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fadingdaggerr · 1 year ago

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would that i

pairing: melissa schemmenti x gn!reader

summary: melissa knew what love should look like, and learned what it shouldn’t be. learning what it actually is takes time | 3.4k

translations: nonna/nonno (grandma/grandpa), t’amu (i love you) | reminder that sicilian is slightly different from italian in dialect

warnings: allusions to cheating (minimal), allusions to unhealthy relationships (minimal), making up my own melissa lore bc i’m so normal about her, kissing/making out

note: a little bit of this was an homage to my grandparents, the people that showed me what love should be. thank u and love u

When Melissa was in sixth grade, her teacher assigned a two-page essay on what they thought of when they pictured love. The moment Mrs. Erikson said this, Melissa knew she was going to write about her Nonna and Nonno.

Every morning, Nonna made breakfast and coffee, she packed Nonno’s lunch, and always left a note that said T’amu in her flowy cursive. Every evening, Nonno brought in the laundry off the line and folded it while Nonna made dinner. Even when they fought, there was never a loss of their kiss good morning, goodbye, and good night. Only on anniversaries was Nonno allowed in the kitchen, and they’d dance while sauce simmered on the stovetop. Love between them seemed easy and gentle. Melissa spent every Saturday night and Sunday morning across the street at their house, and every time she found something to add to her list of what love looked like and how it should be.

Melissa thought she had found love with Tommy Adkins in eighth grade. She’d even bought a new dress to wear to autumn formal, pink and ruffled and perfect. By the time she was ready to leave, her face almost hurt from the amount of times she redid her makeup so that Tommy would call her beautiful instead of bangin’ for once. That night she watched him dance with Jennifer Milano with a half-baked excuse of him “not wanting to kiss a chick with braces.” Melissa cried for two hours while Nonna told her she was better off, a bowl of pastina pushed her way. She forgot about him by the time Monday rolled around.

High school boyfriends came and went, but in college Melissa fell in love for the first time. A true, deep love with a firefighter-in-training that knew her neighbor. Everytime Joe visited Brian, he stopped across the hall to see Melissa, leaned against the doorway with an easy smile. He was charming, respectful, and funny, everything she had been looking for. Two months after she graduated, he dropped to one knee and she jumped into his arms. They moved from their apartment to a home in south Philly. Melissa worked during the day, and Joe started night shifts at the fire station for the extra pay.

Night shifts began to extend, and Melissa never saw him. He’d eat the plate she’d prepared in the fridge and leave the dirty dish on the counter. Dirt and ash from his boots tracked across her rugs and carpets, scuff marks in her living room. What almost killed her was the dirty cast iron skillet left in the sink. When she brought anything up, he’d deflect and leave. Every now and then, he came home with flowers “just because.” But then flowers began to follow every extra long night, and she could smell the floral perfume that didn’t belong to her and didn’t match the flowers. It took her months to say anything, and all she was met with was eyes that couldn’t look at hers.

Melissa began to think that what her grandparents had could never be hers. A loving life was in the cards, and Joe had only solidified this. She stayed at Barbara’s that night.

—

A few years later, her perspective was changed when a new fourth grade teacher joined the staff mid-term. Never in her years had she allowed someone in so easily, allowed them to be her friend and not just a coworker. Somehow, in two years, Melissa realized she’d never felt so cared for and loved by anyone.

—

“Is there a chance I could pour a cup of coffee before you start bursting my ear drums?” Melissa says when Jacob and Janine start babbling behind her about something she didn’t care about at 7:30 on a Friday morning. Ever since she turned onto the street the school is on, a headache had been growing steadily. Staying up late to finish grading was the worst idea she’s had all month. The two teachers cringe slightly, lowering their volume. When the door opened again for you and Barbara to enter chatting with each other, volume lowering at the sight of Melissa sat at the table with fingers pressed to her temples. She hears a bag drop on the table quietly, opening one eye to see you trying to be as quiet as possible as you dig around.

When you finally stop, you pull out a bottle of ibuprofen and pass it to her. She waves it off, muttering a don’t need it. When you don’t reply, she peers up to see you still holding the bottle out with an expectant look on your face. You shake the bottle, “don’t suffer just to look tough.”

“Melissa Ann, take the damn pills,” Barbara orders from her seat, spooning some sugar into her coffee.

“I don’t need ‘em,” she mumbles out again.

You push your hand forward more, “please. If not for yourself, for your students. You’re irritable when you have a headache.” Barbara chuckles and sends a knowing look to Melissa. Janine and Jacob, on the other hand, turn and look at you, fully expecting the red head to make some harsh reply or threat back to you. All she does is puff out a laugh and grab the bottle from your hands. She decided not to remark on the weird looks she was getting from the peanut gallery.

When getting the kids ready for recess, she sees you peering around the corner to the doorway. She holds a finger to ask you to wait, and gets a double thumbs up in return. After zipping many jackets and helping with gloves, she watches the little eagles run outside in the chilly autumn air. As she walks back into her classroom, she sees you sitting in her chair waiting patiently for her. “You know, I don’t let anyone sit in my seat,” she jokes as approaches.

“Good thing I’m not just anyone, now am I?” you joke, standing to meet her.

She fights her smile as she answers quietly, “no, you’re not.” She takes a second to breathe when she sees a grin cross your lips at her comment, “we still on for dinner at mine tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” the grin on your face growing, the giddy feeling in Melissa’s chest with it. You loop your arm with hers and walk towards the lounge.

When Melissa opens the front door, you expect a greeting, but instead you get a groan as she stomps back to the kitchen. Dropping your bag and shrugging off your coat, you walk into the kitchen, placing the box of pastries on the table. Melissa returns to angrily rummaging through the refrigerator, desperately trying to find something. It wasn’t until two hands pulled her back by the shoulders, turning her around. She relaxes into your touch, closing her eyes.

“I’m out of basil,” she says through a sigh.

“Want me to go to the store?” you ask, wanting to remove any stress from her.

“No,” Melissa answers as she opens her eyes, “you just got here, that wouldn’t be fair.”

You laugh, “we could go together. Or we can just be lazy, order a pizza, and not get off the couch.”

“Second one,” she sighs out, pulling away to clean up the dishes she took out. While she’s distracted, you take the time to call in the order, pay, and tip over the phone so that Melissa won’t even have the chance to say herself.

“If there’s pineapple on there, I’m kicking you out,” she yells from the kitchen after she hears you hang up.

“No, veggie. And yes, I asked for no mushrooms. One of these days though, I’ll convert you to being a pineapple woman,” you joke tilting your head back to see her standing behind you, “plus, you wouldn’t dare kick out the person who brought you zeppole.”

She gets closer, leaning over with her hands holding the backrest on either side of your head, “is there chocolate sauce?” The excitement was evident in her tone, bringing butterflies to your stomach. You can’t form words with her standing over you and smiling like that, so you just nod.

Later into the night, the TV played Weeds while you sat in comfortable silence, only breaking it when you both repeated the same joke out loud every now and then. Your legs were thrown over her lap, her fingers playing with the folding fabric of your jeans as she watched the screen. Her subconscious drew her attention toward you, eyes tracing over smile lines and the glowing reflection in your eyes from the TV. She watches you lean forward to grab a zeppole, ready to offer it to her. It’s only then that you catch her stare.

“You okay?” you ask, turning and scooting closer to give her your full attention.

She gives a quick squeeze to your leg, “yeah, hon. I’m better than okay.” She feels even better when you lean into her, placing your head on her shoulder. She drops her head to yours, a deep breath leaving her as she finally relaxes fully for the first time all day.

—

Some time between then and now, things had changed, Melissa wasn’t exactly sure when. At some point the Friday dinners turned into Saturday plans, then Sunday since the farmer’s market was open, no other reason. Breakfast on those days translated to bringing coffee to each other at work, ignoring the questioning gazes of other staff members as she passed you your coffee, despite having never asked how you took it. What had started with you sleeping on the couch when the night grew later, migrated to the spare bedroom.

On a Sunday night, it changed again. You watched the tail end of an Eagles’ game while sitting in her bed after helping grade book reports. As always, your head rested on her shoulder with her own resting on yours. Anytime something that wasn’t a point being scored happened, she explained it to you, though she knew not a thing she said would help make sense of it. It didn’t matter to you, all you wanted was to hear her voice and have her attention.

“Your bed is comfy,” you mutter when the commercials begin before the last quarter.

A smile crosses her lips, “treated myself to a good mattress when I kicked bozo out. Glad you approve.”

“You deserve nice things,” you say as you settle into her more, and through a yawn add, “the best things.”

That night, you’d both fallen asleep slumped against the headboard, leaning into each other for comfort.

Melissa woke up to a rhythmic thumping under her ear and a hand in her hair gently playing with amber waves. The small smile that came to her lips would have been foreign to her if she wasn’t so comfortable, the content feeling in her chest would be almost alarming. When her eyes cracked open, she recognized her bedroom and sheets. She groaned into the cold morning air, and the hand moved from twirling the ends of her hair to scratching her scalp, making her tuck into the warmth beneath her even more.

“Good morning,” you rasp out, having only been awake a little longer, the only response being another groan. She finally rolls off of you, much to your dismay, and sits up on her elbows, looking at you with sleepy, squinted eyes.

“It’s Monday,” she grumbles.

You chuckle, grabbing her glasses off the nightstand for her, “fine, just morning then.”

Something about this morning felt different to Melissa. You’d never spent the night on a school night, let alone sleep in her bed, but that wasn’t what shook her. It wasn’t you making her coffee, sipping it to make sure it tasted right before handing it to her. It also wasn’t that you turned off her alarm and woke her up yourself without making her ears bleed. She thought it could be that you’d opened the door for her on the way out, or how you offered to drive her to and from work to make up for staying late, but not that either.

Maybe it was how she didn’t want to get out of bed, or how her coffee tasted better than any time she’d made it herself. Or how she hadn’t slept that peacefully in twenty years. It could have been how much she enjoyed being driven to work, and having full control of the songs you listened to on the way there, or the fact that she sped ahead to open a door for you this time. She doesn't have time to dwell on it once she gets to her classroom, a knock on the doorframe comes the second to place her purse on the desk.

“I thought you weren’t in today, I didn’t see your car in the parking lot,” Barbara says as she walks in.

Without looking up from her bag as she pulls out folders, Melissa answers, “I got a ride in.”

“Did you now?” Barbara asks with an amused tone. “And would that someone happen to be the fourth grade teacher that practically lives with you?”

“We don’t live together,” Melissa says incredulously, “we just fell asleep, so we drove in together. It’s not a big deal, it’s not like we’re actually together.”

Barbara can’t hide her laugh, “you fell asleep? Both of you? And where was that?” Melissa only mumbles back, so Barbara presses, “where did you both sleep, Melissa?”

“My bed,” Melissa finally says a little louder, but not much. She wants to send her head through a wall knowing that Barb just figured her out.

“Oh, girl. You are in deep,” Barbara says with a smirk. After she leaves the room, the spiral in Melissa’s head goes faster.

Said spiral carries her through lunch, and only stops when you sit across from her and stare at her for a moment. Her face contorts in a what? look before you reach across the table and brush your fingers through her hair. When you pull back, there’s a purple string from the third graders’ projects between your fingers. Barbara kicks her from under the table, and she kicks back with equal force. They both see you look at them weird, before brushing it off and going back to getting your lunch out. Barbara cocks her head to you, staring at the red head, silently telling her to do something. The look the kindergarten teacher gets back replies not now.

When the end of the day rolls around, Melissa is anxious for your eventual arrival in her doorway, keys swinging around your pointer finger. All she could think about since you parted ways this morning was your hands in her hair and your heartbeat under her ear. She hadn’t felt so content and so at peace in so long, the feeling was so new that it almost scared her. Melissa had to remind herself that this was about you, not anyone else. You’d never hurt, belittled, or offended Melissa, you’d never made it your mission to anger or disregard her, nor had you ever tried putting yourself before her. She knew that feeling this way about you shouldn’t scare her, but it did.

The sound of keys and footsteps in the hallways alerted her to your approaching presence, making Melissa quickly rise to her feet and grab her things, realizing she’d been spaced out since the last student left. As she predicted, you stood there spinning your keys, smile growing when she turned toward you. It drops slightly when you see her smile not reach her eyes. “Ready?” you ask.

“Sure, yeah,” she clears her throat, “let’s go.”

You can tell her mind is running into overdrive as you pull onto her street. When you park in the driveway, you unbuckle to turn in your seat and face her.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

She turns to you with a scrunched face, “what are you, 90?”

You shrug and point to her sleeves, “you’re thinking. You play with the thumb holes when you think.” She’d curse you for noticing if it didn’t make her heart clench. “You don’t have to tell me,” you add, “but I’ll listen, if you want.”

She looks at you for a moment, surrendering with a, “wanna come in?” You only answer by taking your keys out of the transmission, hopping out, and opening the door for her.

The discussion gets put on hold while Melissa heats up leftovers from the night before. She carries both bowls out to the living room where you’re turning on the TV back on for background noise. As Melissa sits down, she faces toward you and you mirror her pose. “Sorry I was acting weird,” she mumbles before taking a bite.

You shake your head, “you’re only allowed to apologize when you’ve done something wrong. Thinking isn’t doing something wrong.” When she doesn’t speak again, you offer up something else, “Ava almost had a heart attack over you this morning.”

She looks at you confused, “were we wearing the same shade of green again?”

“No. She thought you didn’t come to work this morning cause your car wasn’t there, was going off about how she was going to have to sub because there’s still a shortage in the area,” you laugh, “I had to tell her I drove you in, which also ended me in a twenty minute interrogation during my prep period.”

“What sort of interrogation?” she asked, already nervous.

You look down the bowl in your lap as you speak, poking the food around, “the kind where she asks for a detailed account of my whole weekend. Weird amounts of detail too, mealtimes, where I slept, where we went, what shows we watched.”

“What’d you tell her?” Melissa can feel fear creeping into her bones.

“That we went to the farmer’s market, watched sitcoms, and I slept in the guest room,” you answer truthfully, “and what did you say to Barbara?” Her head snaps to you, you lean your head to the side, “she stopped by to ask me about my weekend, she seemed a little too excited to see me if you hadn’t spoken to her first.”

Melissa moves to place her bowl on the coffee table before looking back to you, “she asked why we drove in together. I said we fell asleep, and she asked where we fell asleep. Might’ve told her you slept in my bed.”

“It’s impossible to lie to her,” you say as you copy her move. You’re silent for a moment, then finally ask, “what were you thinking about?”

She takes in a deep breath and exhales to calm her nerves, “this morning. This whole weekend, but mostly this morning.” She glances up, and sees your face had dropped, worry setting in, and she’s quick to revise her statement, “in a good way. This morning, this weekend, they meant a lot to me.”

At her words, your lips stretch into a smile, “it meant a lot to me, too.” She can see you internally question saying the next part, “and you. you mean a lot to me, a crazy amount.”

It’s her turn to smile like an idiot now, a pretty blush covering her cheeks, “you mean a crazy amount to me, too. Being around you it’s... It’s easy. I like being with you.”

“I do, too. Sometimes, when I’m here I almost forget I live somewhere else. The second I step inside and I’m with you, I don’t know, leaving just feels wrong,” you say honestly, eyes flickering over her face as you speak, scanning for a rejection you won’t find.

“Waking up to you was nice,” Melissa mumbles, “you’re a pretty good pillow, if I do say so myself.”

Your airy laugh makes her heart race, it goes even faster when you lean in to reply, “I wouldn’t mind waking up that way again... and again, and again.”

She matches you lean in, smiling, “yeah?” Your noses are almost touching, she can feel your breath just barely touching her face. Her eyes flick to yours and see you looking back, faint lines forming as your lips turned upward as her gaze.

“Being with you makes sense,” you say quietly into the space between you, eyes flicking to her lips then back up.

Her hand moves up to your cheek, warm hands and cool rings holding with gentle affection. Olive eyes look into yours for permission, but your answer is closing the space between you. Her other hand flies to hold your neck, your hands holding her wrists. They slide from her arms to her waist, pulling her closer and crawling beneath her shirt to rest on her skin. She takes the chance to straddle your lap as her tongue slides over your bottom lip, asking for the instantly granted entry. Her lips were soft, savoring the feeling of yours against hers, committing it to memory.

Your arms tighten around her, holding her as if she’s this precious thing, and it makes her only give more into you. Her lips slow, and you can almost feel the love she’s trying to convey in her action. But your lungs can only survive so long, and she pulls her lips away, resting her forehead against yours.

“Stay?” she whispers through her breaths as she recovers.

“Wasn’t planning on leaving,” you mumble back, dazed from her kiss. You duck foreward, hugging her as she still sits in your lap. Her arms circle your shoulders, hearing you mumble into her neck, “I love you.”

She presses a kiss to your head, “I love you.”

Melissa’s heart beat against your ear, calm and steady. The smell of her perfume and honey shampoo flooded your senses, making you nudge into her further. You tilted your head, lips pressing softly to the skin of her neck, moving upwards back to her lips, pressing a long, sound kiss there. You pull away to look at her, smoothing back copper strands.

“Is it too early to go lay in bed for the rest of the night?” you ask quietly.

She huffs a laugh, “I was gonna suggest the same thing.”

By the fifth episode of Weeds, Melissa noticed your breathing even out. She peered down at you where you lay curled into her side with your head on her chest, arm slung over her middle, lips slightly parted. She presses a kiss to your head as she shuts the TV off, and lays there to just bask in you being with her. She’d never felt so adored, so cared for, so at ease. This is was it was supposed to be.

feedback appreciated as always <3

title from would that i by hozier (i’m sure everyone knew that. we’re all gay here)

#melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #lisa ann walter #abbott elementary #lgbtq #lgbtq fanfiction #lesbian

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starrynini05 · 10 months ago

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like we’re moving in slow motion – painter!kim jennie x photographer!reader

summary: when you were with her, everything felt like a dream

warnings: none

tags: non!idol au ; photography student!reader ; art student!jennie : university au

genre: fluff

word count: 1k

You will always remember your first encounter with her as if it was yesterday:

In the city of Seoul, where skyscrapers kissed the sky and neon lights painted the streets in a kaleidoscope of colors, life moved at a dizzying pace. With the arrival of spring, rain cascaded from above, transforming the urban landscape into a shimmering mosaic of light and shadow. The streets, usually bustling with the hurried footsteps of pedestrians, the murmur of crowded sidewalks, the rhythmic pulse of music escaping from nearby shops, and the hum of traffic, now lay quiet under the soothing rhythm of the rainfall.

The city, for a brief moment, seemed to catch its breath, basking in the tranquility brought by the new season. Most people would find it an inconvenience, but for you, it was an inspiration. Amidst the chaos, you were enjoying yourself in the solace of a nearby park, covered by trees, the soft shutter of your camera blending into the sounds of nature. As a photography student, you had a penchant for capturing beauty in the mundane. Your world was seen through the lens of your camera, each click capturing a frozen moment in time. The final frames were a stark contrast to the vibrant city outside, often highlighting the quiet corners and overlooked details of their urban landscape.

As the rain began to pour harder you noticed people entering different shops for shelter. Preoccupied by your equipment, you decided to continue your little shoot inside an old bookstore. While capturing the reflections of the rain-soaked streets you saw a slender, cat-eyed girl enter the store, canvas, and brushes in hand. It felt like you were moving in slow motion, almost serendipitously, your eyes met across the room, a spark igniting between both gazes.

Kim Jennie was the name engraved on her pink smock tag, slightly covered with paint. She was an art student at the same university, carrying a heart as vibrant as her paintings. She was slightly older than you, being in her third year of liberal arts while you were only a freshman. Her paintings were scattered along the campus, being exhibited as examples of skill and talent. Her world was a riot of colors, each brushstroke on her canvas a testament to her passion. Unlike you, she was pretty well known around the university, having friends in different areas, and being involved in various academic activities.

With a surge of confidence, you showed her a timid smile that she reciprocated with an even bigger smile and an invitation to talk. As you approached her, she extended her paint-covered hand and presented herself softly, “Hi, my name is Jennie, I’m a third-year art student at Hanguk University” “Nice to meet you…” too lost in her orbs, you missed her going quiet so you would continue “Oh, yeah, hey, my name is Lee y/n, I’m a first-year photography student at the same university”, your cheeks turning red at the statement. As you exchanged timid smiles and hesitant words, you discovered a shared love for art and expression. She admired your ability to freeze moments in time through your lens, while you found solace in her colorful imagination that breathed life into your monochromatic world.

You both returned to campus that day with a new perspective on life, wishing to know more about each other. Thus, as time passed your connection deepened. You spent your free time together wandering the streets of Seoul, exploring hidden alleyways and abandoned rooftops, looking to capture these landscapes in both painting and pictures. As the artistic outings became more frequent, they suddenly turned into coffee dates, picnics, and even movie dates. With each passing moment, you found yourselves falling deeper into an enchanting rhythm, your hearts beating in sync like a melody.

She became your escape from reality, leaning all your weight, showing her your most vulnerable and integer form. Likewise, you were always on her mind, she kept the memories of your countless interactions as sacred treasures, like tiny blessings to her troubled heart.

It had been almost four months since that day, and now, lying on the grass under the moonlight you couldn’t help but keep on admiring her perfect profile. She had moved your head to rest on her chest, enclosing your small frame from behind. In that moment, time seemed to stand still as you gazed at the stars in perfect silence, lost in each other's embrace. You felt her take something from behind her back, and suddenly, a small bouquet of pink tulips entered your vision. With a small sigh, she slightly sat up and sat you in front of her.

“I know it may seem like soon, but I like you a lot, you were there on my lonely nights keeping me together, you gave me a new lens from which to view, and you made it so easy for me to love you” – “So, wouldn't it make sense if I was yours?” Her voice was barely audible with how nervous she was, and your eyes were almost brimming with tears. You were moved, and, as if on impulse, you threw yourself at her, enveloping her in a bone-crushing hug, as the tears intensified. Worriedly, she asked you “Hey, why are you crying beautiful? Did I do something wrong?”, at her words you hastily moved your head in denial. “I just really like you too, and those words were so touching and profound, it made me emotional”, you carefully rubbed your eyes and took a deep breath before continuing, “For me, you are just like the dream, one I never want to wake up from. I love you; it will be my pleasure to be yours” A soft smile drew on her face as she gingerly kissed your nose.

And so, in the quiet embrace of the night, you both found yourselves enveloped in a love that transcended time and space. For in the chaos of the world around you, you had discovered a moment of slow motion, where everything else faded away, and only your love remained, moving in slow, slow motion.

#jennie #blackpink #jennie kim #jennie x reader #blackpink x reader #jennie imagines #jennie scenarios #blackpink imagines #blackpink scenarios #kpop imagines #kpop x reader #girl group scenarios #spotify

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guiltysungho · 5 months ago

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— Daybreak

genre : tags. fluff, summer romance, small town romance, angst (?), found family (?)

pairing. barista!sungho x fem!reader (she/her used)

wordcount. 3714

a/n. submission for the onedoornet summer event. i love writing stories set in the summer tbh most of my stuff is set in summer lol. this is heavily inspired by summerstrike, favorite k drama !! ty to @ddingdongz + @loserlvrss for helping beta reading this.

@onedoornet

Picture this. An empty room, your empty room, with you in the middle of it taking in the nothingness of it all. You tried to see it a different way, but that was all it was, an empty room that would probably stay that way unless you chose to fill up the space. A thought that often crossed your mind but never got any further.

The summertime somehow made it worse for you, with no plans you were forced to stay 24 hours in that void. The hours you would have usually spent in the office performing remote tasks with radio noise thoughts, you now have to spend in complete consciousness. You would try to distract yourself, but it was always the same thing every day, the same dreams wasting away.

This was the only life you knew; you had a job and place to stay, you had to find contentment in what you had, but it was harder than that. Maybe you had to seek out new perspectives to understand how to live again.

Run away and leave it all behind, the first step would always be the hardest but once it was done, it would be up to you. Small drops make a mighty ocean, right?

One day was all you needed, you would take the first bus in the morning to wherever it leads you and then… you would just try to live for once. Forget that your room is empty and that your dreams aren’t as easy to achieve so you could have a clear mind for the future.

No matter how much you planned, you would never know what exactly you would meet there so you kept the planning minimal, trusting fate to make the day memorable.

At 4 am, you were ready at the bus stop waiting with three other people in complete silence, half asleep as you stood there. The bus arrived soon enough, and you let yourself doze off by the tinted windows, counting the cars passing by.

8 am and you were finally there, you weren’t entirely sure where “there” was, but you were somewhere else and that felt like an achievement in itself. The sky was already well lit up, clear and blue. Everything seemed so new, so different even the sky looked a different shade of blue. The seagulls cried loudly echoing back and forth as you walked along the roadside, the ocean filled the horizon swaying along with the wind, crashing against the sandy beach.

You made up your mind to stay on the beach for a while, long enough for hunger to settle in, and you would figure out your next stop from there. You had been used to seeing crowded beaches so much in your life that you had forgotten how beautiful the ocean was, how calming the beach could be. The fresh smell of sea-life, calm breeze rushing through your hair as you sat there on the sand watching the push and pull.

You thought of taking a commemorative photo, but you had the funny idea to “forget” your phone this morning. You had this useless attachment to it, even when you were doing nothing productive on it. So, you figured it wouldn’t be necessary, and maybe you were right, but you wanted to keep this image safe from the inaccuracy of memories.

It was just as you dreamt it, the quiet, the peace, you could sit there for ages, let the sand envelop you and become a timeless myth, an artifact forever tied to the spot, but you had other plans.

Checking the watch around your wrist, you read the time, 9:43 am. A good time for breakfast. The problem now was finding where to eat breakfast, but you needed to not know so you could want to find out. So, you walked around, letting your feet lead you wherever, through all sorts of streets looking around for any kind of food.

It felt like a long search, but you had walked for less than 30 minutes before you found a nice cafe, deeper into the town, further from the beach but it held the essence of the ocean, encapsulated in all sorts of trinkets decorating the space.

A chiming ring echoed across the room as you stepped in, not a single person in sight for the first few minutes. It seemed empty despite the sign on the door that read “open”, so decided to move on. Almost like he heard your footsteps, ready to walk out the door, a tall young man came out from the back, tying his hair together and out of his face as he smiled at you.

“Welcome, please make yourself comfortable, I’ll be right with you.” You took a couple steps closer, completely hypnotized by the young man’s beauty, taking a seat right by the counter.

He somehow looked the part, exactly how one would imagine a barista in a small town in the middle of nowhere, precisely out of a daydream.

He handed you a menu before retreating back to the kitchen in the back. You scanned through meticulously, picking enough food to keep you filled for the rest of the day.

He came back out to meet you, this time with a name tag on, Sungho you thought as he asked you for your order.

“Long trip?” He smiled at the small list you had picked out from the menu, you nodded in response with a thin smile trying to ignore the urge you felt to stare at him.

“It might take a few, I’m the only one in today.” you let him know you were in no rush, and just like that he left the room with a thumbs up and a smile.

It was a shorter wait than you’d expected considering it was just him in the kitchen. He’d started bringing over side dishes for you 10 minutes in, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows as he placed the plates in front of you. A few strands fell out of the grip of the hair tie falling perfectly on his face, he sighed, shaking the hair at his face before looking at you.

He thought about it for a second, leaning in as he spoke, “Sorry to ask this but could you push this strand behind my ear?” you stared at him wide eyed, blinking at his face right in front of yours.

You reach for the hair hesitantly, carefully pushing it behind his ear. He flashed a thankful grin, backing up completely and out of the room.

After nearly an hour you got your full meal, your first meal of the day, and probably your last, so you ate it like it was. Big portions, cheeks filled, satisfied groans. Completely forgetting the other presence in the room.

He was looking at you, watching you purse your lips as you chewed on the food, the moment you looked up you were met with his stare, your eyes widened from the sudden eye contact.

“Sorry,” he chuckles nervously looking away from you, “…Are you here on vacation?”

“Oh yeah, I’m just here for the day.” you answer finishing the last crumbs off your dish.

“What are you hoping to find here?” He asks curiously with an amused expression. The question sets you off into a whole explanation on your boring life and your strong will to see new things. You aren’t sure you will find what you were looking for here but that’s somehow part of the journey.

“…I guess I just want to see the world now, instead of locking myself inside.” you let out a light laugh, as if to lighten the mood after your slight rant.

“That’s really cool. I think you’ll like it here.”

“Really?” you beam, he lets out a light chuckle as he nods grabbing your empty plates to clear the space.

“Honestly. I could show you around a bit if you want.” he disappears into the kitchen as he suggests it. You sit there with a smile on your face waiting for him to enter the room again to accept his proposition.

“I’d love that, I didn’t really have a plan so you’d be helping me out a lot.”

“Perfect. I’ll just clear up this place and close up for the day.” you mouth a quiet oh, surprised he would close the whole shop to help you. He notices and smiles reassuring you, “Don’t worry it’s usually empty on Saturdays.”

After a short wait he steps out with a light linen summer shirt, his hair is untied, shaping his face perfectly. When you thought he couldn’t get more attractive he just embodies the idea of a summer crush. He gives you a gentle smile gesturing for you to follow him out the back door, you watch him lock the doors waiting closely behind.

This was one of those things you would have never done a month ago and standing there you realize how absurd the idea of following a man around in a place he knew so well while you knew nothing about was, but for some reason you felt you had nothing to lose in the moment. Maybe it’s ‘cause he’s incredibly attractive.

He introduces you to his bicycle, letting you know that that was his means of transport and so it would be yours. Biking seemed more appealing to you, it had been a while since you had been on a bike so when you hold onto him as he rides by the beach it feels like a lost memory that you had forgotten in the midst of all your working. You listen to the seagulls cry, feel the nice summer breeze on your face as the hot sun taps on your skin reflecting yellow beams onto the canvas.

Even his presence feels like a strongly cemented part of the memory, like he made it whole, you could feel him so close under the thin fabric of his shirt and it made you realize that the touch of a human was something you had been missing for the longest time.

“It’s really nice here.” You hum, resting the side of your face on his back.

“Yeah it feels like home.” He says with a smile looking over his shoulder to look at you.

“Isn’t it home for you?” He nods as he turns back to the road, turning into streets, waving to the townspeople, before answering you.

“I guess you’re right..” he let out a light chuckle, his bright smile lingering as he continues, “I actually moved here when I turned 18, I just needed to get away and I found myself here.”

“Wow, that's such a bold move.”

“Yeah it was so out of character for me but I needed to and it was probably the best decision I’ve made.” he slows down his peddling gradually before stopping in front of a big house. You had been riding uphill for a while and now you could see why.

The whole ocean right beneath you, you could see everything so clearly and it was so beautiful. You could feel your eyes glistening as you looked at the landscape with so much marvel. A sudden realization that life isn’t supposed to be dull, it’s meant to be filled with beauty and splendor.

“This is so…” you look around searching for a greater word to describe all that you are feeling but nothing comes close.

You only realize you are still on the bike once he gets up, taking your hand to help you off as well. He looks at you pleased, that you enjoy the sight as much as he did when he’d been here for the first time.

“Come, let me show you something.” You follow behind him eagerly, watching him ring the doorbell to the only house that stood on the hill.

The door opens soon enough and there stands an old lady with the kindest smile and soft rosy cheeks. You watch him give her a hug as he greets her, letting her place a kiss on his head.

“And this is your girlfriend.” Before either of you is able to deny the claims, she gives you a warm hug. Such a loving hug you don’t want it to end, the type of hug you needed daily.

“Such a lovely girl, what’s your name darling?” You give her a polite smile as you answer, letting her soft hands hold onto your for a little longer.

You glance up to find Sungho staring at the both of you with a soft smile, your eyes meet and he gives you an apologetic pout.

“Mamie,” she turns over to him still holding your hands, “I wanted to ask you a favor.” She rushes over to him.

He leans towards her and whispers a few words to her, making your curiosity grow, her smile grows as she listens to his request and as soon as he’s done she goes back into her house, leaving you there clueless.

You turn over to him, narrowing your eyes with curiosity, he flashes a smile before turning away, waiting for her to reappear.

“Here you go darling.” She walks up to you and hands you an ethereal conch shell. You had never seen one before but you never knew they could be so pretty. You stare at it for a couple seconds completely in awe, before looking up to her with a grateful smile.

She stretches her arms out once again for you, hugging her tightly as you thank her. “Sungho could use the company. He doesn’t like mentioning it but I know. So if you’re ever thinking of coming back, don’t hesitate, just come, okay?”

After saying your goodbyes, you get back on the bike, riding downhill back into town. Her words stay stuck on your mind as you ride through the small streets, a reminder that you would be leaving after today and you would have to accept that. Every part of you wanted to stay.

“Was she a relative of yours?” you ask looking over his shoulder, arms still wrapped around his waist and he peddles.

“Not biologically. When I first got here I was stranded but she took me in, and I stayed there on the hill for a while.” He explains as you arrive on a market street, a small crowd walking through the street, “This is where the fun happens, trust me.”

He parks his bike in a hidden spot, helping you off and ready to guide you through the small market. You glance up at him amused by the liveliness in the street, such a crowd in such a seemingly empty town.

A light tap on the back of your head makes you look down at your hand, you look up at him curiously. He takes your hand in his as you stare into his eyes with a puzzled look, pulling you closer, and leaning to your ear.

“It can get a bit rough so just stay close, okay?” You nod at him, letting him guide you through the small crowd.

As you walk together, he tells you about each stand and how the market works, how it changes depending on the month and the regular stands that people line up for. It could have been the least interesting topic but for some reason you were fascinated by the community, the dedication of each person to hold a stand as early as 7 in the morning.

“Do you hold a stand for your coffee shop sometimes?” He smiles at the question, nodding in response.

“Sometimes, but it’s mostly for festivals or big events. The market is more for the necessities and street foods.” Just as he mentioned it a savory smell hit your nose, you turn to the stand beside you watching the lady behind it cook the snack with extreme focus.

He notices you staring and stops in front of the spot, to let you taste the speciality. The lady looks up from her workspace and her expression brightens as she sees Sungho, and even more when she notices you.

“Sungho! Is this your girlfriend?” He shakes his head letting out an awkward laugh. “What are you waiting for?”

“She’s not from here.” She frowns for a second before glancing at you.

“Do you like the town?” She asks you, hands still working on the food making. You nod, answering her with a polite smile.

“She likes it here. You’re stalling.”

“How am I—“

“Here’s a snack young lady, take care of the boy for us, okay?” You laugh softly as you accept the treat, he reaches out for his wallet and the lady smacks his hand. “Keep it and start saving up for the ring.” She laughs a mocking laugh before going back to her work, leaving the both of you stunned.

Walking away neither of you speaks for a bit, just snickering as you walk side by side, “I’m sorry about that.” He says with a smile, you shake your head completely dismissing it, giggling as you did.

You walk around a bit more, eating your snacks together and looking at the different stands. Watching the owners show off their craft, getting interrogated by the townsfolk on your relationship. You enjoy every moment with him, even just walking in complete silence feels right and you just met him.

All your life you had been looking for this, you dreamt of being close to someone beyond the materialistic standards, of being with someone you could just be with and right now that was all you could feel. You hadn’t come to this place to find someone to help you out of your misery but you found someone and it was nice.

But it only makes you dread the moment when his comforting presence wouldn’t be so close. He stops by one of the stalls, and you follow. A jewelry stand, handmade crafts with sea life trinkets, pearls, shells, squid ink, it is all so unique. You watch him look at the pieces, scanning through the selection before landing his eyes on one.

He takes it from the display, a teardrop shaped pendant with sea water inside, dangling off a silver chain. He glances at you and then at the necklace, before asking to pay for it. After that he keeps it to himself, fidgeting with the paper bag it was in, waiting for the right moment to hand it to you.

The walk soon ends and you take the bike once again, this time he rides you down to the beach, almost as empty as in the morning. You sit together on the sand just as you did in the morning and for the first time since you saw him you check the time. 5:27 pm, the day is nearly over, but you’re still enjoying it.

“When will you be heading back? I’ll take you to the station.” He says quietly, eyes on the vast horizon.

“I’m not sure I was planning for 7:30 maybe?” He nods, registering the information. “When is the last bus?”

He turns to you, surprised by the question and somewhat relieved, that you didn’t want to leave so soon, “10pm, they don’t go too late here since nobody is really coming and going.”

Those 5 hours seem like nothing, you want to stay forever but it would be irresponsible, irrational, you had to go back. You sigh, it wouldn’t be responsible to tell him how much you enjoyed his company today, since you weren’t sure when you would be back but you could feel the words itching at your throat.

“I really liked spending time with you today, y/n.” He says, staring at the sand below you, voicing out your thoughts before you can.

“I did too, you really did make me like it here.”

“I’m glad.” He turns to you with a smile, it takes everything in you to not kiss him then and there. His hair flows in the wind, orange sun shining on his skin.

“I don’t want to leave.” The words slip out mindlessly, as you stare at him.

“Then don’t.” His stare shows more intent, all the begging he couldn’t do, his eyes reveal, “You came just like I did, with a backpack and now look at me, I’m running a coffee shop.”

You give him an apologetic smile, it was too much for you leaving a whole life behind. You could come back eventually, but right now you couldn’t stay.

“You can come work with me at the shop. The ladies in town are so welcoming, they’ll help you with everything.”

“Sungho… it’s not that easy.” He sighs, nodding as he turns back to the calm ocean view.

“I know… It was worth the try though.” He laughs softly, you smile, taking his hand in yours.

“I promise I will come back though.”

“I’ll be waiting.” You feel your heart bounce at the sound of those words, he makes you feel so special in everything he does.

You stay there on the beach till the sun sets, enjoying the last moments together without thinking of the looming separation that is awaiting you. Once you reach the bus station, it’s about 9:48 pm and time is still moving as much as you wish it would stop for you.

You look at him once more, one last time, he finally hands you the paper bag with the necklace he’d bought earlier. “A small souvenir, just for memories.”

You ask him to put it on for you and he does. Pushing your hair aside, standing so close behind you, you could feel his breath. He comes back to your view after hooking it, looking at you with a pleased smile. Such a small pendant, yet it elevates your beauty in so many ways.

The last call for the bus brings you both back to the moment. You both walked towards the bus the whole way in silence, waving each other goodbye as you entered the vehicle. You watch him out the window, as the bus starts he stands there looking at you. The words are inaudible but you can tell what he says as the bus drives off: “I’ll miss you y/n.”

#boynextdoor #bnd x reader #gs.files #boynextdoor fluff #onedoornet #boynextdoor fanfic #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor x reader #park sungho x reader #boynextdoor sungho #sungho boynextdoor

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topsyturvy-turtely · 1 year ago

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✨The Sherlock Holmes Museum✨

221B Baker Street, London

hi turtles! here it comes: the photo post to the sherlock holmes museum. i'll include my favorite pictures & the information i could actually keep in my silly brain (probably none). i'll number the pictures, so you can keep track.

please keep in mind that the place was pretty crowded and i couldn't take pictures of everything in perfect quality/from the perfect perspective.

the entrance (1) looks like this:

i especially loved the little blue sign (2) above and the "policeman" (3) dressed in a victorian policeman outfit - with a sherlock holmes tie 🥹 (i didn't get a picture of that, i thought it'd be weird to take a picture of him)

the living room (4).

there were two comfy looking armchairs, a fireplace (sadly without billy the skull 😔), and in the right corner you see the chemistry set of Holmes. with the violin right next to it.

in general, they tried to create the rooms exactly how Sir Arthur Conan Doyle described them in his books. it was described as small but with two big windows to the west side (was it west?? i can't remember...).

on the left you can see the desk (5), which i think was used by both: Holmes and Watson (not 100% sure about that tho). on the right you see what was hung up on the walls (6) (the guns lol).

on the opposite wall of the fireplace, you see the shooting marks (7), made by Holmes: the intials "VR" stand for "Victoria Regina" (= Queen Victoria) (Holmes' way to say "long live the queen" i guess? this man was fun when bored...)

and i took a picture of the "The Times" page (8) which laid on the desk because... apparently! i was in the musuem on the day Holmes and Watson moved in together (*johnlock heart explodes a little bit*) and you can see the date somewhere on there... (i found it. but i think she lied to us... imo it says july the 5th and i was there on august the 27th (*dramatic voice* UNbelievable! *excessive eye-roll*) (okay maybe i misunderstood her??? idk))

let's move on to Sherlock Holmes' bedroom.

on the bed were laying two boxes (9). one was with... idk random Holmes-stuff (honestly can't remember what she said to that...) and the second was with the iconic deerstalker inside. funfact about the deerstalker: ACD never mentioned this to be a signature feature of our beloved detective. this only became a thing later on. some dude, whose name i can't remember (i warned you about my silly brain), just decided he'll use that in a film production, because it would be much more accessible for the common folk. deerstalkers were mainly used by hunters and the working class. because Sherlock Holmes, who lived in a rather wealthy neighborhood, was a man of the upper class, he would have worn a different kind of hat (10).

this post is part 1 of a series, because apparently you can't upload more than 10 pictures per post (🙄🙄🙄). links for the next parts will be included once all have been uploaded.

-> part 2

-> part 3

keep reading - tag list

tag list! @justanobsessedpan @helloliriels @catlock-holmes @fluffbyday-smutbynight @inevitably-johnlocked @hisfavouritejumper @rhasima @forfucksakejohn @ohlooktheresabee @turbulenttrouble @so-youre-unattached-like-me @totallysilvergirl @peanitbear @train-mossman @loki-lock @smulderscobie @timberva @grace-in-the-wilderness @chinike @jawnn-watson @whatnext2020 @escapingthereality @missdeliadili @kettykika78 @musingsofmyown @7-percent @speedymoviesbyscience @astudyin221b @francj15 @we-r-loonies @mxster-jocale @sherlockcorner @noahspector @our-stars-graveside @jobooksncoffee @baker-street-blog @macgyvershe @myladylyssa @battledress @a-victorian-girl @dreamerofthemeadow @oetkb12 @ohnoesnotagain @mutedsilence @jawnscoffee @raenchaosandcozyadashofmurder @a-victorian-girl @lisbeth-kk @quickslvxrr @safedistancefrombeingsmart

#lollipop lollipop looollipop-oh lolli lollipop!#er idk for some reason this is in my head since i wrote my tagging list lol #ignore this #ANYGAYS:#long post #sherlock holmes museum #221b #221b baker street #sherlock holmes #john watson #acd #acd canon #acd holmes #acd watson #holmes #watson #photo post #turtely's OP

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babyleostuff · 2 years ago

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BOYFRIEND PHOTOS | KIM MINGYU

summary | a sunny date spend with your precious boyfriend

genre | fluff

word count | 974

pairing | mingyu x gn!reader

author’s note | purely inspired by gyu’s recent instagram posts. thank you for giving us the fluffiest boyfriend pics <3

“I’m here.”

Usually you couldn’t imagine grinning so hard over such a simple text, but coming from your precious boyfriend changed the perspective completely. Finally, after all the comeback stress and months of hard work he and his bandmates had to go through, he was allowed a day off.

You checked your outfit for the last time, feeling all giddy of the mere thought of this perfect sunny day you’d spend with Mingyu. Carefully running down the steps, you walked out to the street, almost bumping into the man before you.

“Mingyu!” you happily exclaimed, almost tackling him to the ground with a big hug.

Without saying a word, he chuckled and put his arms around you. It has been so long since you had a moment for yourselves that you’d forgotten how good it is to just simply hug him. No matter how long you’d been together nothing would top the feeling of just being in his strong arms.

“I missed you,” he said quietly, and you could bet a lot of money that he was slightly pouting too.

You pulled back to finally get a good look at his handsome face, adorned by the sunlight, making his honeyskin look even more beautiful.

“I’m so happy right now, you have now idea. I swear I don’t remember the last time I was so excited to go out. And it’s like the universe knew, I mean look at the weather, it's perfect,” he said excitedly, slurring his words which made his lisp come out a bit.

He gave you a big smile, showing his fangs that you adored so much. As you put your hands on his cheeks you asked:

“Kim Mingyu, are you going to kiss me or do I have to wait another month?” you didn’t even get to finish the question properly as he leaned down to seal your mouths in the most delicate kiss known to humankind.

His lips were soft, like pillows against your own, and oh how you’ve missed this. You could feel the tickle of his breath beneath your nose, while his fingers were carding through your hair.

You parted for a second to catch your breaths, but impatient as always Minguy went back in, this time kissing you with a little more force, as he also was dying to feel your touch again. Warmth and the smell of his cologne consumed you. With the butterflies dancing in your stomach, it was almost overwhelming how content you felt.

With a last peck he took your hand in his and pulled lightly to finally get you going, before both of you gave up on an outside date and went back to your place.

“So, where are you taking me today?”

“I found this cute cafe nearby and it looks like a good place to take some photos too.”

“Are you kidding me?”

“What?” he asked, with a slight concerne in his voice. You giggled at him and put your hand around his arm.

“I know where this is going, you’re just going to use me to take pictures for your Instagram! And what do I gain from this, hm?” you said in a jokingly offensive tone.

“Thousands of other people simping for my boyfriend, excuse me very much. I’ve had enough after scrolling through tens of tik toks saying how hot your “darumdarimda” is.” Now even he could contain his laugh.

After a couple minutes of walking and catching up on what you’ve missed, you hit your destination, and Mingyu was right - this was the cutest cafe you’ve seen in a while, situated in the best place to give you a bit of privacy.

“Here, here! Take a picture,” Mingyu suddenly said. He ran up the colorful stairs, and before you could take a single normal photo, he started doing some weird and funny poses. Not questioning your boyfriend’s antics, you took a couple of photos.

“My phone storage is crying right now. You have no idea how many of your stupid ass photos I have in my camera roll.”

“Do I get at least one day of freedom where people don’t bully me?” he whined. “Also, my own girlfriend? That really hurt,” he frowned while walking down the stairs.

“Also, why are you wearing your sunglasses like that?”

“Like what? Are you going to criticize this too?” Mingyu frowned even more. You would never fathom how this 6’2 man could act like a little child sometimes.

Before he could argue further, you snapped a quick photo, smiling to yourself.

“Cry about it big boy. At least I have stuff to blackmail you with,” you said and went to look for a free table to sit at.

“You hang out too much with the boys, I swear,” he said and pulled the chair back for you. After settling comfortably, you ordered some coffee and lunch and fell back to the conversation from before.

You could feel your heart race, because of how content, happy and loved you felt.

Looking at Mingyu, who was dramatically telling a story from one of their dance practices, where Wonwoo did a step wrong so Soonyoung threw a tantrum, you couldn’t contain your giggles, laughing at how overdramatic your boyfriend was acting.

“Why are you looking at me like that, hm? You don’t want to take photos of me? No problem, going to do it myself,” and he did as he said, starting to take some selfies from different angles.

“Oh stop it, you know I was joking. Here, let me,” you pointed your camera at Mingyu.

You both knew how much you loved taking pictures of each other, saving them as memories you’d have fun reminiscing on later in the future.

You spend the rest of the day in the same atmosphere, bickering, talking and laughing, but most importantly - being in love.

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 11 months ago

Note

AITA for writing a paragraph on how I want to drop my friends?

(15F for ref, everyone in here is also F and around the same age)

In 2022, I returned from a six-week camp session with friends I only see once a year (pretty shitty experience ngl, but I still had fun), A couple days later, they accused me of stealing this girl's shirt since I was the last one to wear it. I told her I didn't and I wouldn't. I had a similar steal it because. They proceed to accuse me, so to get out my feelings I write this lengthy paragraph in my notes app expressing my thoughts and what I don't like about the group. This never gets sent out, and we stay friends.

In 2023, they went to camp again (for the last eligible year so it was very special to them), but I stayed home due to pre-existing commitments. This was also the time when the notes app trend was going on, a.k .a. where people would post their notes app and all the antics they wrote. I also posted a video like this, and on the sixth slide, I put the paragraph that I wrote in 2022 (it said 2022 at the top). They didn't immediately see this because they weren't allowed to have their phones, but I private the video before they got back due to a mental health issue I had accidentally aired out. At this time, I saw nothing wrong with the paragraph being included because all the issues had blown over.

A couple months later, I un-privated the video because YOLO and the group found it and immediately got hated on so hard for the video. They post pictures of me to social media stories write paragraphs about how awful of a person I am, create lies about me, and comment on all of my Tiktok posts where I talk about the issue, despite me being vague.

I don't know where I stand in this issue because yeah, I didn't go to the trip this year, and the paragraph was admittedly rude, but they didn't even give me a chance to explain, and getting body shamed on a private Snapchat story when they know I had an ED isn't something i think I deserve, but I need outsider perspective.

The paragraph for reference:

I’m sorry but I can’t do this anymore. The whole entire time I was at camp I felt isolated because I was not as involved and as social with the boys as you guys were/are, and that might not be your fault, but you guys have no care in that being the only thing you discuss on this group chat. Every time I text about something else, it always gets pushed to the side and now you are accusing me of stealing (name)’s top. I agree, I was the last on to wear it, but distinctly remember throwing it back into (name)'s trunk. I am sorry it did not make the trip back home, but it is not my fault. I don’t want your slutty top anyways, I only borrowed it because my ebb to street wasn’t going to work. I have done so much for you guys, like letting everyone borrow my clothes, giving away my lululemon, and while some of my pieces were stolen, I am not pointing fingers at random people because I have control of my feelings. So many words have been wasted protecting the reputation of Cabin 10 from others who think you guys are attention-seeking whores (you want names? It’s the whole fucking camp), and everyone looked at me in pity when I cried into my hands because I was so sad. I have heard you guys talk shit about me in front of my face (*giggling and whispering* Are you going to try out for the play? No that’s weird. Both heads turn towards me, and laughter erupts out of the two mouths. You know who you are), and you guys have talked shit about each other to me, so I can only imagine what has been said about me. I felt ashamed about my passions, the only personality trait you guys addressed was that I was so mean and I was smart (you only revealed the latter on in private, the former was told to everyone). I am done feeling horrible about myself because you guys are so wrapped up in what every (camp) boy thinks of you, so I am cutting contact. You have ruined my camp experience to the point where I am not coming back.

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ruminiscence · 1 year ago

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Paris: A Year Abroad in a short film

Audio: "Burnt Norton" by Lana Del Rey, a rendition of the original poem "Burnt Norton" by T.S. Eliot.

Where do I even start? Paris has wholly shaped me in ways I never imagined. We refer to Paris as the city of love, but I'm now more inclined to call it the city of art - which only leaves more room for love in your heart. There is so much to contemplate and appreciate in frequenting the vast array of art museums here - from the Louvre, Musée d’Orsay, Musée de l’Orangerie, the Centre Georges Pompidou, and many more. Not only has my perspective on art expanded, but so has my worldview. That’s because art is truly everywhere in this city; art can be found in the walkable streets amidst the rich architecture, the fashionable outfits seen in daily life, and even the exquisite decor in stores and when you cheekily peek into Parisian appartments!

There's always something new to discover in Paris, I'm almost saddened at the thought of the things I've yet to discover or missed. The treasures to unveil in Paris move far beyond the typical tourist hotspots we all know and love. I am obsessed with Parisian boutiques; they are chic and unique (that unintentionally rhymed) in the best way possible. One of my favourites is La Tonkinoise à Paris, located in the 11th arrondissement. This particular arrondissmenet is the best in Paris to be honest, it holds a special place in my heart as I had the wonderful opportunity of living there, so perhaps you can say that I am somewhat biased. Still, I can confidently say that this animated, hip and creative neighbourhood is one everyone should have the chance to explore.

La Tonkinoise à Paris, owned by the lovely Chantal, is my favourite hidden gem in Paris. I had the pleasure of befriending Chantal as I ended up frequenting her store one too many times; I've garnered quite a collection over time. This boutique offers a wide range of eccentric and sustainable jewellery, with her earring creations being the show stoppers, in my opinion. Her jewellery is composed of rings, pearls, brooches, charms, and watches, all unearthed in flea markets and recycled. I love that every piece of jewellery indeed is a unique piece. The decor changes based on the season and theme of her new collections, making it an ever-changing and exciting shopping experience. This is honestly the best jewellery store I have ever been to in my life! I wish the pictures I took could do the jewellery and the boutique's decor justice, but it simply won't, I'm afraid.

Now, onto food, I genuinely need to figure out where to start here. My favourite authentic French restaurant would have to be 'Le Potager du Père Thierry', located in Montmartre. Although it's incredibly small, I love the cosy vibe; I feel like I can enjoy delicious food with friends without feeling surrounded by strangers. Surprisingly, it's also very quiet (yet packed) - I guess the food is just too distracting.

As of late, my favourite non-french restaurant has to be 'Big Black Cook' (let's ignore how inappropriate that pun is, though funny). It's located in the 2nd arrondissement and serves Caribbean food, my friend claims that it was the best meat she's had!

For brunch, I recommend Café Méricourt in the 11th arrondissement. Their green Eggs & Feta are absolutely incredible and quite innovative as far as brunch places go.

As for a boulangerie - seriously, anywhere, literally anywhere in Paris, go to your nearest bakery; there need not be a big fuss - you're in for a scrumptious baked treat regardless!

I'm ever so grateful for the chance to have lived in Paris for an extended period; you cannot appreciate Paris in its entire splendour from a mere short-term visit. The city is an actual work of art; art is everywhere in the city, from the street performers and musicians, the light filters through the trees, the city's many architecturally rich bridges, the picturesque cafés and boulangeries, the beautifully presented food, the way that the city's many different neighbourhoods each have their own distinct character and vibe. In Paris, art is everywhere.

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sweetbuckybarnes · 7 months ago

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Paper Rings

Pairings: Colin + Penelope Bridgerton

Summary: A snippet into how Colin and Penelope’s wedding might turn out.

Masterlist | Albums | Lover Album

The wine is cold, like the shoulder that I gave you in the street. Cat and mouse for a month or two or three, now I wake up in the night and watch you breathe.

Colin’s feelings for Penelope grew softly like a burning candle - the feelings were always there (it’s why he always looked for her at every ball and social situation), it just took him far too long to feel the warmth he had become accustomed to.

He had watched her from the other side of one of the many ballrooms they found themselves him, he had always searched for her. It wasn't until after their kiss - that his feelings for her hit him square in the face.

They had just watched Francesca marry Lord John Stirling, and his little sister Fran had just become the Countess of Kilmartin. He had always cried at weddings, his little sister's was no exception. Colin knew he would cry when Penelope walked down the aisle in three days, to share their life together.

He reached over and took his fiancée's hand in his to stop her from following the congregation out of the chapel. "Hello, you," he smiled down at her.

"Hello," Penelope says quietly, she had told him last night that she was the writer behind the Lady Whistledown sheets. He had a fairly sleepless night as he came to terms with the woman he loves more than life itself - is the same vindictive woman who announced Lady Crane's pregnancy, and nearly destroyed Eloise's reputation.

But, as he looked at what had happened the previous seasons - looking from Penelope's perspective. She saved him from a loveless marriage to a woman who would have tried to tell him her twins were his, she saved Daphne from a dreadful courtship and potential marriage to Lord Berbrooke, she saved Eloise from the goddamn Queen of England!

"You, my beautiful bride-to-be, are bloody brilliant!"

Penelope looks up at Colin in surprise. Those weren't the words she expected him to say. She blinks a few times, trying to understand if she heard him correctly.

"You have had the entire ton wrapped around your little finger for three years. They wait for any kind of gossip coming from you. You have hidden your identity from them all this time!"

He takes her by her hands and spins her around in the middle of the aisle. "I can not wait the next three days until the moment when we are standing at that altar," Colin points up at the altar. "And we exchange our vows."

I like shiny things, but I'd marry you with paper rings, uh-huh, that's right, darling, you're the one I want! And I hate accidents, except when we went from friends to this, uh-huh, that's right, darling, you're the one I want! In paper rings, in picture frames, in dirty dreams. Oh! You're the one I want!

Colin felt tears coming to his eyes, as he watched Penelope walk down the aisle, on the arm of her brother-in-law, Mr. Dankworth. He had always been one to get emotional at weddings, he did at Daphne's and both of Anthony's, he nearly sobbed when his baby sister Francesca tied the knot. But, now, it was his turn.

The sunlight shining through the windows bounced off her red curls, her veil gently laying against the back of her head, a beautiful bouquet gripped tightly in her hands with a single ray of sunshine shining from the engagement ring which had once belonged to Violet Bridgerton, the sole believer that two people could go from being just friends to more.

She met him in front of the altar, smiling up at him as Mr. Dankworth stood only slightly between Colin and Penelope, waiting for the cue from the officiant to pass Penelope over to Colin (a part of her transition from Featherington to Bridgerton).

"Who gives this woman away?" He asked.

"I do," Mr. Dankworth said, leaving a familiar kiss on Penelope's knuckles, shaking hands with Colin and making his way back down the steps to the Featherington side.

Kiss you once ‘cause I know you had a long night, kiss you twice ‘cause it’s gonna be alright, three times ’cause you waited your whole life.

For once in his life, Colin didn’t care about a wedding breakfast. He wanted to go to his new home with his new wife and do unspeakable things to her. Well, unspeakable to the rest of the ton…

Even though he said he didn’t care about the wedding breakfast - that does not mean he wasn’t going to eat. That would be completely out of character for him.

But he was going to make it well known how much he adores his wife.

Eventually, Portia got sick of looking at Colin fawning over her third daughter (her two other sons-in-law hadn’t acted like this when they got married, or since in front of her) and almost demanded they be sent on their ‘honeymoon’.

Colin took this as the green light to hide his wife away from the ton for nearly a month. That was his plan anyway.

His plan after their month hidden away, was to travel to some of the countries he had already visited - but now with his wife.

I want to drive away with you, I want your complications too. I want your dreary Mondays, wrap your arms around me, baby boy.

After greeting the staff of their new home, Colin carried Penelope up the stairs to their chambers (which they had already done and had some… intimate… moments before they were wed).

Colin shut the door behind them, making sure to turn the lock so they wouldn’t be disturbed.

He turns in his spot to look at his wife. His wife . "I love you," Colin tells her. "I love you with everything I am, everything I have been and everything I hope to be."

"Colin..." Penelope trails off, looking up at her future husband with her wide eyes.

"I love you with my past, and I love you for my future. I love you for the children we will have and for the years we will have together. I love you for every one of my smiles, and even more, for every one of your smiles."

He reaches out to cup her face, and gently wipes away the tear. “Nothing could ever make me not love you. Even Whistledown.”

#bridgerton fic #married polin #Polin #colin x pen #pen x colin #penelope x colin #colin x penelope #colin bridgerton #penelope bridgerton #harry dankworth #s3p2 speculation #cross posted on ao3 #Spotify

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avareiahgt · 6 months ago

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So, this is my first writing in order to explain a bit of my world. I'm so sorry for my English, i hope you can at least understand what I'm trying to say hehe.

I would love to post some pictures of my characters but I'm not the artist type, to my disgrace.

No more waiting, I know this chapter isn't the most interesting, but it's our introduction and I think it's important.

Warnings: mentions of death, mentions of violence, human experimentation

Next part

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

PROLOGUE

I guess you’re wondering what everything of this is about. Well, I’m going to tell you an ancient story:

History books say, a lot of centuries ago, one and only kind of humans inhabited this planet. They were all the same, they were born with the same abilities and possibilities, paying some mind to little differences: skin color, religion or sexuality were some of them…

But one day marked the future and all those things that kept them separated stopped matter anymore.

First offspring met daylight crushing the mother form the insides. Four months forward, that baby had the stature of an adult, normal human. Emergency interventions by the responsible scientists were actually useless, letting the breaking news slip into radio and TV, the project of a giant baby that made its mother explode due to the fetus’s abnormal size and development.

It would be a wonderful terror story if it weren’t because it wasn’t an isolated case. A lot of incidents like the previous one peaked some weeks after that. Who knows if the rich and privileged knew about this before the rest of us…

Strong investigations started in every country. What could it be? Toxins, viroides, mutations… Nothing seemed to make sense, they couldn’t find the reason. Sadly, some predacious people put their eye on it looking for a unique opportunity. New test tube babies. They weren’t genetically engineered but, once fertilized and showed an excessive growth, they were extracted from the belly and maintained on enormous tanks that emulated placenta.

First years were met with failures and the deafening fall in the world birth rate. Just a few babies were born with normal conditions, with human proportions. Anyways, the discouraging perspective for couples to keep trying to be parents made it collapse. No one wanted to give birth. Chances were low, only 12% of pregnancies found the four-leaf clover and went awfully normal. The horror of the remaining 88% meant an overdeveloped not-born crushed the mother form the inside without enough development to eat, breath of merely live without a machine. They were trying to maintain a giant one or two-month fetus. It would never work.

Babies kept growing in size while time passed but not a single one survived. One decade went by a number of deaths and lost inversions until… a baby girl was born. Healthy, pretty and gigantic. While the clinics and labs halls were full of cheers, streets were full of hate. What to do with a baby that no one could properly attend? Who would teach, feed and handle her? And, the least and worst, who was going to deal with her when she was adult enough? Who were supposed to go against her wishes?

Sooner than later, some of the brightest minds found a conclusion: if we couldn’t stop nor fix whatever mutation that afflicts them, we would improve it. We would learn and work for a new human generation. Opposition and admiration became enemies to death. Cities burned, complains were massacred and, of course, entire governments and countries fell. From time to time, the first fights were replaced for some with new values. Nevertheless, there was something that anybody could kill… human scientific curiosity.

More than a million new human failures were the first stone for the future path: to replicate the original mutation on adults became a reality. Shifting was slow, painful and irreversible, but compulsory. First of all, it was a progressive change, they were bigger each time holding their morality and intelligence, which only resulted in more experiments, cheerfully this time. Even so, it all was a unique question: why would you want -and keep- 90 feet human guinea pigs if you weren’t enough strong nor competent to even control them? Like every human being, those experiments also became ambitious. Finally, an important 72% of population reacted positive to the mutation, it seemed that the new designed virus acclimated itself slow but unstoppable. From that initial 72% only the half made it through. Which was the position the old generation was holding in now? A minority, so small at number and size both.

There were multiple tries for coexistence thanks to equality factions, none of them worked. There wasn’t a single person in the whole world that didn’t know the REM implications. It started as an integrative association for the new -old- minority for them to live in big cities, just so oversized for them. Unfortunately, soon the cover went down: it was a military special branch focused in infiltrations and information seekers. They had never stopped those experiments. The main director, Avery Dorens, showed his face without doubt when his name appeared on every media. Visionary, he called himself, who had been fighting in order to find a cure for the Older’s involution problem. His followers were ex-military agents, spies and even ex-convicted. All of them strong people with weak or broken ideals. Nothing could stop him and, some years later, even with his expedient still opened, Dorens’s project received tons of support and financing.

That’s how war started. A war my side lost. Giants versus humans. Step by step, giants replaced us. Some of us were immune, I don’t know why, so we saw ourselves as the resistance. We were the ones loyal to the human race. This meant a rupture with society. Most of knowledge became lost or destroyed because of the war. Giants called themselves Newman, the new improved human race, since my kind was baptized as Older, the old, outdated, weak that had to disappear in order to favor the specie’s development. Newman versus Older.

Older were expelled after losing the Size War. They hid themselves into the most rural places, out of reach from Newman. It wasn’t an easy task since nature seemed to grow with them, grass strands were the size of a person. A lot of species disappeared along the Size War, some others integrated the mutation.

Nowadays, here we are. It’s been 200 years and, theoretically, Older are all dead. We are a fantasy creature that only appear on kid’s tales and history books. We have been forgotten and my generation is being prepared to guide our little world, the one they let us without knowing it.

Who would believe that creepy story? It was a horror tale to tell the children to sleep. Real world was there waiting for me to conquer it. I wasn’t supposed to waste my life yearning for something interesting to happen in Berhem, was I? It was a beautiful and small city with a familiar atmosphere. It was perfect for breeding kids and living a peaceful, long live. It was placed in a long-lost forest, protected by some hundreds of natural, green barriers that kept us from the ugly outside. None of the young knew how to go through it neither we had permission. Where was the sea? Snow? Dessert? Legends, that’s all it was. And I wasn’t one to keep dreaming and waste my time wondering. I needed to know the truth.

What was outside those green walls?

—Don’t stop running, Walker! — the trainer’s voice resonated through the pavilion’s walls. I knew she wasn’t expecting an answer, so I didn’t. I kept my usual rhythm. Resistance test was the one I was focused now, it took me time to get the trick, but I got it at least.

Sooner than later, my life was going to change. I was training for the Military Force, Exterior Initiative -MFEI abbreviated - section. I’d always been a curious child. Reckless and shameless, my mother used to say. Me joining MFEI was completely opposite to her beliefs but she had understood it would be the only way for me to be happy: finding answers to my never-ending questions.

I could have started my own little company, study abroad, learn a profession or even just stay at home with a good husband who would keep me fed and healthy, but that wasn’t my deal after all. I dreamt about exploring new areas, look for whatever land that was our so far in the past. I wanted to find a time where we weren’t Older, just human.

And that time would come when I was accepted at MFEI.

#sizetumblr #gt community #gt writing #Serendipity #sfw gt #size difference #i don't know if this has been done before #but it has been YEARS in my mind so I had to try #I had it written on my language but it went hard to translate #I cried a little #please let me know if something doesn't make sense #OC: Hanna Walker

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somefanchick · 1 year ago

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-Deuce’s Winter Break-

(This story is from Deuce's perspective during the events of book four. I only know information from the English server story and events so sorry if anything is terribly out of character. This fic is platonic and is cannon for my female Yuu-sona, but I do just call them Yuu in the story. Yuu uses she/her pronouns. Hope you enjoy! Ps. There is a little bit of cussing. Found the pictures in a post by @ naruryun, they are not mine.)

“We should trade Magicam IDs now that you've got a smartphone,” Ace pulled out his phone and began typing out Yuu’s account in the search bar, “Y'know, in case something comes up.”

I smiled as I pulled up the app on my own phone, “Oh, good idea. I'll share mine, too.”

Yuu’s ID was a play on the fact that the headmaster called her “Beast Master” after we got back from the dwarf’s mine. I could always tell she was secretly proud of that title.

Ace finished adding her, “Feel free to hit me up if you get bored over winter break.”

She smirked, which was her form of a smile, “Thanks, I'll do that.”

“Man, you take everything I say so seriously Yuu,” Ace chuckled, “I was joking.”

I glared, “Then it was a lame one,” I then turned to smile at Yuu as I added her, “Anyway, feel free to reach out if you need anything at all,” I quickly tucked my phone in my pocket and grabbed my bag, “My mom's probably waiting on me, so I'd better go,” I began walking towards the Dark Mirror, “Happy holidays guys.”

I could hear Ace behind me, “Yeah, I'll do the same. See you next year!” I could hear him running to catch up with me, but I was already whispering the name of my street and stepping into the murky abyss.

It was hard to see my mom among the other kids meeting their families. Children cheering as their older siblings came home from their schools, parents hugging their grown babies and fussing over their bags of laundry, and the students basking in the attention that coming home brings.

I looked through the crowd and found my mom. My grandmother always said I was the spitting image of her. She had straight, navy blue hair cut into a bob, blonde streaks weaving into a larger mass of hair. Her eyes looked gray in the afternoon sun, but I knew they were really cyan.

She caught my eye and lit up, “Deuce!”

I ran over to save her the trouble, “Hey Mom.”

“Let me get a look at you,” Mom gently grabbed my face and moved me around, “I can barely believe that’s my son.”

I pulled back and put my hand behind my neck, “I guess I’ve changed a bit since I left.”

She smiled, “You have no idea how proud I am of you.”

I flushed under her gaze, “Let’s head on home.”

She giggled, “As long as you tell me all about school.”

I gathered my bag under my arm, “Fine.”

Home was the same as it had been when I left. A small apartment with blankets piled on every chair and letters piled on the kitchen counter. I set my bag in my room and then moved to the kitchen, where Mom had begun fixing dinner.

“I’m making folded egg sandwiches,” Mom had her back turned to me, “Is that alright?”

“Yeah,” I sat down at the dining table, “So what do you want to know?”

“Everything,” Mom moved to the stove, “I haven’t heard anything from your teachers.”

“Well I’m doing okay in class, but that might just be because Trey, Riddle, and Yuu help me out.”

“Who are they?”

“Well, Trey and Riddle are in Heartslabyul with me. Trey’s the vice-housewarden and he’s like the dorm mother hen. He’s done most of the tutoring, but Riddle helps him sometimes. Riddle’s the housewarden and he’s ridiculously strict.”

“Oh really?” Mom started grating cheese, “And who’s this Yuu person?”

“Yuu is one of my-” I tried to think of the right word. Our group never calls ourselves ‘friends’, but that seems to be the only word to describe how we are. Yuu calls us “Dumbass Beasts”, but I don’t want to tell my Mom that.

“She’s one of my best friends.”

I could hear Mom’s eyebrow raise, “‘She’? Isn’t Night Raven an All Boys school?”

“That surprised me too, but Yuu’s an exception to a lot of rules,” My phone vibrated with a message, I spoke as I went to pull it up, “She doesn’t have magic, she’s only half a student, and she isn’t even from this world.”

Mom grabbed the bread from the breadbox, “I’m going to need you to explain all of that.”

“I wish I could.”

The message was from Yuu; Cater has been tagging me in his old photos for the past two hours. How did he even know I got a Magicam account? I couldn’t help but laugh.

Mom scooped the folded eggs onto the bread, “At least explain the ‘half a student’ comment.”

“Well,” I sat my phone back on the table, “Since Yuu doesn’t have magic she and this monster named Grim share a single enrollment. But Yuu’s in charge of him since she’s the Ramshackle dorm prefect.”

“Ah,” Mom set the plate down in front of me, “Is that all your friends?”

“Nah, I’m friends with Ace too,” I got up to get something to drink, “He’s one of my roommates.”

“Ace Trappola?” Mom began making her own egg sandwich, “I think his father works at your grandfather’s company.”

I poured a glass of orange juice and made my way back to the table, “The four of us have done a lot in one semester.”

“Like what?”

“Well Ace and I challenged Riddle for his title.”

“What?”

“Yeah,” I took a sip of my juice, “Ace got in trouble for eating Riddle’s tart and then it became a huge deal. Riddle ended up overbloting.”

I swear Mom’s eyes bulged out of her head, “Overblot!?”

“Yeah. Yuu led all of us into battle to keep the other student’s safe and to keep Riddle from destroying himself. But that was only the first overblot.”

“The first?”

“Yeah don’t worry about it,” I took a large bite of my sandwich, “Yuu always has it under control. Even if she’s just directing us. It’s amazing.”

Mom sat down next to me, “Do you have a picture of your friends?”

I picked up my phone, “Not unless you count pictures Cater took while we weren’t expecting it. And then posted on Magicam with a dozen hashtags.”

“Maybe you could ask Yuu and Grim for a picture? I’d love to see them.”

“Sure,” I opened up Yuu’s message, “It’s not like they have much else to do at school.”

“At school? Did they not go somewhere for winter break?”

“They didn’t have anywhere to go.”

Mom set down her food, “Invite them to come here in spring. I’d be happy to host them.”

I chuckled, “Alright,” I texted Yuu; Hey my mom wants to see a pic of you and Grim. Mind sending one?

It took a moment for Yuu to respond; Yeah sure. Just let me get the weasel.

I set my phone down, “She’s gonna send a picture of her and Grim.”

“How sweet,” Mom took the moment to begin eating.

Our conversation dissolved into specific stories and the basics of our lives apart. It was weird how I felt so at home, while only feeling like a guest in the apartment. My Mom gushed and worried in waves as I talked about the Spelldrive tournament and the final exams. It was sweet to see her so happy about my actions. About who I was. I had given her a son to be proud of.

I spent the next day with my mom, meeting with other family and shopping for the holidays. But that night my phone lit up with a message from Yuu; Trapped in Scarabia, I’ll explain later.

I was up all night, waiting for my phone to buzz again, but the only notification I got was Ace messaging me to ask if I had heard anything else from Yuu.

Eight AM came around and I chugged two cups of coffee before heading out on a walk to keep my mind off of Yuu’s vague and semi-terrifying message.

“Hey Deuce!” I froze in my tracks, turning to see my old ‘pal’ Hatter, his lackey Coney trailing behind.

Hatter was the leader of the delinquents I hung out with in middle school. He called me his equal until I went straight. His appearance hadn’t changed; hair bleached a platinum blonde, green eyes that constantly had a crazed look as they dashed from victim to victim, a trailing black jacket with copper buttons, and of course his iconic evergreen tophat with the price tag sticking out the brim.

Coney matched the jacket, but he had his own brand of insane to portray. His hair was bleached to a honey blonde and his brown rabbit ears stuck out of his head with copper piercings along every furry edge. His black eyes always seemed to be watching Hatter, as if he was waiting for the signal to attack.

“How have you been, man?” Hatter wrapped his arm around my shoulder as if we had only been apart for a week or so, “Coney here was just saying how much he missed seeing you on that blastcycle of yours. Right Coney?”

Coney nodded like his life depended on it, “Yes! Yes!”

“Look guys,” I made an effort to move out of their reach, “I’m not-”

“Aw,” Coney stopped nodding, “Are you not fun anymore?”

“What?”

“Sounds like you hit the bullseye Coney,” Hatter began messing with his brim, a signal to change their approach, “I guess you were serious about that ‘going straight’ thing.”

“I am,” I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket, “And I have to go.”

“Go?” Hatter came closer, backing me into an alleyway, “But we just reunited!”

“I’m not like you guys anymore,” my hand gripped my phone in my pocket, praying that it would buzz again, “I have friends who need me right now.”

Coney’s hand drifted towards a bright blue dumpster, “You think you're better than us?”

“No way mate,” Hatter smirked and whipped his own magic pen out, “Tea Party!” My arms went flying up, my phone and other valuables making a mad dash for Hatter’s and Coney’s open hands. Hatter caught my phone and looked at the message, “This ‘Ace’ fella is.”

My heart sank, the message wasn’t from Yuu.

Coney looked over, “Oh what’s this? You and this ‘Ace’ are talking about a girl?”

“What did he say?”

Hatter smirked, “Oh? So this ‘going straight’ thing is for the eye of some lovely lady. I’m hurt.”

“No,” I marched forward and grabbed my wallet from Coney’s hand, “I’m becoming a better person for myself. I want to be an honor’s student and I’m doing a damn good job. Yuu is just a friend.”

“Sure,” Hatter rolled his eyes, “I’ll believe that,” he changed his voice to mock mine, “‘Look at me, giving up my freedom for some stupid dream of being an honor’s student.’ No way. You’re not built for that Deuce.”

My phone buzzed in his hand.

“I used to respect you Spade,” He put my phone in the ribbon of his tophat, taunting me, “Now look at you. You’re a fucking chump.”

My phone buzzed again. Something inside of me snapped like a dry twig. I could feel my body heat from the inside out, old mussels returning to their place. I didn’t reach for my pen. I just punched the bastard.

Hatter went flying back into the wall, clearly expecting to have to taunt me longer before I took action. Coney didn’t hesitate to pounce on me, knocking me to the ground under him. He fired off punch after punch, leaving the taste of blood on my lips. I kicked him off and into Hatter, aiming to get my phone back. I had to see if it was Yuu.

It all turned into a blurr. A barrage of fists coming from all directions. All I focused on was Hatter’s stupid tophat.

I got the phone back and backed away. No one followed me.

All of the messages were from Ace.

Yuu hasn’t explained. What does her text even mean?

Should we go back and check on her?

I’m going. I don’t know what’s happening but it sounds like trouble. Meet me at the bus stop in town in two hours if you’re joining me.

I cleaned off in a park restroom before running home to pack a duffel bag. Mom was immediately understanding and packed me a few sandwiches for Ace and me. She smiled and reminded me that Yuu was welcome to come back with me, as well as telling me to text her when I was coming back. I nodded and gave her a hug before running out the door.

The two hours were up and I met with Ace at the bus stop.

Ace was pacing, waiting for the noon bus, “Who just messages that they’ve been kidnaped and then doesn’t respond for twelve hours!? Yuu’s going to be the death of us.”

“Calm down,” I hid my own anxieties, “This is Yuu we’re talking about. If anyone can handle being ‘trapped’, it’s her. Plus, Grim should be with her.”

“You say that like that’s a good thing.”

“Fair enough,” I kept going, “But despite the fact that it’s Grim, he can still fire off spells. Plus he’s pretty good with fire magic. Maybe we’ll arrive to see Scarabia in blue flames.”

“Again, you say that like that’s a good thing.”

“It’s the best thing I can think of.”

The PA system cracked to life, “Bus to Night Raven terminal is now boarding on platform three.”

“Come on,” I grabbed my bags and began walking, “Our friend needs us.”

#twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland Ace #twisted wonderland deuce #twisted wonderland disney #twisted wonderland Yuu #twisted wonderland drabble #twisted wonderland reader #oneshot #deuce spade #twst mc #twst deuce #disney twst

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fcble · 10 months ago

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GREAT THINGS, PART I

"Call to me and I will answer you, and will tell you great and hidden things that you have not known." — Jeremiah, 33:3.

In which Haksu becomes an idol in an unorthodox way. FEATURING: Kang Haksu, Lee Taein, Fable ensemble SETTING: November 2017 WORD COUNT: 10.3k WARNINGS / NOTES: Stalking, blackmail, extremely heavy-handed religious themes. Welcome to the piece that kicked my ass for over a year 🎉🎉. As in I started it a year ago and then wrote 9k words in the past two weeks. I have versions of this piece in three different perspectives. This is technically a rewrite of something I wrote earlier but now a few times longer 🎉🎉.

You’re going to do great things. You know this because it’s all anyone’s ever told you. You hear it from your father and your mother and your father’s father—until he dies—and your father’s mother—until she dies too—and your mother’s father and your mother’s mother.

You wonder when the great things will start. Time flips by, like the thin pages of the Bible that has resided on your bedside table since you were five. You’re a kid, a teenager, a young adult. You enter and exit middle school and high school. You begin to attend a mediocre university in Seoul, because it’s the only one in the city that accepted you. You brush that off, because you’re going to be great.

You think if you’re really, truly, going to be great, you might have to do it yourself.

The man’s name is Lee Taein. You meet him for the first time in a dream. You memorize the lines and planes of his face, because something about him is familiar. You conclude he must be rich or famous or both.

In the dream, he doesn’t tell you his name. You find it yourself, on the Internet, holding the image of his face in your head as you comb through the other dream fragments: a stage, a song, a single voice. You’ve never thought about being a singer. You wonder why.

You know how to sing. You’ve spent over a decade in choirs. You could be a singer.

That, you decide, is greater than whatever you’re doing now, which isn’t much of anything, and certainly nothing someone great would be doing.

You do your research. A lot of research. You spend your nights in bed, the darkness of your bedroom illuminated only by your laptop screen. In the mornings, you spend twice as long covering up the shadows under your eyes.

It’s a worthwhile exchange. You learn Lee Taein is forty-nine years old. Last year, he parted ways with SM Entertainment to found his own entertainment company. You dig deeper.

He married his current wife four years ago. Her name is Jung Eunyoung. She’s forty-three, and yet has risen no higher than a secretary for a minor law firm. You learn all this from her very public Instagram profile.

His biggest vice is gambling—some of it barely legal, most of it not. You find a news article from 1999 detailing an illegal gambling ring bust. His name is mentioned once.

His new company is called Zenith Entertainment. You’re briefly disappointed to see that the last time they held auditions was February.

There are partially censored Tweets and forum threads speculating the identities of the company’s trainees. You look at the grainy pictures and read the names: Jaeseop, Kiyoung, Eunsu.

You keep meticulous notes: index cards and the Notes app and a notebook you bought solely to organize your thoughts. Your grades slip. You haven’t attended class in three weeks.

You spend your days at a coffee shop across the street from Zenith Entertainment. You sit in a corner with a view of the building. You order the two cheapest items on the menu: a cookie and a small black coffee. You open your laptop and your notebook and pretend to work, covering the pages of your notebook with another sheet of paper whenever someone walks by.

Mostly, you watch.

You keep track of the people entering and exiting the building. Many of them work in the copywriting agency, based on their business casual outfits. You’ve stepped into the building once, only to be overwhelmed by the bright lights and the quiet hum of computers and the feeling of wrongness at being in a professional setting.

Taein dresses almost the same. If you didn’t know what he looked like, you’d miss him. The difference is in his stride and his posture: back straight, head forward, quick and even steps. You like him even more for that. He arrives in the late morning and leaves after the sun sets. You note the times: 9:43 AM, 10:02 AM, 9:56 AM, 7:19 PM, 7:48 PM, 8:10 PM.

You learn the intricacies of his schedule. There are days when he never arrives at all. You watch and wait as the hours tick by. Eight o'clock, nine o'clock, ten, eleven. No Lee Taein in sight. You wonder what he does when he doesn't work.

There are times when he'll step outside in the middle of the day, the movement catching your eye. You watch him stand on the sidewalk across the street and smoke a cigarette while he speaks on the phone. Twenty minutes later, he'll head back inside.

Sometimes you watch him leave accompanied by a younger man, somewhere around your age, who walks nearly, but not quite, behind him. You assume that must be his personal assistant or secretary or something along those lines.

Some of the people who visit the building must be trainees. You identify them from their age—young—and their dress—casual—and the times they arrive—all throughout the day. Occasionally, they stop by the coffee shop first, becoming more and more familiar to you.

There’s the tall foreigner who pronounces Americano with a distinctly Western accent. He arrives early in the morning, ordering his coffee shortly after you. He crosses the street in casual clothes and leaves in the late afternoon with the copywriter crowd, having changed into a more formal suit jacket and dress pants. You miss his departure for days until you realize he’s dressed differently.

There are the two high schoolers: one in a lurid yellow school uniform and another in a more sensible navy blue one. Sometimes their friend arrives earlier than them and sits a few tables down from you. He doesn’t wear a uniform. He sits for a half hour or so with his earbuds in while his iced coffee melts in front of him, until the high schoolers arrive. They talk loudly and boisterously, as if no one is listening.

You listen. You learn their names—Eunsu, Byeonghwi, Mingeun—and their orders—cold brew with an extra shot of espresso, iced caffè mocha, iced caffè latte. You hear them complain about teachers and Taein and trainee life.

You wonder if they could be your way in.

At night, when your roommate asks where you spend all your time, you tell him you got a job. He asks where. You fidget and your palms sweat and your heartbeat quickens. You stare past him and lie.

That weekend, you travel a few kilometers farther than usual and confess your sins.

Absolved, you think you’re ready for what comes next.

You have to talk to Taein. You can’t be great if all you do is wait and watch.

You peruse your notes, all of that information collected from your research and your observations, and then you devise your plan. You ask for His guidance and affirmation every day until you receive it. It comes in the form of one of your professors agreeing to overlook the sudden string of zeros in your homework assignments and tests. You were a decent enough student until a little over a month ago. If your previous work can be so easily overworked and dismissed, then maybe it’s time for your true calling. You’ve waited for this moment your entire life.

Less than a week later, you walk into the building like you belong there, not too early, not too late. You wear a winter jacket, which you shed as soon as you step inside, over a stiffly starched collared shirt and your best Sunday pants. You step into the elevator, alone, and decide to start at the top. You press the button for the fifth floor. It refuses to light up. You press it again and again to no avail. You stand in the still elevator and try the fourth floor.

Your ascent begins. You planned it all out: it's just after nine in the morning, after all the copywriters start their work and much too early for the students to be around. You're a last-minute callback from the audition, though that was months ago. It explains why Taein won't recognize you. You spoke to someone over the phone, someone named—what was her name? You can't remember. She said you should visit, so you're here—and oh, the appointment isn't in his calendar? She must have forgotten. You'll smile winningly and apologetically and Taein will be so charmed he'll agree to take you on on the spot.

You haven’t thought farther than that.

You step out of the elevator and into a dimly lit hall. The very air seems stale. There seems to be no one else around, so you proceed slowly down the hall. The fluorescent lights cast everything in a sickly yellow shade. You’re presented with two doors. The one on the left has a small glass window. You angle yourself away from it, on the off chance that someone sees you and knows you don’t belong. The one on the right is windowless, a blank slate of dark brown wood.

You debate internally for a few moments. The longer you stay there, the longer you risk meeting someone other than Taein. You try the plain door. The knob turns easily in your hand.

“Jaeseop?” A voice asks from inside. You aren’t Jaeseop, but you’ve seen that name before.

You steel yourself, silently ask for His guidance, and turn the knob all the way.

“If you’re asking about managing the social media accounts again, the answer is no,” the voice continues. It belongs to a middle-aged man, in a plain dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a ballpoint pen in the breast pocket. He looks away from his computer screen, and you find yourself face-to-face with Lee Taein.

“You must be lost. The copywriting agency is on the first two floors,” Taein says.

“I’m supposed to be here,” you say. You bow, politely, to him, then add on, “My name is Kang Haksu. I received a call a few days ago—”

Taein cuts you off, which is maybe for the better, because now that you were about to say it, your story is paper-thin and a bit silly. “You didn’t receive anything. There were no calls. You’re no one.”

Nothing is going to plan, so you do your best to improvise. “I know you’re developing an idol group. I need to be part of it.”

Taein stares at you like he can’t believe those words came out of your mouth. You believe them. You need this. Who will you be if you don’t do this?

“This is not a charity.” His voice is bone dry. “We can’t get everything we want in life. It’s better to learn that lesson early. Tell whoever sold you your information on my business and I that I don’t take charity cases.”

“I’m not a sasaeng.” His words sting. It’s a veiled accusation, but an accusation nonetheless.

“I never said you were. People like you are a dime a dozen, thinking you can waltz into the entertainment industry with no experience and no connections and immediately become a superstar. It takes much more hard work, skill, and luck than someone like you can imagine. Try your luck somewhere else.”

His words strip you to the core. Were you too naive, thinking you’d be different? You shrink back from the ferocity of it all, cowed more than you’d like to admit. You don’t take his words to heart. You can’t go anywhere else. You’re supposed to be here, under Taein’s direction.

You don’t know how or when, but you’ll be back. You’ll find another way. You don’t have anything to say to his words, the humiliation still burning across your face, so you turn tail and flee.

You escape out into the cold, winter morning, no closer to your destiny than you were an hour ago. If anything, you’re objectively farther away. Taein knows you now, knows your name and your face and your deepest desire. You don’t let that stop you. You vow to yourself to never let him get the best of you like that again. You’ll be seeing him a lot in the future, you know, because you’ll be in his group.

By the time you enter the cafè across the street again, you’re bouncing back. You’ve always been resilient. You’re shielded, after all, by the grace of God. The cashier starts to ring up your usual black coffee and cookie order, but you wave it away and spend a little more on a latte instead. As you sip your drink and stare broodingly at the building across the street, your second plan begins to form. If it’s a sasaeng Taein wants, then it’s a sasaeng he’ll get.

On your way home, you stop at a convenience store and buy a new notebook. You sit on your dorm room bed and think about the days you spent watching the building, the days when Taein was nowhere to be found. He’s a bit of a workaholic, but clearly not enough to spend seven days a week at his workplaces. You, on the other hand, are unemployed enough to spend seven days a week looking into what he does. You copy the dates and times out of your old notebook and try to find a pattern.

He arrives late on Mondays, but you chalk that up to a normal dislike of Mondays. The rest of the weekdays are sporadic. There was a week where Taein missed three days of work in a row. You wonder if it's something else, if it's easily explainable. Maybe he caught a cold. It is winter, after all. You dismiss the thought. He's up to something. You know he is.

The day he misses the most often is Tuesday, from the few weeks you've watched him. In fact, he's never been at work on a Tuesday. You wonder why you never noticed that before.

It's Thursday, which means you have a few days to continue your research. You do a quick search for how much a private investigator costs, and are shocked by the results. It's fine. You can be a private investigator yourself. How hard can it be?

You plug Taein's name into one of those less-than-reputable websites that promise addresses and phone numbers. You're prompted to create an account and pay a small fee. You click through it all without hesitating. A few thousand won now means very little in the great, grand scheme of your idol destiny.

Multiple people with the same name as Taein pop up. You aren't worried, because your Taein is a public figure. That, and you know his age and his wife’s name.

Eventually, one of them fits the bill perfectly. You take a quick break to straighten your posture and ease the stiffness from your spine. You've been sitting here, engrossed in your new plan, for the better part of an hour.

Your best guess so far is an address in Hongje-dong. You've been lucky in your observation so far. That must mean you're on the right track. You're getting closer and closer with each passing day. Tomorrow you'll close the distance between you and your destiny.

In the morning, you wake up extra early to get to Hongje-dong before Taein leaves. You doubt he takes the subway anywhere, so you rent a bike and make your way to his address. You only lose your balance twice in your first block. It’s early enough in the morning that there’s no one around to see you.

You arrive at the address much faster than you expected. The sun is only barely beginning to creep over the horizon. Then you pause, because Taein lives in a condominium. Every house on the block looks the same. The only differences are the cars parked out front of each one and the numbers on the houses. You stick out here, a young man on a bicycle with nowhere to go. You take one last look at Taein’s home and the car outside—a white Mazda—then wheel yourself around and pedal out.

You repeat the license plate to yourself in your head until you arrive at a convenience store. It’s the only place around that’s open. You buy a bag of chips and take a seat outside, keeping an eye out for Taein. You add the plate number to your notes and try to figure out exactly what kind of car he drives. You have time to spare. You expect him to head to the Zenith Entertainment building today, and he tends to arrive around nine or ten. After you consider traffic, it shouldn’t take him more than half an hour.

You’re almost certain he drives a 2015 Mazda 3. You head back inside and buy a coffee. Then you take a few moments to think through your plan. Like if Taein drives, then where in the city does he park? Naver Map told you this convenience store was along the quickest route to Sinmunno 2-ga. What if he has a faster route?

You’re still worrying when Taein’s car speeds by, much faster than the speed limit allows. You jump up from your seat, nearly spilling your coffee. You can’t hold it and ride your bike at the same time, so you hurry to dispose of it and pack up your notes again. You pray Taein is heading to Zenith Entertainment. It’s a little early, but maybe there’s a good reason for that. You set off in the same direction as him, though he’s disappeared from sight.

You make your way to Zenith Entertainment anyway, and by chance, see a white Mazda disappearing into a parking garage down the road from the company building. It’s too far for the garage to be connected to the building, so you lock your bike across the street and wait for him to leave. You lock and unlock the bike lock three times, fiddling with the combination. You strap the helmet to your backpack and lean against the seat and pretend to look at your phone, all the while eyeing the entrance.

Taein never leaves. You look both ways, then cross the street into the depths of the garage. It’s risky, because Taein could see you and recognize you, but you can’t take the chance that he’s gone somewhere else or is doing something else. Your imagination runs wild, thinking of all the illicit activities he might participate in. There are a number of other cars in the lot. The copywriters, you assume.

Then, in a small walkway that must lead to another entrance, you see him, standing with another man. You duck behind a car, and creep closer to the two of them. Taein must be smoking, because the smell of cigarette smoke permeates your hiding spot.

“You wanted to do more than catch up,” Taein is saying when you can finally hear them.

“I didn’t.” The other man sounds amused.

“We could have met anywhere else. You insisted on this attempt at discretion.”

“It’s about your case,” the other man says. “They want to open it again.”

“I thought you took care of that, Cheolhwan.” Taein sounds guarded. “How much do they want?”

You don’t know what this is about, but you silently take your phone and start to record.

“Twice what you gave me. This is above my pay grade.”

They’re quiet after that. You peek carefully through the cars to see if they’ve left. They’re still standing there, the ember at the end of Taein’s cigarette the brightest light. You duck down again without getting a better look at Cheolhwan. You wonder if he’s a loan shark or something. Breaking off and starting a company can’t be cheap.

“Alright. The police never liked me much anyway,” Taein says suddenly. You poke your head back up to watch him drop his cigarette butt to the ground and grind it under his shoe.

Cheolhwan snorts. “I can’t imagine why. Planning on begging Jinguk again?”

“I don’t beg. Jinguk-ssi and I are proper business partners.”

That gets a laugh out of Cheolhwan, the short, rough, sound echoing around the garage.

You stop your video recording, unsure of whatever that was. You doubt it'll be of use in your quest to be an idol, but you decide to hold onto it for now. You hear footsteps begin to recede in the distance, and you wait in your hiding place until they disappear completely.

All in all, you feel vindicated. There's something suspicious going on with Taein. You're certain you can get to the bottom of it. It's something to do with money. You can find out who Cheolhwan is. Their relationship is uncertain to you. They spoke casually to each other, but there was a degree of aloofness to the entire conversation that you don't know what to make of. Whatever it is, it was more than a simple meeting between friends.

When you’re certain they’re gone, you stand up, stretching out the crick in your neck. You assume Taein will spend the rest of the day at work, and that’s not somewhere you can watch him too closely. You return to your usual haunt across the street instead and make an attempt to catch up on your forgotten coursework.

It’s a good attempt, but you lose all steam when the high school trainees arrive. You stare daggers at their backs, because they’re in the exact position you want to be in. You watch them order their drinks and slowly sip them, idling the afternoon by. You don't understand why they don't take their positions more seriously. There are so many other people—yourself included—who are dying to be where they are.

But you aren’t them, so you have to settle for envy.

Eventually, they leave, and you watch through the window as they enter the Zenith Entertainment building, still laughing and talking companionably. You aren't jealous. You could build your own close group of friends. You just haven't. But if you really wanted to, you could.

The sun begins to set, and you know you've outstayed your welcome. You haven't bought anything since your single coffee hours ago. The waitstaff give you sidelong looks every now and then, but they don't ask you to leave, so you pretend you don't see them.

You finally see Taein make his long-awaited exit a little earlier than usual. He's walking fast. This time, you’re prepared. As his Mazda 3 emerges from the parking garage, you’re right behind him on your bike. You think he should be heading home, but that's not set in stone, so you decide to follow him. Your intuition pays off when you see him turn not back to Hongje-dong, but somewhere else. At a traffic light, you pause to try and figure out where you are. You've only lived in Seoul for a year and a half, the length of your short-lived university career. The city blocks are still unfamiliar to you. The light turns green, and Taein speeds off. You rush to catch up with him.

You wonder where he could be going, driving so quickly he nearly bowls over a pedestrian. Leave it to him to be so careless. Your opinion of him is souring faster and faster.

He comes to a stop outside of a small, decrepit bar you’ve never heard of before, still driving too quickly as he pulls into the parking lot. You stop, across the street again, trying to figure out where you are. It doesn’t like the type of scene that caters to university students or tired corporate employees. Your mind goes to the worst places. It could be a front for all the worst types of activities—drugs and gambling and prostitution. You record the name in flickering neon lights anyway.

You’re about to leave and try to return during the day when you spot Taein leaving. He’s in the company of a young woman, and so you almost don’t recognize him. She’s wearing a long coat, but the front is open, giving you glimpses of an outfit that isn’t close to being warm enough for the weather. She clings to Taein’s arm like a lifeline, stumbling over the cracks in the sidewalk in her heels. They look like a couple. Your stomach turns. He has a wife.

With shaking hands, you raise your phone and snap another few pictures. You don’t want to see him anymore, so you don’t bother to try and follow them. You almost regret your decision to weasel your way into his life. Instead, you get back onto your bike and head home.

Saturday arrives. You don't spend your weekends at Zenith Entertainment, because you have better things to do. Or had. This morning, you wake up early again to bike back to Taein's home. You spent some time last night wondering just how far you’ll go to reach your destiny. Between that shady conversation you overheard yesterday and the young woman he met up with, you’re almost afraid of what you’ll see him do next. Sometimes you have to do difficult things before you can do great things.

More than that you’re curious about what Taein does on the weekends. Before this, your impression of him was that of a career-driven man with few feelings or even an existence outside of his job. You don’t understand why you have to work for this man, but it isn’t your place to question it.

You cycle around the blocks a few times, and it slowly comes to light in your head.

Taein is clearly the breadwinner between him and his lawfully wedded wife, so you doubt he spends his weekends shopping or cooking or cleaning. You also doubt he’s devout. As hard as you try, you can't even begin to picture him in church. You're almost certain he doesn't have kids. If he does, it's a very closely guarded secret, because it wasn't mentioned once in anything you read about him online. You wonder if maybe he had kids with his previous wife and lost custody of them. Knowing what you know about him now, you don’t find that hard to believe.

The white Mazda 3 sits outside of his condo. A light is on inside the house. You aren’t looking forward to spending a day waiting for Taein to do something. You wonder if you should have forked over the money—your parents’ money—for a private investigator. Then it would be someone else keeping watch on Taein’s house, someone more suited for the job than one young man shivering on a bike.

You think it's weird for you to sit right outside his house, so you take to patrolling the two possible entrances to the street instead. You pedal slowly, heading up and down the street. At the moment, there's nothing you fear more than having him leave without you noticing. You pause to scrutinize the map on your phone to ensure there are no other exits or back roads or possible ways out of his home other than the main street.

Then, eventually, you see his car roll by. You rush after it. He's driving slower than normal. That's when you notice it isn't him in the driver's seat, but his wife. She's the only one in the car. It makes sense, then, that the car is following the posted speed limits. You wonder what Taein is possibly doing alone at home now.

You ride back to his house, just in time to see him step outside and lock the door behind him. You stare, shocked, and have just enough sense to hide behind the condo across the street. His wife left less than five minutes ago. Where are they going, separate and alone?

Taein heads off on foot. You wait until you see him leave. The bike is a bit cumbersome. How could you have predicted that his wife would take the car somewhere and he’d leave on foot? You walk alongside your bike and try to pretend you aren't following him. You ride halfway around the block in boredom before you have to turn around so you don't lose him. You wish he could walk faster.

You check your phone. What's within walking distance of his condominium? The convenience store you sat outside of. A station? He could get anywhere from there.

The streets are too empty for you to follow closer. If he were to turn around, he'd spot you immediately. It stresses you out. You aren't a professional. You really should have hired a private investigator.

To your dismay, he turns into the subway station. You abandon your rental bike right outside, tapping through the app to return it as you continue to follow Taein. There are a few more people here, which makes it easier for you to follow him, and easier for him to lose you.

He's waiting for Line 3 towards Ogeum, the only line that runs through this station. You check the overlapping lines on the map, standing behind him so he doesn't see you. There are too many options for possible transfers: Jongno 3-ga, Euljiro 3-ga, Chumgmuro, Yaksu, Oksu, and on and on and on. You hope he doesn't travel too far. You hope he doesn't get off somewhere and order a taxi. You fill the time by once again trying to imagine what he does for fun on the weekends. For some reason, you can't picture him doing anything. He's the type of person to spend the weekend at the office. You chart the path to Zenith Entertainment from your current location. It’s two stops on the line and then a short walk. It wouldn't surprise you if he stopped there. You don't particularly want to go to Zenith Entertainment again. You're supposed to find something about him that will leave him no choice but to accept you. The woman he met yesterday was a good start. You wonder if he's heading out to see her again.

As you're lost in your thoughts, the train arrives. You make sure you're in the same car as Taein, though it increases the chances of him noticing you. You'll have to play it off as a coincidence. You rehearse the lines in your head. You'll pretend you don't recognize him. As if you could forget what he looks like. He might not recognize you, you realize. You met him once, for a few minutes. The train picks up speed.

You pass through the first few stops with no incidents. So Taein isn’t going to work. Your interest is piqued.

You're on the train with him for almost forty-five minutes. You watch station after station pass by, the smooth tone of the recorded announcer reciting stop after stop. Taein makes no move to exit at a single one. He stares down at his phone, which lets you stare at him. He doesn't do anything interesting. All he does is scroll through his phone, tap his screen a few times, then stare. He looks like your average salaryman.

He finally gets off in Yangjae. You’re in Gangnam now. You let him leave first. When the doors are about to close, you follow after him. He isn't heading out, but through the station. You follow him to a transfer to the Shinbundang Line. You only know this because you’re spending so much time staring at the map on your phone, it’s starting to become engrained on the backs of your eyelids.

He rides the new subway line for one stop. You both exit at Gangnam Station. You follow him up back into the daylight. It's much more crowded here, locals and tourists alike.

Taein walks faster. That probably has something to do with the crowds. You hurry after him, thankful you're no longer burdened with your bike.

He heads down a series of twists and turns, alleyways and backroads forming a route Naver Map would never recommend to you. You’re glad it’s the middle of the day. You’d hate to do this at night.

In front of you, Taein heads into a storefront you wouldn’t be caught dead in. This one doesn’t have a name on top of it. You take a picture anyway, then cross-reference your location with the map. There’s still no name. You debate whether or not you should follow him in. From the outside, it’s not the type of place you belong. But Taein could be doing any matter of incriminating activities in there, and that’s what you need to see.

You let your internal debate rage for a few seconds more. Then you cross the street and push the door open.

The room is dimly lit. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust, and when they do, you realize a few of the patrons are looking at you. You’re the youngest person in the room. You slide up to the bar and order a drink. God knows you need it.

You take a small sip and grimace immediately. It's obvious people don't come here to drink. You cast a casual glance around the room, looking for Taein. It isn't too crowded. He should be easy to spot---and vice versa, he could easily spot you. You don't see him. Most of the patrons are more engaged with the TV screens in the corner of the room and across the top of the bar. You expect to see sports or the news or something along those lines. You look up to see horses.

It clicks in your head. Horse racing. These people are day drinking and gambling. You belong anywhere else in the world but here. And where is Taein, in this entire mess?

You flag the bartender down.

"Did you see a man come in?" you ask. "Middle-aged, around my height, with an oversized watch? His name’s Lee Taein." You do a bit of your own gambling, placing a bet on Taein being a regular here.

The bartender regards you curiously. "You’re looking for Taein-ssi?”

"He’s my boss," you say. "He told me to meet him here. I was promoted recently. He wanted to celebrate."

The words fall easily from your tongue. It's more of a lie than the truth, but it could be the truth soon enough.

"Congratulations. He invited you here and didn't tell you the password?" The bartender shakes his head. He points into an ever darker recess of the room. "Down the hall. To the left of the bathroom. 8179."

You thank him and leave your drink alone. The left of the bathroom is a door with a keypad above the handle. You type in the passcode, and the lock clicks.

Taein is on the other side of the door. Your destiny is on the other side of the door. You take a deep breath and crack the door open.

You don't know what you expected. It certainly wasn't the opposite of what you experienced upstairs. For a secret room, it's well-lit and almost cozy. There aren’t many people in the room, just a few small groups of four or five people sitting around green, square tables, playing cards. Now, you spot Taein immediately, sitting behind a decently-sized pile of poker chips, the largest pile on his table. One of the people he's playing with the young woman you saw him with last night. She seems your age, maybe a few years older or younger.

You close the door silently behind you. Your skin crawls. You want to get out of here as soon as possible.

There's another bar down here, against the back of the wall. The drinks on the tables look significantly better than they do upstairs. You think about getting another one, just to make it look like you belong here and you fit in.

No one seems to notice your entrance, too engaged in their games. Your luck holds as you slide around to take a few pictures of Taein, holding your phone just in front of you, at waist level. Your fingers shake, but blurry photos are better than no photos. No one else has their phones out, not even resting on the poker tables. It feels illegal for you to do this. In fact, everything about this feels illegal. You make sure to get Taein's full face in the images, and from multiple angles. Then you slip your phone back into your pocket.

That's when you're interrupted.

"You're new here." A hand lands on your shoulder. A few people—not Taein—look up at that, before just as quickly returning to their games. You turn slowly around to see a man twice your size, a bouncer inside the club.

"I was looking for the bathroom," you say, aiming for young, fresh-faced innocence.

"How old are you, kid?"

"Nineteen," you lie. You’re twenty-one. You hate how easily that one comes out. You could have told the truth.

"Good try," the man says, keeping his firm grip on your shoulder as he guides you back to the exit. You take a glance back at Taein. Throughout the entire ordeal, he hasn't looked up once, much too concerned with the cards in his hands. Although it doesn’t look like it, you hope he loses.

You aren't in the mood to wait in the real bar until Taein emerges, so you leave.

"Leaving already?" the bartender upstairs asks.

You ignore him. It doesn't matter. You're never coming here again.

You head home to see how blurry your pictures are. You think you might already have enough material to force him to give you a position. He's made it scarily easy for you. You didn't even need a private investigator.

You spend the rest of the week following him around anyway. You've grown used to it: the bike rental and Taein's neighborhood and Zenith Entertainment and a variety of bars and hotels across the entire city you know you’ll never step foot in again, and once, another day spent in Gangnam at a shiny skyscraper. Taein arrived at seven in the morning, earlier than he does at Zenith Entertainment, and didn't emerge until nearly eight at night. That was weird, but you had no way of getting into the building, short of breaking in. You had considered pizza delivery, kid of an employee, new employee, and a few other disguises before giving up. After the bouncer encounter, you’re staying clear of security. And that building made its security obvious, what with all the men in navy blue uniforms and earpieces, standing outside every entrance. What were the chances of Taein doing anything illegal or immoral there? Low, you figured, judging by the number of luxury cars dropping passengers off outside.

In your spare time, you try to find anything about Cheolhwan. With only a first name and a tenuous connection to Lee Taein, it’s difficult. You find two Cheolhwans in Taein’s Korea University graduation class. That was decades ago. You doubt either of those are the same man.

Regardless, you go through with your new plan. Armed with your newly obtained material, you’re ready for your second attempt. You know Taein's schedule now. That means when he arrives at Zenith Entertainment for the day, on a bright, sunny, perfect Wednesday morning, you're standing outside his office.

"You again," Taein says, calm and impassive. "This type of perseverance is seen as obsessive behavior. The answer is no again."

You haven’t even asked your question. You watch him unlock the door to his office.

"Please leave."

You stop him from closing the door with your foot. "I have something you might want to see."

"I don't think so," Taein says. He seems to be in a bad mood. He must have had a bad night last night.

"If you don't want to see it, I think your wife, Jung Eunyoung-ssi, might have an interest in it instead," you say.

That gets his attention. "I don’t see what you’re getting at. I don’t mix business with pleasure."

"Please don't play dumb, Taein-ssi," you say, adapting to each of his evasive attempts. You didn't plan this out. You remember how poorly that went last time. Taein is unpredictable to you. You don't know him nearly well enough to begin to predict any of his responses. "I know you're seeing another woman."

Taein stares at you. "I suppose you should come inside." He sounds extremely reluctant. At the same time, you know this isn't a conversation the two of you should be having in a corridor. You tamp down the sudden flare of excitement in your chest.

His office looks the same as you remember it. You take a seat in the plastic folding chair with the uneven legs.

"Are you a private investigator? A detective? You’ll find everything in order."

He’s defensive already. You’ve barely said anything. The investigator comment is a bit flattering. You like it.

“Everything except your marriage,” you note.

Taein shrugs. "Divorce is messy. I don't have time for that right now."

You think it's terrible that he divorced his first wife, and seems to be considering divorcing his second wife. You shove the thought aside and bring out your phone, placing it on the table between the two of you.

“What’s her name?” you ask. “You seem to spend a lot of time with her.”

It's definitely not the strongest statement, but your proof is what's more important. After all, a picture is worth a thousand words.

"Did Eunyoung hire you?" Taein asks suddenly, ignoring your comment. He's looking at you, instead of the pictures of himself.

"No," you say. "No one hired me."

The two of you look through the album together: Taein and the young woman, arm in arm over and over and over again, in bars and restaurants and hotel lobbies and out on the street in broad daylight.

Then, Taein swipes one photo too far and you’re both presented with a photo of Taein in profile, staring intently at the two playing cards he’s holding. He picks up your phone. "How did you get this?"

He isn’t denying it any longer. You figure it's hard to deny something when the hard, concrete proof is right in front of you.

"I was there," you say.

Taein thinks about it for a second, then nods. "I didn't recognize you then. You were the one Soogeun-ssi removed."

You don't like his choice of words, but you nod anyway. You didn't think he'd noticed you. You thought you were so clever, getting away with everything. You don’t have anything else to say. Your photos speak for you.

"Who paid you?" he asks again, deathly calm. This is uncharted territory. “How much more would I have to pay you?”

“No one paid me anything. I don’t want your money. All I want is to be an idol.”

He shakes his head. “There are easier ways to do that.”

“This is the way I’m doing it. This is the way I want to do it.” This is the way you have to do it.

Taein’s expression is inscrutable. You’ve played your hand. It’s up to him to respond. You wait with bated breath, until he finally says, “I’ll give you a trial period. If you can keep up with everyone else for a month, we can reconsider your position then. If you can’t, then we part ways amicably. No one, least of all Eunyoung, needs to know what you’ve done.”

“I don’t get anything,” you say.

“You get a chance,” Taein snaps. “It’s more than you deserve. Time will tell if this bet pays off.”

You don’t appreciate being compared to a game of roulette. “I might talk to Eunyoung-ssi any time in the future.”

“You might. It won’t make a difference.” He’s oddly calm. It unnerves you.

“Why not?” You have to ask.

“Cheating isn’t illegal. Nor is playing cards in a private setting. Stalking, on the other hand, is.” You can’t do great things from a jail cell, so that keeps you from continuing to argue.

Taein continues to speak. “For the time being, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t try to ruin my marriage. The negative press would be disastrous at this time, and divorce proceedings are lengthy. As long as you want to work for me, our fates are tied.”

That’s a sentiment you can support. You nod slowly. Something like a smile takes its place on Taein's face. “You can come by on Monday. The other trainees know it's too late for me to accept anyone new. Tell them you've been confirmed to debut.”

On your first day, you take the elevator up to the third floor. It opens to a floor much different from the fourth. The left side is the same: a door with a glass window, expanding all the way down as far as you can see. The right side leads into an open office, with cubicles arranged in small groups of fours and fives. There are even a few people sitting amongst the desks. That isn't your place, so you ignore them and push open the door to the left.

There's one person in the room, a teenage boy sitting down on the floor and stretching. He looks up at you when you enter with sharp, calculating eyes. You recognize him for your days in the cafè—Mingeun. He doesn’t seem to recognize you. He rises to his feet, moving with a grace unfit for his age, like he’s so perfectly comfortable in his body despite being in his awkward teenage years. You were nothing like him when you were his age a few years ago.

“I’m Haksu,” you say. “I’m new here.” You smile at him, something you think is befitting of an idol, but he doesn’t return it. If anything, his neutral expression grows frosty.

“Mingeun,” he says stiffly. “Taein-nim promised there wouldn’t be any more new people. Where are you from? JYP? YG?”

He sounds whiny and childish. You’re unimpressed.

“Gunsan,” you try, though you know that’s not what he means.

Mingeun scowls. “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

You’re about to respond, to tell him you’re not from anywhere in the way he means, when the door flies open. You recognize both of the two new arrivals—one is the tall foreigner you’ve seen in the cafè, and the other is the young man you’ve seen following Taein—his assistant, presumably.

“Mingeun!” Taein’s assistant scolds. “Stop harassing the new guy.”

“I wasn’t harassing him,” Mingeun shoots back. “We’re going to be good friends. Right, Haksu-ssi?”

The look he gives you clearly says to play along. You don’t know if you’re going to be good friends, but you nod along anyway. Their conversation continues like you aren’t even there.

“We were just getting to what company he trained at,” Mingeun says. “Then we were going to talk about why Taein-nim thought he should join us.”

Taein’s assistant winces. “You won’t like either of those answers.”

“Another SM reject? I can handle it. I’m over it.”

Taein’s assistant ignores Mingeun and turns to you instead. He holds his hand out, Western-style, and says, “I’m Jaeseop. I’m so sorry about Mingeun. We''—he gestures to himself and the cafè foreigner—”were supposed to be the first ones to meet you. Sam—Taein-nim—held us up. Oh, and that’s Andrew.”

Your first impression of him is that he’s frazzled and all over the place. You imagine being Taein’s assistant is a difficult job. Behind him, Mingeun folds his arms, clearly upset about being excluded from the conversation.

You grasp his hand. “Haksu.”

“I know,” Jaeseop says, suddenly looking like he’d rather be anywhere but in front of you. “Taein-nim told me about you.”

You wonder how much Taein told him. You don’t think he’d tell his assistant everything. It’s supposed to be a secret between the two of you.

“How many—” You hesitate in the middle of your sentence. Of you? Of us? How long until you're one of them? “—other trainees are there?”

“Seven,” Jaeseop says. “With you, there's eight.”

“If you're expecting monthly evaluations and competing against fifty other trainees, we're past that,” Mingeun cuts in.

“We’re the debut team. We’re all that's left,” Andrew adds.

The three of them seem so in-sync with one another, like parts of a perfect, well-oiled machine. You're the loose cog, the piece of scrap metal carelessly tossed inside, with all the potential of breaking the machine into pieces. And how does Taein's assistant fit into all of this? He seems close to Andrew and Mingeun, closer than an assistant to the CEO should be.

“When will I meet everyone else?” you ask, just to change the subject.

Jaeseop, with all the mental fortitude of an overworked assistant, takes a deep breath and begins to rattle off a list of names and short descriptions and times, most of which fly right over your head. “Intak will be here around lunchtime, after his classes end. Byeonghwi and Eunsu come by after school in the mid-afternoon. Kiyoung-hyung keeps saying he'll quit his job, but he hasn't, so he won't be here until the evening.”

Andrew picks up on your obvious cluelessness, and simplifies it down to, “Intak will be here soon. He'll be extremely bad at small talk. Don't mention it to him.”

You don't know where that came from, but you nod along anyway. These are going to be your group members. You need to get along with them.

“Don't talk about League either,” Mingeun adds suddenly. You didn't realize he was still part of the conversation. “Unless you're also an SKT fan upset about their loss. He's really into that. You don't seem like a gamer.”

“I play a bit,” you say diplomatically, because you do. You were a teenage boy at one point, and there was no way for you to survive those years without playing League of Legends at least once.

“We all have sensitive topics, “ Jaeseop says as way of explanation. “Things we don't want to talk about and therefore try to avoid unless there's no other way around it. Mingeun, yours are?”

With a sigh, Mingeun dutifully says, “SM Entertainment. All you need to know is that I used to be a trainee there. And my mom. You don't need to know anything about her.”

Jaeseop keeps saying “we.” If you hadn’t seen him so many times with Taein, you’d take him for another trainee. You want to ask what his role really is, but you know you can't, because it'll betray you. It's harder than you expected to act like you know nothing about them. You'll have to be careful to not slip up.

He turns his full attention to you, and asks, “Got anything?”

This is the last thing you expected from your first day as an idol. Your first item comes quickly. “How I joined Zenith Entertainment.”

You know you'll have to tell them eventually, but for now, you want to get along with everyone. Mingeun looks like he wants to ask you anyway, consequences be damned.

Andrew dismisses him before he can speak. “Byeonghwi asked for the same.”

“He asked us not to ask him why,” Jaeseop corrects. “He got in through the audition.”

Mingeun attacks like a shark smelling blood in the water. “Why’d you do it?”

You could tell them that, you suppose, but something holds you back. You want to be certain you can achieve your destiny before you start shouting it to the world. “I don't want to discuss that either,” you say instead. It's the only way out of it you can see, so you take it.

“Can we talk, hyung?” Mingeun asks, turning to Jaeseop. “Privately?”

You know you'd be the subject of their conversation. You can't decide if that's a good thing or a bad thing. You like the attention, but in this context, it seems bad. You want to get along with Mingeun, but it's clear he has little intention of getting along with you.

“No.” Jaeseop's response is firm, and you like him a little more for that. “You can tell me in front of Haksu-ssi.”

Mingeun falls silent, clearly unwilling to say whatever he wanted to say a few minutes ago.

“Great. Anything else?”

You do have a few other ideas in mind, but you've already chosen two major ones and you're afraid to rock the boat, so you shake your head.

On the wall behind him, you notice, for the first time, a schedule created out of a bunch of individual pieces of paper taped together. You skim over it. It’s overwhelming. There are classes on three out of the seven days, scheduled back to back to back: dance lessons and vocal lessons and rap lessons and media training and a short section on how to walk and more dance lessons. It's overwhelming. You're thankful to see that Sundays are, blessedly, left empty.

Jaeseop follows your gaze. “It’s a lot to take in at first,” he says sympathetically. “You’ll get used to it.”

You will, because you have no other choice. Your options are to adjust, or to give up and forfeit your spot and your destiny. The latter isn’t even in the realm of possibility. You’ll adjust and you’ll succeed, because you have to.

Then it's noon, and Intak arrives. You remind yourself: no comments on his social skills and nothing about League of Legends. He shows up with nothing but a laptop bag slung over one shoulder and a can of Red Bull. He looks over you with a disinterested gaze, asks, “Another one?”, chugs his Red Bull, and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he and Andrew disappear out of the practice room to wherever else they go.

Mingeun leaves shortly after the two of them. You know he's going to the cafè to wait for the two high schoolers, but you don't say that out loud. You watch him leave, and then you're left alone with Jaeseop, the two of you sitting on the floor.

“If I ask about how or why you became a trainee, can you give me an answer?” Jaeseop asks.

“No,” you answer, because you can't.

“Do you have any relation to the Danyoung Group?” is his next question.

“No,” you say again, unsure what a chaebol who built and now owns three-quarters of the buildings in Seoul has to do with you. “I’m from Gunsan.”

He stares at you like he doesn't believe you. You meet his gaze until he looks away.

He sighs. “I’ll take you on a tour. You haven’t seen everything yet, have you?”

The question appears much more rhetorical than literal, so you follow him out of the room.

“The floor used to be all office space,” Jaeseop says, walking backwards as if he’s a professional tour guide. “This half hasn’t been converted yet.” He gestures to the messy sprawl of cubicles. To your surprise, that’s where Andrew and Intak are, two chairs in the same cubicle, though it looks like Intak is the only one working.

Jaeseop avoids them and makes a beeline for the other side of the space. It’s emptier than you had thought at first glance. He introduces you to a middle-aged man, sitting at a desk, surrounded with a tidy assortment of trinkets and knick-knacks and framed photographs. It’s the polar opposite of Taein’s office.

“This is Sanghyun-nim,” he says. “He’s Taein-nim’s right-hand man. He does all the unpleasant tasks Taein-nim doesn’t want to do.”

That doesn’t seem conducive to your image of Taein. You’ve seen him do a few unpleasant tasks. You suppose those weren’t necessary for his job.

“The menial ones,” Sanghyun corrects. “You’re the new recruit. Kang Haksu-ssi.”

“That’s me,” you say, surprised by the way he recognizes you. You wonder how much Taein told everyone else, what kind of story he fed them. You doubt it was the truth. You hope you can trust him. If you can’t, it’s a little too late for that.

He seems like he could have an entire conversation with you, but Jaeseop whisks you away. “Hyekyung,” he says, of a young woman around your age, with a phone tucked on her shoulder, taking notes with her other hand. She waves in your general direction.

“Social media and marketing,” Jaeseop explains. ��I wouldn’t get on her bad side. She’s really the one in charge of this entire area.”

He stops in his tracks and points across the room. You tiptoe to see what he’s trying to point out to you. A woman who looks like she should be a floor below them with the copywriters sits alone at a desk, a wide berth between her and anyone else.

“Gyeongwon,” Jaeseop says, voice dropped to a whisper. “She doesn’t work here, but she works with Taein-nim. I wouldn’t upset her either.”

He moves on, taking quick strides across the floor to the side opposite the elevator. “The stairwell is here. Goes from the first floor up to the rooftop.”

You think he’s going to take you up the stairs—to the rooftop, maybe—but he stops. “The fourth floor is only Taein-nim’s office for now. I assume you’ve been there. The fifth floor is empty. The elevator doesn’t go up there. If you do ever go up to the rooftop, the door is always stuck.”

You try to follow along, completely overwhelmed with the amount of new names and faces and information you’re expected to now know.

Jaeseop checks the time on his phone. “Mingeun should be back by now.”

You don't have much praise for Jaeseop's tour. This time, when you open the practice room door, Mingeun is pacing. The conversation stops abruptly as you enter. Eunsu and Byeonghwi, you remember, though you can’t remember who’s who.

Jaeseop comes to your accidental rescue. “Eunsu.” He points out the boy in the mustard-yellow uniform. “And Byeonghwi.”

Byeonghwi gives you a smile and a wave, and you’re immediately struck by how he seems genuinely happy to meet you, as if he was destined to be an idol, forever pretending and playing along with people slipping in and out of his life. Like you, you have to remind yourself. It’s a sharp contrast from the way everyone else has behaved around you. High school students are supposed to be annoying and immature, not better than you at your own fate. You try not to let it get to you.

Not long after their arrival, Intak and Andrew make their re-entrance. Andrew is in a different outfit, the type of corporate wear you’ve seen him leave in. You see your opportunity, so you take it.

“You changed,” you observe.

“Work,” he says. “I teach English at a hagwon.”

You wonder if he’s qualified to do that, and then if the parents of the students he teaches know that their teacher is focused on being an idol and not on teaching. You should have guessed. What else could he do?

You watch him leave. Almost as soon as the door shuts softly behind him, Intak pulls Intak to the side and speaks softly. You strain your ears to overhear, though you're drawn into Eunsu and Mingeun and Byeonghwi’s inane conversation.

"I can't work with him," Intak is saying.

"I know," comes Jaeseop's reply. "You have to try."

"I am trying," Intak hisses. "He's the one who doesn't want to try. He thinks he can do it all by himself. He refuses to show me anything he's working on. He’s impossible."

"I know," Jaeseop says again. He says something else, but you don’t hear it, because Byeonghwi is asking you how and why you joined the company, and you have to tell him that’s not something you’re ready to talk about yet.

You watch the sun start to set out of the windows overlooking the street. They're open, but they face the wrong way and let no air in. You want to go home. Jaeseop steps out to pick up dinner. No one makes a move to leave, so you don't either.

When the sun is fully down, you meet Kiyoung. He arrives looking a bit too much like a copywriter as well. You would have mistaken him for one, had the reception to his entrance not been perfectly warm and friendly.

You learn a few more facts in rapid-fire fashion. He's the oldest of the team. He works for an environmental non-profit organization, and is refusing to quit until he finishes his current project. Before he was a Zenith Entertainment trainee, he was a trainee at another small company that went under before he could debut. He met Jaeseop when they were both in middle school and their schools double-booked the same trip location.

You exchange a few more pleasantries, and then the mood of the room shifts more towards homework than anything else, because everyone—with the exceptions of Kiyoung and Intak—are still in school. It surprises you to learn that Jaeseop is a student.

“This is my last semester,” he explains when you ask. “I don’t go to class much anymore. I’ll graduate just fine.”

You’re beginning to feel like the odd one out, so you continue your hopeless quest to catch up on all your work. You probably aren’t going to graduate. You probably aren’t even going to finish this semester.

Andrew returns later in the night, and that, for some reason, signals the end of the day. Eunsu is pressed to the glass, announcing his imminent arrival before he even steps foot in the building. Andrew’s single action upon returning to the third floor is to pick up Byeonghwi, who seems only too enthusiastic to leave. After that, it’s a free-for-all bordering on a bloodbath. You wait, because you’re new, and it’d be rude of you to be one of the first to leave.

Then it’s you and Jaeseop and Mingeun, nearly a mirror image of the morning.

“I’ll see you tomorrow morning,” Jaeseop says to you, and then in almost the same breath, “Make sure you go home, Mingeun.”

Mingeun scowls.

You nod, though you’re almost dead on your feet. You think being a private investigator might be a little easier. You aren’t sure how, but you’ll survive it. You have to. It’s the only way you can do great things.

#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ writing. ]#╰ to be written in ink is to be immortal — [ haksu. ]#ficnetfairy #fictional idol community #idolverse #idol oc #kpop oc #fake kpop group #kpop fanfic

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