#hunger has a way with you || private verse.

[sasouken]

rosalia carmen herrera

rosalia, also known as rosie, is a vampire. she never states how old she is unless you are a trusted friend, but she is approximately 130 years old. she was turned against her will because her sire wanted to keep her as something to parade around for her beauty. rosalia has always had a fighting spirit and she made sure her sire knew that when she killed him. she fled home, leaving her family behind with the hope of never returning so that she would not harm them. she spent many years learning how to control her hunger, but in the process, she took many lives. she has also learned over time not to give her trust so easily. rosie is adventurous, charismatic, clear-headed, resourceful, private, strong-willed, and can be petty. she is a no-nonsense kind of woman, not wanting the drama that comes with living in the supernatural world. which comes in handy at her bar, BLOODY MOON ( location is verse dependent, but usually located in a city ). it's a bit on the nose, but she's come to find that sometimes doing so makes things blend in a little easier. her bar is a place where supernatural creatures can come to get drinks and mingle. she doesn't care what individuals do with their lives off of her property so long as they don't bring the drama to her and hers. she has lily who mans the bar but also doubles as security. you do not want to piss lily off. garrette is her bouncer, who is a werewolf. humans are allowed in the bar, but they are not to be harmed. . . on the premises. sometimes rosie helps lily handle the bar. it lets her get information from patrons and build comradery with them — and she gets extra tips. overall, she lives a quiet life and tries to keep it that way for her employees, too. she does do business with locals in order to. . . precure certain drinks and foods for her clientele. her eyes are dark brown but are red when feeding. she has long, dark brown hair that falls into waves past her waist, standing at 5'5".

lily kitagawa

lily kitagawa is a kitsune, an old and powerful one. ever since she was a kit, lily had a knack for using magic well. she learned from her father how to harness this power. she excelled in all areas, especially illusions and protective spells that come with serious repercussions if someone breaks past them. the older she got, the more destructive her spells got— but only if someone was doing something they weren't supposed to. lily is cheerful, witty, loyal, sociable, whimsical, deceptive, blunt, and often times vindictive. while working at blood moon, she does her best to behave, but if someone is stepping out of line, she has rosie's full support in doing what she needs to get that person out. if she has to put her glass down to use her magic, everyone knows it's serious and they best stay out of her way. lily met rosie while rosie was traveling. they spent some time together and grew close, and when rosie told lily of her plan to head back to america to open up her bar, lily decided she wanted to join her. she had grown attached to rosie and wanted to be by her side. it wasn't often she found others who would be able to live as long as she and appreciate what she could do. lily often changes her appearance depending on her mood. her hair is mostly seen as brown, but has been light brown to blonde sometimes. her eyes are a soft blue. she is 5'7". she also has fox ears and multiple tails. when she's working behind the bar, her tails are hidden, just so that she doesn't knock things over.

[foxes-that-run]

Keep Driving

I love him so much. My 1 step plan to make anyone love him is watching him perform.

He said of Keep Driving when he first played it at the NY ONO show:

And before the next song, I wanna say thank you to my good friend and collaborator Mitchell Rowland! Say hi daddy! (laughs) I wrote this next song with Mitch and he supports me in every way possible, he literally makes me sound so much better, thank you for being on stage with me and thank you Sarah!

The screen s when he performed it on love on tour were lover/fine line pink & blue.

Keep Driving is a stream of consciousness, snapshot moments of a life, interspersed with asking his love if they should continue, noting they have overcome hard times. The tempo is important, it becomes more disjointed and chaotic when he is distracted and it calms and returns to a happy pace when he communicates with his love, checking in how they are. The question is almost rhetorical, he wants to continue and is reminding himself to not lose the connection with his muse.

Harry and Taylor have sung about communication and being tongue tied a lot, so Keep Driving is important growth. To me, it sounds like the way Harry posts to social media, seemingly random things that hold meaning to him. It could almost be 'should I keep scrolling?' as that also speaks to interaction without communication.

The title is a Haylor theme, @womanexile has a post of the times they refer to driving here, which is many of their pivotal songs.

Lyrics

Black and white film camera Yellow sunglasses Ashtray, swimming pool Hot wax, jump off the roof

The B&W film camera makes me think of polaroids and Taylor's OOTW line "You took a polaroid of us and discovered the rest of the world was in B&W and we were in screaming colour." A line Harry referenced in his IG feed for 2 years from when that song came out, they were seen at the same place on the dates of most colour photos.

Taylor wore yellow sunglasses and a men's shirt in the 22 MV shoot. The 22 MV also has a with a pool and acting up.

Harry refers to hot wax in Hunger "Candles burnt down to the floor / Wearing less than you wore before"

A small concern with how the engine sounds We held darkness in withheld clouds I would ask, "Should we just keep driving?"

Harry can hear their is a concern with the relationships engine, he notes they have overcome troubles before and rather than running he talks to his partner. Huge progress on communication.

This chorus plays an important role in the tempo and meaning of the song, stopping and talking to each other to ask 'should we keep driving' calms the tempo down, when he and his beloved stop talking and get distracted by the other things it gets chaotic. The message is to communicate. He can see a trouble in the relationship, but they overcome difficult times before, by communicating things calm and it continues.

I Know Places: "Something happens when everybody finds out, see the vultures circling dark clouds" also the Me! MV has their phantom/ghost as a cloud. The Late Night Talking MV also has dark storm clouds at 2:37.

Maple syrup, coffee Pancakes for two Hash brown, egg yolk I will always love you

This verse is telling of a private times together, with common breakfast items. Harry has also referred to breakfast in the unreleased Hunger "We would stay in my house for days / Spilling breakfast on pillowcases"

Passports in footwells Kiss her and don't tells Wine glass, puff pass, tea with cyborgs Riot America, science and edibles Life hacks going viral in the bathroom

Harry missed his flight before the NYE kiss because he left his passport in his mum's car.

Kiss her and don’t tells is self explanatory, but speaks to the long period of time Harry was dating Taylor and constantly asked about her in interviews. The point he made audiences laughing because he’d say “I think the thing is with songwriting…”

Cyborgs are in the Ready for it Music Video. In the BTS Taylor also (1:25) calls them this. The BTS videos are messing with H, complete with edging the way she speaks and how sassily she says her and Joe's birth years will be together.

Cocaine, side boob Choke her with a sea view Toothache, bad move Just act normal Moka pot Monday, it's all good Hey, you Should we just keep driving?

So much attention is on the cocaine line here and in daylight. He did have some tiny pupils in late 1D days. To Howard Stern he said "Who ultimately do you want to be at the end of the day?' You don't want to be the guy who died. You don't want to be the guy who's like whacked out on drugs. You want to be the guy who's 70 and playing for three hours because he can, and he wants to, and everyone's loving it, and he's having fun." Gosh I want that for him.

Harry referenced the Seaview in the Adore you video. Taylor and Harry have both referenced sea views, with the Cannes IG posts, the sl*t lyric video and promotion for cruel summer.

There's no sideboob shortage around Mr Styles. OW had some when this song was coming out, but HH was mostly written before before they met. I think this is Taylor at the 2013 People's Choice awards. It was 2 weeks after the boat break up, rumors if there was shading or a hickey, different Red era style. She also had sideboob at the 2013 VMSs when they may have gotten back together.

Taylor chipped a tooth on stage and just acted normal. This happened August 2013 while they dated.

Finally Harry has sung about Coffee three times, always about communication, which is the message of the song: Falling "And the coffee's out / At the Beachwood Café", Music for a Sushi Restaurant "Late night, game time / Coffee on the stove, yeah" and here.

[sketchfanda]

Sketch-Verse Lore:Demon Queen Chloe

The concept and nature of the multi-verse and the vast ocean of alternate realities which inhabit is both a simple and easy enough concept for even the most unscientific layman to grasp. If for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction then in terms of the concept for every choice we make, there is a universe or reality where the opposite or a different one was taken instead. Like what if the axis powers had won world war 2 or Russia remained with them to what if the world wars never happened? From the most major historical events to one individual's life playing lout different because they decided to take a different bus time, this has lead to similar scale hypothesis such as the butterfly effect and chaos theory.

With this in mind, we reflect our attention to one Chloe Sinclair, who occupies her own particular universes throughout, some where furries or anthros alike walk and live side by side with humanity in societies not unlike ours or is occupied solely by anthros. But a constant in such worlds is that she was born with a silverspoon in her mouth and became a self made woman in terms of acquiring wealth and success in the world of business and finance. Taking her communications company and turning it into a global corporate powerhouse through she operates on her own set of private islands within the French Polynesian regions or whatever their equivalent variations would be. Another constant about her is that she's a natural born exotic bombshell whose brains are matched if not exceeded by her looks and figure which put many models and movie stars to shame, particularly and especially when it comes to her infamous, outright legendary libido and a lust for life.

And then of course, there is a variation of her that's equal parts a peculiar enigma and yet an overwhelmingly intimidating force, the origins of which and whom all remain shrouded in a state of mystery. Whatever and however she came to be, why exactly and when it happened is unknown to some but many things are clear when it comes to this variation of Chloe Sinclair. She's a demonic force of nature whose reach is as high as the sky and vast as the cosmos, backed by that same natural sex drive and lust for life which she now enjoys on a scale in which the very multi-verse itself is her own personal playground. Not for malevolent purposes mind you but more to watch all the wonderful worlds and people who live in them and of course, to seek out and find wonderful new "playthings" to enjoy and share sensual company with.

Few are those who aware of her existence, let alone if any of them ever recall encountering her, making her a demonic equivalent to the concept of Schrodinger's cat in that she's somehow everywhere and nowhere all at once. One can be certain that she's not outright malevolent but is certain chaotic and mischievous when it comes to matters regarding her libido and how to satisfy it at any given time and place when the itch makes itself known. Some say that much like Galactus and the gnawing hunger which can only be briefly sated by consuming the life energy of entire worlds, her thirst for sex and companions to share it is a compulsion she has no control over and thus her nature drives her to fill the void. But others claim to the contrary that she is fully in control of it, it's more a matter of her whims and which way they blow....

Given the depth and scale of her vast deity class powers, it's only natural that her ability to gleam and view into other worlds is especially helped by a stealth psychic link she shares with her alternate counterparts. Telepathically able to feel what they do which is naturally how she can determine her new playmates of interest to deem her potential sugar babies, trophy girls and boytoys alike. Especially when able to feel just how sexually gifted and capable they are which is then followed by her peculiar, particular approach to prepping her targets for the inevitable day when she graces them with her presence. The methods and means of which are as varied as her tastes in men and women.......

Her tastes are of a distinct standard in terms of selectiveness like while she won't deny being a size queen, knowing how to use and the bonus of being attractive and easy on the eyes are always key factors. Just don't expect her to invite you into her bedroom if you happen to be a glorified cliche akin to actors from some low budget pornos. Like the really cheap kind, where everyone would have to get tested afterwards including the camera guy!! She's no brainless bimbo slutwhore!!

Below are but a few select glimpses to the numerous alternate versions with which Demon Queen Chloe is connected to throughout the multi-verse. Each and every single one as sexy as they're insatiable and through whom she sees and feels what they do, all the better for scouting potential bed partners. Getting this information was no easy feat, let me tell you what. Ask no questions and I'll tell you no lies....

Chloe Sinclair prime, the most common variant, often the basis and central focus within many universes she inhabits especially, particularly within worlds where anthro or furry folk are plenty common in life and society. Her good looks on par with her sense of business acumen and intellect which as said before helped her become a very well-off, success in the financial world. The sort of self-made woman whose fortune is well a class all its own to be recognised as an international economy that she has plenty free time to spare and kill. All the more better to have her fun indulging in her vices and sating her libido, the one thing that exceeds both her beauty and brains combined.

Sexy and she knows it, certainly not a shallow gal but not some loose woman who spreads her legs open for just about any man with chiselled good looks and a big cock. No sir and believe you me she's as friendly with women particularly if they really catch her attention. At her company, sexual harassment isn't an issue because who wouldn't want this hottie giving them the time of day?! just be sure to stay hydrated because when she pounces, expect to feel sore and sticky for quite a while.

Darkstalker Succubus Chloe, adopted ward of the Makai realm's Aensland clan. You think a regular base variation Chloe is bad enough, try dealing with one who gains her pleasure from lust and combat alike. Has generally been known to be quite a nuisance within the demon and human worlds alike due to her frequent hunting trips for playmates and feeding times. While nobody has ever died or been severely injured or maimed, it has resulted in quite a few bruised to crushed pelvises left in her wake.

Is rumoured to have amassed quite a harem of darkstalkers including Morrigan and Lilith, the werewolf martial artist Jon Talbain and the feline pop idol Felicia. Said harem also includes a personal entourage in her bodyguard trio, 2 humans she acquired personally from the human world and an adorable little imp from right out of Hell. And had quite a hobby of amassing them women to enjoy for both theirs and her sexual pleasure. The way she sees it, isn’t it more enjoyable to share her favourite boys with more lovely ladies she can enjoy as well?

Magical Warrior and Witchblade Chloe, variants which in their travels to Japan acquired very different forms of mystical power. In the case of the former, she had acquired a transformation trinket from an adorable mascot with the goal of defeating monsters with the power of love and peace. It just so happens the approach to doing so involves some very R rated behaviour and actions which have made her the front and centre target of a black lash campaign from a moral watch group. Not that she cares, she’s having too much fun…

The latter meanwhile found the infamous bracelet/gauntlet and has welcome the trouble it has brought her way which has done wonders to kill off her boredom. To say nothing of the lovely company she has amassed around her like that lovely hint single mom Masane, what a woman! It’s been said to keep well out her way when she is out on the prowl, particularly when she is looking for a new playmate to keep her company. Some say they’re never seen again…

Kaiju Chloe, a variant who once gained a strain of lycanthropy which was further and enhanced and mutated into a 50 foot plus giant monster. Has quite a sizeable fanbase for being a way of destruction that’s every easy on the eyes whose sen of collateral is more based on whimsy and playful mayhem rather than any malevolent streak. Is rumoured to be in a relationship with none other than Godzilla and Mothra but there has yet to be any denial or confirmation regarding that. Least of all from the titans herself……

Lady Chloe Sinclaire, heiress of the house Dimetrecsu adopted by the statuesque mutant vampire lady herself on some strange, peculiar whim. Essentially seized control from Mother Miranada in a spontaneous coup seemingly on a whim and now rules the mansion and the surrounding village as its sensual benevolent tyrant. Many a young man and woman who’ve passed through are said to never been seen again and yet some say they wouldn’t really want to ever leave anyways. Seems she makes being her prisoner a pleasant erotic experience…

Vampire Queen Chloe, the fuckmothering no life queen of the sinister fortress known as Castlevania whose thirst for blood is beaten out only by her thirst for sex. Many are the men and women she’s taken for her personal ever growing harem alongside a bevy of monsters and demonic beasts alike. Rumours say the Grim Reaper is among her closest and most intimate of lovers tough few have ever seen him or her, be it some perky goth girl albino or a rather intimidating yet charming white wolf. They say to see her is to know you will give yourself to her in heart, mind, body and soul alike…

Elvira Chloe, a fusion of the skunkette and the legendary mistress of the night, sexy and she knows it. Noted for a uniquely her approach in regards to how she handles and neutralises monsters when hunting them down. Popular and beloved host of s tv show which hosts and airs cheesy scifi and horror B movies. Single and always down to mingle…..

Necro Queen Chloe, ruler of the underworld, said to be a welcome sight for those entering the afterlife. Said to quite partial to soils who were very exceptional lovers in their day while neither confirming or denying rumours in that regard. Has been said to be banned from heaven for being a bad influence while many in hell have a flee on sight on order. No word yet on whether or not she takes deals for selling your soul to her….

Silk Spectre/Skunk Chloe, a vigilante superhero with a very unorthodox, for some, approach to fighting crime. Some super villains have opted to surrender themselves to the law rather than to run afoul of her because of this, much to her annoyance and frustration but fortunately she has found ways and means to sate and scratch her itch. A unit shortstack,cop in Satan city here, a fellow hero there, this little possum in a cute bow tie…..hey don’t give me that look!! You know what my story is about!

Dragon Chloe, a variation caused by a prime Chloe’s penchant for indulging in some of the experimental projects of her staff, in this case a potion nor draconic dna made bye her central R&D chief Maxi. Causing her physical being to shift snd transform in terms of size, strength and combining her sex drive with a dragon’s natural penchant for hoarding. In this case to amass a hoard of babes and studs alike to share her now very sizeabke bed with and keep her warm and cosy at night. Mothers, lock up your daughters and lads, hide your nads….

Warrior Queen Chloe, a variation of the skunkette in a realm of swords,sorry, dungeons and dragons whose thirst for adventure is either matched or dwarfed by her sexual appetites. Many are those falls by her blade and the hoard of wealth and loved which she has amassed, driven to crush her enemies, see them driven before her and hear the lamentation of their women. If you’ve spilled blood for her, she will ensure you’re cared and provided for because you have her loyalty for life and anything from treasure to women are yours to have. Hail to the queen, baby…………

Taimanin Chloe Sinclaire, in her universe her skill is exceeded, naturally, only by her demon-like libido with many an orc and brute beast alike fleeing her on sight for fear of death by snusnu!! Some say she’s got intentions of taking over both the Taimanin corps and Nomad simply to have her own personal harem and for saying her personal sexual desires. A goal she is well on her way what with having slain the notorious Edwin Black and forcing the infamous traitor Oboro to pledge loyalty to her. Some might say the Taimanin corps are both blessed and cursed alike to have her in their ranks..

A Chloe of a Bible Black universe where the events of Origins onwards never even happened, as this exotic gaijin transfer student found the titular book and proceeded to destroy it. Only to exchange it for one of her own design and making that was more set to be for fulfilling her hedonistic wants and sexual desires starting with making her chosen patron demon, an adorable freckled imp, the central focus of what would become known as the Cult of the Possum. Starting off first by enslaving the witchcraft club lewd by one Hiroko Takashiro, the student council president and her lackey and new transfer Reika Kitami, she has since gone on to now run the school as its principal with no signs of her twisted deeds stoppin. Especially when her cult needs a good stud or two to be ideal bulls for breaking in the pretty new playthings……

Phantom Lady Chloe, the erotic villainess of an Angel Blade universe who plagues the world with her army of Geo Blood mutant deviants that have left many a pretty thing in sexual comas and her hoard of devoted sexy lady underlings who’ve been the bane of many would be studs. Rarely has she ever had to get her own hands dirty but her bedsheets have been constantly wet with sweat and sex juices from the company she sharing it with her. Some say she’s seeking some particularly exceptional companions to be her harem and rule the world by her side as she rules with a lusty iron fist. And thst not eben the so called Angel warriors can’t even hope to stop her erotic plans for sexual subjugations……

Carrerra Chloe, a fusion of Viper Gts’ resident succubus Snd the feisty skunkette herself with the libido to match. Her track record for soul collections is matched only by the trail of drained bodies left in her wake s many a horny man and woman alike has summoned her gladly willing to sell themselves to damnation just for one night with her. But it’s said the Ines she doesn’t take after rocking her world are the ones she really takes an affectionate fancy to with two human hunks in particular having her attention. As well as a rather sweet little imp in the cutest bow tie….

Mermaid Chloe, much like a certain Melodic redhead is a child of the sea deeply fascinated with the surface world and all it has to show and offer. Especially all those cute, sexy land walkers she can’t help but sent to bring down with her into her undersea home much like the mermaids of old. Some say many a sea witch has an unspoken pact to never strike a bargain with her because it’s guaranteed she will make it backfire on them and benefit only her. One shudder to think what ambitions she has in store for the land and sea alike should she ever attain the means to do so.

Chlothulhu, whom it is said to look directly at her is to be driven into a constant state of lust and desire. Cults have formed the world all over dedicating themselves to bringing her forth into the material plane of reality via a rumoured ancient tome known as simply the Eroticomicon. Some say the illustrations m within make sex look like a church and out the kama sutra to shame. It’s said that should she ever awaken, the world will absolutely submit whole the weak and prudish shall be purged….

Stay Puff, or rather Pervy Chloe, normally a mascot for her world's local marshmallow brand but brought forth by the power of a different version of Gozer the destroyer. Has been deemed a wave of destruction that is very easy in the eyes with many declaring her their new goddess. Virgins make and female alike have gladly offered themselves up to be her personal slaves in the time she took over the world as it’s sexy queen of destruction, having welcomed their marshmallow verlord. Plus her tiny little minions are said to be adorable and delicious…..

Echidna Chloe, inhabitant of a Queens Blade type unique universe who naturally has no shame or sense of personal space, given her personality being combined with that of the sensual snake thong toting elf woman. No real goals or ambitions beyond enjoying what life has to offer and what can be done to entertain herself after 500 years asn assassin and now a wandering mercenary. Notable for being as casual about nitty and sex overall and inviting herself to adventuring parties that catch her fancy the most but has taken a quite to a group with a swolestack momk, a sturdy crimson himbo dragon kin and an an adorable imp assassin….

Chloe “Red Lotus” Sinclair, in a similar but different fantasy world of swords and sorcery, one a former pirate now queen of the city of fang after conquering the infamous Deathtrap Dungeon. Whereas it’s previous ruler was an iron fisted tyrant, she is a benevolent ruler albeit naturally quite a sexual hedonist, often prone to taking her crew out in voyages to amass further wealth, resources and new studs and babes for her own personal harem. Has long since converted the dungeon into a spa where her her staff snd guests alike can enjoy some luxury. Many debate if she ever has plans to settle down once she found herself a suitable king or queen or perhaps even both.

The Echidna variant has more or less amassed herself a harem which has included the likes of many notorious contenders in the infamous Queens blade tournament. Ranging from the Amaran princess Menace to the elven warrior Alleyne, much to the latter’s chagrin. Red Lotus Chloe meanwhile has amassed a harem currently in the double digits and still growing, rumours say the red dragon Melkor is among them. Rumours she has neither confirmed or denied.

When all is said and done all rods to these Chloe’s start and end with the Demin Queen herself, the one who knows and watches alike. Always seeking new playmates to enjoy and indulge in having keep her company. Particularly when she finds their own multiverses variants and they often find themselves subjected to strange, exotic wet dreams and nightmares alike. All made possible by small scale telepathic reality warping on her part with the only limit being her kinky imagination.

So pray if you will for Moxxie, Krillin and Kirishima for the days when this sexy cosmic horror of eroticism graces them with her presence one day. It will be an experience they’ll be sure to wonder if they’ll remember that it’s a wonder what will be more surreal? That they survive the encounter or that they may not remember the peculiar series of events that lead to it happening. One thing is for certain and it’s thst she’s is going to enjoy it as much as one would a gourmet meal with a glass of vintage fine wine aged to perfection…..

So don’t call her, she will call you. You don’t find her, she finds you. When she likes you, she wants you so you can do it the easy way or the hard way. The choice is yours but either way? She’s having her cake and eating it too…..

[sarahr0gers]

SARAHR0GERS  is  a  private , mutually  exclusive  roleplay  blog  for  original  character  SARAH  ROGERS  with  roots  in  the  marvel  universes , and  verses  in  genres  such  as  star  wars , hunger  games , yellowjackets , general  horror  and  dbd.  lore  is  heavily  original  lore  based , and  based  on  lore  connected  with  brooklynbred. this  blog  contained  triggering  content  &  mature  themes  and  is  only  open  to  muns  21+.  personal  blogs  dni.  loved  and  penned  by  jj.

exploring  themes  such  as . . . walking  your  own  path , being  a  hero , i'm  not  that  sheltered  girl  anymore , defending  the  weak , strength  through  trauma , morality , IF  YOU  WANTED  ME  DEAD  THEN  YOU  SHOULD'VE  JUST  SAID.  recovering  from  trauma , revisiting  the  scene , living  for  you.

BIO  -  LORE  -  PROMPTS  -  VERSES  -  PINTEREST  -  PLAYLIST

BLOG  ROLL:  tsarnvoiny  ( anya barnes ) , brooklynbred  ( steve rogers ) , nursetosoldier  ( becca / bucky barnes ) , getsliced  ( fandomless oc ) , crearefuturum  ( james stark ) , gobubyourself  ( logan howlett )

BLOG  RULES  AND  IMPORTANT  NOTES  BELOW  CUT.

RULES:

NO DRAMA. this blog has a strict no drama rule. i do not have a lot of energy and so writing is my only hobby i can really do anymore. i deal with chronic pain daily , so i do not have any time or patience for drama. do not bring it to me. i don't want to be involved. i will block people who break this rule.

RATING / CONTENT. do to the nature of this blog , this blog is a mature blog , and you must be 21+ to interact. this is for my own comfort and there will be no exceptions. this blog will feature very triggering content. i will be tagging any triggering content with the following format ' tw trigger here. ' so you can block any triggers accordingly to protect yourself. i also will not be offended if you don't follow back. we are all in charge of keeping our spaces safe for us. ( any threads dealing with HYDRA muses will be tagged ' tw hydra muse. ' as i know some make people uncomfortable. smut may also find it's way onto this blog as well , and will not be placed under a cut , but tagged with ' usfw. '

FORMATTING. i will be formatting my posts , and will be using custom spacing , bold , italic text as well as page breaks and icons. you are by no means required to use any of this to write with me. this is for my own amusement. i judge if i want to write with you based on if i think our muses will mesh well.

SHIPPING. i love shipping with people. it's also very easy for me to ship something , as i am a shipping whore. that being said , please approach me before assuming a ship. i promise i am a very nice person and would be happy to discuss it. this is just how comfortable i am with shipping. just a quick im will do. i also prefer to plot out ships so the asking helps with that too.

[maruchmyuzu]

──────── ⵌMARUCHUYUZU … a 20+ , private , highly selective & mutual only multimuse roleplay blog (with characters from granblue fantasy / fear & hunger / TADC && more to add on if need be) ft . DAAN a character from the horror rpg game FEAR & HUNGER TERMINA . characterization for the characters here will be canon - divergent thanks to other inspirations from different media that has been hinted or theorized. head-canons will change or possibly be expanded upon as time goes on. verses will vary with in the blog from the game itself, to alternative universes .

important links : interest tracker , inbox call , credit .

──── 𝘼  𝙎𝙏𝙐𝘿𝙔  𝙄𝙉  :   accepting that the world is a dark place , believing that everything has a scientific explanation && not spiritual , processing grief && how what can do do as a person about it , depression eating you apart , hating yourself && learning to love yourself , suicide & suicidal idealization , the past haunting you , religious themes , your body being a host of a gody entity if you give in , how physical && mental drama affect you , rejecting that there is only one way when there is many , sacrificing your body parts to save a life , learning how you can love yourself && seeing why others love you . PLEASE CHECK CARRD FOR TRIGGERS THAT WILL BE PRESENT …

──── 𝘼FFILIATES  : @obedientmade

──── loved by maribelle , she / they , 27 , est 3/2/24 , beta editor only

[tragedicna]

            she hears shuffling and the two shadow ― like figures  ―  satoru and casimir  ―  moving further than her vision would allow her to see  ,  it seems like it's a private conversation . . . not that she could hear it all too well  .  perhaps make out some words  ,  but not enough to have context to it  .  so she sits quietly  ,  eyes falling shut again as she waits for them to return . . . resting  .  she seems to get tired more easily . . . surely that had been bothersome to satoru when they were traveling  ,  the deity apologized NUMEROUS times for her burdensome self  .             ❝  i think magic circles  ,  enchanted relics  ,  and talismans are perhaps a better fit for what you seek  ,  ❞  baiyin says  ,  having caught the tail end of their conversation  .  ❝  the witches . . . i'm not so sure  ,  i'm not too versed in how magic has transformed over the centuries  ,  ❞  baiyin says  ,  ❝  perhaps the witches have derived their way of practice from the priests of my time . . .  ❞  she says  ,  ❝  i apologize for not being able to be of more help in this matter . . .  ❞  baiyin's head dips into a small bow  .  what she did know is perhaps  o b s o l e t e  in a world like this . . .              a soft hum at satoru's query  ,  ❝  i do not feel hunger  ,  ❞  she shakes her head  ,  if she did . . . what satoru could have came across would be an emaciated corpse instead of a living being  .  ❝  but . . . i do crave the taste of tea . . . if you happen to have some available . . .  ❞  she says  ,  a suddenly craving overcoming her  .  she used to have tea and snacks with her brother  ,  she dreamt of those peaceful times a lot during her imprisonment  .             ❝  lord casimir sounded very concerned . . . will he be alright  ??  ❞  baiyin asks  ,  ❝  if the two of you are worried of how i may threaten your security  ,  i do not mind if you need to place me in a quarantine  ,  ❞  she offers  ,  words spoken so dismissively as she tries to banish herself back into another prison  ,  it's why she entered her first one . . . for the safety of others  ,  they told her  .

   “A pleasure.” Casimir replied simply before taking quick steps over toward Satoru and reaching his hand out. He grabbed the man’s arm, over the clothing, and yanked him to the side away from Baiyin and hopefully where she could hear. He had absolutely no idea what sort of creature she was, but with most supernatural creatures–no matter how far away you got it didn’t matter, they could still hear and it was pointless to attempt to try to get away from them. He’s learned that with the wolves. 

   A decent distance away though he turned to his surrogate father. “Who is she? Where did you get her? Why is she–like that.” Weird, not human seeming, not anything seeming and he was an incubus. So he knew what it meant to not be normal. And she? She was very abnormal. Very much not someone you see in a normal place. Certainly not someone you should see sitting in your father’s office like she was made of stone. 

   “If I knew, Casimir, I wouldn’t have brought her back.” Unless she asked to and needed help, but those were entirely separate matters. “I picked her up at the place where I got the scroll. She appears–bound to me. I am uncertain if it goes both ways. I need to do some research in order to figure it out. So,” He grasped Casimir’s shoulders and started pushing the other toward the door and out it. “Please go down to the Archives and get me as many books as you can on bindings. Of the witch variety, since this appears more of their kind rather than the others.” 

   Casimir frowned but didn’t argue much and the office door was swung shut, finally leaving him and–her in the room alone. He breathed out a tense sigh and rubbed his gloved hands slightly together before turning to face Baiyin. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? We traveled a long way, you should have something to eat and drink.”

[from-a-reckless-writer]

9 Supercorp

1 new message.

The notification reads. This is odd. Nobody ever sends Kara any messages on this account, for the sole reason that it doesn't have much followers.

It was Nia's idea initially. She's told Kara to buy herself a journal. She keeps one herself, where she writes all the dreams she doesn't know how to interpret yet.

"You should write down whatever it is and let it lie there for a while you know?"

Kara thought about it, had mulled it over and over in her head. A journal is indeed a great idea. An outlet of sorts. But the thing is, a journal is too private. If Kara wrote in a journal the only person who would ever read it would be herself.

Kara didn't want that. Kara hungered for an audience. She wanted to write and put it out there, out in the world where somebody will maybe one day read it and come to her--tell her, "Me, too. Me, too."

She wanted to write and be read by people.

And so, the journal idea became the Instagram poetry account idea.

A handful of original poetry posted in between aesthetic photos.

Nia and her sister are the only two people in her life who knows about it. That's why she is genuinely shocked when she reads the notification.

By the time, she's collected enough courage to open the app.

There have been more than 10 notifications. First, was the follow, next was a series of likes and then finally the message.

Kara clicked on the profile first.

It was a bookstagram account it turns out. There was only the username display, kieran. All in lowercase. No location, no bio, no nothing. The icon was of a single, black, loopy 'K' on white parchment.

The feed was of book covers, pages, spines and some quotes here and there.

The thing that Kara noticed about it though was how sad everything looked, once she's looked at it all in one grid.

It looks beautiful but melancholy.

She opens the message.

"I don't usually do this but...I just have to tell you that, your poetry has more of an impact than you will ever know. Thank you making me feel like I'm not alone. Thank you for sharing your words."

It was signed with a single heart and a 'k'.

And that's when it hits Kara.

Kara writes out a reply.

I'm out there.

I'm out there, in the world. And somebody is reading my words. They're reading what I wrote and it made them feel something.

"Thank you for taking the time to write those kind words to me. I hope you know you've made me want to write now more than ever. Thank you."

She added a heart at the end too. Kara didn't check her phone for the rest of the day.

They didn't reply it turns out. Kara tries not to feel too disappointed at that and tries to go on with her life.

Although, two weeks later after their first interaction, Kara posts two new poems, she discovers that kieran didn't stop reading.

Kara would usually get a like or a comment of a single heart then and again, and if she's lucky they'll comment a 'Beautiful.' underneath one of Kara's longer poems.

Kara collects all those crumbs and keeps it close to her heart.

******

"had a shity day ur peom made my night. thbk you."

Kara reads the message at 7 am, it was sent at 3:36 am. It isn't till she's halfway through, that her groggy mind realizes that they must've been drunk when they sent her this.

There's a twinge of worry in her chest, so she writes.

"I'm glad I made your night. And I don't want to overstep, but I think you were drunk when you sent this. I hope you're alright today. Drink lots of water! Thank you for the kind words."

She doesn't check her phone for the rest of the day.

Kara's knee-deep in Snapper's column assignment when her phone pings.

"Don't worry, you didn't overstep. I think you're the kindest person I've ever met."

Kara can't help the feeling of concern when she reads the message. Imagine thinking an Instagram poet who you've interacted with, two times in total, is the kindest person you've ever met. Never mind the fact that she's the Instagram poet.

Kara feels intrigued by this person.

Maybe it's because they're making her feel important. Maybe it's because Kara doesn't know who they are and the mystery appeals to her. Maybe it's because with them, Kara isn't anything. She's just a poet.

Maybe it's all of those or maybe it's none of those reasons at all.

Nevertheless, Kara sees her fingers fly across the keypad before she can even realize what she's doing.

"And you, IG user kieran, I think are the most interesting person I've ever met : )"

She puts her phone facedown on her desk.

Kara stands up from her station, walks around, pokes her head into Snapper's office, asks if he needs anything, gets yelled at, bothers Nia, walks around the entire bullpen, refills her tumbler, sits back down on her desk.

1 new message.

Kara lunges for her phone.

"Interesting huh?"

Just that. Just that and nothing else, yet it makes Kara feel like she's being observed, judged, weighed.

"Your feed is beautiful, your books. What I wouldn't give to get a peek in that beautiful mind of yours."

Kara exits the app, her thumb gliding through the screen so fast, it's a miracle it didn't break under the pressure.

She stands up from her desk and does a whole 'nother round.

1 new message

Kara takes a deep breath before opening the message. She doesn't even know why she's nervous.

"my mind is a lot of things, but i doubt beautiful is one of them."

What does she mean by that? Well, Kara guesses, everyone's brain is a mess right? She's pretty certain she's fucked up herself in more ways than she even knows.

So that's what she says.

"Everybody's a mess i think. Doesn't mean they're not beautiful."

Kara waits and waits and waits.

The reply doesn't come.

*******

Life goes on, her IG account gains more followers, her poems get stacked upon each other each week.

She always notices which ones kieran likes though.

They never message each other again.

******

And then, that one fateful day comes—Kara falls in love.

She meets Lena and Kara falls.

Hard.

Lena catches her and together they write what Kara thinks, is the most beautiful love story in existence.

Lena's her soul mate, her best friend, her one true love.

Her poems become lighter, happier.

She's so caught up with living in the real world with Lena, that sometimes she doesn't even have the time to write poems anymore.

Why would she? When she's living a brand new love poem each day she wakes up to Lena by her side.

One night, Kara is putting on her pajamas, and Lena is taking a picture of some book in their bed, her hair in a bun, big nerdy glasses perched on her nose.

Kara is in the middle of climbing into bed when Lena asks her, "Hey, have you ever read poetry and felt like it was speaking to you directly. As if the poet wrote it with you in mind??"

Quietly, Kara answers, "Yeah."

Immediately, Kara's head travels through all the snippets of conversations she's had with kieran.

All her IG posts, the one account, the one thing that Lena does not know about.

"Why?" Kara follows-up.

Lena's sat, leaning into the pillows, her phone in her hand.

"There's this- you know what? Why don't I just show you? You'll get what I mean, when you read it."

Lena shows Kara her phone screen and Kara freezes.

There on the screen, is her Instagram poetry account. @kz_elwrites.

Her entire collection of verse all lit up in Lena's phone.

"I-" Kara doesn't know what to say. And Lena notices, of course, she would.

Lena always notices. ,

"Kara?" She asks. "Is there something wrong?"

"I wrote that." Kara lets the words hang in between them.

She meets Lena's eyes, reads the shock there.

Kara grabs her phone from the nightstand and opens her IG app--shows it wordlessly to Lena.

Lena takes the phone gently from her hands, flicks up and down for a couple of minutes.

Kara feels like something important is going to happen. Everything feels to quiet. Lena is too quiet.

Lena hands Kara her phone back, still not speaking.

And then, Lena turns back to her phone, swipes a couple of times.

"Come here," Lena whispers. "Take a look."

Kara's eyes land on the screen.

kieran.

"You're-"

"I am."

prompt list here

[ktheist]

nice guys finish last | m

synopsis. you thought you were over yoongi’s dick move of ending your engagement through his parents - not even a text when he disappeared out of your life. that’s why you agreed to the newly arranged marriage with his brother, namjoon, but on the brink of your wedding day, it becomes apparent that you haven’t really let go of the past as you tear up in front of your soon-to-be husband at the back room of the church.

◟alternatively, “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

pairings. husband!ceo!namjoon x doctor!reader x ex-fiance!producer!yoongi

genre. arraged marriage au. angst. fluff. smut.

word. 16.2k

content: age gap factor (namjoon is 5 years older than oc and yoongi is 7 years older than oc). pining. teasing. hoseok cockblocking.

warning(s): heavy adult content. mentions of cheating. hospital scenes.

verse. knj. ksj. myg. kth. pjm. jjk. jhs. story time.

x

“i don’t want to marry you at all. the person i love is someone else.” there are tears brimming in your eyes but if there’s anything the years of etiquette class namjoon’s parents forced on him taught him - he’d say he turned out okay - it’s to not mention to the crying lady that she’s crying. but he can’t help stare a little longer. admire a little too much.

the rays flooding through the window paired with the prettiest ivory dress he’s seen you in gives you an iridescent halo. you look like an angel descended from the top most heavens.

but not for him.

“i know,” he lets out a drawn out sigh, hand on his neck. he’s always been the awkward one between the two. if it was him - if it was his brother, he would say it without any ounce of self-reproach. but then again what does namjoon have to be sorry for? for being born? for being the second choice son to step into his brother’s shoes when the aforementioned man threatened to disown the family name if their parents refused to let him marry a girl of his choice who, according to the workers’ gossip, ‘he suddenly woke up one day and decided he was in love with’? 

“it’s yoongi, isn’t it? you love yoongi.”

your eyes are prettier when you’re looking directly at him. the tears give them a kind of glow that makes him want to gather you into his arms and keep you there. the flushed cheeks affirms - despite saying it with full confidence, it was just - his hunch.

oh.

the ceremony proceeds rather smoothly. you’re still sniffling when your father passes your hand to him at the end of the aisle. the older man himself looks distraught. either he knows you’re against this marriage and hates himself for failing to put his daughter’s happiness before the guaranteed wealth that comes from marrying you off to the kim family or you’d gotten into a fight with him in a last ditch attempt to convince him to call off the marriage.

either way, you’re here now. the pastor’s words are muddled in your ears but it’s enough to take note of the end tone and the steely silence that ensues which could only mean it’s your turn to say those words.

“i do.” they’re the easiest to get over with.

after endless fights with your parents, going on two hunger strikes and running away to paris for a year - you know you’re in the endgame. and you’ve painstakingly and sorely lost.

he lifts the veil off your face, taking his time with setting it over your head. it’s no secret that kim namjoon is handsome. the kind of thick, textured-fabric-suit-wearing and sleek-back hair kind of handsome. yoongi was more of the hoodie-and-jeans and messy-in-need-of-a-trim hair kind of handsome. but he isn’t yoongi.

you screw your eyes shut, refusing to let the memories of your own wedding vows embed in your head. those beautiful pink full lips are as soft as they look. but they’re not kissing you on your pressed-into-a-straight-line lips. betrayed by your curiosity, your eyes flutter open only to gaze upon the smooth cream skin that wraps around his neck and just the gentle protrusion of his adam’s apple as he pulls way.

your newly-wed husband has just kissed you on the forehead.

x

adjusting to married life is as easy as slipping on your favorite shoes. it’s perfect. almost unsettling even. the beach house off the coast of the private island namjoon’s family owns is breathtaking. the sound of waves crashing against the shores is your constant companion as you work on your research. it’s a project you had to put aside when you graduated. the first year at the hospital is the busiest, or so your senior colleagues say. 

namjoon strides into the kitchen sometime past noon, all fresh and showered with a fitting long sleeved shirt and trousers. it’s the most dressed down you’ve ever seen and yet for some people you know, it’s the fanciest they can get. sometimes you wonder if the standards have hit the ground or if namjoon’s so well-adapted into the routine of dressing up presentable enough to go to his office on an off day in case something calls for it.

“good morning.” you greet first, traces of the embarrassing tear-jerking wedding ceremony still lingers in the back of your mind - you’d tried to explain yourself on the way here in the boat but namjoon had easily blew your worries away with a light chuckle and a “i’d do the same too if i loved someone and had to marry another person.”

it’s not unusual for you to already be perched on the elegant gold sofa adjacent to the sliding doors that has the best view of the sea. the master bedroom is the other part of the beach house with spectacular view - you’d been entranced when you stepped into the room on your first day. but namjoon suggested you stay in the guest room, knowing there’s no way you would share a bed with him -

“or you can take this room and i take the guest room,” he added a moment later, probably because he saw you staring out the balcony, bewitched by the sea. that had broke you from your trance and you’d shook your head so much in protest, you were surprised it didn’t fall right off your neck. “n-no! i mean - i’ll take the guestroom.”

his parents had been nice enough to lend their private beach house for you honeymoon. you weren’t going to step over their son and conquer the master bedroom - even if technically, you’re now part of the family.

“morning.” he fixes you with that half-smile. the kind of smile you give to someone you’re in an complacent relationship with but nothing more.

at least you’ve got that going for you. and that’s a rarity coming from the gossips you’ve heard here and there about marriages found on the ground of convenience.

his eyes swipe over the ipad in your shorts-donned lap from his spot, leaned against the counter in the kitchen, pitch black mug of coffee with wafts of smoke coming out of it, “how’s your research going?”

“well,” you set the ipad down on the glass surface of the coffee table, it’s bare of anything besides your phone that’s been lighting up from the notifications. one from your mother, another from the group of friends you found in college, and the rest is from your strictly-women group from the hospital, “the world wide web is resourceful and all but it can’t beat the information in actual books - papers, you know?”

“ah, the traditional way of researching.” he chuckles, dimples digging into his cheek, enhancing his handsome features. you never knew he had dimples. not that you knew much about him - you’d only properly talked on the day of your wedding, in the back room and the first thing you said was -

you suppress the memories further down your thoughts. it works for the most part, but you can’t help the flush that spreads across your face. so the laugh you let out is a little strained and if he notices, he doesn’t show - like he pretends not to notice a plenty many things.

but alas, he knew your secret crush - was it still just a crush you had for yoongi? you’re not sure.

“what can i say? i’m raised traditional.”

x

that was two weeks ago. now, you’re back to working your ass off at the hospital, being grilled to the bones by your supervisor, getting reprimanded over being one minute late and then being told to run to the cafe five minutes from the hospital to buy your supervisors their favorite strawberry smoothie topped with sprinkles.

“kim seokjin, that dickwad.” jennie huffs, her cat-like eyes making it appear as though she’s plotting the man’s death. “he’s working you to the bones as soon as you get back.”

“he probably thinks i’m not that serious about my residency since my family has enough fortune to sustain me for my whole lifetime,” you can only laugh at that, her anger has sucked all the tiredness and annoyance you have for your supervisor right out of you. it feels refreshing, “all the more reason to prove him wrong.”

“enough about that asshole,” jisoo waves a dismissive hand off and you know what’s coming is far more terrifying: she blinks, eyes filled with stars and cherry red lips curling into the kind of smile that can only mean one thing, “how was it? the second son of kimcorp. were there rose petals on bed? candles lit around the house? a romantic, sizzling-”

“sorry, jisoo, i gotta go get ready for the dinner. i’ll buy you lunch tomorrow, okay?” you clasp your hands together apologetically when your phone buzzes with the reminder you set a week prior: 8am annual kimcorp dinner.

you breathe a sigh of relief as you shake off your white coat, draping it over your recliner before escaping to the washroom with a bag of makeup and the dust-proof cover bag of the outfit you’re wearing for tonight. by the time you’re touching up on your nude lipstick, your phone buzzes again but this time, the screen lights up with namjoon’s name on it.

“hey,” his voice is deeper through the phone - it’s the first time he calls you. there was never any reason for you to call each other but you suppose, he’s calling to make sure you’re not forgetting the dinner -

“i’m in front of the hospital.”

or maybe not.

“wh-what do you mean?” your cheeks heat up from the thought of namjoon waiting for you in his audi. the image, too domestic for your liking.

“well, you can’t drive so i thought i’d pick you up.” he says it like its the simplest equation to understand.

“namjoon,” the name feels foreign on your tongue regardless of how many times you taste it when you need to tell him something - to set the line straight, “i didn’t know you were gonna pick me up so i already told kyungsoo to pick me up. he’s probably already here. sorry i didn’t tell you sooner.”

“i know,” he says simply.

“e-excuse me?” while you’re beyond confused.

“i told your parents i’d pick you up so kyungsoo’s driving them to the dinner.”

“oh.”

wait. what?! 

x

namjoon is confident in his driving skills - as he is with everything he does. he’s almost perfect. the line of his shoulders seem at ease as he stirs the wheel with one hand and the other rests on the gear, inches away from your scarlet clad thighs.

“why isn’t hoseok driving you?” the aforementioned man sticks to him like glue. everywhere namjoon goes, he goes. it’s a given since he’s the head secretary but anyone who’s seen them interact could tell there’s more than boss-employee relationship between them. they seem like close friends which is unlikely be given namjoon’s too-serious nature and hoseok’s joke-cracking every five minutes - but not impossible.

his face remains the same as he keeps his eyes on the road, humming briefly, “he had a thing.”

“can secretaries have a thing and leave their boss to drive for himself like that?” that doesn’t sound right. you may not be actively involved in fecam industries’ affairs but mr. jung, your dad’s secretary, spends more time with your dad than the two men do with their wives - that’s how demanding the business world is. but could hoseok get a free pass because of his and namjoon’s friendship?

namjoon chuckles, dimples and all and you can’t help but blush at the side profile. if anything, he has a sharp jawline and beautiful neck-

you push the thought as soon as it comes. neck? who finds necks beautiful?

“he had a date but it’s not until a couple hours,” the tone he uses is light and playful but underlined with a sort of bashfulness that you don’t know kim namjoon was capable of, “i told him to go home because i wanted to pick you up myself.”

your cheeks heat up all over again as you stare at him a little too long. so much so, the hand that’s been comfortably perched on the gear goes to the back of his neck in an unsure manner.

“i just needed to talk to you about something.” he explains, just as awkward as he was in the back room at the church.

“okay.” eyes turned to the road too, you can see namjoon breathing a sigh of relief from your periphery. that couldn’t have been because of you could it? was he nervous because you were watching him? “what did you want to talk about?”

he clears his throat, that natural ease in his tone returning, “if it gets uncomfortable - if anyone asks, we met because you were yoongi’s fiancee and we couldn’t help but fall in love. but you wanted to intern at a hospital in paris so that’s why we’ve only gotten married now.”

you take awhile to digest the information until something in your stomach doesn’t sit right with you, “you want me to... lie?”

his bottom lip gets trapped between his teeth just for the briefest moment as he thinks about it. he probably didn’t expect you to disagree but he admits his mistake faster than half the people you know your whole life would, “i’m sorry, i didn’t think it would weight on your conscience. i was thought it’d be hard on you if some ass- someone’s going to start a rumor about you but i didn’t ask how you’d feel about it.”

“i see.” you simply nod. it’s true that you’re the pass-up fiancee who got between two people who fell in love in college but the other is the son of a renown family and engaged while the other is an arts major from a normal working family. unable to let bygones be bygones, you decide to marry the younger brother to your fiance - or so the story goes. “but they already know i was yoongi’s fiancee and i ended up marrying you. i don’t need - no, i don’t want to explain myself to anyone.”

despite that big talk, your can feel the prickle of tears in your eyes. namjoon steals a glance at you and he never mentions the glassiness of your gaze - if anything, he smiles. it’s different than the usual smiles. this one, though wordless, says he’s following your flow. do what you like and if and when things get though, you can count on me.

x

dinner has yet started when you arrived. guests are still arriving and waiters and waitresses are carrying trays of champagne glasses around. in a distance, your friends wave at you to come over. you smile, hand falling away from namjoon’s since you needed to at least do that in front of the paparazzo that were waiting outside. eager, hungry for gossip about the wedding that shook south korea’s business world.

“girl, you are glowing.”  yerin literally screams. it’s a secret to no one that she’s hinting on your recent marriage and private island getaway. but nothing happened.

“how are you girls? it’s been so long.” you side hug eunha, letting her arms wrap around your waist as you stand huddled together.

you haven’t seen them since you got back from paris. the wedding was attended by thousands of people - all of whom, your and namjoon’s family’s associates. but you had your hands full shaking hands and smiling next to your husband because these people matter to namjoon. or at least he has an interest over them. business deals. merges. trades. kimcorps carries out every kinds of business they can get their hands on. namjoon passingly mentioned about the work-in-progress for a private hospital.

you dread the likelihood of having to leave the hospital you’re working in right now for family-run one but you know it’s quite impossible to not get involved when you, yourself is a doctor.

“we weren’t the ones who went under the radar and came back and got married to the second son of kimcorp.” yuju huffs sulkily, cheeks pinked from the champagne she’s had but she isn’t that far gone when she clamps her mouth shut a second later, eyebrows furrowing in guilt.

sowon nudges her side anyway, mouthing her something as your gaze falls on the light caught in your black gucci heels.

“i-i’m sorry, ___ that didn’t come out right.” comes a heartbeat later, she sounds just as sorry as her words as you offer her a small smile. 

“it’s okay, it’s the truth anyway.”

“stop that,” eunha suddenly gripes, her gaze boring into you and rips apart the barrier you’ve tried so hard to maintain, “we’ve been friends since elementary school, we know how whipped you are for that asshole so-” she sniffles while you’re left wondering if it’s her who had an ex-fiance break if off and had his parents relay the news on a bi-weekly dinner. 

“she’s trying to say you can cry or get mad or curse that dipshit around us. don’t hold back.” sowon finishes, lips twitching as she enjoys watching the vulnerable state of the otherwise fiercest one among you.

something in your chest feels light. like a weight being lifted off your shoulders as you study the girl’s face one by one. sowon’s and yerin’s smirk, yuju’s nodding and eunha’s teary eyes. 

“yoongi, he’s-” you take a deep breath and it feels almost dramatic as the second stretches on while you build up the hurt, the anxiousness, the disbelief that the man put you through, “-a fucking idiot.”

“you bet he is,” yerin’s basically screams, swiping a glass for you and holding hers up, “that fucking idiot.”

you tighten your side hug on eunha in an ‘i’m okay’ gesture as you clink your glasses together.

it’s a few moments later that murmurs start to spread around. the tension that comes with the latest arrived guest thick enough to command every attention in the room.

“she’s ballsy. coming here.” sowon offhandedly comments, eyes trained on the girl who has her hand on yoongi’s arm like an iron clamp. “right into the lion’s den.”

she may not have her parents’ money to groom her into the women you and the girls are. but maybe that’s why she has her own air. her poised steps, coupled with a cocktail creme laced dress and relaxed smile easily gives her an innocent cloak. someone friendly and good-tempered and can adjust well to her suddenly-plunged-into-money circumstance when she married yoongi. that must have been why you never heard any bad rumors about her even though there’s almost always at least one gossip enthusiast in these socials.

“ugh, i hate her!” yuju hisses, eyes more focused as she places her glass onto one of the waiter’s trays.

“i-i think i’m going to get myself some snacks.” with that, you slip past the guests until you’re at the end of the room, standing in front of the everything-you-can-eat table lined up with pastries only from the best bakes.

that moment, when you looked from her to yoongi, your eyes met. his hair is a little longer than you remember it, flowing in light blue tresses until just a few centimeters above his eyebrows. the first two buttons of his shirt is undone. her doesn’t wear a necktie - he despises how suffocating they feel. but he’s managed to keep on his blazer - he used to say they were hot and took them off and left them in the back seat of the car when you arrived at an event. he used to attend these events with you. just the two of you. for four years. you thought you’d keep doing so for longer after you got married.

“you know, they’re not plastic and made for display.” a voice breaks you from your train of thoughts.

“p-pardon?” you blink once. confused.

“the pastries,” namjoon lulls his head to the side where towers of tarts, macaroons, pavlova and sliced cakes stand tall and proud, “they’re edible.”

it takes a moment for you to register that he was joking - kim namjoon? cracking jokes?

his smile tilts higher when you chuckle. it’s brief but the look of relief oh his face lingers. he must have seen you escape from your group of friends. and this is his own way of checking up on you.

“thank you, namjoon.” you murmur low enough for only you and him to hear, lips tugging in the corners. “but i’m fine - i just - seeing him for the first time like this - it’s just unexpected. even though this is an annual dinner held by his family and he has every right to be here.”

“that’s her? the ex-fiancee?” a guest asks in a hushed tone somewhere a few feet away. but she’s not very discreet as she thinks she is.

“yeah, she couldn’t get the older brother so she went for the younger one.”

apparently, her company needs to attend classes on how-to-whisper-101 too.

“how mortifying. and the brother just goes with it?”

“he must have felt compelled to save her face. you know how nice and well-mannered he is-”

the low noise namjoon makes under his breath catches your attention. the muscles on his face is strained and twisted. it barely shows. just a crease between his eyebrows and the lack of smile. he hardly ever smiles from the tabloids and interviews you’ve seen of him so people might not notice the displeasure. but after a whole month of knowing namjoon, if there’s anything you can say for certain about the man, it’s the stockpile of smiles he has to offer.

“namjoon, it’s okay. i don’t care.” you smile, it’s forced and you know he notices it right off the bat but sighs anyway, shoulder line falling just slightly as he runs a hand over his sleek styled hair.

his lips move and you hear the words he uttered but somehow your mind couldn’t comprehend the information without going blank. “s-sorry?”

“it agitates me that they’re freely spewing bullshit like this,” he huffs, cheeks tinted pink at having to repeat his words. “it’s taking everything in me not to go over there and tell them their husbands have at least one business deal with kimcorp. and i can end it and it’d plunge their family into bankruptcy.”

“wh-why would you do such a thing?” the question comes out almost dumbly but if it did, he doesn’t say. he just... keeps looking at you.

you’re barely able hold yourself from squirming under his scrutiny, the smile now awkward in all places.

“if you don’t mind, can i kiss you?” his eyes widen just the slightest bit as he corrects himself, “on the forehead i mean.”

he clears his throat, eyes straying away from you as if he couldn’t bear to look at your face after that mistake. “just so i can prove to them i wasn’t forced to marry you.”

the light pinkish blush spreads to the tip of his ears and neck as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. you’re not sure why, but the sight in front of you is endearing and you find yourself saying-

“okay, kiss me.”

you didn’t specify where. and maybe, as the heat flares across your own cheeks when his arm band around your waist and a warm hand presses up against you cheekbone - maybe you want him to kiss you somewhere else.

the chatter stops and so does time. but it’s only for as long as namjoon’s full lips are on your forehead, kissing you for the second time. then, time resumes and murmurs begin to spread louder than when yoongi made his arrival. when the gravelly voice speaks from somewhere behind namjoon, you know why.

“get a room, will you?” yoongi’s tone is light - you’d taken a whole year getting used to it to know he’s being playful and not condescending.

“yoongi.” namjoon greets, unlike the elder man, his sounds better natured but there’s a sort of underlying detachment. his arm is still on your lower back almost as if he needs to feel that you’re here or he’d be completely detached. “i didn’t think you’d show up. you hate these events.”

the aforementioned man draws out a long sigh as though he’s been found out over a poorly told lie. “i don’t but naeun wanted to go - you know how things are with mom and dad. she thinks it’s gonna make them open up.”

it’s no secret your father and mother-in-law doesn’t talk about yoongi’s marriage - they never do around you but you thought they were being considerate. but what yoongi’s saying right now could mean his relationship with his parents are far more strained than you thought it’d be. especially since they had let him marry the girl of his dreams who’s clearly below their standards.

she - naeun - is standing somewhere near the exit, conversing with the notorious older generation that yerin duped ‘the wickeds’. for their ways of gaining wealth, for their poor treatment towards their employees, for socially shunning a young man - new money, for addressing one of them casually. she is ballsy.

“it’s been awhile,” yoongi’s directly addressing you now. the tug on his lips as playful as an old friend’s greeting. you don’t know how he can look at you like nothing happened. “you’re finally a resident now, huh?”

“yeah, finally.” you smile, the kind of smile that celebrates her triumph. the celebration part is true but the smile is every bit unnatural. but it seems to fool yoongi as he nods, proud.

somewhere in your chest, the strings on your heart clenches at the unchanging personality of this man. no wonder you like him.

before the conversation can tread further down memory lane, there’s an announcement to have the guests move to another room where dinner is being served.

“we’ll get going first then.” namjoon announces, guiding you by the waist as yoongi nods, waiting for naeun to come to his side before going in himself.

x

 dinner went smoother than expected. yoongi and naeun showed up uninvited and were placed in the back seats where the people socially displaced guests are. you felt bad when you saw naeun’s distorted expression as waiters bring in chairs to the table for the both of them. but there’s nothing you could have done.

“you have an 8am shift tomorrow, right?” namjoon asks as you slip your heels off, wincing at when one of them brushes against the blisters. they’re gonna be a bitch to deal with tomorrow.

stretching your arms out as you walk up the stairs, you hum in confirmation. “mhm, and you have dinner with ms. yoo, right?”

it’s ironic how you know each other’s schedule despite not being anything more than two people sharing one house and happens to be married. guess you’ll chalk it up with the fact that you both respect each other enough to be aware of each other’s whereabouts - not the creepy kind of way but the share-me-your-live-location-so-i-know-you’re-safe kind of way.

namjoon was quiet until you take a left to where the guest bedroom-turned-permanent-bedroom is, “it got rescheduled.”

your hand hovers over the door handle as you crane your neck to look at the man on the top of the stairs. his bow tie is loosened, the button to his color undone and his blazer is draped over one arm - a telltale sign of a final end to the night. “i was hoping we could have dinner to together. after work.”

yes but you don’t usually go straight home after work. you usually spend time at the library either at your previous college or at the hospital. you’ve decided to continue your research no matter how taxing it may be since you came back from the honeymoon. namjoon knows and the fact he asks you to dinner anyway - it’s unlike him.

he’s the kind of person that would ask if you had free time and match his schedule to yours. not ask for your time.

“yeah, sure.” you say and you think you see his shoulder line sagging as if he’s just let out a long-held breath, “pick me up at 8?”

“yeah.” he nods, dimples showing as his lips curl at your answer, “at 8.”

only when the door closes behind you, do you let yourself slide down to the ground. heels lying next to your thighs and dress in need of being sent for washing. your cheeks are and neck and ears are hot. dinner? just you and namjoon? like... a date?

x

jisoo isn’t around when lunch rolls by.

“a patient got rolled into er this morning - couldn’t contact any of his family members. suho decided to go ahead with surgery but he reacted badly to the anesthesia so she had to make up for her suho’s mistake and monitor his patient.” jennie’s face scrunches at the other woman’s supervisor pushing the task on her. shoving a forkful of the cheese cake, she sighs as the medical professional side take over, “thank god the surgery went smoothly though despite all that.”

you hum in contemplation, comparing the well-established crazy bitch seokjin who pushes those under his supervision to their limits and suho’s less-than-extreme approach. you used to envy jisoo and jennie for getting suho as their supervisor but at the end of the day, with every push from seokjin, you get out of it stronger and wiser. “i hope she doesn’t forget to have her meals.”

the day ends faster than usual. of course with rounds and surgeries you have to assist with, you’ve always find yourself barely realizing the setting sun - the sign of that your shift has ended.

but you could have sworn it was 5pm when you last checked the time. an car crash patient had arrived at the er and you forgot you’d left your phone on your desk, running out to assist the critical patient. it’s only when you’ve plopped into your recliner, head thrown back in fatigue, do you notice the vibration of your phone.

namjoon’s name flashes across your screen. your eyes almost bulges out of their sockets as you swipe to the right.

the deep voice from the other end is as calm as ever, “hey, ___-”

“namjoon!” you almost scream with guilt, phone pressed between your cheek and your shoulder as you shrug the coat off one shoulder before using the free now free hand to hold the phone and shrug off the other shoulder, “where are you?”

“i’m at the parking lot. i couldn’t wait at the lobby because i was obstructing the other cars - i called you a few times.” he sounds almost concerned and your heart clenches tightly in you chest at the thought of him waiting for you for over an hour.

you burst onto the parking lot - searching for the sleek black audi until a red bugatti rolls over. you’re about to take a step back seeing as you’re almost standing in the middle of the road - when the driver on the other side of the car steps out. his usually gelled hair is mussed from the amount of times he ran his hand over it, cuffs rolled to just below his elbow, revealing the dark veins that run just below the skin on his arm. 

namjoon fixes you with that eased smile, going around the gently purring vehicle and opening the door to the passenger seat for you. the arm which hand he uses to hold the door open pulls on the thin fabric of his button down in all the right places. so this is a the normal end-of-the-day look.

you always get back a bit later than him and by the time he looks up from his work that’s laid out over the coffee table, he would usually already have bathed and changed into one of those long-sleeved shirts.

x

the restaurant he initially booked for dinner had cancelled. naturally. so you end up in a barbecue place five minutes away from the hospital. this is where you and your colleagues go when to celebrate a birthday, promotion or finally-having-a-boyfriend/girlfriend.

the slices of meat sizzles on the grill, its marinated aroma wafting in the air. but your stomach churns with a different kind of sensation - guilt. “i-i’m sorry. because of me you had to wait an hour and got cancelled by the restaurant.”

then, he chuckles. it’s the same kind of good natured chuckle that reverberates every time you say something amusing - but you can’t see how any of this is.

his says your name. the syllabus rolls out of his tongue in waves but you chalk up the blush spreading on your face with the heat of the grill so close to you. he leans back against the backrest, sleeves filled out to the brim as he crosses his arms over his chest. “you were the one saving a life. all i did was wait.”

“y-yeah but still.” no emergency is foreseeable, otherwise you could have saved more lives than you do now. and it’s still not enough. “i forgot about you.”

namjoon nods, taking your words into consideration - as if he never thought about it that way. as if he truly doesn’t mind wasting his time over some woman he has to tolerate because he’s married to her. “cook me dinner then.”

“wh-what?”

“i don’t want you to beat yourself up and i know whatever i say is going to come off as me being nice.” the corners in his lips tugs upwards, “so make it to me by cooking dinner.”

once your brain is done registering what he said, you clutch your hands in your lap as though you’re clinging onto this one time chance to make up for your fault, “yes! i-i mean yeah, sounds fair.”

the smooth sound of his chuckle isn’t lost to the sizzle of the meat. to him, it must be a small matter but to you, it’s a matter of pride.

“this saturday then?” you offer, a bit too eager.

almost as if remembering something, he releases a long drawn out sigh, “business trip to tokyo.”

“next weekend?”

“mom’s home sweeter home fundraiser for the orphans on saturday. sunday?”

“night shift. how bout breakfast?”

“golf with seollyu’s director.”

a heavy pause lapses in the room. after a moment, namjoon reaches for the chopsticks, flipping the slices of meat over.

your shoulders sag, lips pursed in a pout. this isn’t an unusual occurrence in your years of being the daughter of your family. your father is devoutly involved in the family business and your mother is busy with her charity work. you’ve celebrated birthdays with the staff more than you do with them.

the glint of the chopstick that’s placing a piece of meat on your plate catches your eyes. you study the long nimble fingers to the vein that runs from the back of its hand and disappear somewhere below his arm before you gulp, meeting his eyes - did he notice you checking out his arm?

“we’ll figure something out.” if he did, he doesn’t say as he fixes you with an assuring smile, “but right now you need to get some food in you. eat up dr. ___. you did great today at work.”

this time, you really can’t blame the grill for the blush.

x

“you could’ve told mom you couldn’t do brunch.” namjoon tells you in the elevator to the 15th floor of your in-laws’ house. it’s been three days since that night. he’s left for work but prior to this morning, he’d already made it clear that it was no problem at all picking you up from home.

he’s probably saying this because of the lack of makeup you’d put on. some pats of compact powder and bright red lipstick can’t hide the bags underneath those tired eyes. you’d spend extra hours reading about the defective genes and the fix to remodel them so every child born from parents from a history of relatives with inheritable diseases could live a life without the risk of said disease.

“i’m fine.” you wave a dismissive hand before stretching in the compact space in a last ditch attempt to wake yourself up and hopefully look fresher by the time you reach the floor. “’sides, i’ve been so focused on work, it’s nice to see mom and dad every once in awhile.”

you’ve gotten used to referring to mr. and mrs. kim as if they’re your own parents - in a way, they are. you’ve known them for as long as you can remember.

“you have to be at the hospital by noon, right?”

you hum in confirmation. though you insisted on grabbing a cab to the hospital since it’s on the opposite side of the office, namjoon had insisted better. “mhm, oh we’re here.”

a ding! echoes throughout the elevator when it stops, doors opening to a hallway with black and yellow walls and ceiling, paired with honey marble flooring. it takes a few seconds before the black door at the end of the hallway to swing open but instead of the warm smile of the elderly lady, a bring and vibrant naeun beams at the both of you.

“you’re here. come in.” she steps aside, the hem of her sundress fluttering as she moves.

your body tenses at the proximity of the woman who you thought you could avoid until a much later time. and from the barely noticeable lifted brows that namjoon does, you know he wasn’t expecting his sister-in-law too. if she’s here, so is yoongi.

“we picked these up on the way.” you hand her the paris baguette paper bag. you’d ordered a mix of fruit tarts, cinnamon rolls and macaroon. all of which you remember mrs. kim mentioning to be her favorites. 

“oh! you shouldn’t have but thank you.” up close, naeun is much more prettier with a natural pinkish tint across her cheeks that makes her seem dreamy and glossed cheery lips that complements the gentle air she carries around. she passes the bag to one of the staff that’ll probably unbox them and plate them.

you offer her a smile - though a bit strained. and she must have noticed when she sighs softly, eyes darting to her fuchsia flats before looking back up at you with a furrowed brows. but even when she’s frowning, she’s pretty.

“i’ve been wanting to meet you and properly apologize for not being able to attend the wedding - i had an exhibition that day in prague and yoongi wouldn’t let me go by myself even though i thought at least one of us should go to his brother’s wedding.” she chuckles at the last part as if replaying the heartwarming scene of her protective husband choosing his wife over his family. you can feel every fiber of your body coiling and writhing - it takes everything for you not to leave through the door. would yoongi have done the same for you?

“this must be awkward for you, isn’t it?” her lips tug into a half-smile - a telltale that she’s equally uncomfortable to talk about this topic. “with you and yoongi being engaged before but now i’m the one married to him. but i hope we can put everything past us and be a family.”

but something in the way she talks - it’s as if she sympathizes. as if she’s saying it’s okay, you shouldn’t feel ashamed. but what are you supposed to be shameful of? of being engaged to yoongi before? of marrying his brother when said engagement fell through? perhaps you should have gave mrs. kim a hard ‘no’ when she pleaded with teary eyes for you and your parents’ forgiveness when she and mr. kim had to break the news over dinner two years ago. so you wouldn’t have to develop a hard skin and pretend you didn’t care about the ruthless rumors that have spread far and wide after your marriage to namjoon. 

“oh? yeah, it was a long time ago.” you offhandedly say - it’s that moment, when her eyes twitches just the slightest bit that you realize it wasn’t all just in your head. she did mean to make you feel embarrassed when she started mentioning the engagement.

you join namjoon and mrs. kim at the garden while naeun follows suit a second later, taking the middle among the three seats. the elder woman’s eyes light up at the sight of you, her heels clacking against the wooden flooring as she crosses the distance and engulfs you in a hug. you hug back, smiling at the woman’s motherly warmth.

“___, my favorite daughter, what happened to you?” she cups your cheeks, brows furrowing as she seem to examine your complexion.

you should’ve used concealer. 

“the hospital is working you to the bone isn’t it? why, it’s been awhile since i had lunch with chairman lee, maybe i should give his wife a call.”

that’s how it works when you have connections. if someone’s daughter or son fails to get into college or a job through regular exams or interviews, a dinner or lunch with the director of the institution will get the child admitted overnight. that’s probably why seokjin was harder on you than usual when you got back from your honeymoon - he must think you’re not serious about being a doctor. it’s not a secret he came from old money but he’d cut off all ties with his family when he started working. he has more ethics than half of the people you know.

“___ doesn’t like it when you do these things, mom.” yoongi grumbles - always the painfully honest one. the chair screeches as he pulls it and plops between naeun and namjoon while their father occupies the seat next to mrs. kim. it looks like they just came from mr. kim’s home office. and judging from the stiffness of their posture, the talk must have been a serious one.

namjoon’s shoulder line tightens just the slightest bit - you almost thought it was just a figment of your imagination but when you steal a glance at his face, you know he’s not too keen in having yoongi sit next to him. so you weren’t imagining it when he seemed like he was escaping yoongi by not waiting for naeun to come and walk with you to into the dining hall.

you’re not lost to yoongi’s familiar tone when he spoke on your behalf. but you’re not happy either. forcing a laugh, you push a strand to the back of your ear for the sake of doing something, “i-it’s not the hospital. i’ve been staying up late to work a bit on my research.”

a worker comes with the baked goods you brought. they’re plated on perfectly polished ceramic - you can easily see your forced smile in its reflection when the woman sets them down the table in front of you. 

“research?” yoongi lifts one eyebrow at you. too casually. and it takes you back to those times when you used to visit him at his college’s library and you’d bring your homework with you whilst you slip in a few ‘what i did’s as he typed away on his mac but still managed to keep up with you and asked questions here and there. a sign that he’d been present and listening.

“___’s been working on researching how segregate defective genes during the fetal stage so the fetus won’t take on their parents’ inherent diseases when they’re born.” namjoon explains the simplified version almost as though it’s part of his day-to-day line of work. he grins at you, the corners of his lips tugging with pride - a gratification of being able to show you off.

“that’s good. you’re making a difference in this world.” mr. kim is the first to break the silence. and in the years you’ve known him, it means the highest level of flattery you’ll ever get from the man.

your cheeks are flushed red and you know well enough it’s not because of mr. kim’s compliment than it is his son’s. “it’s still just a research draft but th-thank you. mister-” the elder man raises his brow and you quickly correct yourself, “i mean, dad.” 

he nods at the word, the slightest hint of smile disappearing under the cup of tea he brings to his mouth.

“but still, don’t push yourself too hard. working as a doctor takes up a lot of time already.” naeun fixes you with a worried gaze but something about her tone makes your stomach churn - it’s as if she’s playing down the time and effort you’d invested in your research and reminding you to focus on your paying job. even if you did downplay yourself when you were responding to mr. kim. before you can sort out the wave of emotions clashing inside you, namjoon seems to beat you to it.

“not everyone can do what ___’s doing. it’s okay if she wants to do more,” a hand slips under yours in your lap, reverting your gaze from the beautiful woman to the apparent difference in the size of yours and namjoon before you turn your cheek to him. it was a mistake because now you’re holding your breath as you come face to face. his body is leaned into you as he speaks, “i’ll just take care of ___ better.”

he turns to naeun, lips twitching upwards in a brief smile as if to enforce it more and putting a finality to the topic. but you’re left staring at namjoon’s sharp jawline until mrs. kim makes a squealing sound as she clamps her mouth shut in an attempt to tease you.

“gosh, is my baby all grown up now? he’s saying he’ll take care of his wife!”

the chuckle you let out is nowhere near natural or entertained. not when your insides are burning and you think your heart is going into overdrive from how fast it’s beating. and it doesn’t help that namjoon’s too casually playing along “of course, i only have one wife.”

x

“namjoon,” you take a second to gather yourself, hands fiddling in your lap as the car rolls to a stop in front of the lobby. the man fixes you with an inquisitive gaze. of course, who wouldn’t be wondering what’s up if their name was spoken with so much weight in them like you did with namjoon’s? “what was that? the wife thing?”

he stares into the street as he sifts through his memory before he fixes you with a gaze clouded with guilt, “i’m sorry. i got carried away - it won’t happen again.”

and that’s the thing. namjoon is too fast in admitting his fault. but you didn’t bring it up because you wanted an apology-

“no, i don’t mind.” you shake your head almost too eagerly before back tracking and clearing your throat, “i mean, it’s true. we’re married - i am your wife.”

the corners of his lips upturns at your last words and he doesn’t bother to hide it as he waits for you to finish - but how can you when he’s looking at you so tenderly like that?

“it’s just - too soon?” you curse yourself for sounding so meek but any louder, your heart might just jump out of your throat.

namjoon nods, that contemplative look settling on his face and takes away that smile only to return it with a dimpled grin. one hand slides in between yours and guiding the back of your hand to his lips.

“we’ll take it slow then.”

you can only nod, afraid that if you tried to speak, you would forget how to. the light rap on your side of the window catches both your attention. it’s the parking management. stealing a glance at the cars that are beginning to queue up behind you, you hurriedly gather your bag and hop out of the car.

cheeks flushed, you barely register waving back at namjoon when he leans over the passenger seat just to shoot you that dimpled smile and a ‘see you at home’.

you turn on your heels. the sharp click bounces against the white walls. a small smile spreads across your lips as you think about namjoon’s words.

yeah, the penthouse does feel like home.

x

this isn’t slow at all. you’re barely progressing.

it feels like everyday is passing by too fast what with the abundance of functions you’ve told namjoon you wanted to go with when you’re not working, to cramming some time for research and trying to find the time to at least make breakfast when you’re not on morning shift. though on some mornings, he’d beat you to breakfast and you’d wake up to the delectable smell of omelette or bacon.

“you must be thrilled about the new hospital, mrs. kim,” mrs. hwan is generally an agreeable woman along with her husband, the president of a small startup firm. they’re the first couple to approach you and namjoon since you arrived at the party. but that’s just it - the smiling, the talking, the eagerness doesn’t show in their eyes. it’s all about building connections while maintaining a good enough acquaintanceship. “are you going to be managing it directly since you’re a doctor yourself?”

“naturally,” the tug on your lips and the smoothness of your response is almost effortless. you’re no stranger to this scene - except back then, you would be standing next to yoongi. though your hand wouldn’t be tucked in his arm like yours is with namjoon. “though i still have a lot to learn, i hope the next two years will help me prepare to for eden.”

two years is the estimated time that eden hospital will be able to run. you’d finish your residency by then. all that’s left is to take the next step. just like your parents had planned for you as they’d planned many things. you never had the power to object.

mrs. hwan goes on to sprinkling empty praises while her husband laughs in deflated humor. they say the way to a successful business deal is through the wife.

once namjoon gets swamped by more people, you gently pull your hand away from his arm. you don’t miss the pleading look he fixes you when he notices your intention but you can only return a ‘you can do it!’ smile and slip away from the limelight.

the balcony area is dark, illuminated only by the fading light the pours over the floor past the door frame. you don’t expect the air to be this chilly at the beginning of summer but then again, namjoon did suggest bringing a coat - you were just too stubborn to because it would ruin the off shoulder look of your dress.

a sneeze escapes you a moment later as you hug yourself in an attempt to retain your body heat. but the warmth that engulfs you seems impossible to have come from just your puny palms - heck, your fingers were starting to feel prickly cold. there’s a sort of weight on your shoulders that wasn’t there before-

“idiot, you’re gonna catch a cold.” yoongi tuts from next to you - he has his hands in his pockets, all donned in crisp white shirt and checkered grey trousers and vest. all that’s missing is a matching blazer - the one that he placed around you just now.

somewhere in the recesses of your memories, you remember him taking off the muffler he had on and wrapping it around your neck when you showed up for your ‘christmas date’ with a pink nose and pinker ears - you could barely feel them. yoongi was that kind of person - the kind that acted like everything is a whole load of inconvenience and yet went to greater length to inconvenient himself for you.

“thanks. i thought i was going to freeze to death if i have to hide out here for another hour.” you tug the thick material of the blazer closer - the warmth of his heat feels just right.

“then you shouldn’t have come in the first place.” he must have noticed the higher-than-an-octave tone he uses before ruffling his hair - it’s the first you’ve ever seen him so unsure. is it really because of you?

“it’s fine. besides, what kind of wife would i be if i let namjoon get eaten by the pack of wolves by himself?” you chuckle at the fact that you’d done just that when you escaped the growing crowd of businessmen.

but when you notice the lack of humor on yoongi’s face, your own dies down. he’s staring at you with an indecipherable look. it’s not the bored expression he usually sports - not also the anger from the outburst just now. before you can say anything, namjoon’s lean silhouette appears in the doorway. you can’t see his face but his tone is strained. “we’re leaving, if you’re both done catching up.”

“so soon?” you know for a fact it probably hasn’t even been fifteen minutes - and you’re supposed to linger for at least two hours before leaving. that’d be enough time for namjoon to scout any potential business associate - the worthy ones at least.

“hey little bro.” yoongi waves, the disinterested look now returning but the way he phrases his next words oozes with revulsion. it’s no surprise. while yoongi hates these events - he’s probably here because of naeun, you heard the director of seoul’s annual art exhibition is here - namjoon strives off it. garnering attention and making the best of it by bringing in stockholders. “had enough of ass licking?”

you never understand the tangibility of the tension that feels the air when these two brothers are in the same room together - they’re barely able to remain civil in the presence of mr. and mrs. kim. anywhere without their parents’ watchful eyes, a fight would always be at risk of breaking out. whenever you were around, you’d be the one to interfere, whether it’s to tug on yoongi’s sleeve and tell him you’re hungry, or step in front of him just so he’d remember you’re here or right now-

“thank you, yoongi.” folding the blazer in half, you hand it back to the man - only that he’s not taking it back. momentarily, you wonder if you’d stained it with your lipstick or foundation but the lapels never touched anywhere above your neck. but deep in the crook of your conscience, you know it’s when his mind retracts back to you, to the present.

the sigh that escapes yoongi is a telltale of fatigue - you wonder if this is the first time of the day he came out of his studio. taking the blazer from your outstretched hand, he slings it over his shoulder, “don’t get too caught up with these functions. focus on your goal.”

your goal meaning what comes next in your career: the fellowship. you thought that information was lost on him, buried among the many things you told him just because you were comfortable telling him everything. 

and as you watch him walk back into the lion’s den, you wonder, how didn’t you realize he was in love with someone else during the visits you paid while he was doing his masters and phd?

x

namjoon doesn’t say anything about yoongi in the car. but both his hands are on the wheel. knuckles a little paler from holding onto the wheel.

“you don’t have to be part of eden’s board of directors.” he huffs, as though annoyed but from the way he continues, you know he’s not annoyed at you. he’s annoyed at himself. “you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to - i don’t want to force anything on you.”

and you know - you know more than anyone how conscious namjoon is of things. from the change in your mood to the people that tries to get close to him because of his status - that’s also why he didn’t kiss you on your lips that day. but a kiss was the prerequisite of a vow so he kissed you on the forehead. the area where his lips landed burns your skin as your cheeks flush from the memory.

“i know.” you hesitate for a heartbeat but reach out to cover one of his hands on the wheel still. to let him know that you’re not just saying that to ease the guilt.

when you pull away from the thought of how risky and distracting what you did was, the hand that you were lightly caressing pulls at yours, intertwining your fingers as he keeps them on his thigh. your entire body burns from the contact yet you’re sitting frozen in your spot. it’s the gentle squeeze on your hand that brings you out of your shell-shock state. a smile tugs on your lips subconsciously as you squeeze back.

x

the following week, you almost got into a fight with namjoon when he caught you dressing up prettily. he told you it was okay not to attend these functions anymore - the ones your tight schedule barely allow you to. fight was an overstatement. your feelings were hurt when he’d kissed your temple and said, “it’s okay, you don’t have to push yourself.”

well, you were but he wasn’t seeing the bigger picture. “can’t you see? i wanna spend more time with you and the only way i can is if we attend these functions together.”

in hindsight, you probably shouldn’t have thrown your strapless black diamond purse at him out of frustration.

but the following functions, you did spend more time together. he’d declined the usual advancement of business people the way only kim namjoon could pull off - with a dimpled smile and a hand around your waist as if to indicate that they were interrupting - and they were. they’d come up to the both of you while you were telling namjoon about a new skillet spaghetti recipe you’d wanted to try making for the long overdue dinner you owe him. and you’d expected someone to approach namjoon and take his attention away but you didn’t think he’d decline them.

“hm? i don’t think we have tomatoes or beef. should we go grocery shopping?” he suggests calmly as though he didn’t just turn down the chairman of tvn broadcast. the man had to do a double take in case he had mistaken namjoon’s smooth rejection.

you place a hand on his chest, restraining the urge to pull your hand away as if you’ve touched fire. you knew he goes to the gym for an hour after work and his shirts always seem a size too small around his arms but you didn’t expect anything beyond that underneath that shirt of his. you clear your throat when you realize his neck is craned so he could look at you - give you all the attention in the world, “you know, we can discuss dinner some other time - when you’re free.”

but neither of you are free. you barely see each other at home because of your unpredictable schedule and his that’s set in stone.

“then what would you rather us talk about right now?” a corner of his lips tugs upwards. if you first met him, you wouldn’t easily dismiss the smile as nothing more than because of his amiable nature. but you’ve been married for almost five months now and you clearly pick up on the playfulness that lights up his eyes.

“the desserts.” you announce too quickly in an attempt to avert his attention from what he’s thinking - one thing you’ve realized is that namjoon is painfully aware of your blushing fits and your avoidance to look him in the eyes. “they’re nice, aren’t they?”

all of a sudden, he’s scooping a forkful of the chocolate souffle he’d picked up from the desserts section while you’d opted for the luscious almond torte. a small smirk tugs on his lips as he holds the fork to your mouth the way he does during breakfast. he knows you have no objections of being fed like a child but he also knows where you stand with public display of affection.

“say ‘aaaaa’ and i’ll give you a treat, doctor ___.” and he loves to tease you. he’s taken to calling you that because of that one incident where he’d seen you discuss about a patient with one of the nurses while you were on your way to meet him. in his own words, he’d ‘never seen you this scary before.’

in your defense, it was five minutes till lunch break so it was still working hours and you were acting the way you usually did at work - but you’d understand. the person you are with friends and the person you are at work are two separate entities. suppose you’ve mastered separating personal business and work. namjoon seems to take pleasure in making that steadfast side of you squirm and blush like a tomato.

your fingerpads gently grazes the back of his hand as you hold the fork in place before taking it in your mouth. your eyes flit over namjoon’s for the briefest moment before taking a step back, licking the residue of souffle off your lips.

“they really are nice.” you murmur as you throw your gaze at the stage where a man sits at the piano before flickering back to namjoon.

you wonder why he’s so quiet all of a sudden -

the man in question still has the empty fork in the air, eyes wide and staring at you, you would’ve thought he’d seen a ghost. until you notice the dust of pink across his cheek and spread to the tip of his ears.

oh?

x

mrs. kim’s fundraiser is held at the school where the children attended. about four canopies were set up on the field. one for the children’s activities - you remember reading something about coloring, origami-making and storybook reading.  the volunteers - possibly college students hoping to earn the graces of kimcorp’s president’s wife for an internship - already have the children huddled up in groups of three or four.

one canopy is specifically set up for a table of wide range of food - if there’s anything you like about these functions, it’s the abundance of food they never fail to prepare. as if spending a lot of money on a fundraising event is something to flex about.

the other two canopies are for the people of interest - acquaintances of mrs. kim and those who come with an ulterior motive be it to get sponsors for their own project, a business deal or simply to regain a higher social hierarchy by falling into your mother-in-law’s graces.

you press a light kiss on namjoon’s cheek before he’s whisked away by the second category. business men who jump at the sight of your ceo husband who got a fair warning from mrs. kim to “play nice. what’s gotten into you all of a sudden? these days i keep hearing things about you turning chairmen down! your father didn’t work this hard just to raise a stuck up son that could ruin his business in a matter of days.”

once you’ve had a slice of red velvet and tiny macaroons, you decide to hide yourself from the few people who try to do the same to you when namjoon is too preoccupied by the ones who claimed his attention first. just like preys on the top of the pyramid sinking its claws, the lower level preys couldn’t come close.

but one manages to follow you into one of the classrooms.

“nothing’s changed has it?’ yoongi stands in the doorway, tuxedo and brown loafers and all. hands tucked into both his pockets, he strides across the room and stops in front of the window that overlooks the light pink canopies and the people underneath them. “same old assholes using a charitable cause to proliferate their influence.”

the muscles on your face pulls your lips into a disapproving frown, “that’s how our parents manage to give us an education. a good life.” you don’t agree to the way they go about it but you give credit where it’s due.

yoongi scoffs, his shoulders jolting slightly. you can’t see his face as he stands with his back on you but you know he’s smirking that condescending smirk. the first time you saw it was when you were in your senior year of high school and yoongi was doing his masters in business and accounting. he’d looked down on the man who approached the two of you like he was scum just because everyone knew his company was wallowing in debt and he’s desperate enough to ask the lion who hates the jungle for help.

“always finding a middle ground. if you like what they do so much, why did you become a doctor? why didn’t you follow their footsteps, huh?”

you can’t help but let out a tired sigh. you’ve been here before. you’ve seen this. yoongi hates the world he’s born in and you understand why but you can never feel what he feels. “why are you here, yoongi? shouldn’t you be with naeun?” there’s a pause. a heartbeat before you decide to let yourself free. say what you want to say. “before the wolves get to her.”

“she’s fine.” it's almost offensive how haughty he sounds. he must either be aware of nauen’s innocence that makes the wolves eliminate the possibility of her being a threat or he just doesn’t care. the latter presumption makes your stomach churn.

did he also not care about you when you were together? when you went to these events as a couple?

“we should head back. it would be bad if anyone saw us alone like this even though we’re just talking.” and that’s that. you turn on your heels, making way to the door but before you can even take another step forward, lithe fingers wrap around your wrist.

“what?” it comes out harsher than you intend it. funny how you put on a face of a woman made out of steel when your knees can barely hold your weight the moment you feel his warm hand on your skin.

“i knew - i knew but i didn’t want to tie you down.” with his head lowered and his long hair, you can’t see his eyes for an idea of what he’s saying. 

“yoongi, what-”

“i knew how you felt.” at that moment, his grip on you loosens. it’s almost as though it’s an overdue confession and the weight on his shoulders has finally lifted, “you only knew me - you turned down every boy that tried to ask you out in high school and college. you -you were only looking at me and i didn’t want that on my shoulders - i didn’t want you to turn down every opportunity to life - to dating, to heart break to - to sex with someone - several someone’s just because we were engaged.”

his fingers traces down your index finger before falling away. but you won’t tell him - you can never do it to namjoon - that it took all of you not to twine your fingers with his just because it felt like he was letting go.

your breath hitches in your throat when you turn your cheek towards him. the sight before you is something you’d never thought you’d see in your entire life. yoongi’s pink dusts his otherwise snowflake skin. the bored expression he usually wears is gone - almost as if he’s never worn it his entire life as something akin to desperation pools in those dark eyes. his soft pink lips are agape as though he wants to say something. and you wait, wait, wait but he never does.

so you turn your back on him, heels clicking against the ground as you slip past the door without a word. only when you’re at the end of the hallway, do you turn the corner, back pressed against the wall because your buckling legs might not be able to handle your weight.

those unsaid words - you can hear them clearly: i fucking regret letting you go.

x

the following week, you spend by drowning yourself in work and later working on your research until the library closes. by the time you’re pressing the 20th floor to the penthouse you both shared, you know for certain namjoon’s gone to bed. he values his sleep time. says it’s essential to keep himself in a good mood so others who work with him would be at ease. sometimes you want to tell him it’s okay not to think about others for once but the words lay buried the depth of your heart because you’re exactly like him. suppressing your feelings, smiling and saying you’re okay even though you’re not. the only difference is there’s a side of you that wants to lash out, do something worse to those who hurt you while namjoon does it from the good of his heart.

“it’s hard, being nice.” he says in between the clink of the stirring of the spoon in his coffee mug.

you look up from the peanut butter you’re spreading over your toast. “hm?”

he shakes his head, as if to say it’s nothing, i’m just thinking out loud. but the words he says next is enough to make your heart drop right to the ground. “yoongi told me.”

“wh-what?” it’s denial in your tone - the combination of those three words are simple enough to take you back to the school nine days ago. in side that little classroom.

“yesterday. he came over to the office.” he shrugs as if it’s no big deal but the tensed line of his shoulders is apparent no matter how casually he brings the mug to his smiling lips - that too. his lips are smiling but his eyes are not.

you don’t know when or how you started noticing the little things. sensing namjoon’s moods - his reactions and his retractions. you never realized you were so in tune with the things he does. all you realize is you’re already able to read him like a book - thick, best-leather book that was safeguarded by a lock.

“namjoon,” the clink of the butter knife being set on your plate resonates like a pin drop in a vacuum room, “nothing happened. i promise.”

“i know - i know you’d never do anything like that so that’s why i’m telling you it’s okay.” something in the way he looks at you make you bite your tongue - as if he’s asking you to listen even though you’re bursting at the seams. you’d do anything to prove that nothing happened even though you knew he knew. “we entered into this marriage for a mutual reason. not dreading to come home is more than i can ask for. so it’s okay if you want to see yoongi just... keep out of the spotlight like many in our shoes who found love outside of it have.”

he chuckles but it’s strained and tense, dumping the coffee into the sink because he couldn’t bear to stay in the kitchen any longer. you slip out of the high stool, feet padding around the counter and before you know it, your arms around his body. you feel him freeze under your touch and this is wrong - wrong on so many levels because he would have asked if he could touch you and you’re not reflecting the same amount of respect he had for you.

but for some reason, you can’t let go - you’re afraid if you let him walk out of the door, you’d never be able to grasp even a shadow of his existence.

“i don’t want to.” the words are muffled from your cheek pressing against his back.

a pause lapses between you when you don’t say anything else. no explanation. no reason. because you don’t know it yourself. you don’t know why your heart clenches in your chest at the sight of namjoon’s dismal smile. you don’t know why you acted on your instincts and hugged the man.

you don’t know.

“okay.” he sighs softly as a warm palm rests above your fisted hand. you wish you can see him - wish you can see what kind of expression he’s making because it’s killing you to not know what he’s thinking. “you don’t have to, if you don’t want to.”

that’s when the sniffle escapes you. internally, you curse yourself for being so emotion-driven. it’s not a good trait for a doctor to have.

namjoon calls your name. the syllabus rolling off his tongue makes your stomach churn with butterflies. “are you crying?”

you don’t expect him to say that. don’t expect the teasing undertone either. naturally, your respond comes a heartbeat later, “n-no.”

the body under your touch shifts. all of a sudden, you’re eye-to-eye with him. there’s a sparkle in them that almost makes you forget how to breathe. his dimples dig into his cheek as his lips curl into a smile whilst his large hands frames you face.

“wh-what?” you feel your brows furrowing, lips pursed.

“you’re too cute.” his thumb grazes your burning cheekbone feather light, “i want to kiss you.”

“then do it.” you don’t know the reason behind that angry, pressed tone but namjoon doesn’t seem to mind - or he knows something you don’t.

you don’t have the time to ponder on that when a pair of lush lips meshes with yours. the scent of the coffee he had engulfs your senses as one hand finds its way to the back of his neck and the other rests on his accelerating heartbeat. time seems to stop when namjoon’s kissing you. somewhere in the back of your mind, you distinctly remember something perpetually important but you couldn’t be bothered as his hands fall away from your face and finds the dip of your lower back and pull you closer until your bodies are pressed together.

somewhere in a distant, you hear the beep of the front door. hoseok’s voice booming across the hallway that leads to the living room and the kitchen where you’re at now.

“namjoon? you here? did you oversleep? man, i never thought i’d see the day our ceo is late to work.” hoseok’s footsteps stops at the end of the hallway, “oh great, you’re all dressed.”

he blinks, surprised at the sight of his boss who’s leaning against the edge of the sink - hands pressed on either side of the edge, doing absolutely nothing while you dip a butter knife into a jar of peanut butter and jelly but equally as out-of-it as his boss appear to be.

“y-yeah, let me grab my blazer.” namjoon pushes himself off, going around the counter and heading towards the stairs where his bedroom is until -

“it’s here.” hoseok points out.

“what?”

“your blazer. it’s this one, right?” the secretary loyally scoops up the thick maroon blazer off the couch and hands it to his boss who’s just barely recovered from what seems to be a trance. 

he’d went down and tossed the blazer on the couch before making his coffee - before the kiss.

namjoon clears his throat, refusing to look at the man’s scrutinizing eyes as he thanks him and slips the blazer on. but he loses those eyes when he peeks over the man’s shoulder, mini-waving at you, “hey, morning, doc.”

you return the greeting, refraining a blush as you feel the ghost of namjoon’s lips when you fix his secretary a smile, “hey, hoseok. care to join us for breakfast?”

the man shrugs, eyes flitting over his boss who now seems ready to go, “thanks doc but i had some cereal and cold milk.”

he bids his farewell and escapes out of where he came from, letting the two of do what newly weds do before the other goes to work. it’s in that moment that he realizes with a chill running down his spine as he sat in the driver seat - that namjoon isn’t a bachelor anymore and he couldn’t come and go as he pleases and that he might have interrupted something. come to think of it, both you and namjoon’s cheeks were flushed...

“h-hey boss,” hoseok steals a glance of the man at the backseat through the rear view mirror. he almost chokes on his next words when the man’s eyes meet him but he persists like a man on a mission to not get fired , “y-you know, i’ve been with kimcorp. f-for a long time. i-it’s like my family a-and i’ll work harder from now on.”

confusion flashes across namjoon’s features for the briefest moment. he doesn’t know what makes hoseok say something so out of his character and shakily at that but it’s not the first time that his employee’s said something like this to him - of course, minus the stutter and all.

“that’s good to know, hoseok.” he says simply.

x

it’s been a week since you told namjoon you didn’t - wouldn’t see anyone. yoongi or not. when you told him you were going to meet yoongi at a cafe near his studio to give the man an answer - a hard no, there’s still some needling doubt in namjoon’s gaze as he reverts his eyes away from you. as though he was afraid that the illusion would fade away and he’d end up catching the smolder of passion he’d always seen you look at the man with.

he’s not lost to your feelings - in hindsight, it was pathetically obvious how smitten you were for the elder man. even your and his parents could see. and they’d foreseen many things but not having to plead and then beg and then finally, force you into a marriage you didn’t want with the brother of the man you loved.

your only regret was leaving without kissing namjoon goodbye - but it also felt like anything you said, any sort of assurance you offered would just be an act. until you tell his brother to stop.

“come to think of it,” you set the warm cup of latte down. it would have tasted better if the circumstances were different, “we never properly ended things. the only way i knew the engagement was over was through mom and dad.” his parents you meant.

he tilts his head to the side as a response - an indication that he’s listening. he’s dressed in plain white shirt and the darkest jeans. the bags under his eyes is an indication that he hasn’t slept in days - either it’s because of working late nights trying to make music or because of what he’d said to you.

you know he’d do this - detach himself from reality when things gets tough or when he’s stuck in a situation he doesn’t have control over. but you still had hope. still held onto the past seven years you’d spent together for him to regard you with enough respect to offer closure.

“do you love naeun that much?” and yet you still ask.

you meet his hollow gaze, not knowing the intensity yours hold until your fingerpads wrapped around aches and he lets out a heavy breath.

“she was different.” he says simply - almost tiredly, “she caught my eyes. we started talking and we found out we had some things in common. i thought she’s what i needed to get over you.”

“don’t.” the churning starts from your stomach and spreads across your body like a poisonous fog. “don’t use me as an excuse for leaving. you loved me as much as i loved you and you got scared.”

a lump forms in your throat as the memories, the inside jokes that built up over time, the comfortable silents spent - everything comes crashing in like tidal wave. you knew he loved you deep down. that was why the news of him getting married took a toll on you - so much so, you decided to leave everything behind and fly to paris.

“you could’ve pushed me away if you truly had no feelings for me but you kept me around and let me think we were going to have a happy future together.” his image is distorted from the prickles of tears in your eyes but you blink them away, “but you didn’t really know you were in love with me back then, huh? that’s why you got scared shitless and decided to leave.” you’re not sure if you’re choking on your words or if you’re actually scoffing. maybe both.

in that moment, you watch as yoongi’s expression switches from that signature boredom to realization and finally unbridled sorrow. he must feel suffocated - like he’s drowning in emotions the way you did in that suite you spent for two weeks in paris before you decided to buy an apartment and stay for good. and you would have if your parents didn’t call you back - recounted all their sacrifices for you to make you guilty enough to agree to the marriage with his younger brother. he’ll spend the same amount of time sleeping and waking up in his room and realizing he can’t turn back time.

“i fucked up big time, didn’t i?” he laughs dryly as he presses his palm to his face, hunched over the minute round table.

the latte is still half-full when you swipe your phone off the table and stand up. he doesn’t spare you a glance - he probably couldn’t bring himself to face you now.

‘you’re a fucking coward min yoongi.’ is what you want to say but for some reason, you leave the words to die on the tip of your tongue. you won’t - can’t wish him a happy life and propose to put everything past you. it’s not that simple and you’re not that forgiving. but namjoon’s easy smile flashes at the back of your head at this moment of all time and makes your heart clench painfully in your chest. their relationship is already strained and if you insist on prolonging this, it’s only going to end up hurting namjoon one way or another and the cycle will just keep going on with naeun getting hurt if she found out.

“you did.” your hand is trembling around the strap of your bag, “but it’s all in the past and i don’t blame you. things wouldn’t turn out the way they do otherwise. so just... live for the present, yoongi.”

his shoulders rise and fall a little faster than normal but there’s nothing you can do - and it’s better if you leave him to collect his thoughts. the censor at the door beeps as you pass through. it takes a moment for you to feel the morning air brush your cheeks and sunlight to seep into you. your chest still feels tight but in due time, you know it’ll lighten.

x

“hey, boss. you have a special guest.” hoseok peeks into namjoon’s office like the slyboots he is. the wiggle of the man’s brows before he disappears gives namjoon all the more reason to prepare for the worse.

“send them in.” he sighs, not bothering to hide his feelings in front of hoseok. they’ve been working side by side for a long time and friends for longer he knows his friend is aware of the contrasting definition of ‘special’ but this once, as he sees you walk through the door - he admits that him and hoseok may finally be of the same mind.

namjoon shoots up from his seat, clearing his throat and buttoning his blazer together the way he’s so used to doing it when he receives an unannounced visit from his father. “what brings you here?”

instead of shooting him one of your brilliant smiles, you drop your bag on the crisp white leather couch and run right into him. arms wrapped around his torso, he can smell your favorite floral shampoo from your hair but he can’t bring himself to hug you back. his heart is palpitating inside his chest and he can only pray for some miracle that you can’t hear it. which is most unlikely what with your head coming up just a few centimeters above his shoulder line and your ears being the same height as the beating organ in his chest.

if you notice, you're not saying anything about it.

“i met yoongi just now.”

namjoon doesn’t say a word for the longest time - it’s so namjoon of him not to. but it’s also not where you stand now. that day, when you partially admitted to liking namjoon and you’re pretty sure he felt the same - you’d seen a side of namjoon you never thought you’d saw. vulnerable. fearful. all because he thought he was going to lose you - and it felt like he’s always been prepared for it. it was just a matter of time.

the muscles in your arms contracts at the thought of namjoon being so ready to let you go - is it like that too, right now? is he expecting you to go back on your words and tell him you’re going to have an affair with his brother? you don’t know and that’s driving you insane. 

and just when the muscles in your arm contract, just when you’re about to pull away, namjoon’s arms band around your body and a kiss lands on top of your head.

“did you tell him what you wanted to tell him all this time?” his voice is velvet and smooth and you can hear that easy smile as he speaks.

you nod against his chest. “it’s over. i told him to get lost.”

the chest vibrates against your cheek as rings of chuckles tumble out of namjoon’s mouth. it makes your body light up with a sort of fire. and for once, you welcome the heat spreading across your cheeks like an old friend.

he knows the last part is a bluff - it’s comforting that he knows without having you say it.

does he also know...

“after that i came here because i wanted to see you.” you crane your neck to look up at him.

true enough there’s that smile and gets wider when he meets your gaze. a hand comes to rest on your neck while his thumb grazes your chin as he presses his lips to yours. you think your heart might explode at any moment now as you kiss him back, your hand snaking to his shoulder but he stops your right hand, holding it on his chest. his heart beats the same rhythm as yours. his shoulder line heaving the same way yours do when the back of your thighs hit the couch and you finally break apart. but before you have the chance to gather your thoughts, his lips are on you again. the hand on your lower back pulling you closer until your thighs press on either side of his legs.

“let’s go home now.” he murmurs between breaths, “i might really go crazy if i touch another part of your body that’s covered in clothing.”

it’s in that moment that the door swings open.

x

hoseok bursts through the door with the photostatted files in his hand. there’s a skip in his step.

“hey boss! here’s the files you asked for.”

he looks between you - well your back - and namjoon. the ceo is fixing his tie with a hard expression while you’re standing facing the ceiling-to-floor window that overlooks the streets and several stores in the area.

d-did he just walk into you two fighting?

“thanks, hoseok.” namjoon swipes the files from his hand, walking back to his seat around the desk and dropping the files with a sharp pap!

“n-no problem boss.” he takes one frightened step backwards before turning around but before he manages to escape the lion’s den, you stop him.

“hoseok wait.” it comes out a bit rushed. granted, you’re not in any position to waste time. you dropped by even though you know you can’t afford being late to work but somehow you ended up at namjoon’s office anyway. the secretary seems to physically turn into a rock before shakily turn his cheek to you with a smile.

“uh, yeah doc?”

“namjoon, do you mind me borrowing hoseok for a bit?” the heat comes on full force as you turn to namjoon. he’s burning a hole through the files he’s flipping through but you don’t miss the pinked tips of his ears and the way his adam’s apple bobs at the sound of his name on your tongue, “my shift is starting at noon so i need to be there by,” you check the watch on your wrist, “now.”

the way namjoon doesn’t even look up from flipping the papers is how hoseok know for sure you’re fighting. “sure thing. oh and hoseok, no detours. come straight back once you drop ___ off.”

but to you, it’s because he’s flustered beyond imagination - you know, like you know how he’ll condemn himself for not being able to control himself like that. your whole body heats up as you slip into the back seat when the image of namjoon’s hooded eyes, reddened cheeks and half agape lips flash at the back of his mind. a part of you - the reasonable one - chides yourself for even thinking about ditching work and actually going home with him but another part wishes to indulge in the endless possibilities of what will happen if you did.

x

“____,” your name tumbles out of namjoon’s mouth in a breathy huff. naturally so. he hasn’t even caught his breath from when he finds you crawling over him like a woman in on a mission. now, the same exact woman his cuffing his wrists and holding them over his head with one hand while the other is undoing the buttons of his shirt while she kisses him in all the right places.

“wh-where did you even get cuffs?” his headboard is one of those pristine white cushioned ones meaning there isn’t any rails for you to hook him on and keep him in place. but you don’t need that because namjoon can barely move - all that time he spends at the gym has gone down the drain as invisible threads tie him down.

“oh these?” you let one corner of your lips tug deviously. it’s been six months since you got married and you and namjoon has never gone past the occasional cuddles and light kisses. the morning after that day when you dropped by his office after meeting yoongi, namjoon had declared his intentions to ‘do it right’ - like dates and getting to know each other better before anything else. 

it was sweet of him. until you realized you barely had time for dates - only late night conversations that ended up with you on top of him but before things could progress, he’d do everything he could to avoid bedroom affairs. but over time, it gets a bit discouraging. so this is the last straw - there’s no wine or champagne for him to use as an excuse to carry you to your room. you’re both sober, and if he doesn’t want you -

“never mind where i got these.” the low sound emitting from his throat makes your heart skip a beat as your lips brush against the shell of his ear, “don’t you want me, namjoon?”

trailing hisses down his smooth jawline, you let your lips hover over his - it only lasts for a heartbeat before he closes the distance and starts kisses you like a famine beast.

“i want you,” he confesses when you pull away just to reinforce your control. he may be the one lying down with his hands bound but it almost felt like you’re the hopeless one here - almost. the  a feral glint in his eyes sends hot waves down your core - you have to tell yourself to breathe. “of course i fucking want you ___.”

you hum in contemplation - taking just enough time to sit straighter and let your fingers undo the rest of the buttons and stopping just above his belt. the few times you laid together and he lets you lie on top of him - you knew he was brains and brawn. but you didn’t expect a perfectly sculpted body of adonis himself to be lying beneath you. the ridges of his abs heaves helplessly as he drawn in deep breaths. 

somewhere on the edge of the bed where you’d tossed it, your phone vibrates - someone’s calling but that can wait.

you lean down, soft tresses brushing his skin as you kiss that spot that illicit a delicious sound from him the first time you discovered it. somewhere in the junction between his shoulder and neck.

“fuck.” his voice is raw and desperate and carnal as his body yearns for you. his legs bent at the knees, feet ground into the bed as he grinds his hip into you - the signs of his arousal painfully obvious.

you can’t help but giggle at the way he so vehemently yearn for you. somewhere on the bed, your phone starts vibrating again.

“y-your phone.” he manages to stammer out. it’s the third time it’s vibrating.

“don’t worry about it. the only people who would call me at this time is jisoo’s drunken butt dial or the hospital-” you sit back up, heat still pooling in your stomach when your hips grind against namjoon’s arousal in the process but the urgency in the way you swipe your phone off the sheets has stolen your attention.

clear as day, it is one of the two possibilities you’ve mentioned and it isn’t your quirky colleague.

x

when you first started working, you were of the ripe age and eager to help those in need. you loved your job despite the long arduous hours, missed meals and ungodly hour roll calls because at the end of the day, it was what you wanted to do - it was the one thing you wouldn’t let your parents take away from you. you fought blood sweat and tears to get where you are now.

and doctors don’t usually start a family until they’ve at least finished their residency - but you had to get married early to keep your end of the bargain. of course, you didn’t expect to commit to said marriage. you didn’t also expect to fall for namjoon either. and you certainly didn’t expect for him to still be here in the waiting area when you walked out of the emergency operating room, head lulling to the side as sleep begins to take him, arms crossed over his chest. he didn’t even get the chance to change when you hurriedly uncoffed him, informing him about an emergency at the er. he’d offered to drive you since you couldn’t drive and waiting for an uber driver to accept your request this late at night would take more time. you’d rushed out of the car with a ‘thanks, namjoon. i owe you one!’ thinking he’d go home and get some rest - there’s no telling how long these surgeries take after all.

when he leans too far to the side, his eyes flutter open softly before noticing the turquoise-clad body in his periphery.

“___, you’re done? did the surgery go alright?” he’s always had a way of saying your name. it makes your heart warm and your chest full as he stands up to close the distance between you - to cup one side of your cheek with his hand. though your delayed response may have been the reason for that.

“the surgery was a success.” you finally say, your smaller hand covering his, lips curving softly. guilt creeps up the creeks of your chest but gratitude washes it away. it wouldn’t have been very namjoon of him if he didn’t consider everything: how you’d go home once you’re done. if there’s even any uber working this late of an hour. your heart is swelling - you don’t think you can ever love him more than you do now but namjoon being namjoon, he’ll make you fall in love with him more and more until your heart is filled to the brim, “thank you, namjoon.”

and he gets it. just like that. the words that you’re saying without putting them into words because there are many ways to say it and a plethora of intrepreting it but namjoon gets it because his heart beats the same rhythm as you: i love you.

a dimpled smile curls over his lips as he places a kiss over your forehead, “should we go home?” he leans down to whisper into your ears, his tone changing dangerously, “and pick up where we left off, yeah doc?”

[barry-j-blupjeans]

31 from the touch list? Please?

31 (touches). doing a pinky swear

((prompt list here - still accepting!!))

u didn't request any ships/characters specifically so here's Magnus n Lucretia (platonic)

--

It was five days back into a new cycle and Lucretia still wasn't talking to him, which Magnus was trying to accept. Last year hadn't been great for any of them, he was sure, but it was specifically terrible for Magnus, Barry, and Lucretia. There hadn't been any humans on that plane but there had been a council. The world was full of strange and mysterious oddities that the council set out to study. Being freshly new and odd, the council had taken it upon themselves to-

Study was putting it lightly.

Barry had been taken first, under the prose that the council just wanted to speak to him, privately. The "private meeting" went on for much longer than they had agreed upon and when they had gone to look for Barry, he hadn't been there.

Davenport had made Lucretia and Magnus promise not to leave the ship. They did so, Magnus less willing than Lucretia, and well-

Magnus was usually good at following orders. But there were lives at stake. Humans weren't the only ones being hurt by the council and the breaking point for him had been seeing a dog-like creature dragged into the research center, as Davenport made him stand back and out of the way.

He tried sneaking out in the middle of the night, but Lucretia had caught up with him. They argued for a bit about Davenport's rule and then set out together, to go find Barry. Lucretia had made Magnus promise- promise, wholeheartedly- that he wouldn't do anything rash. Magnus agreed, knowing how he was, and without the intent to actually follow through.

He had sort of... broken that promise upon seeing what was going on inside the research center. Even now, thinking about it made him sick. He felt guilty, after re-gen, for breaking his word, but even more guilty upon the realization that his actions had lead Lucretia to death for the first time ever.

That's probably why she wasn't talking, thinking logically about it. Taako and Lup had told him the story of what happened after (once they were done mobbing Barry, that is). It had been a grizzly sight and they had even convinced Davenport to let them burn down the facility once they rescued everyone inside. The sadness of missing a revolution was outmatched by the stinging regret he felt every time he saw Lucretia.

"Just- talk to her," Lup groaned, head in her hands, after Magnus had come to her for the fifth time to talk about it. She swept the papers she had been working on aside and turned to face him.

"Look, Mags, both of you are, putting it nicely, stubborn little shits- don't give me that look, you know you are. The rest of us are, too, that's why we're not perma-dead yet. But babe, you can't just let it lie. It's just gonna end with you two crying at each other and then getting over it. C'mon dude."

"But," Magnus started. Lup rolled her eyes.

"Lucy's like a sister to you, yeah?" Lup asked and Magnus nodded, frowning. "Okay, then take it from me, someone who has a terrible, horrible brother, whom I love very dearly. This fight, or whatever, isn't helping anyone. Communication is key when it comes to any relationship, even platonic ones. Stop being so scared that she's mad at you and start being scared that you might lose your friendship if you don't do anything."

"Right," Magnus said, a little more determined. "Okay, yeah. Thank you."

"Uh-huh," Lup said, turning back to his papers. "If you see Barry on your way tell him that, uh- the experiment we started earlier is going well."

"Is that code for something?" Magnus asked, watching the way Lup's face split into a sly grin.

"Not that I'll tell," she said, winking.

--

It took until that night for Magnus to properly work up the courage to talk to Lucretia, which made him feel stupid. He could run into a swarm of the Hunger feeling nothing but excitement, but the idea of talking with Lucretia about what had happened last cycle made him feel almost sick to his stomach.

In the end, he knocked on Lucretia's door half an hour before dinner. There was a shuffle from inside and then the door opened a bit and Lucretia peaked out. She didn't look surprised to see him there. If anything, she looked just about as nervous as Magnus felt.

"Alright," Lucretia said. "Come in."

She opened the door wider and beckoned Magnus inside. He had been in here before, of course. There was a slowly filling bookshelf of her journals, and journals she had yet to use. Her sheets were a dark, royal blue, from a fabric shop from a few cycles back. There was an easel in the corner and a bucket full of different types of paints and art... things... Magnus wasn't very well versed in any of it.

She pulled the chair out from her desk and let him sit, sitting on top of the desk herself. They stared.

"Taako said-" she started, at the same time he said,

"Lup-"

She grinned at him sheepishly. It made Magnus feel a lot better to know she had gotten advice, too. She gestured at him, letting him go first.

"I went to Lup," he began, "because I didn't know exactly how to- to fix this, but she just said to talk to you, and let it come out, so, uh. I'm sorry, I guess. No, I mean- I am sorry, I just- I'm not good at thinking through things and you got hurt because of it. You died because I rushed into something and I should have thought about that. I should have kept you in mind, but when I saw all those creatures getting hurt, and thought about what must have happened to Barry, I- couldn't help myself. I'm sorry you died because of it. Because- of because of me."

Lucretia was silent for a few moments, hands resting in her lap. He had been avoiding her eye during his speech, but when he was done, he looked up at her.

"I'm not angry because I died," she said. "I'm angry because you broke your promise."

"I- what?"

"I don't care that I died!" Lucretia said loudly, slamming her hand on the desk. "It fucking- yes, yeah, it hurt, but it hurt that you promised me you wouldn't rush in, and then you did! If you're going to be rash, you need to tell me outright- that's what got us killed, Magnus! That you didn't trust me enough to tell me what you were thinking!"

"I trust you!" Magnus said, but Lucretia shook her head. She was looking a little teary.

"Did you promise with the intention of actually keeping your word?" she asked, and when Magnus couldn't respond (because, no, he hadn't been planning to be "rash" about it), she turned away from him and said, "that's what I thought."

"They were hurting the animals and people they had there," Magnus said, finally, voice wet and hurt. "I couldn't just... let them do that. I couldn't, Lucretia."

"I know," she said, taking a deep breath. "I know. I just- just as appalled you was, trust me. We could have gotten out alive, though, I think. If you had taken the time to think about what to do with me. Like Lup and Taako did, when they broke everyone out after we died."

Something uncomfortable was rooted in Magnus's chest and it was that she was right- she was a hundred percent right. He had the tendency to act instead of think and had been like that before the Starblaster mission. It was fitting for a twenty-two-year-old, fresh into the real world, but- fuck. He wasn't twenty-two, anymore, not really.

He saw the pain in Lucretia's eyes and realized she wasn't twenty anymore, either. Not like they were when they started.

"You're right," Magnus said, nodding. "I broke my promise, willingly, and it was stupid of me. I can't promise things like that right off the back because I'm realizing I still have a lot of growing left to do. It's- weird, I think. Being so young with so much knowledge. I don't feel like I'm living up to the age I actually am."

Lucretia nodded, slowly, and looked into his eyes. He could see the tears in them.

"I shouldn't have made you promise something so drastic for you," Lucretia said.

"Maybe not," Magnus shrugged. "But there is something I can say- I can promise, I mean. Look, pinky swear, so you know I'm not lying."

He held out his pinky. Lucretia took it apprehensively in her own, a small smile sneaking back onto her face.

"I promise I'm gonna try to grow up," he swore and Lucretia snorted. "Seriously- maybe not like, uh, like I'm still gonna be childish as fuck, don't doubt that, but- I'm gonna try to think things through more. Think of the consequences to my actions."

He shook their pinky's, a bit violently. Lucretia took her hand back, looking at him appraisingly.

"I'll hold you to that," she said.

"Please do," Magnus said.

[deathbcnnies-blog]

          it’s not that he’s unhappy with their current arrangement — her body entwined with his provides a comfortable warmth, and the sun streaming through the window keeps him drowsy, content — but they do have things to do. or, well, he has things to do, and sadly those things are not the woman in bed with him.

          ‘ angel. ’

         the endearment is hardly more than a murmur falling from parted lips which brush against gold hair as he shifts, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.  the other is caged beneath her body, gone numb in the night. a moment passes and he tries again, voice still soft.

          ( he doesn’t want to LEAVE. )

          ‘ sugar, i gotta go. ’

@platiinvm

[honeypwark]

[ Riverside ]

  ↳ Gone Days era

       ↳ Xiang interrupts Chan and Jisung. She and Chan take a walk. She finally tells someone.

Note: Maybe reread Quitter and Turbulence before reading?

TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains a detailed explanation of how Xiang developed and lived with her eating disorder. Please do not read if this is triggering for you.

m.list

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Chan sits at his desk with Jisung beside him, explaining how different chords in the same spot will change the feel of the song and he should choose based on what vibe he wants the song to have.

“I kind of want it to not just cut off. Like it’s leading to more even after the song’s ended.”

“G7 might work better then.”

“G7...?”

Chan plays the chord on the keyboard to his left.

“Oh, got it.”

“As opposed to G.” He plays said chord.

“Alright. And for the second verse I wanted to-“

There’s a soft knock on the door, “Chris?”

Chan turns in his desk chair, his attention immediately going to the girl that walks into the room.

“Hey, Sophie.”

It’s been three days since Xiang’s breakdown in the bathroom at four in the morning. The next morning, Xiang had promised she’d talk to Chan about what caused it but she’d need time. He gave her time, not even mentioning what had happened. Of course, without any kind of explanation, Chan has been left to worry about every little thing and see all the worst case scenarios for the last few days.

“Do you wanna go for a walk?”

“What? Is he your dog or something?”

Xiang’s eyes land on Jisung, who she hadn’t noticed when she’d entered, too tunnel visioned on finally growing a pair and talking about her issues. It took her nearly an hour to knock on Chan’s door and ask to go somewhere to talk privately. Her momentary false bravery crumbles visibly on her face as she realizes Chan is busy.

“Oh, sorry. You’re busy.”

“No, it’s fine,” Chan says quickly, stopping her from leaving. He turns to Jisung, “We’ll finish later, alright?”

Jisung is confused but nods slowly, “Uh, yeah. Sure.”

Jisung watches as his leader saves everything on his computer without his usual attention to detail, scrambling out of his chair after Xiang as she walks back out of the room. He blinks after him confusedly, rolling his eyes before packing up his laptop to return to his own bedroom.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After taking a bus to Han River and walking along the riverside for about five minutes in silence, Xiang is still struggling with beginning to lay it all out for Chan. She squeezes the linings of her jacket pockets, the joints of her fingers aching from the strength behind it.

“Do you want to sit?” Chan asks, pointing toward a bench they’re approaching.

“Not really.”

“Okay.”

Xiang takes a deep breath in. She breathes it out slowly. She relaxes her hands in her pockets.

“I have an eating disorder.”

Chan wishes he could say that her admitting that makes everything fall into place. That he can say he’s noticed her acting strange. That he can admit he’s been worried about her weight loss. But he can’t. Because he didn’t notice those things. He’s aware of her weight loss (she‘s trended on Naver a few times because of her light weight) but he never thought of it as the outcome of something terrible. Dammit, he should have.

“Y-You do?” he stammers.

“Yeah. It probably started when our manager told me the company wanted me to lose weight. I don’t blame him, I really don’t. He was just doing his job. But... it got me thinking and I decided to eat less and work out more and that’s where it all started. It wasn’t that bad to begin with. I had control of what I was doing and it was like being in a diet. I’ve never been the most mentally sound person; I have clinically diagnosed anxiety, depression, and depersonalization but that’s a whole other can of worms.”

Now that she’s started, it’s easier to lay it all out.

“After I decided to eat less, I started skipping meals. In my mind it made sense. To lose weight, eat less. So I did. I started lying to you and the others about eating, saying I had when I hadn’t or that I wasn’t hungry when I was. It went on like that for a while, just not eating and working out a lot more. But I felt so guilty when I did eat. When I couldn’t avoid it.

“So I started making myself throw up. It all piled on top of each other and I barely ever ate and kept it down. I probably started eating a meal or two every three or four days. For a while that’s what I did. I lost so much weight. It was so unhealthy. I weighed myself before we left for tour in America and I was 37.6 kilograms.

“I felt like I was going to pass out during the entire performance in New York. I only woke up at six in the evening the next day. I was scared that the next time I went to sleep, I wouldn’t wake up. That my body would just give out on me. So I went and ate pizza with the younger boys. I started eating at least once a day because I had to do my job. I still didn’t eat enough but... it was something.

“And that should have been good. I should have been proud of myself for starting to take care of myself but I wasn’t. I hated myself for eating. I started gaining weight. I realized one night that what I thought I had control of I didn’t because I can’t control how much I hate myself.

“I went out with Yeosu one night and I ate more than I had in such a long time. I felt so guilty and I started rambling to her about my problems. But I ran away before she could even respond. I tried to stop on my own because Yeosu is so amazing and so famous and she’s mentally fine. And I got a little better. But then the company asked for an update on our weights and they told me not to get heavy again.

“It felt like doing what was best for me wasn’t what I needed to do. Like maybe this is the cost of being who I am and doing what we do. I just spiraled and I got worse than I’d ever been. That’s when you found me. I hadn’t eaten in two days and I was so hungry but I couldn’t make myself keep what I’d eaten down. I don't know how to stop doing this to myself and I want to stop but I just can't.”

Xiang takes a breath, closing her eyes for a moment.

Chan is impressed with how well Xiang has handled her emotions while explaining everything to him. Simultaneously, his heart is aching from the story she has told him and how well she’s handled her emotions. Chan can’t help but wonder how many times she has felt like the world is crashing down around her and he was none the wiser.

“When did this start? When did our manager- When did the company say you should lose weight?”

“... Late June?”

Nine months. Nine months Xiang has been dealing with her eating disorder. And before that, anxiety, depression, and personalization. Chan has his own qualms with anxiety and depression occasionally but he’s not even sure what depersonalization is. But as Xiang said, that’s a whole other can of worms.

“It’s just-,” Xiang looks for the right words to continue. “I’ve developed so much self-hatred. I never feel good enough. I never feel pretty or talented. Even with the mess my mentality has always been, I used to be able to be content with the music I make or the performances I give. Now, I just hate everything about myself. I wish I could just deal with this on my own and I'm sorry I've dragged you into this mess. But believe me I won't hold it against you if you want to back out now-"

"Sophie.”

Chan steps in front of Xiang to face her.

“I don't know how to prove to you that I will always be here for you.”

It hurts more than he would have thought when she lets out a tiny, humorless breath of a laugh, disbelieving. She takes a deep breath and looks up at the overcast sky.

“I‘m so tired of everything.”

She closes her eyes.

“I just want it to stop.”

“It will,” Chan says. “And you’re not going to deal with this alone anymore.  Know why?"

When Xiang lowers her head, Chan can see she’s barely holding back tears. She gives a minuscule shake of her head.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Nearly two and a half years ago, Xiang stood in front of Chan in a recording studio. She’d come to tell Chan she should leave the group. He’d called her a quitter and wouldn’t let her walk out on the group.

“Why can’t you just let me do this?” she asked, not understanding how Chan can’t see the problems she’s causing.

“Because I’m not giving up on you,” he responded.

Xiang swallowed, trying not to let her emotions get the better of her. Chan stood and wrapped her in a hug.

“And I’m not gonna let you give up on me.”

Xiang hesitated but looped her arms around Chan.

“We’re in this together, understand?”

Xiang smiled and let her head rest on his shoulder.

“I understand.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Because I'm not giving up on you."

At the riverside, Chan pulls Xiang into a hug, wrapping his arms securely around her shoulders.

“And I’m not letting you give up on me. We’re in this together, understand?”

Over two years later, Chan has kept his word. Before she’d started starving herself, before her mental state depleted further than it had ever been, he’d told her that they are a team and he won’t let her quit on him. And he’s kept to that.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

On the plane ride home to South Korea from America, Chan had comforted Xiang when she’d been anxious and fearful during turbulence. She’d thought about Chan. What he’d done for her and how he’d treated her.

Despite her self-loathing and her anxiety. And the way she’s convinced herself she’ll never be good enough. Or how she can only ever feel pretty on an empty stomach, hunger clawing at her insides in a painful way she’s grown fond of. Amidst it all, being next to Chan makes her feel safe.  Chan makes her feel safe.  Safety is something Xiang has been having a hard time finding for months now.

She realizes that if she could, she would never leave his side.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Here, beside Han River in Chan’s arms, she feels safe. She feels... loved. And the idea- the fact that Chan cares for her and has been by her side, even unknowingly, through all of this brings her to tears.

Xiang buries her face in Chan’s shoulder and wraps her arms tightly around him, crying hard into the material of his jacket. And Chan lets her. He holds her tighter against him and lets her cry, a hand coming to cradle the back of her head comfortingly. She’s safe here. She’s safe with Chan.

And she realizes that if she could, she would never leave his side.

[ahalal-uralma]

Also, if you really had some self-worth, or self-esteem, or whatever, you would appreciate yourself the way you are, instead of trying to desperately imitate or even look like all those women you disdain so much. So shut the fuck up! Stop trying to project your own problems on others, because deep down you seem to be way more insecure than me, or any other girl i know. The difference between you and them is that you're borderline sociopath.

@vestige-of-thorns

First of all, you can not diagnose someone with a mental illness without being fully certified and following through legal procedures. You do not even know myself, my medical history or life experiences enough to diagnose me. I am not a psychiatrist, but pretty certain someone must be a complete sociopath or they must not. What you are suggesting I am is an oxymoron.

I do not deny I can have emotional and mental tendencies to contradict myself, but it’s kind of difficult to possess a personality disorder that is classified with “having a few or complete lack of emotions” simultaneously with a disorder that “can’t control their emotions.” You can’t have too much of what you don’t have.

If someone has sociopathy, they are classified under ASPD. You can not borderline being that. Being borderline is something else entirely. A professional can diagnose someone as BPD, with symptoms associated to sociopathy, but that isn’t the same thing as experiencing full ASPD; or vice verse. You can not partially have these mental illnesses. 

ASPD and BPD can share similarities, but they can contradict one another, too. Ultimately, you are attempting to accuse me of a disorder that cancels itself out. I’m either mentally ill to you or I am not? Make up your mind. Besides, these things are not to be stigmatized and degraded to an insult. Your mindset is proving to be the real insult here. You have an absolute lack of empathy and maturity, but that doesn’t shock me given the ideologies typically shared by your group and the individuals in it.

For context, some of the examples you would find within a look of your friend Tessa’s blog:

I think if you gave a dime for every single time something negative, stereotyping, sexist, agist or blatantly ableist came out of this girl’s head, we could solve world hunger.

Also, this next post was reblogged by the same woman who in recent times people have come forward telling me she’s sending lies about me into their inboxes regarding my past.

She is using private messaging to send them cropped screenshots of exchanges in which she had with me from two years ago; the only time I’ve ever spoken to her, and she attempted to lie to me and traumatize me over the idea my ex wanted to cheat on me with her. And she’s trying to convince people with it that is her proof that I’m crazy. No, it just proves you are a pathological liar and narcissistic jerk.

When I see her share this, it further validates my belief that her aim was to scar me. If you want to talk about manipulation, then this girl is a genuine example.

Keep messing around and trusting her and find out the hard way like I did. If I were you, I would not even dare bring up having a bf to her ever. She will go after your bf and paint herself the victim. She will always have her own agenda to fill. She’s not an angel and doesn’t care about protecting women, especially if they make her feel competitive towards men. She gets a high off of rivalry and you’re just feeding it.

And don’t think I’m not aware of the “she’s a crazy girl who wanted some vampire wedding with her ex even though they barely knew each other” story. I know all about that lie.

I’m sure she will not show anyone the proof of her being the one who came at me demanding her to be invited to the vampire wedding. I told her that I was only with him for about two or three months at the time and wasn’t ready for thoughts of marriage. I just wanted to start the relationship slowly in a healthy manner. She harassed me to promise to invite her anyway and hours later, when she thought I went to sleep, she proceeded to swamp my inbox with messages about my ex love wanting her. “I’m so sorry to do this to you.” Are you? Are you honestly? No. She wasn’t sorry and no apology by this point will ever be accepted. Ever.

She’s retaliating against me after all this time, because you threw her a bone. It’s just her way of getting back at me for not reciprocating her false savior complex, like I didn’t have evidence she was trying to hit on said ex-bf herself. She’s just mad she got rejected by both parties she tried to toy with. She needed the ego boost and neither of us gave it to her.

I think you and I both know, your biggest pet peeve with me is my strong sense of self worth. You repeatedly try to destroy it to no avail. You try to control other people’s perceptions in the hopes that somehow that will break me down. You keep ignoring the fact I don’t care. Only thing I care about is if you are using me to hurt and manipulate kind and harmless people. You have used me to attack writers, photographers, and other creatives.

I need you to realize that nothing you do will ever work, because I do not depend on others for approval or validation. It pisses you off that whether my content reaches 10,000 likes or none at all, it makes no huge difference to me. I’m content with who I am and what I do. It’s taken me years of hard work to build up that kind of esteem. I had to unlearn a lot from very young of an age. I am grateful I unlearned most of it, before social media was existent.

I see how damaging social media is for mental health and those who depend their happiness on acceptance through it. Did you know using an electric device (ie. phone, computer) actually affects your serotonin and melatonin levels? It actually affects the chemicals of your brain. It has to do with the false daylight affect and constant exposure is harmful.

There is a reason many site’s like this one have adapted to darker dashboard settings. It looks all very innocent, or they will hope you think so, but it’s a marketing tactic. They want to give you false security and relief.

Do not get me wrong, however, I will personally encourage people to use the darker settings, because it has it’s small benefits, but you have to realize how small they truly are. You can research it as there are plenty of studies on this.

These sites need your traffic to continue to gain funds through ad revenue and clicks. So they need to offer features that make you forget for a little longer that the danger is still present. It can create things like depression and insomnia in those who never had them. Or it can worsen existing symptoms without detection. Darkness palettes simply slow down the process, but they don’t erase the effects of technology.

This is why people experience the highs and lows that they do to extremes. Being reliant on superficial attention via a virtual world is so toxic and self-depreciating. Your mind is already being manipulated the moment you turn the screen on. You need to practice and discipline yourself to awareness to defeat this kind of force. You are living in an insecure society that wants to condition you into a robot and to fear anyone who rejects this kind of reality.

People talk a lot about the negative effects of other addictions like alcohol and drugs, but no one ever talks about the addiction to social media or usage of electronic devices. It causes serious symptoms like panic attacks in those who feel they are being deprived access. It ruins your cognitive and social skills. You begin to speak like you do not have a filter, because your mind isn’t capable of forming one. After years of healing, I still struggle with my filter.

I was around 15-17 years old when I suffered spirals from denied internet access. It’s scary when you are that young, or anything close, because your body is struggling to adapt to important hormonal changes and this addiction is disrupting your human growth. It makes you feel easily excitable and chaotic.

Yourself and Tessa show huge symptoms of this addiction across many of your media posts and in general with how you convey yourselves to people online. You express yourself in a state of mania and that’s not an accident. It’s a serious symptom of this illness. Being aggressive, not knowing how to exercise discernment and being constantly hyperbolic in speech are all part of this pattern.

A balanced individual with only casual internet exposure, doesn’t go on tangents everyday to the public with every thought on display like a garden blown up with debris. Your discussions should look like the modest lawn with the smiling gnome and a few flower pots. Maybe, one of the pots has a small crack, because you’re not perfect and make a mistake once in a while. But, that is not how it is with either of you. I feel like I’m walking on glass where grass should be. I would rather not look at your lawn.

Also, I think your friends are pretty, but they’re not that pretty. You need to clean your energy of massive negativity. It will never make you more beautiful to be hateful of others. I am very happy in my own skin, too. I am content and not changing how I look just because you can not stop fantasizing yourselves wearing and controlling my body.

Projecting? I am not the one coming into your inbox, despite being blocked. You are actively breaking site terms to bypass being blocked. I have you, Marilia blocked for more than five months. I have Tessa blocked for two years and counting. Yet, at least one of you sends me hate messages. Both of you stalk me as you can not resist talking about my personal content and contacts. Here’s screenshots of both of your URL’s on my blocked list.

If I was stalking you, I wouldn’t be trying to block you; it creates several inconveniences, which you know all too well as I’ve blocked you from continuing to steal my posts to spit pointless vitriol. I could have chosen to do the same or worse to any of you, but obviously I have not. Unlike you, I have better things to do with my life than dedicate it to people I do not like or trust. You will never be worthy of my time and energy, no matter how much you insist.

I’m not interested in you or your friends. I have my own garden to cultivate and a collective of lovely fairies and dashing dragons to share it with. You’re just angry I will never invite you to the garden party.

[no-gorms]

I guess this is a timestamp for Stuck in a...? Last week an anon asked what happens next in that ‘verse and a couple of days later my brain decided to come up with this short thing.

Steve/Tony, established relationship, a/b/o, fade to black (also on ao3)

+

Left to his own devices, there are few things that can throw Tony out of a workshop groove. Typical hard limits are hunger and exhaustion; softer limits are the occasional frustration at being unable to solve a problem and its opposite, the thrill of finding a solution that he then needs to show off or celebrate.

Then there is the other kind of distraction.

Today, Tony’s working on a pair of experimental rocket boots, which are balanced on a test gantry and awaiting power-up. It’s a straightforward test – a culmination of the morning’s work and is perfectly pedestrian right down to DUM-E’s concerned chirps from nearby with the fire extinguisher. Yet what seemed crystal clear a moment ago seems suddenly hard to pin down, the numbers slipping away from sense every time he looks at them, and forcing Tony to futz with the test parameters on his control screen.

It doesn’t help that his lower back aches. He’s been rubbing his knuckles against it absent-mindedly throughout the morning, though he’d mostly relegated it to a distant ignorable distraction until it travelled upward along his spine and is adding on to the pile of things that are not doing his concentration any favors.

Wait.

“Oh,” Tony says in surprise. “Huh.”

A heat, then. Maybe. He thinks it might be early, not that he’s ever been that good at cycle tracking. That said, Steve is good at cycle tracking and has called his past heats that they’ve shared together right down to a 36-hour margin of error, so the fact that Steve hadn’t blocked Tony’s whole schedule today means that it must be either early or a false alarm.

Tony tips his head back, sets his feet apart and closes his eyes. Rolling warmth immediately blooms out of lower stomach, sending him doubling over.

All right, it’s definitely a heat.

Which means that Tony can surprise Steve for once.

Tony grins. “JARVIS, where’s the good ‘ol Captain?”

“In the conference room, sir.”

“Great. Put a bookmark on everything, would you? Thanks.”

Tony liberally sprays himself with Axe (so his scent won’t give the game away) and leaves the workshop with a spring in his step.

It’s not that he minds having to handle a heat on his own – he’s done that often enough, and gotten suppressants for whenever it’s too inconvenient to bother – but having Steve on his team, as it were, makes the whole thing far more enjoyable. It’s an excuse to drop everything (workshop binge included) and spend time with his favorite person; who, coincidentally, thinks of Tony as his favorite person, and isn’t that just something?

Though Steve would likely protest with something like: do they need an excuse? They can just be together whenever they want to?

To which Tony would respond, but this is the universe purposefully reminding them to take a break from whatever else is going on and just be. Also, the accompanying heat-heightened orgasms are fun.

Tony has more of that make-believe argument with Steve all the way down from the workshop to the conference room floor. It does occur to him that he could go to their room first and set it up – snacks, liquids, change of sheets etc. – but surprising Steve feels far more urgent. Besides, they’ve gotten a pretty good heat/rut routine down by now, which only needs their cycles to settle in sync to be perfect.

But that’s a goal for another time.

Today’s goal has Tony sneaking up to the entrance of the conference room, from which he can hear Steve and other voices in discussion. Tony’s step falters a little as he parses the tones of their voices. Business-like and serious, though it can’t be that serious since they left the door open.

Tony considers his options. He backtracks the way he came and detours to the pantry that’s two rooms over. There’s coffee brewing there already, so he helps himself to a cup and is halfway through it before remembering that caffeine’s not a good idea before a heat. He’d never bothered with such things before Steve, and the fact that that thought has Tony feeling fond instead of annoyed says a lot.

“Fine.” Tony dumps the remainder of the cup, has some water instead, and trudges back towards the conference room.

“—it’s not enough,” Steve’s saying. “I’m sorry, but I’m not comfortable with this.”

“I don’t blame you,” Maria replies. “But we can’t keep the task force there. It’s recall or finish it.”

Tony’s a handful of feet from the doorway. He pauses there, hands on hips, and tries to will the meeting to die by ESP alone.

“I know a guy,” Clint says.

“You know a guy that I don’t?” Natasha says.

“All right,” Steve says. “How do you want to play it?”

Tony rolls his eyes at the ceiling and retreats to the wall just next to the doorway. He leans against it, arms crossed and the ache of earlier starting to creep down his thighs. Excitement of getting to see Steve apparently distracted him enough that he didn’t notice the slow, coiling warmth gathering down below.

Tony takes a deep, chest-rattling breath. His nose always gets more sensitive leading into a heat, and sure enough, he can make out the teasing curl of Steve’s scent in the air – familiar and calm and not close enough. When Tony shuts his eyes he can picture Steve’s form in crystal-clear mental definition: his brow furrowed and his arms crossed, a Captain America in full business mode and not expecting a diversion-in-wait a mere couple of yards away.

“—two-person show,” Clint says. “Any more and we spook them.”

Tony realizes that he’s rubbing his elbows against the wall behind him. He’s marking said wall, but he’s also working off the creeping itch under his skin. At this rate he’s going to start rubbing his face and other sundry body parts against the wallpaper soon. It’s nice wallpaper, and the Tower is technically his so he can mark everything as much as he wants, but the itch won’t be satisfied by that. It’s more likely that the itch will simply grow, and become intolerable, and there’ll be a Tony-shaped scent mark in the wall that’ll take forever to clean.

It occurs to Tony that he’d sped up his heat by coming out here to find Steve, who is right there. In the next room. When he could be in the same room as Tony, and preferably in Tony to boot.

Now that’s a nice thought.

It’s a very nice thought, in fact, and is further buoyed by some very nice memories that he and Steve have made together lately.

Tony realizes he’s panting. His gulps of air dry out his lips, and make him dizzy. He feels compelled, pulled, drawn.

He only realizes he’s started walking when he’s already taken a couple of steps away from the wall, his head tipped up slightly as though tugged through the open space by the invisible lure that is Steve’s presence.

Tony enters the conference room and, finally seeing Steve, makes a bee-line towards him. He also vaguely registers other people in the room but they’re mere shadows, distant and vague, and very unlike the solid, glowing figure of one Steve Rogers.

“Hey Tony,” Steve says. “I thought we were—”

He’s cut off when Tony reaches his target, flinging his arms around Steve’s torso and pressing his face against Steve’s neck. Steve is solid and warm, a wall of muscle that speaks to safety more than strength, and Tony breathes him in deep. There are a few inches of bare skin just above Steve’s collar, and though the skin has Tony’s scent on it, it is muted, which will not do at all. Tony rubs his cheek against Steve’s skin, in firm but small motions back and forth, while Tony’s chest does the same work marking up Steve’s torso.

“Oh, uh.” Steve takes a questioning sniff. “Ah.”

“Well, that’s your day gone,” Maria says. “Just let Barton take an away team—”

“No,” Steve says firmly, “this isn’t an excuse—”

“It is time-sensitive,” Natasha says. “Just saying.”

“I know, but—” Steve makes a surprised sound when Tony moves, sending his arms upward over Steve’s shoulders and wrapping them behind his neck. “Tony—”

Tony pulls. Not very hard, but just enough that Steve hunches over a little, giving Tony the boost he needs to bounce up and wrap both legs around Steve’s waist. Steve is, of course, a very smart man, and immediately has both hands under Tony’s thighs to hold him steady. Tony’s rumbling purr of approval lands at the soft skin of Steve’s neck, just under his ear.

“Yeah, you’re done,” Clint says. “Got a bad case of a limpet.”

“No, I want you to get in touch with your guy, find out what he can put together in 24 hours,” Steve says. Tony really likes the way Steve’s chest vibrates when he talks. He shows his contentment by tightening his grip around Steve, who pats his thigh twice in subtle acknowledgement. “The task force stays. You two put your pull-out plan to paper and send it to my email in an hour, before we even think of engaging.”

“An hour,” Natasha echoes.

“You’ll probably need longer than that to call it in,” Steve says, which has Natasha huffing in amusement. “Task force stays. Got it?”

“Got it,” Maria says. “I’ll pull the latest sat images. An hour, you said?”

“Yeah. Well.” Steve adjusts his grip on Tony and starts walking, presumably to a more private and agreeable destination. “Thereabouts.”

“Bye!” Clint calls out as they leave the room. Tony lifts one hand from Steve’s shoulder just long enough to wave.

When Steve next speaks, his voice is different. Softer, like the very bedsheets Tony hopes Steve’s taking them to. “You’re early,” he says.

“Your powers of deduction are astounding.” Tony tilts his chin up to nip at Steve’s ear, and is gratified by Steve’s shudder against him. Steve’s steps speed up to almost a run, jostling Tony as they move along. Tony grins. “Are you seriously going to take breaks to answer emails?”

“I can multitask,” Steve says tetchily. “Or at the very least, get you distracted enough that you won’t complain.”

“A challenge,” Tony says with a hum. “Sorry for interrupting the whatever, though.”

“Don’t be.” Steve stops walking, and removes one hand from under Tony’s thigh. There’s a click of the doorknob, and then Steve’s shifting his weight to toe the door open and bring them both inside. “I’m grateful that you’re comfortable enough to come to me like that. That’s, uh. It’s nice.”

Oh, so Steve likes that. Success.

Tony’s still grinning when Steve tosses him on the bed.

[soracities]

Quotes about not being able to express? Hating to open up?

“All you see, all that flees, all is unsayable.Words close all doors.” (Alejandra Pizarnik, ‘Of the Silence’))

“Oh my brothers and sisters,were you like me once, long ago,before you were human? Did youpermit yourselvesto open once, who would neveropen again?” (Louise Glück, ‘The Red Poppy’)

“It’s so hard to speak and say things that cannot be said. It’s so silent.” (Clarice Lispecter, Agua Viva)

“You would stand in the room so still sometimes, so wordless sometimes, as if the greatest betrayal of yourself would be to reveal one more inch of your character.” (Michael Ondaatje, The English Patient)

“My heart’s a doe’s. A doe’s made for running away.” (Fady Joudah, ‘Horses’)

“You have so many layers, that you can peel away a few, and everyone’s so shocked or impressed that you’re baring your soul, while to you it’s nothing, because you know you’ve twenty more layers to go.” (Craig Thompson, Carnet de Voyage)

"I do not even struggle to speak; the spark of words dies so deep in my chest there is not even space to mount them on an exhale.” (Carmen Maria Machado, Her Body & Other Parties)

‘You have made so many enemies?’ he asked, with gentle irony. ‘Strangers,’ she replied. ‘I seem to make strangers of all the people I meet.’ (D.H. Lawrence, The Trespasser)

"Your heart, Ludwig, your heart. Where is it? Where did you hide it?” (Tommy Wieringa, Caesarion)

“- Who are you running away from?- Everybody.” (Colette, Claudine Getting Married)

“I hid my pain even from myself; I revealed my pain only to myself.” (Agha Shahid Ali, ‘Farewell’)

“I’ve been living alone so long, everything about me’s private. I’m surprised anyone’s able to understand a word I say.” (Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night)

"Oh, I have so dreamed of love, I’ve been dreaming of it for years, day and night, but my soul is like a wonderful piano which is locked and the key has been lost.” (Anton Chekhov, Three Sisters)

“I can’t tell you how much I pass over in silence.“ (Wislawa Szymborska, ‘A Large Number’)

“I am always trying to convey something that can’t be conveyed, to explain something which is inexplicable, to tell about something I have in my bones, something which can be expressed only in the bones.” (Franz Kafka, Letter to Milena)

“I have packed myself into silence so deeply and for so long that I can never unpack myself using words. When I speak, I only pack myself a little differently.” (Herta Müller, The Hunger Angel)

“Incapable of living with people, of speaking. Complete immersion in myself, thinking of myself. Apathetic, witless, fearful. I have nothing to say to anyone - never.”  (Franz Kafka, Diaries)

“I love you. I love you,but I’m turning to my verses and my heart is closinglike a fist.” (Frank O’Hara, ‘Mayakovsky’)

“I have only one friend, and that is echo. Why is it my friend? Because I love my sorrow, and echo does not take it away from me. I have only one confidant, and that is the silence of night. Why is it my confidant? Because it remains silent.” (Kierkegaard, Either/Or: A Fragment of Life)

“We had an extraordinary friendship. We would sometimes sit up until three in the morning, and he would tell me about his past, his mother, minister, his loves, and the next day he would just look straight through me as if he’d given away or revealed too much of himself. It would take, after one of these sessions, maybe a couple of days before we’d be back on friendship terms. He was very afraid to give of himself.” (Elizabeth Taylor on James Dean)

“They way I figured it, keeping quiet was safe. Words could betray you if you chose the wrong ones, or mean less if you chose too many.” (Robyn Schneider, Severed Heads, Broken Hearts)

“I hid my deepest feelings so well I forgot where I placed them.” (Amy Tan, Saving Fish from Drowning)

“Often I am so silent that I think I, too, will soon forget how to [speak] and nobody here will ever talk any more.“ (Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories)

“It’s not that I don’t want to talk to you,it’s just because I can’t.It’s because I don’t know how.I’m still trying to tell you.I’m still holding on so tightly to the stitched words and patched up language of my childhood.Even in my perfect English,There are some things I just don’t know how to say.” (Alex Dang! ‘Broken Tongues’)

“I take great care of myself by carefully shutting myself away.” (Van Gogh, letter to his brother Theo)

“…forgive me Darling, for every word I say — my heart is full of you, none other than you in my thoughts, yet when I seek to say to you something not for the world, words fail me. If you were here — and Oh that you were, we need not talk at all, our eyes would whisper for us, and your hand fast in mine, we would not ask for language — “ (Emily Dickinson, letter to Susan Gilbert)

“Oh, stupid waysI’ve loved and unraveled myself.I, a parched field, and not a spit of rain.” (Cathy Linh Che, ‘Los Angeles, Manila, Đà Nẵng’)

“The substance of my life is a private conversation with myself which to turn into a dialogue would be equivalent to self-destruction.” (Iris Murdoch, Under the Net)

“Why talk when you can whisper?Rustle, like dried leaves.Under the bed.

It’s ugly here, but safer.” (Margaret Atwood, ‘Daphne and Laura and so Forth’)

“Let’s not talk about it, let’s just not talk.Not because I don’t believe it, not because I want it any different, but I’malways saving and you’re always owing and I’m tired of asking to        settle the debt.” (Richard Siken, ‘Wishbone’)

"I hide because there’s more to me than what you see and I’m not sure you’d like the rest. I know that sometimes, I don’t like the rest.” (Iain S. Thomas, I Wrote This For You)

“The truth is you already know what it’s like. You already know the difference between the size and speed of everything that flashes through you and the tiny inadequate bit of it all you can ever let anyone know. As though inside you is this enormous room full of what seems like everything in the whole universe at one time or another and yet the only parts that get out have to somehow squeeze out through one of those tiny keyholes you see under the knob in older doors. As if we are all trying to see each other through these tiny keyholes.But it does have a knob, the door can open. But not in the way you think…The truth is you’ve already heard this. That this is what it’s like. That it’s what makes room for the universes inside you, all the endless inbent fractals of connection and symphonies of different voices, the infinities you can never show another soul. And you think it makes you a fraud, the tiny fraction anyone else ever sees? Of course you’re a fraud, of course what people see is never you. And of course you know this, and of course you try to manage what part they see if you know it’s only a part. Who wouldn’t? It’s called free will, Sherlock. But at the same time it’s why it feels so good to break down and cry in front of others, or to laugh, or speak in tongues, or chant in Bengali–it’s not English anymore, it’s not getting squeezed through any hole.So cry all you want, I won’t tell anybody.” (David Foster Wallace, Oblivion)

“Years ago a friend of mine had a dream about a strange invention; a staircase you could descend deep underground, in which you heard recordings of all the things anyone had ever said about you, both good and bad. The catch was, you had to pass through all the worst things people had said before you could get to the highest compliments at the very bottom. There is no way I would ever make it more than two and a half steps down such a staircase, but I understand its terrible logic: if we want the rewards of being loved we have to submit to the mortifying ordeal of being known.” (Tim Kreider, ‘I Know What You Think of Me’)

“But even though I am making steady proclamations about who I will go for next, and why, and how it will all be different, it is brutal to imagine the idea of meeting a new person. Going through the same routine. Saying the same phrases I have now said many times: the big statements, the grand revelations about my childhood and character. The cautious revealing of insecurities. I have said them already, and they sit now in the minds of those people who are out living lives I have no access to anymore. Awhile ago, this sharing was tremendous; now, the idea of facing a new person and speaking the same core sentences seems like a mistake, an error of integrity. Surely it is not good for my own mind to make myself into a speech like that. The only major untouched field of discussion will have to do with this feeling, this tiredness, this exact speech.The next person I love, I will sit across from in silence. We will have to learn it from each other some other way.” (Aimee Bender, ‘On A Saturday Afternoon’)

“I just hope that one day - preferably when we’re both blind drunk - we can talk about it.”  (J.D. Salinger, Franny and Zooey)

[mercurryblack]

Chapter 7: Lillian

The team gets ready for their respective dates... or lack thereof.

❃❃❃

“Ugh. We get a night off, and I’m stuck with an essay.”

Though the crime scene investigation had been a drag, in Cait’s opinion, their current situation sucked even more. They hungered for something exciting to happen— hell, a pissed-off Onikuma could crash through their door right then and there, and it would be a pleasant reprieve from the drudgery of a Grimm Studies report. Fighting was always preferable over writing.

Who cared about the variations in Grimm anatomy and physiology based on their habitat, anyway? One looked like an elephant, one looked like a wooly mammoth.

Either way, Cait had set themselves up for a boring night in, and was left silent and grouchy.

“How are you guys planning to spend your day-offs?” Hattie asked the Armilde twins as she slumped back against her pillow. Her small tophat remained firmly on her head, still lopsided.

Silently, Cait tried and failed to recount the last time they’d ever seen her without it.

“I have a charity event to go to,” Amaryllis replied, adjusting a clip-on silver earring onto her right earlobe.

“Oooh, that sounds exciting!” Hattie said, sitting up. “Can I come? Can I come?” 

“Sure! More people there means more funds for the cause. Plus, it’s public, so everyone in Mistral’s pretty much automatically invited.” Amaryllis paused, looking at her Scroll. “…You do still have that nice blue dress of yours from the dance, don’t you?”

“Yeah.” Hattie replied.

Amaryllis nodded. “You might want to consider throwing that on, since it’s a kinda formal event, but otherwise you’re welcome to tag along.”

“Yay!” Hattie squealed, clapping her hands. “Thank you, Ammy! You going with anyone else?”

“Hector Wulfric. The event’s organized by his family, actually.” Amaryllis answered. A smile crept onto her face while she planned how she was going to spend the evening with her boyfriend. 

“Oh.” Hattie said, immediately deflating. “In that case, never mind. I don’t wanna play third wheel.” She took a seat again on the end of her bed. “How about Lilly? What’s she gonna do tonight?”

Lillian wasn’t there to answer. She’d been in the bathroom for a good half hour, brushing her teeth to a complete and almost blinding white.

“She’s going on a date with… what was it, sweet guns? No, wait, she called her tha— Oh, I remember. Sweet buns.” Amaryllis recounted, barely stifling a giggle.

“Who now? Is she that same girl Lillian mentioned yesterday?” Hattie asked in the same moment as Lillian emerged from the bathroom.

“Hush, you.” Lillian said, having overheard them. “For the millionth time, Am, her name is Rosario— and yes, Hattie, she’s the same one I mentioned last night.” She explained.

“Remind me how it went, again? Was it, ‘I got a couple of “sweet buns” right here, and they’ve already got your name on ‘em.’” Amaryllis put her hands firmly on her rear and swung her butt in a circle. She wiggled repetitively, mocking a tease she had observed from Rosario.

Lillian turned to give Amaryllis an especially evil glare. “You know what, Am? You’re a pain in my ass.”

“Yeah, okay.” Amaryllis adopted a placating tone, though the mischievous glint in her eye remained. “But am I a pain in your sweet bu—?” She began, continuing her gluteal choreography.

With a snarl, Lillian grabbed one of Amaryllis’ good leather boots from the floor and hurled it at her sister. It collided with the top of the redhead’s cranium, and she let out a strangled yelp.

“Ow, ow, ow...” Rubbing the top of her head, Amaryllis snapped back, “I swear to god, Lilly, if you messed up my hair…”

Hattie giggled in the background, though she lacked context on exactly what Amaryllis was making fun about— something about sweet buns, but that was all she could make out. Her stomach growled at the thought of the tasty pastry.

“Okay, okay, it’s time to stop. Both of you had your laughs.” Lillian said, as she grabbed her drawstring bag and threw it over her shoulder. “And sorry, Hattie, but I got no extra room tonight. As roaringly as I think you two would get along, I think it’s about time I spend some alone time with my girlfriend.” She coughed.

“Mmm.” Hattie mumbled in response. Though downtrodden by the absence of her teammates for the night, she knew that it was neither of their responsibilities to take her along with them— after all, they still had their private lives. “…Lillian?”

“Yes?” Lillian asked, straightening her cropped hoodie around her midriff.

“Your girlfriend’s the same one with the pastry shop, isn’t she?” Hattie asked.

“Same one.”

Hattie puffed her lips out. “Will you bring back some pastries when you’re done with your date, pleeeease?”

“Sure, I think that could be arranged.” Lillian laughed. “Okay, I should be on my way by now— I don’t want to keep Rosa waiting.”

Amaryllis “I’m going as well— I’ve still got to pick up my dress.” She turned to Hattie and Cait for a moment. “Oh, and you two eat some dinner later, okay? Hattie, if you really have nothing else to do, it’d be really nice of you to help Cait finish their paper. Afterward, maybe you two can come down to the charity ball.” She said invitingly.

Hattie’s eyes lit up again. “Hey, maybe we could! What do you think, Cait?”

Cait didn’t make any effort to face the twins, instead opting to wave a hand to them while facing the window. “Yeah.” They replied listlessly.

“…Okay then. We’ll see you later.” With that, Lillian and Amaryllis turned and exited the dorm room.

***

As Amaryllis and Lillian walked through Haven’s low-lit and empty dormitory halls, they continued to talk about each other’s plans for the evening.

“So... where are you taking Rosario?” Amaryllis inquired in an innocent tone.

“We’re heading down to the cliffs. I heard there are some nice spots over there for a late picnic.” Lillian answered flatly, looking straight ahead without breaking her stride.

“Cliffs. How very romantic.” Amaryllis drawled.

“Yeah, yeah. How about you and Hector, got anything hot and heavy planned for tonight? I heard something about you picking up a dress. I smell something fishy here.” Lillian turned to face Amaryllis, wiggling an eyebrow.

“Ew, don’t even go there. This outfit is for tonight’s event, and tonight’s event only. I’ll change clothes after I go to the salon to get my hair and face done up, and I gotta hit that first since it’s already getting pretty late.” Amaryllis hesitated. “And as far as I know, the only thing that’ll be getting hot tonight is my face from nervousness. Hector said his dad’s going to be there, and he wants me to meet him.”

“Heh. I know the feeling.” Lillian chuckled.

She knew full well that her sister had never met Hector’s family before— both her and the Wulfric lad had seemed secretive about the whole relationship, though they had been dating for well over a year by now. She also was versed in the experience of having to meet a special someone’s family for the first time, and a sweaty face didn’t even start to describe it.

Honestly, it felt more like a jolt of terror up the spine, followed by the sensation of one’s stomach falling right into their feet.

“Don’t worry, Am. They’ll love you.” Lillian reassured her sister. Smirking, she continued, “Just don’t tell them that the reason their beloved son is head-over-heels for you is because of those lumps of fat glued to the front of your ribcage.”

Amaryllis flushed red, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, shut up. I’ll have you know that Hector loves all the fat in my body, regardless of its exact location.”

“Yeah?” Lillian retorted. “Tell that to the two loves of his life: peanut butter and jelly.” She teased as she pointed her thumb at Amaryllis’ chest. “…Or was it butter, and I can’t believe it’s not butter?”

“Please. His nicknames for my breasts are much more creative than that.” Amaryllis countered.

A pause.

“So you admit that he has nicknames for them, huh?”

Blushing a brighter shade of red, Amaryllis huffed and walked as fast as she could, overtaking Lillian. She was becoming increasingly annoyed with her sister, not because of what she was saying, but because she had no good retorts up her sleeve to retaliate with.

“Bye, sis. Have fun with your boob fetishist of a boyfriend.” Lillian waved, a guileless smirk plastered on her face.

“You have a nice date too… sweet buns fetishist!” For one last time, Amaryllis turned around to face Lillian and performed the corresponding taunt.

Turning around, she nearly walked right into a green-haired, pink-eyed girl with a toothbrush sticking out of her mouth, who had obviously been witness to her previous action. Unmoving, she apparently appeared to still be processing it.

After a moment’s pause, the girl blinked, snorted a small laugh and grinned. “Yeah, Sweet buns, all right.” She cracked, holding the toothbrush out of her mouth to speak.

Hiding her face with her arm from embarrassment, Amaryllis ran past the girl and out the entrance of the dormitory. Lillian and the girl watched with amusement as she fled.

“Hey.” The girl said, turning back to face Lillian.

“Hey.” Lillian replied, sparing a second’s eye contact as she walked past. She vaguely recognized her as one of the first-years.

With that brief acknowledgement, they both continued on their separate ways, in opposite directions along the hall.

[ryttu3k]

Night Road quote text dump, because I've been deluging a friend with quotes and want a place to keep them all.

We're a bit like that, yeah:

They direct you to a hulking Malkavian named Severian, and the sullen giant directs you in turn to Gibberish Mike.

Fortunately, it turns out that "Gibberish" Mike is just Australian.

Practical concerns:

"That's it!" Elena says, leaning over your shoulder. "That's his yacht. Oh, and this is all about him. Very useful." She snaps a picture of the email with her phone, then the two of you get out of there before the technician returns. You head down the elevator and then back to Elena's Datsun.

You're so pleased by how well that went that that it takes you a few minutes to remember you're in Arizona.

"His yacht?" you finally ask.

Fun with bungalow ownership:

After a day of fitful dreams, you throw on your leather jacket and engineer boots and get ready for another night. You step outside to check your Integra. A neighbor parks next door in her Ford Super Duty and gives you a friendly little wave. You've been practicing this. You're ready.

"Howdy, neighbor."

"Howdy!" she responds before heading inside.

Fucking nailed it. You're one of them.

This is legitimately how I got the Messy Critical achievement:

You grab a hoe.

You rip through the underbrush with savage efficiency, staying a few steps ahead of the pushcart as Julian scans. You work in a trance, chopping and hammering. Only when you hear Julian shouting do you realize that you're holding a busted length of wood.

The head of your hoe is buried in the beautiful round black door of Prince Lettow's Rolls-Royce.

Raúlblocked:

You head to Raúl's place, but he's not there. You find a note hidden above the door that reads, "Problems in Phoenix. (Jesus Christ has returned? Stole a car?) Contact me right away for major jobs and I'll come back. Already missing you." And there's a ProtonMail address with some of the security contact codes you agreed upon earlier.

But it looks like Raúl will be occupied dealing with the Lord and His automotive crimes, and he won't be able to wander around Tucson with you.

Pattermuster doesn't get paid enough:

"Hello? What? Well, the blood can't be 'everywhere.' Surely that's an exagger—okay—okay, fine. Okay. Okay, I'll get—okay. Five minutes. What? No, Sissy Spacek. No, Sissy—you're thinking of Rosemary's Baby. No, Carrie had the prom scene. With all the pig's—yes, it was Sissy Spacek, I'm sure. That much blood? Jesus. Okay, hold—five—okay, five minutes."

Valid question:

Do they teach ax fighting at Quantico?

Julian Meyer:

"Man, it's been a while," Julian says, leaning against your door frame. "I remember the nights we spent keeping that elder asleep with offerings of blood, the days curled up together in the desert. Wasn't it romantic?"

"That never happened, Julian. You made up our relationship and tried to sell it as a novel until the old Prince of Tucson threatened to execute you." '

"Vampire romance was big at the time," Julian says with a shrug. "And I changed our names. I still don't know why no one wanted to buy it."

Dammit I thought I was done with uni:

"Awful," Dr. Caul says with a little shudder. "But now your real studies can begin."

Your real studies consist of a syllabus (thirty pages) and a trunk full of books (35,000 pages).

"Are you disappointed, Rook?" she says with a little laugh. "Were you expecting something more mystical? A bolt of cosmic enlightenment? A conversation with your Holy Guardian Angel, who would reveal the answers you seek?" She bangs the trunk as technicians get ready to load it into your car. "Get reading."

An enthusiastic boss:

You reunite with Pattermuster down in the morgue, where he's pumping his fists as a thin-blood on a gaming laptop watches with a worried expression because she can't tell if he's incredibly happy or insanely mad.

"Rook!" Pattermuster shouts, his eyes full of Blood, "you did it! You brilliant child, you did it! We're safe. Oh, thank God, we're safe." He pulls you into an embrace, then punches a brick wall because he's so happy, showering all three of you in dust.

I thought that was Finland?:

You catch all sorts of whispered gossip as you cross the rooftop garden.

"Camp Scheffler?"

"Gone. That Outlander courier had something to do with it."

"I heard the Russians helped the SI burn it down."

"That's ridiculous. There's no such thing as Russians."

Pot, kettle:

"Julian," the Eagle Prince says, "you will locate Reremouse with the equipment Vane brought. Once we find him, we will strike shortly before dawn. I have prepared a stake sufficient to pierce even his old hide."

"That easy, huh?" Julian says.

"No, but—"

"Your plan is ridiculous, convoluted, and dangerous," Julian says.

"And you have a better one?"

"Absolutely," Julian says. "We use Stonehenge to teleport him to Mesopotamia."

The must-have appliance:

He's a black outline in the glow of a single yellow bulb... and then the bats descend.

And then the bats get torn to pieces, because Pattermuster pulls his two katanas out of nothing and turns into an undead Cuisinart for a few seconds.

But aesthetic:

Leave it to a vampire to bring a sword to a gunfight.

It is pretty cool though:

"Oh my God," Julian says. "You're going to use the car engine to fling Prometheus into Reremouse's heart."

"Dammit, Julian, I am not doing this because it's fun. I am scrambling for every advantage I can because we only have one chance to stop Reremouse, and if we fail, the Second Inquisition will descend on us like wolves on a wounded deer."

"It's still cool," Julian mutters.

A e s t h e t i c:

The Camarilla looks unkindly on vampires who dress like Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, but what's the point of being dead if you can't look the part?

#JustToreadorThings:

You sleep badly and awaken to an aching and acute Hunger that crowds out other thoughts. But when you approach the Rolls-Royce, you find Lettow and Julian seated on a blanket, evidently in fine spirits. They're holding stainless steel mugs as they watch the last purple streaks fade from the western sky. There's something perfect about the composition before you: the two Kindred in their working clothes with their backs to you, the blue-black clouds, the faraway mesas framing the scene.

"I fear we've lost the Aesthete," Lettow muses. "Luka? Luka!"

It's just good sense:

A lot of keypads use 0911 as an emergency override for police and fire. That doesn't work, but a common default password causes the elevator doors to slide right open.

Change your defaults, people.

They draw the line at 31%:

Not all problems can be solved by putting a brick through a window, but at least 30 percent can.

Descriptive:

That's when your Nissan makes a sound like a bunch of typewriter keys dropped in a blender, and the whole truck lurches to a halt.

Munch munch:

"There are tags attached to all the payroll numbers," you say. "FNMA. PFC. What are they?"

"FNMA?" Antonio says. "That's Fannie Mae. The loan commission. Privatized in 1968. PFC…"

"Pavlodar Fried Chicken," Janet says. "Damn Commies."

Courier what did you do:

When you try to start your Mercedes, it vomits black smoke. That's not good. You kill the engine.

"Pop the hood," Julian says. "I'll get it up and running."

He checks the motor. There's a long pause.

"Did you melt a bunch of cheese in here or something, Vane?"

“I remember crawling out of a Nieuport 20 outside Gibraltar," Prince Lettow says. "The engine looked like that. Of course, ours had been on fire."

"Engine looks like Vane fed a bunch of sardine cans into a paper shredder," Julian says.

Almost!:

So Lettow is cute. I'm going to talk to him and see if he might be interested in a handsome young courier who almost has his own car.

Scientist life:

A beaker of cold coffee on her desk has a pencil in it; she flicks the pencil away and drains the entire beaker, then looks you in the eyes.

Domesticity:

"Wow, Vane," the Banu Haqim says, "did you finally settle down. Where's the wife and kids? Why don't you get me a beer, and we can talk about football and quote some Bible verses at each other?"

I really want to know where the fake werewolf came in:

"...so the whole fucking Cadillac is on fire, and I'm kicking and kicking, trying to get the window to break!" Dove says.

"Right, right, because —" You're trying to follow this story, and it isn't easy.

"Because I'm still handcuffed to the guy who was pretending to be a werewolf, right. And I finally kick through the window, rip half the dead fake werewolf's arm off to get free — I'm out of my fucking mind now, with all the fire — and I finally crawl out of the car."

"And get clear before it — do they blow up?"

"Escalades? I dunno, probably not," Dove says. "But anyway, I'm finally clear, so I run across the parking lot, laughing because I'm just thrilled not to have met final death chained up to that guy. And I barely have time to look up before Lettow comes screaming around the corner in a Ford Bronco with the lights off and runs me over. I was in the wrong Cadillac the whole time."

"No!"

"Two black Cadillac Escalades in the parking lot of the Marriott," Dove says. "How was I supposed to know which one — anyway, that's why I don't get to drive anymore. That's why Lettow wants assholes like you driving."

"Driving what?" you ask. "Because I need a car."

Dove shakes her ugly head. "I'll get you something. Give me a few hours to work on it, and I'll send someone to find you."

Cars are everything:

You still don't know how Julian plans to go from "divert a few funds and data streams from the Camarilla" to "transform the global information panopticon in a way that ends the Masquerade but keeps vampires safe," but he has a nicer car than last time, so he must be doing something right.

Guys please be nice to Raul:

"There appears to be a vampire hunter outside," he says, "investigating your electric vehicle."

"Send your bird to peck his eyes out," Julian says. "I'm not going outside until I find my sneakers."

Cheese?:

Over the next few minutes, you cough up a glorious wad of bullshit involving MKUltra, the Philadelphia Experiment, Star Wars (the movie), Star Wars (the Reagan-era government program), Jackson Pollack's CIA connections, the history of federal cheese, and the secret mastermind behind the seventies gas crunch.

In fairness it's a pretty rare sound:

You're way up in Limberlost, near the mall and the Walmart, when Riga settles on the roof of a Safeway. You reverse into the parking lot in case you need to get out fast and scan the cars at the pumps. It looks quiet. Then you hear a faint ringing.

The sound is musical, hypnotic. It reminds you of your childhood, and for a long time you just sit there in the driver's seat, remembering what it was like to be alive. But what is that sound? What memory from…?

Oh, right.

The pay phone next to the ice merchandiser is ringing.

It's a skill!:

Not every member of Clan Toreador joins their august ranks because of their great beauty or artistic genius. Some people end up vampires because of their extensive knowledge of Adobe After Effects.

Big Pirates of the Caribbean energy:

"I'd kind of like to give Lettow here a horse and a sword and let him tear through an entire police barracks," Julian says. "Tell me that wouldn't be fun."

"One thing I learned from Napoleon," Lettow says, "is that the most powerful cannon is useless if you cannot see your target. We know the location of one small encampment. That isn't enough to start shooting."

"You knew Napoleon?" Julian asks.

"Napoleon was my horse," Lettow says.