#i feel like this is massively ooc

[lokislytherin]

言わざる // speak no evil

pairing: byelingual!park jonggun x waiter!reader

summary: yamazaki yuzuru, also known as park jonggun, is trying his damned best to learn korean for csat. despite his best efforts, his favourite bartender doesn’t seem too impressed. in other words: park jonggun hwaiting~

tags: crack, pre-canon, gun is korean by birth but raised in japan but jailed in korea so he doesn’t even know how he identifies himself anymore, canon compliant, gun might be ooc bc he’s not fighting this is calm gun

gun’s first thought upon seeing you is - damn, you’re gorgeous.

he’s been to this izakaya several times before, but he has never seen you behind the counter. maybe it’s your first day. maybe you’ve been here for a while, working the wednesday night shift, and he has just never been here on a wednesday. it’s a school night, after all. he has his csat to study for, even though he thinks he’ll fail. his korean isn’t quite up to par. he’s spent too long in juvie, and even longer in japan.

gun isn’t the only japanese person here. well, technically gun is korean, but he’s been yamazaki yuzuru, shiroi oni for so long it feels like he’s japanese instead. when he’d fought that straw-haired asshole, kim joongoo, the dumbhead had downright refused to believe gun was korean by birth. no way, he’d said with a mocking grin, hand over his jaw where gun had almost knocked his entire bottom row of teeth out, your accent’s fucking atrocious.

gun would’ve gone for round two of a fight if goo hadn’t smashed a staff into his face and almost broken his skull as well as his nose.

anyway, back to the izakaya. where gun speaks japanese, because it’s so much easier than korean to him.

gun’s been here often enough to start to recognize the regulars - hattori-san with his raspy kansai-ben, who always orders cheap beer to go with his equally cheap cigarettes and starts flirting with the whoever’s pouring his beer whenever he gets too drunk; miyamura-san, who had been sent on a year-long business trip from tokyo to seoul and drinks sake to cover up how dearly she misses her family; and there’s park jong gun himself, who always orders the same gyoza dish because it’s damn tasty, alright.

today, it’s a different person behind the counter. it’s you, who speaks kindly to miyamura-san when she weeps about homesickness. it’s you, who doesn’t hesitate to call a drunk hattori-san a cab and manhandle him out of the shop yourself when the taxi arrives. you’re around gun’s age, japanese by birth, but both your japanese and your korean, which you showcase when a korean couple wander in in search of ramen, are both better than gun’s. you don’t seem too wary about gun, either. you’re always bringing him his signature gyoza with a sweet smile, offering him helpful tips on learning korean when he brings his notebook in to study for tests. gun-chan, you tease him sometimes, study at home, not here. he doesn’t answer, too busy wondering why you don’t fear him in the slightest.

because you should.

gun is the most dangerous person in this small izakaya. you’re strong enough to manhandle hattori-san, who is drunk and balding and somewhere in his late fifties, but your wrists are thin, your legs long and slim. you’ve got that doe-eyed innocence to you too, like a newborn fawn. you’d be able to please him with your body if you didn’t break under his rough hands first.

or maybe that could be the foreplay. you’d look good, struggling not to let gun break you, fighting back with all you’ve got.

gun has no alcohol with him, but his cheeks feel a little too flushed for his own comfort. he finishes his gyoza in silence, pays you a hefty tip and refuses to take the change, and then leaves.

he’ll keep you a secret, for now. choi dongsoo doesn’t have to know about you. and neither does gun's asshole of a housemate, kim joongoo.

he comes to the izakaya once every two weeks almost religiously just to see your pretty face. every time, you greet him with a smile. at some point, it becomes a running gag between the two of you. tadaima, he’ll say as he steps in, all evidence of his, ah, after-school job carefully hidden away. okaeri, you’ll say in response, your usual gyoza? and gun will say yes, because this place, this banter, is starting to feel like home to him. nothing has ever felt like home to him. it’s hard to find peace when gun lives the life of a hired gangster.

of course, of course, peace never lasts.

because one day, after school, kim ‘fucking dumbhead who can't read social cues’ joongoo insists on following gun to the izakaya. “i’m hungry,” he complains, “it’s your cooking day today, and since you won’t cook, i’ll just get dinner with you.”

he really doesn’t want to let joongoo meet you, but joongoo's a tenacious bastard who refuses to let go even when gun is trying to choke him out in the middle of the street, so gun ends up with no choice but to bring him to meet you.

he's still squabbling with joongoo by the time he steps into the izakaya. "okaeri, gun-cha-" your eyes widen. "ara ara, gun-chan, you brought a friend?"

"yes," joongoo says at the same moment gun says "we are not friends."

you giggle, eyes bright. "okay, gun-chan and gun-chan's not friend."

"gun-chan," joongoo mouths in awe. his knowledge of japanese is limited to anime and "omae wa mou shindeiru".

gun gives him a noogie because he's too polite to get blood all over your meticulously cleaned counter. "usual gyoza for me," gun mutters to you in japanese because he knows joongoo won't understand, "and the least popular item on the menu for him."

you laugh. "hai, hai!"

you end up placing two dishes of the same gyoza in front of gun and joongoo. gun blinks. "you're kidding, right?"

"gun-chan, you're literally the only one who orders this."

joongoo digs into his gyoza with a hearty "itadakimasu!" and you laugh when he gets sauce on his stupid glasses. gun feels overwhelming jealousy gnawing at his insides. you're his. you shouldn't be laughing at joongoo unless you're mocking him.

"just between you and me," you whisper to gun over the counter, "your friend reminds me of some of the tourists i used to get at the famiresu i used to work at in japan. they'd try to speak in japanese, but their accent wouldn't be right. it's sweet to see them try."

it's all too easy to imagine you in a cute apron and matching hat, cheerfully shouting "irraishaimase!" at new customers. it's too easy, like it's a memory instead of a fantasy. "which one did you work at? denny's?" back when he was fourteen and living the overpowered tween gangster life, he’d almost gotten attached to a denny’s worker who had actually tried to help him with his schoolwork and learning korean in particular. they were sweet but authoritative. they knew how to order him around and get him to do things, and that might have been the beginning of gun’s masochistic streak, actually. gun hadn’t seen them since he got arrested and sent to juvie in korea, but now that he thinks of it, they might have looked a little like you.

maybe he’s just projecting.

“yeah! i did work at denny's, actually.” it’s only thanks to gun’s years of experience as a trained thug that he doesn’t let his surprise show. did you read his mind? “why ask?”

“i was just curious. i grew up in japan.”

“yeah, i guessed. your japanese is excellent, but your korean… you make the same mistakes as one of my old regulars, but he was fourteen and you’re what, nineteen? you mix up the i, geu, jeo words too, just less often than he did.” you hum, a distant smile on your face. “it was easy for me to remember. it’s almost the same as koko, soko, asoko, isn’t it?”

gun nods. yeah, that was how the waiter from back then taught him to memorize i, geu and jeo too. gun just messes it up nowadays when he tries to think in korean instead of japanese. you flit off to help another patron and strike up a conversation with them instead. gun had almost forgotten that he couldn’t monopolise your attention that easily.

joongoo nudges him with the most demonic smile of all time settled on his face. there’s a veggie stuck between his teeth, and oh, what wouldn’t gun do to punch it out of the way? punch joongoo so hard he chokes on his own shattered teeth? “someone’s got a crush~” he sings loudly. nobody hears him over the din of the izakaya. “i’m gonna tell the b-”

gun tips his chin up and forcefully shuts joongoo’s mouth. joongoo whimpers as he bites his tongue, but gun holds his mouth shut. “don’t you fucking dare.”

it’s not even a crush. it’s just a passing fancy. you just remind him of someone he used to know.

“we’re leaving,” gun hisses. he’s going to beat joongoo’s ass into next week. “yo, jagiya-”

joongoo chokes on a laugh, but gun can’t think of why. over here… isn’t it jagiya?

“it’s jeogiyo,” you say with a shit-eating grin. it’s cute on you, unlike on joongoo. “but if you want to call me jagiya i won’t mind either, gun-chan.”

gun remembers making that mistake, years ago. he’d mixed them up again - jeogiyo is ‘come here’, jagiya is ‘sweetheart’. joongoo laughs harder at gun’s slowly reddening cheeks. oh, he wants you so bad. he’d hurt you so good, make you cry as he calls you jagiya and carve his mark into your body the only way he knows how.

“or should i call you yucchan? yamazaki yuzuru-chan?” you lean in close, something dangerous on your face. good for you, gun is a dangerous man. “the white oni?”

gun freezes. “how-” no matter how he thinks of it, he can’t think of how you would know about shiroi oni. could it be the other patrons warning you against him? could someone have told you?

“you’ve always called me y/n-san, and i appreciate it. but do you know why i came to korea to study?”

gun shakes his head. you’ve always been y/n-san to him.

“my name is magami y/n. you killed my father. you hurt my little brother ken-chan.” gun remembers now - he remembers young magami kenta who idolised him, until he killed the patriarch of the magami clan. maybe you were sent away to the city to study, and that’s why you weren’t there. “did you really think i’d let you get away?”

gun stops you from threatening him the only way he can think of - he yanks you closer by the collar of your shirt and when you stumble, he’s there, waiting to swallow all of your protests with his lips. oh, he’ll break you.

he’ll break you until all you know is how to scream his name and beg him for mercy.

oh, you’d look so gorgeous.

[clegfly]

Getting REAL sick and tired of how omori TikTok views sunny.

Like, they view any scene of him being emotionally vulnerable, affectionate, or even just making an expression outside of just being completely neutral as “mischaracterised”. He’s not some cool, stoic, unwavering badass, he is a traumatised teenager. Don’t cry whenever he dares to give his friend a hug or (god forbid) be SAD about something??? Isn’t like. Part of the point of his development about him allowing himself to break down the repressive walls he built when he shut himself in? And being able to rely on his real friends instead of imaginary versions? And isn’t the game like. Meant to SHOW that he still cares about them despite isolating himself?

It’s really stupid to get mad at a character like that showing emotion or affection personally, especially since he’s not used to expressing it properly after so long. But that’s just me

[godblooded]

just an fyi, and it feels like it needs to be said here: your blog is your own space and you should be able to say whatever the fuck you want. if you’re sad? vent. get sad. maybe put it under a cut, definitely tag it, but get sad. if you feel like you need someone to talk to? drop a freaking message about how you’re feeling like you could use a buddy, or anything randomly engaging. if you’re having a hard time, you should feel safe and okay to talk about it in your own space. we’re writers and we’re people and while there’s a lot to be said for how engagement outside of oneself is necessary in rp (and really really needs to improve), i think there’s a lot that must be said about people reaching out to others. it’s become so solitary here — the whole ‘reblog from source’ thing when it comes to shit like about and musings is absurd. the whole refusing to like things is ridiculous. yes, curate your space, that’s important, but curating your space into a studio apartment only you live in doesn’t make this a community anymore, it makes it a studio apartment you live in.

just be yourself here. do whatever you want. but i’m always saying: remember you’re not alone, and don’t let yourself feel that way.

[gastersans]

Hey guys!

I’m sorry I haven’t been around much lately. It’s not fair to people I care very much about to be silent! The long story short is that life hits you very fast and all at once sometimes on many levels, and my unfortunate tendency in hectic mode is to shut out and focus on just getting to the next day. It’s no excuse, of course, but I do hope you understand—and I hope you all are hanging in there as well.

I’m not sure when I can return to writing again, but I hope to. It always seems like I’m waiting to have some time and energy, but I think I’m just going to have to intentionally build a block for the creative things important to me among everything. Even if I’m not publishing anything, I am always thinking about it in one part of my mind. I love those stories, and I’m so glad to share them with you.

Thank you to anyone who was checking in! I love you all always, even if I don’t have the words to reply—and I’m always going to try to better show that.

Tl;dr below the cut: details of life been going on.

:read more:

Thanks for being curious! I’ll try to be as brief as I can, but I have traditionally failed at every attempt at that in these posts. To be honest, the past year or two has been a bit of a blur, so I’ll just talk in generalities rather than a specific timeline.

Everything at work changed at the organizational level. Unfortunately I can’t say much about it—for personal reasons, which I know is odd to say. My work is mixed in with family ties, justices and beliefs I advocate for, etc, so I can’t talk too much about it—but boy is that lasagna layered. That dynamic alone is both a hugely important but often very stressful to navigate in of itself.

Among the organizational change, my position drastically changed—I went from clinician to a manager of the sizeable department I worked for—and then a couple months later inherited a second, nearly double the size department to manage on top of it when my fellow manager left.

Right as my position was changing for the first time, my dad—living states away—got sick with some still undiagnosed illness. Bizarre body movements, signs of a stroke but no evidence found—not Parkinson’s, though the symptoms seem somewhere between it and a slow rolling dementia. If you’d like to read a small loving rant about my dad: My father is the most wonderful, kindest, politest, humblest human who is also a literal unrecognized hero twice over—he dedicated his entire life his two jobs. One was his role as an assistant Harbormaster—not infrequently rescuing people, lost in dark seas in the dead winter nights (among much grimmer tales)—a job which got paid pennies for, with decades-old resources and, if he was lucky, his name might be pages deep in the local paper. The second job was as a teacher in the worst school in the city next door—and he taught the “behavioral needs” kids. He was stabbed multiple times—the final time was in the stomach, shortly after he had come back from his leave after battling prostate cancer. He understood the kids were sick, or needed help. In addition to being a great teacher (I didn’t appreciate it at the time, but my dad often help walk us through homework to ensure we knew it—requested or not), my dad would take his students to different places— the beach for a wildlife lesson, or the local laser tag place just for fun they often couldn’t afford)—on his own dime. He tried to give them an education about the world and life, and not just books they had given up trying to read. Jeeze, sorry, I need to be able to do a cut under this cut. I could go on for days.

After that attack, my dad has had much random issues, landing him in the hospital and my family in crisis mode one time after another. We find (but never confirm) that the neurological attack might be from an infection in his knee—a botched or failing knee replacement (his third—standing on a choppy boat or at a chalkboard all day is murder on your knees). The infection has spread terribly. We nearly lose him. He continues to show cognitive decline. He improves. He gets pneumonia, we nearly lose him again. He comes back to us for a while. A random night a few weeks later, the mesh in his stomach from his prostate cancer a decade ago has failed and is suddenly twisted around his intestine (they guess related to the coughing/pneumonia). We nearly lose him again. He survives. He needs a knee replacement surgery now, but they don’t know if he can handle it or the risk of infection. He survives. Theyve noticed something wrong with his heart. He has heart surgery, survives. Another heart surgery, survives again. All the while continuing to cognitively decline. He’s a brilliant man—it’s heartbreaking to see, but I know he’s still in there all the while.

I know I missed some things above. As all of this is going on, I’m flying back and forth between states, trying to manage two departments that were previously handled by two incredibly competent, incredibly busy people that is now just me. The work is important, there’s pressures of family legacy involved, it’s nonprofit and clinical and complex and often dealing with very serious physical, mental health, ethical or even legal matters.

And, of course, trying to balance the normal things of life—making time for friends and family, trying to maintain (and sustain) my home, dating and now maintaining a beloved partnership… These things are also important. And then my parents were here for just the summer, so I’m trying to spend each moment I can stand to spare with them, in that horrid phase where it’s in your face of how little time may be left. And of course, there are the other things—other loved ones lost, trying to do what you can and pay attention to the important things in the world, trying to enjoy sitting holding my cat’s paw while marathoning YouTube and a phone game after a long day at work.

Again, I hope to be back to things someday. In my free time I write snippets, dream scenarios. I miss the writing—and the people—and it’s hard to find a pinhole to carve out for any time for myself. I’m trying, I’m trying, and I love you all.

Hope to talk more soon.

[spiderman2-99]

(All hail mod. We love you, you're amazing, and your characterization of Miguel is so good, it's literally influenced my own fanfic.)

WE LOVE YOUUUUU!!!!!

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[OMG WHAT EXCUSE ME??]

[BRO TYSM I love you /p IDUHGE83 also PLEASE send me the fanfic]

[dazais-guardian-angel]

Y'all, I think I've figured it out. Operating on the assumption that the finale is indeed an alternate timeline from the manga, then someone could have written on a page of the Book to rewrite reality to lead to the events of the finale sometime during season 5's events. In other words, this would explain the INCONSISTENCIES with things that were established or at least heavily implied/assumed prior and in the manga: Chuuya being a real vampire and not in control, nothing being planned, Dazai giving sincere speeches, Dazai really being shot and saying his "last words", Fyodor's hand not being injured, soukoku not killing Fyodor while in Meursault because they literally couldn't and Dazai needing Sigma to discover Fyodor's secrets because of that, Fukuchi's goal not being one that relied on Fukuzawa being alive since he clearly intended to kill him, etc etc too many more to count

Events and explanations in the finale feeling so contradictory and out of place, and characters feeling so ooc and not acknowledging any discrepancies, makes perfect sense if you consider that, up until a certain point, this was our canon timeline — until someone rewrote the ending of the arc with the Book, starting with Fyodor injuring his hand...! We only have one example of the Book being used to majorly rewrite reality in the manga, and when that happened, the main players — the ADA members — were aware that reality was changed, even though they did have memories of the new rewritten reality. BUT, Nikolai was unaware of this during that scene, and so also were all law enforcement because of the clause written on the page accounting for that, so what if the same thing could happen in this instance, to prevent all our characters in the finale from being aware that things had changed? We literally saw someone writing Nikolai's dialogue for him; imagine someone doing that during Dazai's final speech in the episode, and during all the rest of it! I don't know who this would be, but possibly a mysterious third party who got a hold of a different page from the Book somewhere and wrote things to turn out this way, because they wanted the ADA to win against Fukuchi and Fyodor? Maybe even because... this is the only way they can win?

Remember Atsushi asserting this plan, and how silly and too simple it sounded? What if someone else ended up doing just that, writing their own simple outcome for the ADA to win (as a narrative of course, which is probably why it had to start with the major catalyst of, again, Fyodor injuring his hand)? Additionally, if that's what happened, maybe the ending of the finale is a sort of side effect to the Book being used improperly in this way, leading to a destabilization of the timeline or a mishmash of other timelines into the anime one, leading to the alternate Fukuchi and Akutagawa we see there?

[wornkindness]

update: the reason my face is swollen is because i currently have the biggest canker sore i've ever had in my life

[brokentoys]

"I'm sorry, Titans. I let my jealousy get the better of me. I was wrong about you, there is value in your show after all."

THERE IS NO WAY -- NO WAYYYY THEY'RE STILL MAKING THESE PETTY EPISODES THAT ARE RESPONSES TO HATERS WHICH ARE ESSENTIALLY "ACTUALLY THIS SHOW IS GOOD AND WE'VE DEPICTED YOU AS THE LOSER WHO HAS TO LEARN THAT" I'M HOLLERRRRIIIIIIIIINNNNNNNGGGGG. THIS IS. THIS IS WHAT. THE 5TH TIME THEY'VE MADE AN EPISODE DEDICATED TO THIS?????

they're not... they're not the ones letting it go tho??? LIKE SORRY. but the TTG writers are literally just as guilty for making several responses to those who "hate on the show." Like one episode I wouldn't mind, but when they keep making these episodes??? That all go the same way???? Sorry. But it is embarrassing. I mean, what's worse? For a fan to write something critical or "hateful" on Twitter, or a team of writers spending time and money writing, animating, editing, directing, and voicing these responses over and over again?

like they are unironically doing this over and over again.

[byanyan]

why do i always gotta write so much... like, why am i incapable of writing things, especially prompt answers, of a reasonable length lmao...

[yuelun]

Listen, I admit, I just want her to be real. I don't even need this as her actual lore, I just really want her to be real. I just really want the love of my heart to be real.

[yellowfingcr]

// I do intend to appear a little more here, I just have to get some things done first! and I very much would like to put out 1- a plotting call of some kind 2- a post that says that my c.0mmissions are open of some kind once things are in fact done, which should happen soon (this week type of soon, theoretically)

[hauntingblue]

You guys think the one piece movies are on letterboxd?

[myjustice]

i apologize if i come across as a little spammy with the 💖 button. i do it to show my support, but if that comes across as annoying to anybody please feel free to let me know. i promise you won't hurt my feelings.

[mechahero]

//SPEAKING OF-

[erendreich]

making a playlist for cale is so so SO hard because it's like...

*looks at han.nibal playlists for ideas* *looks at kilg.rave playlists for ideas* *looks at general villain playlists for ideas

cale: pop music! disgusting.

[hellishvxbes]

My sugars were 127 when I went to sleep and I wake up getting sick again and my sugars are just HIGH 😩