with that action. Because at the end of the day… you literally said you don’t care if your kids are having sex, as long as they’re protected. And the pregnancy test was negative. I just feel like you can be protected and still have scares. I mean, Billie and I use a fake penis, and we still get scares. It comes with the territory.”
“They didn’t need to know that!” Billie looks at Kimora with wide eyes, shocked by her girlfriend’s impulsive thoughts.
“They were probably already thinking it,” Kimora shrugs. “You’ve literally done an interview talking about masturbation. Me saying we use a dildo isn’t anything new or shocking.”
“Just end the video,” Billie covers her face with her hands in embarrassment. “Now, please.”
“Hi, it’s me again,” Kimora awkwardly waves her hand. “Did your TikTok bird ass brain develop and actually let you stay to watch the whole video? Did you like what you saw or heard… or both, for the privileged? If you nodded your head yes or weirdly answered talking to a screen, then you should subscribe to this channel. We update every Wednesday and Saturday, so don’t worry if you don’t have actual friends to hang out with. Instead, come watch me and my girlfriend, Billie, talk about useless shit, vent, and argue about things we’ve done in the past with a couple of inappropriate touches that you shouldn’t be seeing, but our editor is too blind and lazy to take out. We love you, Lisa,” Kimora shouts out her editor at the end. “Bye!”
taglist @billiesrighthand @bilswildflower @bilsluckyheart @billiesgoodgirll @billsvip @billieshrry @dandelions4us @factsbybriggs @rhearipley-69 @cierraonline @amberg1998 @crystalblue88 @mercurylvd @saffsblog @ihavenoideayimhere @umadirectioner @harajukub4rb1e @sun81rise @jamiemundy7773 @cyberdreamlanddeer @steampunkprincess147 @zendayasredbottoms @efemerous @lady0ftheflowers
#wattpad#black writers#black oc#fanfic#black tumblr#my writing#billie eilish fanfic#billie eilish imagine#justin bieber#hailey bieber#hailey baldwin#wlw fanfic#wlw#wlw nsft#wlw post#wlw yearning#wlw ns/fw#wlw fluff#wlw fiction#billie eilish smut#billie eilish songs#billie eilish blurb#billie eilish fanfiction#billie eilish fluff#billie eilish fic#billie eilish x you#billie eilish x reader#big tiddy committee#big tiddy gf#big round butt
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It goes right back to what I see as the central theme that you can't just decide to have a cultural post-everything blank slate: the Vertumna Group tried to flee Earth and its self-destructive systems, only to carry those same systems with them because they're part of the same culture.
And so you get every single one of the Strato children coming right back to Earth ideologies organically, not because capitalism is inevitable but because the adults still cling to capitalistic, hierarchical logics. You can see some of it in Nem, and some of it in Cal and Tammy's relationship, but most of all you see it in Marz and Tangent.
Marz
Early in the game, Marz gets the idea to game the kudos system, trading kudos around freely. Tammy sees something wrong with this - kudos are supposed to be doled out for labour and used at the store. This is Marz's first step towards recreating Earth capitalism, the greatest threat identified by the Vertumna Group.
But! Marz didn't get the idea simply because she's greedy or literally shameless. Kudos already operate on a capitalistic logic. They're like money because they are money, invented by people who grew up spending money. And so you get Marz able to afford more luxuries than the other kids, not because she works more, but because her family can get more kudos. She's not playing the system, she's recognizing its true nature.
The government allows this obvious inequality, because everyone gets food, kudos are just for luxuries - but "luxuries" includes everything from dessert to musical instruments to incredibly useful cybernetic devices like the Brain Trainer to accessibility tools like a fidget spinner. And, in the "election," Seeq demands a bribe in the form of kudos, which is completely incoherent unless kudos are already being used as money. It's the same shit from different assholes!
Tangent
Tangent lives in a constant, hellish cycle of always needing to work. She fixed her body's failings one time with a genetic sex change. But she wants to fix it again by removing the parts of her that aren't productive or rational. I think this is why she shaves her head despite not seeming proud of this choice or wanting to talk about it - her hair, even the feeling of it, reminds her of her humanity, her frailty.
She's desperate to prove to herself that she has a Good Brain because her mom had a Bad Brain and that killed her. And her only metric of a Good Brain happens to be, ultimately, productivity. Where did she learn that from? Probably her de facto mother Instance, one of the last defectors to Vertumna (and thus the most entrenched in capitalistic culture).
Unlike Marzipan, Tangent never has any ideological commitment to capitalism. And yet she internalizes some of its worst ideas, being the single most accomplished scientist in the colony and still hating herself, because she still needs to sleep, even for minutes.
A lot of Tangent's worst excesses seem to come from not being able to just sleep on it. Older Tangent discusses a plan to totally control human reproduction, being terrified that the colony will become inbred. This is projection - she thinks she has Bad Genes, and she can't sleep on that, so it gets bigger and bigger in her mind until she's willing to take extreme measures to "fix" the problem. This plan never comes to fruition, because what the fuck, literally nobody wants this. Eugenics is just one more terrible Earth idea that made its way through the wormhole.
In her best ending - where she doesn't work on the plague and does reconcile with her brother - she contributes her genetic material to the colony, implicitly rejecting that she has Bad Genes. This is the only ending in which she does so. At the same time, she becomes the colony's first psychiatrist, finding high-tech solutions for mental illness.
Because - as she knew even as a little girl - biology never has to have the last word on your life.
...Y'know I wonder how I Missed the capitalistic "You have to work every day to have value" undertones that Tangent and her augmentation holds when I was first playing?
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Magnificent Century Rewatch: One Picspam per Episode
Episode 17: The Double Joy
-My dear mother used to say "walk barefoot on earth and it shall take away all your troubles and sorrows, earth shall give you happiness and joy"
-Your mother spoke well, one can only find peace in earth. But I'm not sure if it is on earth or in it.
#the quote is a little bit silly but it adquires seriousness when you know everything that comes later#especially because it's hurrem's mother's quote from when she lived in ruthenia. when peace was possible. when she was going to marry leo#and had her future all planned. and there was stability#but the joke is suleyman's. after all becoming part of his family is what brings that ambiguity to the quote for hurrem's story#as it could be argued she never found true peace. at least for the most of her life#but also suleyman speaks in general terms here. so the quote can be extended to all the characters and in this episode of double joy it's#even more significant. because peace it's going to go sooner than later. and the signals of future ibratice problems are already there#and just as the birds are partly symbolic of that temporal peace and joy in love for hurrem the gifts the marriage gets are very important#as well#this episode is just gifts gifts gifts all around#suleyman's necklace for hatice has the tulips of the dynasty and it's something ibrahim himself recognizes could never give her#she says she's always going to have it w her. tho i don't remember seeing it too much in her tbh sdfy#in the other side ibrahim gets a lot of gifts. but the one that reminds him of his origin is his father's ofc. and he says he will always#have it with him as well. and later he gets suleyman's ring [i'm w haticehurrem. this totally looks like a subrahim wedding asfg]#which goes to remind us that he's now officially part of his family as well. he returned but he converted again. and THEN there's the table!#and taking away the politic alliance it could signify. it is venetian. his mother's heritage is there. in all the palace. and in the same#episode hurrem mentioned her mother's saying. the dynasty [or at least the most conservative side represented by ayse] it's unconfortable#the converts are not only winning more power and getting closer to the family. but they're also bringing their cultures & traditions to the#*ba dum tss* table#there's more to the whole return/convert and how it shows in the ibratice palace especially later w the statues but if i ever write about it#it deserves a post of its own ofc [and prolly someone that knows what they're talking about more than me lmao]#noo why did i write so much 😭 i should've done a separate post this is a mess to be under an already long picspam#anyways there's other significant gifts as the clock that musti likes or mahi's lucky charm for selim. and also the ones we already knew:#the ibratice gifts together 💝. and these contrast a lot with the rest because it's something of their own. when the couple was separated#from dynastic or even ibro's family. will they ever find peace again? we'll see it in the next episode [i'm lying]#maybe i should organize this in a post of its own#magnificent century#muhtesem yuzyil#mc1picspam4episode
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did you know my sister’s boyfriend wants to read Hamlet now because Nina and I talk about it so much wkksksjsjsjd
#we don’t even talk about it THAT much#but enough. it keeps coming up akskskdjdjd#if there’s one thing my family’s going to do it’s bully you into wanting to read more classics#also apparently the other day he was complaining about a side/background character becoming king#and Nina was like ‘oh like Fortinbras’#and he was like dammit I’ll read hamlet okay?????#alsksksjsjsjejdjejejje. fills ME with delight#Nina’s such a powerhouse because she is the most practical minded unsentimental icon#but she also uses that practicality to Pay Attention and have a rich Cultural Life#(I love her so much)
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.
#really randomly fell down a weird rabbit hole today#i was watching the X-Files and finally felt like reading up on david duchovny#like i see u fellow slav what kind of slav are you#so i opened up his wikipedia article and saw that his dad was jewish and from ukraine and went like AHA WE ARE THE SAME#and just out of curiosity looked up the place he's from because im curious about jewish shtetls in the ukraine#because my whole family except my biological father is from several of them and i thought hey maybe they were neighbors#which they fucking are omg theyre just 20km apart#my greatgreatgrandma is from makhnivka which i even found articles and history about and how the jewish population grew & declined#even though i did not find any steinbergs in the archives#anyway when i read up on Berdychiv where duchovnys family is from it said#early settlement by the Chernyakhov Culture#which was an archeological culture between 200 and 500 CE existing at the same time as the roman empire#....... is this how i finally find out where my name is from??????? like?????????#i wish i knew so much more than i do#like i only found out that im not russian i was just born in russia like 7 years ago or so??? because my mom never tells me anything#all the information about my great great grandparents and where theyre from is from my grandma#and her dementia is really bad now and shes just angry and screams and calls people names#my russian is too bad to properly read up on stuff like that and theres barely anything in english or german#i just want to know idk#but genetic testing is too expensive and also very america centric and the only family i have in the us is super conservative#i had to block them on facebook when my grandma made me write to them once over 10 years agl#and i know a huge chunk of my grandmas family moved to israel too so i dont want anything to do with that either#although id be curious if it would actually find my half siblings i found out about also like 8 years ago#i just wish there were more archives and more people i could talk to about this#on my grandfathers side theres nothing really left#my grandfather passed suddenly and apparently before he did he took ALL THE FAMILY PHOTOS AND DOCUMENTS somewhere to maybe digitalise them#but we dont know where so theyre literally gone for ever#but his whole family was from kiev and is apparently named after this culture era#his dad was a higher up at a sugar factory and i still cant find anything#my grandma had so many cousins and they were so interconnected and knew so much and i literally just have my mom and no one else
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Us knowing so little about his past outside of his time in Ketterdam really just emphasizes Kaz's obsession with Rollins and Jordie's death. Like how the death of his Da gets, like, one sentence, meanwhile, everything he's done since he was nine years old has centred around Jordie's death. It also really furthers the death of Kaz Rietveld that we know so little about who he was, like maybe he never even existed.
Kaz's backstory makes me sad often because we actually know so little outside of his trauma. It makes sense for his character and arc, that what we know of him, is generally just his pain and primarily his experiences in ketterdam. But what about his home life? Who was his mom? Was kaz the kind of kid to follow jordie around when he was just trying to hang out with his friends? Did him and Jordie even have friends? Neighbors on nearby farms? Who were the nearby adults who may have known of what happened to their father? Did any of them try to help them, or stop Jordie from leaving? Are there people still there who remember the tragedy of the Reitveld family? Does anyone remember them?
#Then again we don't get a ton of backstory for the other characters outside of their trauma either? Inej we learn the most of I think#because she talks about her family and her culture#the others don't much#six of crows#kaz brekker#reblog
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Homework this week is hard cause no one has the same amount of hate for this books that I do
#like no the parallels aren’t cool and interesting#they make no god damn sense#especially when you look at it through the view of someone who does art and crafts#and don’t even get me started about the ‘representation’ this book has#how can you claim it’s good representation when the main girl actively distances herself from her culture#and then talks bad about her cousin who was my favorite because she actually reminded me of people that I know#people that I know because they’re in the same culture and are my family#I hate it here#side txt
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god, grief hits you at the weirdest fucking times
#was brushing my teeth and started crying thinking about my aunt#sometimes i forget she’s gone because it just seems too wrong#she was young she was healthy (before the cancer) she was more full of life and energy and compassion than almost anybody i know#and it just feels impossible that a presence like that can just. disappear.#they say one of the first things to go is their voice#as you start losing memories of them#but i don’t think i can ever forget hers#i hear her in the way my mom speaks sometimes too#and the way i talk to dogs sometimes#my mom says she sees her in my hands#she had such a big heart and yet she did work that could so easily break someone#but she stayed kind#she fought for the kids she helped#she fought so fucking hard and she cared so much and she never stopped caring no matter how much it hurt#and she loved and stayed joyful despite seeing some of the worst sides of humanity#sometimes i just need to talk about her#because i know she’ll be remembered by everyone who knew her#she’s not the kind of person you forget#but it still feels like that isn’t enough#like she should have had so much more time to bless so many more lives#my mom started a community fund on the island in her name#she hasn’t decided fully yet where the money will go#Tan cared about so many things but especially the foster kids the queer youth and all animals#especially wolves and horses which sounds cliche but it made so much sense for her#one of the things she was fighting for most in her last few years was making sure indigenous kids in the foster system#had ways to connect with their cultures#either by making sure they stayed with family who could take them in and making sure the family had the supports they needed#or connecting them with community programs run by indigenous leaders for indigenous youth#i’m a lot calmer now after all that typing#personal
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I wanna flesh out a yakuza oc but every time I think about it I end up thinking about an oc of mine who already Exists who’s not a yakuza oc. but is, in fact, an oc who is a yakuza. and that fact is genuinely completely unrelated
#he existed WAY before I started playing yakuza or knew really anything about it#actually he contributes to why I got into yakuza to begin with. cause when my friend first showed me y0 I was like ough… my character#grew up in this exact environment and culture and structure and etc (son of a patriarch)#so it was legitimately a good reference for his background and stuff#I kinda wanna talk about him/his background more on here but. like i said he’s. not technically a yakuza oc#and he can’t be because he. canonically. has PLAYED yakuza. like the games EXIST cause it’s just a normal real world type universe and#I won’t get into all this much but he ends up in the states on the dl for Reasons. accidentally ends up with a son when he’s 22 (son’s#mother being significantly younger but again we’re not gonna get into THAT mess). ends up seeing the first game being sold somewhere in nyc#and is unable to restrain his curiosity about it (as an Actual Yakuza) so he ends up getting his son a ps2 for his birthday partly just#as an excuse to buy and play yakuza 1 because he NEEDS to know what’s in it#something something it ends up being a weird bonding thing with his son who’s definitely too young to be watching this game being played#(he was born the same year as haruka so he’d be like. 8-9. also already a concerningly violent child with many issues but. anyway)#something something he ends up disappearing out of the blue from the states when his son is 12 but the pastime still sticks for said son#from then on. so uh. yeah weirdly significant that these games Exist in this story/universe bdsjhfdfjnd#idk why I’m avoiding saying his name. his name’s asura. he’s a year or two older than daigo (born 1974) and his family’s supposed to be a#pretty powerful one in the tokyo area and he was supposed to be a nepo baby sorta like daigo except he’s not Technically an only child- he#has a much younger sister. but obviously she wasn’t gonna be considered for taking over their father’s seat nor would she want to#she wants absolutely nothing to do with any of it and changes her last name pretty soon after moving to the US to get away from them#no beef with her brother or anything she was just treated absolutely horribly and disgustingly by older members of their family growing up#ANYWAY I should stop talking bdshshcbsnnf I didn’t mean to infodump all this the lore is just. deep with these guys#Asura wasn’t even made to be a particularly prominent character or anything it’s his SON who’s a Bonafide Main Character and asura’s ties in#the story are mostly related to Him. (though his sister is also a pretty prominent character so there’s connection there too)#rambling#also one more note. yes. the timing and location of where asura would’ve first bought yakuza 1 means that it would most likely be the#infamous original english dub version. which is hilarious to think about#especially because his son’s mom (I keep calling her that because they weren’t really in a Relationship they just co-parented and lived#together a little less than half the time. it’s complicated) Did Not Approve of a game that Adult around their kid. so she would not be fond#of walking in the room and hearing TEN YEARS IN THE JOINT MADE YOU A FUCKING PUSSY#luckily she was so young and considered her son a lost cause and a burden as it is so. she complained but didn’t really do anything about#it. I mean shit she was like. only around 24-25 I think. but yeah
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It's been wonderful being able to talk about these things for me too! I haven't really had the opportunity since Y7 came out, so I'm positively buzzing. And no worries about the tone of your post about Daigo's article haha, I appreciate it when issues are pointed that I might've missed otherwise since that's at least something actionable.
But I'm obviously not going to stop anyone from venting frustrations with the wiki or with Fandom as a platform; I frequently find myself frustrated too! It's one of the things that keeps people editing the wiki. I'm honestly fine with whatever as long as it's not accusing us of being fujoshi for the billionth time lol, but for better or worse I do like to clarify what we're trying to do if there's any confusion.
Speaking of, Mine's relationship tags are kind of a funny story! So a lot of them have these dotted underlines and question marks, right? You're supposed to be able to hover over underlined terms to see a short definition (on desktop) and click the question mark to see an article with all the definitions on mobile, since hover actions aren't possible on a touchscreen.
But since the article was and still is under construction, Fandom doesn't show the link to logged-out users. So I had no idea it just looks like we're saying the tag is ambiguous lol. It's up now though, so it's hopefully easier to understand what we're trying to do!
I just found it funny I specifically added that feature to reduce confusion. Half the grief we get over Mine's "romantic interest" tag is because people assume we're saying it's mutual (we chose the term to try and avoid the "mutual" connotations of "love interest," but I guess that didn't work out). I also thought it might help with somewhat esoteric tags like "co-parent" (which was put in place for Jo and Arakawa and then I kept thinking of others) and "surrogate son." Turns out it's tough to boil complex relationships down to one term!
I definitely have SO many questions about New Year's Day and I probably always will; for the space of only one night, it's a huge blank. I certainly do have to wonder if shipping Masato off to America was decided then and there. There's a lot that could possibly be expanded on in RGGO (further interactions between Arakawa and Jo included lol), so I've got hope for that too now that we're back to random events. I'd be really interested to see how you'd portray it someday!
Talking about Nakai and Tsutsumi reminded me, Nakai mentioned he read the whole script in a day so he "wouldn't do a disservice to Arakawa or Sawashiro's characters." That kind of stuck out to me precisely because there are so few scenes between them compared to like, Arakawa and Ichi, and they're all relatively low-impact in comparison.
Of course, it could be marketing on account of him and Tsutsumi getting to co-star again, or the scenes could simply have stood out to him more for that reason, or he could've had a different impression of the ratios having read the script rather than played the game. But the part of me that makes me want to go Off The Deep End speculating is kind of wondering if there were other scenes planned?
And absolutely! I'm not able to reblog often because the post editor's been crashing whenever I try to tag my posts, but I hope you know I love your work and I'll support pretty much anything you put out! I'm very excited to share my findings as well.
A lot of it's to do with Mine's relationship to Western culture vs. Japanese culture (his "westabooism," basically), so that's specific to him, but there a lot of interesting concepts and theories in Japanese psychology regarding familial bonds, met and unmet emotional needs. They work as an explanation for his probable feelings of alienation from Japanese culture, but I feel they would make for an interesting lens to examine the Arakawas through as well.
I actually hadn't ever considered the similarity with regard to Mine and Jo's dads, but that makes so much sense! If I were to take it a step further, I think feelings of "abandonment" by their fathers have had long-lasting effects on both them and Masato. Jo we've been talking about, his father was technically still "there," but he wasn't in his corner, which feels much the same as abandonment to a child.
I think Mine's internalized a lot of the same feelings even though his father never meant to abandon him (I guess Jo's may not have, necessarily; alcoholism can destroy a family whether the individual wants that to happen or not). Like, unfairness, displacement, lack of control, the loss of the only support you have and so on. I think dwelling on that is what sent Mine's mental state spiraling, and what made it imperative to just believe Daigo was "dead" to try and move on as soon as possible. He didn't want to be hurt the same way again.
It's also probably what he was projecting in his ridiculous villain speech during The Orphanage Scene; the reason offering kids support in the way Kiryu does is a form of "victimization" in his eyes, at that moment, is because that support can be ripped away from you at any time. The scene is kind of hilarious to me because it's like, "okay we need Mine to have a kick-the-dog moment, his actions have been too understandable," but I do get it from that angle.
Similarly, I think those feelings of abandonment are why Arakawa faces the brunt of Aoki's abuse, because it's like, "YOUR negligence is why I had to go through all of that." So I get why Jo, like your sister, wouldn't want the finger pointed at him, but at the same time… damn. Perhaps if Arakawa had never had that talk with Masato, things might've been different. I get the impression he wouldn't be able to endure keeping things to himself for as long as Jo, though, given things like the letter he sent Ichi in prison.
Oh, yeah, Jo is CRAZY protective of Masato too! "If anything happens to him, killing you a thousand times would be insufficient!" I think part of his overreaction to having Masato's money is also that if Ichi can't listen to orders that fundamental, who's to say he listened to the orders to keep Masato safe? I guess if you see Ichiban as incompetent to the point of almost being a malicious actor, you might think that.
I'm sooo so glad you've noticed the rest of those similarities haha, I've been rotating them around in my brain like a cube for ages. A Venn diagram would be so fun to see! That's such an insightful look at the differences between Mine and Jo's offices too. I was a little confused about the placement of the social spaces, or even that they're there, but if you look at it as clearly separate from his personal spaces, it does make sense.
Also, not to harp on the books in the offices too much, but I compared the textures a little earlier. Mine's are basically all (very expensive) encyclopedias and language phrasebooks in English, Italian, French, and German, in contrast to Jo's discrete hardcovers and series of art history books. They're probably all stock assets lol, but I think they're surprisingly good fits; Mine dumping considerable time, money, and energy into his fascination with Western culture and Jo being the type to not want people to know what he's reading totally works for me.
But yes! It's kind of funny, because Yokoyama wasn't much of a Mine fan in his early days, but I hope he and the others keep on writing characters like him. I think of it as Mine's "legacy" in a series where past characters aren't acknowledged too often; the most I can recall are that Hakuho mention in 4 and the fencing around the Touto roof perimeter.
Speaking of, I love Mine's missed shots in the finale specifically because he's an excellent marksman in his Okinawa character story. Why? How? Who Knows, He's Perfect. (Probably not as good of a shot as Daigo though lol)
And yeahhh, there are other interviews, but it ain't the same! It was the most in-depth one I know of. I think this is one of the only remnants, and I shall entrust it to you.
But yes, exactly! And I'm also glad Y7 introduced more people to them (myself included), Tsutsumi's my favorite actor of all time and Nakai's brilliant. They make a great combi! Of the things I've seen where they co-star, I think Princess Toyotomi and Hero SP are both solid; the latter is a special for a longer show, but I honestly didn't even notice lol. Musashi I wasn't personally able to get through even though I've read the book, so I'm not sure how it plays out between them.
Also I DIDN'T KNOW TORU DIED IN PURE??? That came out of nowhere oh my god T___T But if you're ever looking for anything rare, feel free to ask! I might know a guy (gender neutral) with a stash, Fly, Daddy, Fly included.
OH MAN MINE'S WIKI ENTRY I've definitely made my opinions about it known, but now knowing the truth behind it it's kind of funny and still so unfortunate. I'd almost want to recommend a section dedicated to the topic since it's such an integral part of his character, though I also understand wanting to keep the wiki strictly to factual information and to exclude speculation (or "speculation" anyhow- it's definitely more of a concrete situation, especially going off of the information provided in your pinned post on the topic. If anything, that sort of information would belong to the "Trivia" tab wouldn't it- but again, it's such a deep situation it can't really be summarized in one or two sentences) and the topic being too niche to have a page dedicated to it. It's nice to know that the subject isn't trying to be brushed under the rug though and it's just a matter of awkward formatting/incomplete work!
Furthermore on The New Years Event, I would LOVE RGGO to expand on the topic since they've been so liberal with the stories they make and the depth those stories add to the characters. Honestly, I was expecting Masato's card to have that as its accompanying character story, so it's unfortunate that he doesn't get it or any story as far as I'm aware (or maybe he does have one and my poor pull luck has just prevented me from getting the card to find out myself, but I've looked as much as I could and couldn't find an upload of it). Oh well, I guess it's the old "if you want something done you gotta do it yourself-" not that anything I could make could ever be up to scratch, so I'm glad I do have people interested in what I have in mind :)
About Nakai, I wouldn't feel wrong trying to accredit his comment to a time before he knew the full plot or saw the full game and was just debriefed on the general story/character relationships, and I also wouldn't put it past RGG to have deleted scenes/ideas (if those do exist, RGG please let me in your vault I'd like to take a peak...)!
The psychology of Mine is another topic I've been wanting to officially tackle for a while now, so I'm glad I have this chance to share some of what I have mental bullet points for.
Moreover, Mine's dad and how he "left" Mine undeniably impacted him significantly beyond physically leaving him alone, and it definitely manifests in The Orphanage Scene and his idea that killing Daigo would be "putting him out of his misery". In those instances, he sees Daigo and the orphans as victims of an unfair reality, Daigo being comatose, and the orphans having the endure the struggles of being orphans (and that added-on, projected anxiety that their comfortable lives now could vanish at any second like it did for Mine). Mine's mustache-twirling villainy is funny for its absurdity, but I also genuinely appreciate it since it lets us peak into his warps philosophy better. It doesn't justify his actions by any means, but it explains to us why he can justify his actions as from a place of love or pity as opposed to thoughtless evil.
To add on, Mine's relationship with his father, from what we're allowed to gather, was healthy and positive. Because of their positive relationship, the removal of such adds credence as to why Mine's desperate to get that love again. It especially makes sense considering Japan's horrendous attitude and negligence towards orphaned children that was even demonstrated during Mine's childhood while his father was alive.
And as an inverse aside, Jo's relationship with his dad was toxic, whether it was due to blatant abuse or combined negligence. It's fair to assume that Jo never got to experience genuine, secure love growing up, so as a result, it's not something he actively seeks out. He's been without it long enough that it's not something he necessarily craves like Mine who used to have it until it was taken from him.
Masato certainly makes it clear he felt isolated despite the efforts Jo and Arakawa repeatedly went through for him, and it's apparent it's an unfortunate side affect of internalized ableism. It definitely doesn't help anyone's case that Masato had seemingly been informed of the night of his birthday's events (from Arakawa's point of view, obviously), and it's clear that knowledge gives ammunition as to why he resents him.
You're right on Jo potentially seeing Ichi as a bad actor, it's not as if he has disdain for him for no reason! Like even if Ichiban hadn't taken Masato's money the way Jo could have imagined, the idea that Ichi can't be responsible in one avenue can easily lead back to Ichi having the potential to look after Masato, especially when he seems to be the one who predominately looks after him when he's tasked to.
I've already got my program open to make my little chart and have my reference pictures ready, so hopefully I can have that silly thing out soon haha- I'm glad you're interested in seeing it, and I hope other people will like to see it too! Jo and Mine really are my favorite antagonists, so it's funny (and I guess not surprising) that they have parallels to them.
To add on to that though, I think it's fun to look at the extra details, no matter how small; I'm probably more happy than I should be that you looked at their office's books, but I can't help be a fan of the details you found (whether they're generic models or not, I'm running with them- I've done more with less before lmao)! Mine having language books is definitely in-line with his interests, but Jo having art history books is weirdly endearing (and dare I say another point for "these are the same picture" comparing it to Mine's own love for art). Jo being so private to the point of blocking out the binds of the books he owns is so accurate to him and his secrecy, and the concept that he likes to read about art in his spare time is a new favorite concept for me.
Mine really isn't acknowledged much after 4; in comparison to Ryuji and Nishiki, he's remembered throughout the series the least (you can argue the same for Ryuji, but considering he gets a whole new life in Dead Souls, I think it's fair to say that makes up for the mainline series forgetting about him. Though I guess the same could be Mine getting a prominent role as Hijikata in Ishin... Definitely not as cool of a spot as to be a playable protagonist with a machine gun arm if I'm honest). In that, it's great that his likelihood can exist in future characters, and I hope they continue the trend of phenomenal antagonists in LaD8 and onward!
I'm eternally grateful for this frame you've gifted me thank you so much- Nakai's smile is such a blessing honestly, I'm glad if anything survived from the interview it can be this shot at least.
I've got Princess Toyotomi and Hero SP added to my watch list, DEFINITELY something I'll be excited to check out as a reward once I have all my important business taken care of this week! Honestly, I haven't seen Musashi either: while I was looking through their filmography I saw it was a project they did, but I've always been bad at watching long series so I didn't take the time to see their performance together.
For things I have seen though... yeah he dies SORRY IF THAT WAS HOW YOU FOUND OUT </3</3 Honestly I didn't expect myself to love the series as much as I did (admittedly it was predominately because of the leads and their relationship), but when it happened I was both- dare I say crushed- a little humored a little funny in a dark-comedy way.
And if you do have access to harder-to-get films, I'd absolutely be interested in hearing about it. One of Nakai's movies Good Morning Show has been haunting me for weeks: it sounds like such a fun movie yet I can't find it anywhere </3
#long post#fave#i have to fave these now because i be putting my essay notes in these OOPSIE#snap chats#the state of the arakawas is probably one of my favorite things to explain to people BECAUSE its so complicated#i showed my sister the ending of Y7 despite her not knowing anything about the series since i was talking about how upset it made me#and i tried to explain the whole family situation since it was relevent#just... yeah so the guy in blue was put in a locker by his dad and then he got saved by another guy#and he did that because he thought the guy in blue was his kid- who is actually the guy in red#because /his/ mom put him in a locker because of yakuza business and she couldnt take care of him#but now dad-who-put-a-baby-in-a-locker came back so now he co-parents alongside the guy who took his baby#but theyre not together they just. raise 'their' kid but the other guy doesn't know that his co-parent is the /actual/ dad#i know i already made a parody of it but it genuinely has the set up to some goofy slice-of-life manga i love it ☠️☠️#its SO funny to try to explain its easy to understand if you put it down on paper or write it out but to verbally do it 😭☠️☠️#moving on tho i'd love to know more about that japanese psychology bit#im asian myself and tho obviously not all asian cultures are the same they overlap#so im curious to see if i can recognize any of the issues i notice in my own culture with that which can be applied to the arakawas + mine#the bit on his western idolization is something im interested in too ! esp based on the books in his office it could be an interestin topic#man i just keep looking at that interview picture and it really does have the energy of a proud dad and his son#maybe thats just because nakai's smile reminds me of my dads#but yes yes thank you again for writing it ! i know i keep saying it but i cant stress how nice it is to take this extensively#especially because not only do i learn a bit more and learn some details i missed but it also helps me expand my own thoughts#that i hope to make into bigger posts#on that note though i have one more quick post to make after this one then i have to tend to some of that Important Business..#and thank you for being a supporter of me and my work ! sometimes i get a bit self conscious about it#i know i post a lot too and i never expect people to interact with my things so im grateful for the knowledge you enjoy it !
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(( Since its the dash topic right now:
Miranda has a strict regimen of birth control that she’s been placed on and will remain on until she’s been properly married and the time has come to have heirs. Until that point, she can’t go off of it, because it’s maintained by the Merkingdom and doing so before ordained by them could be seen as potentially questionable behavior that takes the rest of her rule into question.
This is primarily for the prevention of bastards — any royal that’s caught with a bastard child, had with anyone who they are not properly wedded to, is a massive black mark on their record. Other royals highly prize the sheer blackmail potential of the existence of a bastard and would absolutely use the, intentional or accidental, weakening of another noble family’s inheriting line to their full benefit. Royals are incredibly eager to stab each other in the back, and the existence of a bastard child is practically a target painted onto their back.
This is bad enough when it’s a bastard child between two royals, but it’s far worse when it’s a bastard child between a royal and a non-royal. The more powerful the royal’s station, the lesser the non-royal, and the stronger the blackmail material, and the stronger the potential repercussions of having made a bastard.
Because of this, if a royal has a bastard, chances are that they don’t know about it. If a royal does come across the information that they have a bastard child somewhere in the world, who potentially could claim inheritance of their family line but was not claimed by said family line at their birth, then their first and immediate move will be killing said child. There’s too much at risk to let them to live, and they’ll often murder the family and community of the bastard child as well, just to make sure that their tracks are fully covered and no one finds out about this. It’s too dangerous to let them live, and it’s too dangerous to let anyone know.
Because of this, if communities discover that one of the children within them is the bastard child of a royal, well...
While there are certainly communities and families that will happily welcome a child in, even a child who was born of a royal, and will swear themselves to secrecy and promise to keep them safe — they aren’t a majority, and it’s easy to see why. A bastard child puts them all at risk, implicating all of them in the political games that royals play, and the commonfolk seldom get out ahead in these games. There are other children too, other people, other lives put at risk, all because of this single action, and they all know what the wrath of a royal looks like. They all know how painful and brutal those deaths can be, and they know entire communities have been wholly wiped off the map because of this.
Oftentimes, if a community discovers one of their members has had a bastard child of a royal, they’ll turn that member and bastard child in. Whether to the Merkingdom, or to a competing royal who is all too eager for blackmail and willing to offer protection in turn, or to the royal parent themselves — it seldom ever works out as fully intended, but it’s still better than the alternative for most of the communities who do it.
Even children between two royals who are properly married to each other that aren’t fully planned out and arranged to be born ahead of their conception aren’t immune to this backlash either. The royals take the manner of inheritance and their family lines seriously, and implicating themselves as not taking their duties seriously and having full responsibility to hold onto their title is not only dangerous for what the consequences could be, but also dangerous for how other royals will react.
The hierarchy of royals within the Merkingdom shifts constantly, and holding onto what control they have is a deadly and tricky game.
#Most secret royal advisor || OOC#Given by Divine Right || Headcanons#(( this is actually a Very Important Headcanon that i dont bring up that much#(( namely because miranda doesn't think that much about bastards unless#(( 1. she's using them for blackmail herself#(( or 2. she's daydreaming about basically running off and having bastards of her own#(( and the first one mainly only occurs between royals and isnt like. Discussed between them because. yaknow. blackmail!#(( tbf though someone could use that second one as blackmail against miranda#(( though she would never think of that fantasy in the context of bastards either#(( (mostly because she subconsciously wouldnt like her title to be a part of that dream future for herself but. you know.)#(( i should talk about the specific politics of marriage in the merkingdom too and the dynamics of it#(( because it very much differs based on which person belongs to which family line that's being married into#(( complicated cultural stuff!
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Working in the yarn shop on Sundays, I have a group of regulars who come in specifically then for my advice on their knitting projects and over the years I've gotten to know a lot about them - their ailments and their spouses and their children and their careers and their mothers are all things they find themselves telling me about over the course of trying to bring forth a knitted piece. Most of them are women, most of them are over 50, and most of them have been through a lot and are trying to reclaim something for themselves through the act of creation. A while back, one of these older women opened up to me about how when she first came to this country it was just her and her daughter and they were so happy until her husband joined them, when he promptly began making her miserable. Now, decades later, all her children live far away, she spends all her time taking the husband to dialysis, her sciatic is bad and she may need heart surgery (who will take care of her, I find myself wondering), and she comes to see me once a month or so to talk about a new project and tells me it is the only thing she does for herself.
Today she came in with a smile on her face and delightedly introduced me to her son, who will soon move closer to home with his family. Then she says, as if commenting on the weather, that on Friday her husband died, and tomorrow they will hold the funeral. For a second I had tonal whiplash from the conversation and then I realized, oh, you're unburdened now. Like the relief in her face and her body were palpable. The son shows a picture of a cardigan to me and asks if it can be knitted, and we pick out yarn and a pattern. She's so excited to make it for him. She beams when she looks at him; he is tall and handsome and polite, and wants to wear something she made for him. She is proud of this man she raised.
It just made me think of the many, many women who come from cultures where leaving a crappy spouse isn't an option so they shuttle along doing their best and trying to find some beauty and joy in whatever way they can. Kids may not visit often because their spouse isn't welcoming or there is bad blood, so they are lonely. I remind her, we have our social group. She hasn't come to it much before because she is always taking him to dialysis, but now she says she will come often and meet the other women. Many of them are like her, but in the craft they find companionship that has been absent for so much of their lives. I hope there will be renewal for this dear lady and that she can learn more about herself and what brings her joy.
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