#self respect we do NOT know her. we will know her once i graduate and leave for college. but not now unfortunately.

[akechi-if-he-slayed]

he sent me a snap friend request. persona fanboy who completely ruined me emotionally and is going out with my ex best friend. chat im gonna be honest i do not know what to do here

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

Would Jenny allow Danny to tinker with her? I know robotics isn’t exactly the same as aerospace engineering (and I do be headcanoning that my boy chose this as his major since he wants to be an astronaut), but with all the experience he had from handling his parents inventions I believe he can be trusted with fixing something as complex as a robot. I like to think that Danny was really impressed with how Jenny was made and secretly wanted to take a look at how she works, but was too shy to ask because he knows how it’s like to be treated like an object and not a person (with the whole “ghosts are non-sentient globs of ectoplasm with post-human consciousness” spiel he heard so many times) and didn’t want to make Jenny uncomfortable. I believe it took Jenny some time and getting to know Danny and his engineering skills before she let him fix her when she got something badly broken. It was like a show of ultimate trust from Jenny’s side and Danny was flattered, humbled and very respectful. And super careful of course, constantly asking how Jenny’s doing or feeling while he tinkered, mindful of her. I bet she was touched.

Not gonna lie, this is one of the more fascinating asks I got - if only because its incredibly interesting to read about your take/interpretation of Danny & Jenny's relationship! I hope you don't mind me saying, but it feels like you adore both characters and it's very cute!

Well, now, in HoM AU, both Danny and Jenny are close friends and indeed Danny is one of the few people who Jenny trusts with - well, herself - her mechanical self. Like you, I headcanon Danny as quite mechanicaly gifted - in HoM AU he actually graduated college/uni with engineering degree, so he got education to polish his raw skills! He is one of the first people who would help Jenny in and out of the field, if there is a minor malfunction or an injury of some sort!

But even for that to happen it took a couple of years and a few adventures together.

So to answer the original question, I would have to say that in HoM AU specifically, neither Danny would ask to 'tinker' with her, nor Jenny would probably be totally comfortable with that question if asked. 'Tinkering' would imply a degree of casual poking around, and in this case, both Danny and Jenny have certain life experiences that gave them... boundaries when it comes to their own and others' autonomy. Jenny especially.

(a bit of random background info dump here to explain the reasoning, but feel free to ignore it, since i basically answered the ask xD i just got bitten by a writing bunny, so its gotten a bit long - be warned!)

When Jenny was younger and only just acclimatizing herself with human world and amongst teenagers, she was rather blaze at times with how much access to her body she gave to her human friends and acquaintances.

After all, her mother was rather frank about it - often poking around in Jenny's mechanics and code. But it was her mother, who created her (sort of 'why are you covering yourself, i made you i already know what you have' mother attitude, which is a bit over-controlling and invasive to other's autonomy, but well, Jenny is a robot after all) and it a completely different deal from others.

So, despite her mother's warnings there are instances when Jenny was not very careful. Like when she allowed Brad, Tuck and Sheldon to literally remove and rip out her stuff in pursuit of fashion goals. Or when she dropped her guard around Todd Sweeney and got reprogrammed for her good deed.

And during the events of the last episode, she was once again controlled, by Dr Locus. While not exactly her fault, it still left a lasting impression that any mechanically gifted person could be dangerous to her.

Now, this is where we venture into my personal headcanons for MLAATR that are tied into HoM-verse:

Another aspect of Jenny's developed caution to giving access to her body - is the fact that she is not considered as a real person in the eye of the government/world. She is a thing, a weapon created by Dr. Walkman. She does not have the same rights as a human, and on paper she does not even have rights to her own body. It's all patented Nora Wakeman technology, (secretly) founded by the government.

And she has been fighting it ever since she was a teenager and refused to be called an IT - XJ-9 - and became a HER, a teenage girl Jenny, who also just happens to be a robot.

At first it started as a simple teenage rebellion and she went to school and started to hang out with other kids, but what about later after she graduates? Will she be even allowed to? Sure, maybe her school will give her a diploma, but how legal will it be to give something like that to someone who is legally not a real person? After all, its not like when other kids will turn 18 and can be their own people, not under the legal control of their parents. Jenny is her mother's property, intellectual and physical. For her to be considered a real person in the eye of government, it would require a law being passed about recognizing sentience of Artificial Intelligence.

And sure, she could probably be made an exception, being a hero robot and all, but the problem is, she is not the only human-made robot in existence! What about her sisters, who are prototypes and are not as developed as her? Her brother, who seemed to develop sentiency to the point of turning on humans?? Melody and Killgore?? And its not only in her world (cartoon), but in others (since its a crossover). So the question about AI/Robot sentience, no matter if they are good or bad or how developed they are, would not concern only her, it would be a global debate.

And we all know how the governments of the world would feel about passing laws about sentience of artificial beings that were created to serve the human race. It would be a struggle one way or another.

So, as she grows up and sees the world refusing to aknowledge her as a person, she doesnt have legal rights to finish school and go to college, to get a job, to get married, heck she cant even have a legal documentation that doesnt says 'Dr. Wakeman's creation'. The government says: your body belongs to us, because we paid for Dr. Wakeman to make you - you belong to us, we control you.

That, on top of several unpleasant experiences with other people disregarding her autonomy, will equal to Jenny trying to get some sense of that control back. So she starts to be more cautious about how much access others have to her physical self; she starts to build and reinforce boundaries with other people, starting with her family and friends.

It was one of the darkest days in Sheldon's life, when Jenny started to firmly say 'no' to whenever he asked her about her inner workings and casual access for poking around. xD Tuck was not a happy camper either, that his favorite robot friend became very stingy with all the cool stuff. But Brad got it. And after gentle (and sometimes not) reminders, others became more understanding.

It was a little harder with her mother. Dr. Wakeman truly loved her daughter, but she was a scientist first and mother second. She was so used to casual access to Jenny, in order to keep maitanance that it was hard for her to break the habits. Its still a constant struggle, but she has gotten so much better.

Now, when it came to her new friends amongst HoMies, she already has built a set of boundaries that allowed her to feel more secure as a person, despite how the world sees her, but she is much more reserved to opening herself up to others, at least compared to how she first approached people when she was younger.

It took a few missions and getting to know them better, for her to start trusting with them with her mechanical self. But now a few years later, she feels comfortable enough with most of them to give her a helping hand when needed!

Of course not everyone are capable of helping her though: Danny, Kim and Zak are three of more mechanically oriented people who can help. Though Danny is the one with actual education in that field, while Kim and Zak learned more by necessity, from Kim's various jobs and Zak to operate the Saturday's equipments.

When Rex joined them, he actually became the second best person for her to come to if she needed help. Not only because he has unprecedent skills in mechanics, but also because of his nanites. (but thats info dump for another time, lol)

Jun has some basic knowledge in mechanics, but nowhere near enough for her to feel comfortable poking in Jenny's insides. Jake is perhaps the least capable of helping, when it comes to engineering, followed by newbie Randy (tho we really aint counting him tbh xD).

Ben is a complicated situation - he has some training and knowledge in engineering and robotics because of his Plumber training, but Jenny has heard horror tales from Gwen about how he treats his stuff (the whole hacking/playing with Omnitrix settings), so she flat out refuses for Ben to touch her. However in emergency/battle situation she would allow Ben to use one of his aliens to do so (like, Grey Matter or Upgrade).

So, we talked about Jenny's experiences and why they would contribute to her feeling uncomfortable if someone asked to 'tinker' with her.

Now, let's talk about why Danny would not ask to 'tinker' with her in the first place.

Like you said, Danny is all to familiar with the struggle of being part of something tat is hardly recognized as a sentient species - he had to listen to his parents dismiss ghost sentience most of his younger life. Of course, they have gotten much better since the... 'finale' of DP, but this sort of racism? xenophobia? (im not rally sure which term to use tbh) prejudice against ghosts would have left a lasting impression on Danny.

So I dont remember if I ever implied it, but in HoM AU - events of DP finale happened very differently and the resulting consequences of it diverged a lot from Mr ButtHurtman's 'canon'.

(Also, I had ideas about it, before a Glitch In Time came out, so events from there were not taken into consideration. )

I don't want to reveal much, because it is kinda one of my planned flashback for HoM, but the events that happened reinforced Danny's ... well lets say regard of people's autonomy? It's kind of hard to put into words.

Ok, let's explain it like this: Danny would not ask Jenny if he could look at how she worked and if he could tinker with her, because it would be like if his Mom and Dad casually asked if they could perform a vivisection on him to see how different he is from a full human.

And while sure, the comparison might sound a bit extreme, since there is a difference when it comes to robots and humans about 'poking around' in their innards. But to Danny - it would be too close of a comparison - because of the whole 'recognition of sentience' thing.

After all, wasn't it just some years ago, his parents cried that ghost are nothing more than lump of malicious energy that have no feelings? They changed their mind after Danny's reveal, which allowed them to actually listen and look into evidence proving otherwise and learn. And here is Jenny, struggling to be recognized as a person, since she is considered nothing more than a lump of metal with no feelings - just a weapon to be pointed in a certain direction.

And Danny would feel like asking Jenny if he could casually poke inside her, is a bit... hypocritical? And not to mention insenstitive. After all, he knows how she feels - she is basically still living his worst imagined life in some ways.

So, I don't think he will ever ask to study how she works by casually poking inside her.

HOWEVER -

At some point, after they became friends, Danny would feel like he should know at least some basics on how Jenny works, just so he could help her in an emergency.

I imagine it happened after a particularly rough mission, and Danny had to help Jenny back home since she was unable to do so herself, so Dr. Wakeman could fix her. After some time thinking, he would sit in front of both Nora and Jenny and ask them for permission if he could learn how Jenny works - from Nora.

After all, Danny does not need to poke inside Jenny to learn how she functions, when there is her mother right there - the creator, the maintanance and doctor all in one package, with access to blueprints and all intricate knowledge, who can evaluate what Danny needs to know in accordance to his passable engineering skills. She could teach him the basics - but of course not without Jenny's permission.

So he asks her, if he could learn, because he is tired of looking how she gets hurt along with them, but unlike most of them she can not be easily fixed with bandages and some time. And Danny, since he is one of the few of them who has the skills, would like to be actually able to help her with those skills. But it is her body - it is her choice, to trust him or not.

And Jenny would be speechless. It would be the first time someone asked her like that. Not even Kim, who is one of her closest friends, asked before (but mostly because Kim was perfectly aware that she is nowhere skilled enough to even think about it).

And you would be right. It would be a show of ultimate trust from Jenny, to agree for Danny to learn. And maybe at some point, simply learning, turned into more on hands learning in some small ways. And Jenny's trust was never betrayed, and Danny always stayed humbled and aware of that.

so, i hope the answer was satisfying, or at least entertaining for you! thank you again, your ask was delightful to read and allowed me to explore some of my own backstory parts for HoM a little bit more!

[banjjakz]

Seven Days at Granny Orimoto's Flower Shop ; Yuuta x F!Reader

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden. As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service. Please think of me kindly.

Or: An odd boy shows up every night begging for a job offer. Did you mention that he gives you handwritten letters? Do you have to report a workplace romance if the only other employee is your boss, who is currently dying? Asking for a friend.

notes: commission for the lovely mielle! thank you very kindly for 1) commissioning me!!!!!! and 2) putting up with my compulsion to surpass any and all word count specifications

warnings: general off-putting vibes, casual discussions of child death, implied stalking (at the very least), unethical(…? maybe ethically gray?) necromancy, etc. y'all know what's about to go down

♡‬ read on ao3 ‪♡‬

Life as a florist is every bit the dream that you’d hoped it would be.

The thought of working from nine to five in some cubicle for the rest of your life was enough to drive you out of university before even completing the feeble attempt you’d half-assedly made at a degree. While the path to your current state of employment had not been linear, easy, or even recommended, you cannot imagine ending up anywhere else.

You’re lucky enough as it is that Granny Orimoto was willing to take you on – perhaps, at first, out of pity – as a shop-hand. That day, all those months, is still as clear as unmarred waters in your mind. What a pitiful image you must have made: underfed, poorly clothed, with roving, vacant eyes.

Nevertheless, you adjusted quickly and gratefully to your new place of employment. Within months, your sense of self and purpose in life had been restored, watered and nurtured underneath the guiding light of Granny Orimoto’s flower shop. Like a corpse risen again, your days were once more filled with hope and aspirations.

Eventually, Granny Orimoto began bestowing upon you more and more responsibilities. You tend to think of your daily tasks as privileges more than anything else. You’ve graduated far beyond merely ringing customers up on the till – at this point, you’re somewhat of a budding horticulturalist. Or, at least, that’s what you’d like to think on your good days.

Recently, Granny Orimoto has even begun to entrust you to manage the shop on your lonesome for several days out of the week. It used to be the case that she would require you to work only hours that coincided with her own availability, so that you might fall under her constant supervision. Of course, this was back when you could barely keep a plant alive. Nowadays, things are quite different.

Quite different, indeed.

On this slow, Monday evening, managerial status finds its way to you once more. Closing the shop used to feel weird, without Granny Orimoto there to lay into you about your posture, or your clumsiness, or your naturally shy, stuttering nature. Now, it’s starting to feel eerily more and more like business as usual.

When the bell above the front door rings, you don’t think too much of it – this town is a bit of a tourist trap, so there are quite a few out-of-towners who aren’t used to respecting closing times. Usually, you’re too nice to shoo them out, but the weight of the day bears heavily upon your apron-clad shoulders.

But when you spin around on your heel, the polite-yet-firm “we closed four minutes ago” withers on your tongue like dead leaves crumbling away upon the unrepentant, earthen ground.

The most disturbing thing is not that he’s exactly your type of handsome: tall, gaunt, malnourished, with a strange, lost look in his wideset eyes. It would be easier, somehow, if your immediate and arresting attraction to the gangly stranger was the most of your worries.

Perhaps what unnerves you so, is the fact that you are powerless to do anything but devote the entirety of your attention to the odd young man. The terra cotta pot once in your grasp has suddenly been placed on the nearest shelf. The gardener’s gloves on your hands have now been stripped away and flung carelessly to the ground, the delicate flesh of your fingers on display for the world to see.

“Are you hiring?” He asks. The lights flicker. Granny Orimoto should really stop fighting you about calling an electrician – they aren’t that expensive.

No, is what you should say, because you don’t have the authority to answer this question and also the thought of having to train someone else when you are just barely getting the hang of your newfound managerial status is a terrifying prospect.

And yet, what ends up leaving your mouth is:

“Yes.”

His black hair is overgrown and in dire need of a trim. The bangs are in a liminal state: too short to part, too long for comfort. It dangles limply in his eyes. Those eyes. Big and glassy and dark, like a dead doe gazing up, unseeingly, at the sky.

“Okay,” he says. “Is there an application that I could fill out?”

Is he not cold? The weather chills significantly at night, and his layers look rather thin. Or maybe that’s just the way the clothes hang off of him. “No, it’s alright. You can just – um, you’re good.”

“I’m…?”

“You’re good,” you repeat and then you have to fight for control over your own body, so that you can turn around and break eye contact before it actually kills you.  “When can you start? Do you have a phone number? Um, so we can get in touch with you about scheduling and training and verify your location and such and so forth.”

Okay, that last sentence was hastily tacked on. You’ll be the first to admit that much. But what kind of girl would you look like, asking a random stranger for his number out of the blue?

You hear more than you see him shuffle his feet, still lingering awkwardly in the doorway. “Um, no, sorry. I don’t have a phone.”

“E-mail?”

“Ah..no…would communication via letter be alright?”

What is his problem?

He shows up, four minutes past closing, poorly dressed and clearly in poor health, as well, to inquire about a job opening, and doesn’t even have a phone or any form of contact to provide other than handwritten correspondence?

Is this a prank? Are you being pranked, right now? You pause your fastidious, frustrated handling of today’s arranged bouquets just to surreptitiously scan your surroundings for any hidden cameras.

It’s like the man of your dreams has walked through the door. It’s almost too good to be true. You know you have eclectic tastes—and this is exactly why you’ve never had a boyfriend, before.

Because what living man could possibly compare to the fictional freakshows you stay up late at night reading about? Who would be worth fawning over, when you are already well equipped with a wealth of off-putting – and, quite frankly, disturbing – characters of ill-repute? Never has there been a living, breathing vessel capable of catching your jaded, heavy eyes.

Until now, that is.

“Sure,” you say, allowing the brain-rot to take control of your faculties. “Give me one second to write down our mailing information.”

But before you can cling desperately to another excuse to evade his magnetic presence, the strange boy speaks up, alluring you with the unsettlingly tranquil timbre of his voice: “That won’t be necessary. I can hand deliver the letters every day, around this time.”

You blink, sizing him up once more. Any normal human being would find this situation incredibly odd and even worth of a police report.

However, you’re comfortable in your own skin and are able to recognize that the screws you’ve knocked loose over time have, for better or worse, permanently altered your threshold for “red” or “green” flag recognition. For all you care, the flag could be purple. You aren’t thinking about flags right now. You’re thinking about his murky bangs, dark and deep, a rich obsidian, metastasizing over the smooth expanse of his alabaster forehead like a natural disaster.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting at this time every night, then.”

For the first time this evening, his gaunt face split into a tender grin, pink lips parting like spliced flesh. Somehow, he’s able to make the act of smiling something gory, something haunting. Your eyes are glued to the bone-white of his teeth. It’s like watching a car crash. You want, desperately, to look away. You cannot.

“I’m glad,” says the strange boy. “I’ll be here every night, right on time.”

A soft breeze stirs outside, just restless enough to tickle teasingly at the windchimes which dangle from the shop’s awning. Usually, the barrier of the front door dulls the melody. Tonight, you can hear the bells loud and clear.

Before you can think to demand (beg) that he reveal additional identifying information about himself – like, say, his name – the boy has all but disappeared from sight. Incredulously, you whirl around on your heel, scanning every visible inch of the shop for any possible clue as to where he went. But your searching is all for naught. It seems that he is, both in presence and absence, a complete mystery to you.

Well. There are certainly worse things that have happened to you. At least you got to chat with a cute, creepy guy for your trouble.

;

The next day, Granny Orimoto abstains from work yet again. Her modest apartment sitting atop the flower shop has kept her out of sight for many days, now. You’re no stranger to her fits and bursts of ill health, but you cannot recall the last time the brusque, full-hearted old lady has been bedridden for such a prolonged length of time.

You almost consider trying to drop by unannounced to bring her some soup and vitamins, but the thought dies immediately upon arrival. Memories of the last time you’d tried to caretake for her and were subsequently thrown out with indignant, irate gusto are enough to curb your momentary sympathy.

This means that you are effectively head of shop, once more. Over time, it gets easier to deal with the random accidents prone to any small, self-run business: leaks, clogs, jams, flickering lights, disappearing items, strange sounds at odd hours with an unlocatable source. All of it, you handle with def improvisational methods.

Even the spontaneously shattering bathroom mirror is no match for your handywoman capabilities! Really, Granny Orimoto should be lucky that it is you who happened to show up on her doorstep just as her health began to take a dive.

These are the kinds of thoughts buzzing around your skull as twilight descends upon the horizon like flies to a carcass. The death of the day is, as usual, a bloody affair: hues of bright vermillion spill across the sky, setting everything in the shop a brilliant, flagrant shade of fresh-burning red. The terracotta pots seem almost to be radiating with internal heat.

Night comes soon enough, bringing with it a brisk chill in the air. The wind rustles the windchimes, a forewarning of what is to come.

And sure enough, at 8:04 P.M., there he is, lingering in the doorway, daring to take not one step past the threshold, just as he’d done yesterday, that first night.

“Good evening.”

Clutched in his fingers is a wrinkled letter, wrapped in plain stationery. He offers it to you with both hands, politely.  

The space between the both of you evaporates in the fraction of a second it takes for you to cross the shop and greet him back, accepting the letter with greedy hands and a greedier heart. “Good evening. Thank you for the correspondence.”

“Thank you for receiving it,” he replies, scratching the back of his head in a stupidly endearing self-conscious gesture. “I know the manner of communication is a bit unconventional… sorry about that…”

“It’s okay.” And it really is. You, of all people, are no stranger to unforeseen and harrowing life circumstances. That the young man does not possess a phone or email address is not so uncommon, anyways – you’ve had time to reflect on the situation, and for all his off-putting looks and strangely formal manner of speaking, he could easily be a country mouse who has recently relocated to a more urban area. Who are you to judge?

“Shall I have a response waiting for you tomorrow night?”

He bows, then, for a bit longer and a bit deeper than what is normally appropriate for two virtual strangers. “I’d be grateful. Thank you for the trouble.”  

Once more, he evaporates seemingly into thin air, leaving behind not even the faintest trace of his existence. He appears to possess an uncanny ability to slip out of sight just as your eyes fall shut in the millisecond it takes to blink, to breathe.

Taken in stride with his dark-circled eyes and general aura of mysterious tragedy, the whole schtick is a little bit sexy, you have to admit. His vibe is that of a haunted family heirloom: beautiful, priceless, stained in generations of blood and cursed to doom those who dare to draw too near.

Your eagerness is almost feral as you tear apart the seal to the envelope in your hands, greedily pawing at the innards. What awaits you is a handwritten letter, complete with smudged pencil marks obscuring some of the more intricate kanji scribbled onto the page. Some of his radicals waver, lines bending or sprawling in odd and abnormal ways, as though he’d been shaking when we wrote it.

 As though he’d been nervous. So nervous, in fact, that upon handing you the thing, he had to immediately abscond from the premises without another word.

Cute.

To Whom it May Concern,

Thank you very kindly for your willingness to take me on as an apprentice to your shop. Please allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Okkotsu Yuuta. I am a recent graduate of a martial arts vocational school. I just completed a year-long internship abroad in Africa. Due to my recent re-entry into Japan, I am still in the process of setting up my phone and internet. I apologize for the inconvenience and I am extremely sorry for the burden.

As a supervisor and business, you may benefit from the set of skills that I have to offer. I can lift upwards of 25kg. I am neat and detail oriented. Due to past life experiences, I am a fast learner and quick to adapt to new surroundings. I am accustomed to taking orders and delivering results. It is my utmost goal to ensure the comfort and satisfaction of those around me. I am eager to be of service.

Please think of me kindly.

Upon reading the very last word of the very last line, you discover that your bottom lip has been bitten so severely that a fine trickle of blood is descending down your chin.

There is no resume or CV in sight – just this handwritten, strangle little letter in which he divulges some most interesting truths.

Is he playing mind games with you? “Accustomed to taking orders”? “Eager to be of service”? Is he trying to tell you something? Outside of the hiring process, that is.

The note itself is perfectly polite and proper. It’s you whose mind succumbs hedonistically to the gutter. Oh, for shame.

 At night, the shop tends to turn into a gnarly jungle of pots and leaves and vines and poorly-placed smatterings of soil; you wade through theses trenches, aided by no more than the moonlight attempting to feebly infiltrate through the shutters – as the lights are out, again. Should probably call someone about that.

In your frantic haste, it’s a miracle your hands aren’t sliced by a spare pair of shears lying forgotten on some counter or another. Before injury occurs, you’ve already located what you’ve been searching for: a usable pen and some clean, uncrumpled paper.

The matchbox in your back pocket proves useful as you strike up a flame and light a nearby candle, paying no mind to the potential danger of the wobbly column of fire in a room full of fauna.

Like a woman possessed, you feverishly scribble away at your reply. It takes you longer to draft this one particular letter than it had to complete your college entrance exams.

But it’s alright – the candle beside you burns throughout the night, neither the wick nor the wax diminishing even a wink.

Dear Okkotsu,

Your eagerness to work hard is clearly evident. Color me impressed.

As fate would have it, I am in dire need of some help with running the shop. The owner has been absent with illness for quite some time and the workload is starting to get unmanageable. The addition of a strong set of arms is more than welcome. Even when it was the two of us putzing around, we still wouldn’t have been able to do some of the heavier lifting.

I’m curious to hear more about your passion to serve. Was this instilled in you during your time at vocational school? What does “being of service” mean to you?

While we are ultimately a public-facing shop, the stream of customers is slow, and your daily tasks will often look like physical labor and horticultural activities. But, from your letter, it sounds like this will pose no object.

Overall, your enthusiasm is appreciated and your hard-working attitude is attractive to future employers.

You could start as early as tomorrow.

Please do respond at your convenience.

It was rather quickly with only a slight bit of panic running through your veins that you tacked on “to future employers.” Even while reading it back, you cringe a little bit. Too forward? Oh well. It’s written in ink and it’s much too late to go for hunting for another clean piece of paper in the shop’s opaque blackness.

Speaking of which… you really should call an electrician. And a plumber. And some sort of handy man, to help you clean up all the broken glass from the shattered bathroom mirror. And maybe it may also me a good idea to get in touch with a security footage company and inquire about their installation rates. It certainly can’t be normal; how many things go missing so frequently. Although you’ve spent most of your waking hours with an aging elderly woman up until very recently, you’re quite sure that dementia isn’t contagious.

Ah, well. These are all things to take care of tomorrow. Sighing, you tuck away the letter into your back pocket for safe keeping before you go about locking up.

You try not to think too hard about the lingering gaze you feel on the back of your neck. If anything, it feels better than being completely alone.

;

The fragrant scent of okayu fills your nose as you climb the stairs to reach Granny Orimoto’s apartment.

Usually, you would not dare to trespass inside her abode, despite it’s close proximity to the shop. She is a grouchy old lady who does not take kindly to meddling. And yet, you couldn’t ignore the seed of worry in the pit of your belly, which had blossomed over the course of the past few weeks into full-blown concern for her wellbeing. Besides her once-daily text message in the evening confirming the status of shop operations, you have not seen or heard from the old woman in what must be almost half a month at this point.

So, you’ve bitten back your pride and prepared a meal to personally deliver to her.

You are moderately concerned when there is no response to your three separate attempts at knocking on the door. Granny Orimoto hadn’t responded to any of your text messages, so you’d naively assumed she’d been asleep and hadn’t seen them. But is it possible to sleep through the ruckus that you’re creating?

The tension in your body only heightens when you try to the doorknob and realize, in shock and slight horror, that it’s open.

“Granny Orimoto?” You call out, haltingly yet loudly – loud enough to reach her wizened ears. “Granny, I’m sorry, I’ll be coming in now! Pardon the intrusion!”

Taking care not to jostle the still-hot bowl of rice porridge in your hands, you slip off your shoes at the Genkan and make your way inside of the apartment. Although you’ve only been here once before – and it had been an extremely brief stay before Granny Orimoto had shooed you off the premises – it still doesn’t feel all that unfamiliar to you.

It’s a traditional set-up, that much is for sure. Not much has changed, either. Same old floral blankets folded in various assortments and piles around the tiny room, same old plastic draining rack laid across the kitchen sink.

And, of course, there is that strange pair of guest slippers by the front door.

A bright, childish pink with the width and depth to accompany the foot of a young girl no older than six, these slippers had given you pause the first time you’d set foot in Granny Orimoto’s apartment. As far as you know, the old lady doesn’t have any living relatives with which she maintains contact. She spends every holiday alone, in her room, and refuses any offers of companionship between the two of you. You’ve always assumed something tragic must have happened, for a woman this advanced in age to have no one to visit or host during the New Year.

So why, then, does she keep a pair of children’s house slippers by the front door?

Although they are neatly placed and carefully aligned, the heels of the slippers face the direction of the household – as though they’ve been recently taken off and exchanged for outside shoes. Like someone has been here and left. Were they in that position when you stopped by before? Perhaps Granny Orimoto set them that way during her last cleaning.

Shaking yourself out of your reverie, you move past the entrance area and towards where you know the bedroom awaits. There is no overt stench of death and decay, so you aren’t afraid of walking in on her corpse. You’re, like, 85% sure that you could mentally recover from handling that situation, but it would be unfortunate and would likely mean an endless night for you and the poor EMTs who would be dispatched to the scene.

The bedroom door, too, is slightly ajar, and when you push it open all the way, you’re greeted by a sight that hits you squarely in the chest, knocking the wind from your lungs, stealing your voice, marring your eyes with shock and sympathy.

Granny Orimoto lies on her back, skin so pale that it is a near perfect match to the futon covers draped around her frail body. Even from this distance, you are able to clearly track the pathway of her veins as they course across her, the deep blues and greens standing out abnormally against the thin, alabaster flesh. Her hair, significantly grayer than the last time you’d seen her, has escaped from it’s usual, customary low-slung bun. You’ve never seen Granny Orimoto in any other kind of style – in fact, you’d begun to think – somewhat mischievously – that her hair had been surgically arranged to the nape of her neck.

But now, it sprawls around her skull in scraggly spirals, spilling across the pillow like leaking liquid. Thin and brittle, you’re sure that if she tried to gather it into a bun as she once had, it would split and break into a million fine pieces of ash.

“So, you’ve come.”

That hoarse voice snaps you out of your trance. You hadn’t even noticed that she was awake. One moment, you’d been gazing at her motionless body – and the next, you find her entirely unchanged except for the fact that her eyes are now open, peering at you. Unblinking. It’s disconcerting.

It looks like the effort pains her, to lift one hand and pat weakly at the comforter. “You came all the way here, silly girl. Might as well sit.”

You aren’t being kicked out?

Wow. She really must be dying.

Gingerly, you fold your legs beneath you and linger at the edge of the futon. “Granny, how are you feeling? I brought okayu. If you are feeling up to it, please eat. You must take care of your health.”

“Alright then,” says Granny Orimoto, mildly. “You’ll have to help me.”

“Of course.”

There is ultimately an insignificant amount of spillage down the front of her shirt, in the end. Still, you take it as an opportunity to encourage her to take a bath and change into fresh clothes, which you expect she has not done in far too long. This, too, requires your assistance. You don’t mind it at all. In fact, it brings you peace – to be able to care for the woman who had most probably saved your life by taking you in, all that time ago.

When it’s all said and done, Granny Orimoto lays back in the bed. The sheets could use some washing and the futon itself should surely be hung out in the sun to dry, but you recognize that this might be a bit too much excitement for her today. Having eaten and bathed, Granny Orimoto appears ready to return to her slumber.

You decide not to push your luck by overstaying your welcome. “Please rest well, Granny Orimoto. I will come back soon.”

It is when you are almost past the threshold of the bedroom door that you hear Granny’s whisper, faint as smoke and so soft it almost doesn’t sound like the stubborn, strong-willed woman you once knew:

“You remind me of my granddaughter.”

As though you’ve been struck by lightning, your body is immediately paralyzed, muscles helpless to do anything but twitch in confusion, overstimulation. “Oh…? I hope she is well…”

“She’s dead,” says Granny Orimoto. “The stench of death follows you.”

Ironic, coming from a woman who is quite obviously preparing to approach the far shore herself. “I see.”

“Whatever is hanging around you, get it taken care of. You’ll stink up the shop and the plants will wither.”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Are you taking care of my zinnias?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Better be. How can you own a flower shop if you can’t take care of zinnias…”

You want to whip around and ask her what the hell she means by that, but the rumbling of her soft snores fill the space before you can get another word in edgewise.

As you make your way downstairs, Granny’s words continue to marinate in your mind – and not just her implication that the shop would be left to you. That she thought it fit to tell you that you remind her of her dead granddaughter was certainly an event that occurred in your life. But what exactly had she been on about, telling you that you smell like death?

In absentminded thought, your hand fiddles around in your jacket pocket with the latest letter from Okkotsu. You can’t stop thinking about his response to your last letter.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Are you taking care? The seasons are changing during this time, so I hope your health is faring well.

I’m glad that my enthusiasm comes across as clearly as my physical capabilities.  Sometimes I struggle to convey my intentions and inner thoughts. It seems like we can understand each other well, even while communicating through letters, which makes me happy.

To me, being of service means unobstructed and clear-minded dedication of the self, body and mind, to another’s fulfillment. Not dissimilar to pure love. This “pure” element is important to me. In fact, I believe total service is a form of pure love. Would you agree?

Maybe this is a bit strange to say, and you might hate me for it, but you remind me of a girl I once knew. She is long gone now. It has been nice to see some of her, again. Of course, it has been even nicer to get to know you.

Regretfully, I cannot begin formal employment just yet. The country re-entry procedures are taking longer than expected and things are a bit complicated right now. It is burdensome, but if you could please kindly allow for some additional time I would be very grateful. I’m sorry to trouble you.

In the meantime, it’s fun to chat together, like this. I’d be happy if we could continue.

Take care not to catch a cold.

The first time you’d read it practically had you squealing into your hands like a schoolgirl. Pure love? Expressing concern for your health? Expressing his desire to continue exchanging letters, even if he can’t formally start the training process?

At this rate, you’re on track towards a confession.

Which, of course, is the ultimate goal. You could never forgive yourself for letting the physical manifestation of all your wildest fantasies slip away. No, you’ve got to reel him in. You’ve got to ensnare him in a web of infatuation, so convoluted and intense that he won’t be able to find his way out. You’ve already decided that he is yours. It’s only a matter of time before things fall into place.

As has become customary, Okkotsu drops by the shop at precisely 8:04 p.m. and not one moment sooner or later. You’ve grown to anticipate the tinkling of the windchimes which herald his otherwise soundless arrival. Like an apparition, his visage manifests in the front door.

There’s something different about tonight: uncertain, he chances a foot past the threshold. “Could I trouble you to come inside?”

Oh. Oh! Are you finally past the stage of contactless letter exchange? You could cry tears of joy. “Please come in.”

“Pardon the intrusion…”

When he breaks past the entry area, it’s as though a wave of heat pulses throughout not just your own body, but the entire shop, as well. A light sweat breaks out at the crest of your brow. Is this seasonally appropriate? You aren’t sure if there is any season wherein a heatwave past sundown is normal.

Okkotsu looks at you like a lost puppy, floundering at what to do, what to say next. You yourself are no less awkward, but you take on the burden of breaking the silence first:

“It’s funny, you mentioned in your letter that I remind you of a girl you once knew. Today, my boss said that I remind her of her dead granddaughter. Wouldn’t happen to be the same girl, huh?”

You’re trying for lighthearted, but the joke falls flat when Okkotsu pales, white as a ghost.

Damage control, damage control! “Oh, I’m – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No, no, it’s alright,” he cuts you off, raising a hand. “I should’ve been forthright from the beginning. You aren’t too far off from the truth.”

Huh?

Okkotsu continues, “When I was a little boy, Mrs. Orimoto’s granddaughter and I were best friends. Her name was Rika. When she was six, Rika died in a car accident. I was with her at the time and failed to do anything to stop it from happening, or to save her. I’ve always been very sorry to Mrs. Orimoto, who raised Rika from a young age. By working at her shop, I hoped to repay some of that debt…”

You blink once, twice. Time seems to fall apart and reconstruct itself in the space it takes you to conjure up a response. What can you possibly say, to a story like that?

“You don’t, er, have to say anything,” mutters Okkotsu, as though he’s read your mind. “I know it’s heavy. But that’s the truth…”

“Okkotsu,” you say, voice tinny and faraway to your own ears. “You have a good heart.”

His downcast face shoots upwards, wide eyes seeking out your own with a desperate sheen to their dark, bottomless depths. “Huh…?”

“I mean it,” you press on, stepping closer as you do. He doesn’t even flinch or waver. You know this, because your senses are acutely aware of every fiber of his being. “Not many people would be that brave, or honor that sense of duty. You’re an admirable man. Has anyone ever told you that before?”

It seems you’ll be staying well past closing tonight to mop up the puddle that Okkotsu is about to melt into. His ears burn such a bright red that they almost glow in the dim lighting of the shop.

“I- I--!”

“So that’s the depth of your service,” you muse, your toes stopping just shy of his own, “or your ‘pure love’?”

Okkotsu’s eyes flutter shut. The sound of his gulp echoes like a gunshot. “Ah… er, miss manager, I—”

“Call me by my name. I’ve written it to you for a reason.”

Obeying your direct command, he feebly whispers your name, invoking you like he’s scared of what he’s about to summon. It sets a live wire alight at the base of your spine. Sparks fly throughout your body and it’s all you can do not to pounce on him then and there in this very shop, sleeping Granny upstairs be damned.

“Good. It seems you really are skilled at taking direction.”

His eyes are still closed when you nods, face flushed. Cute. You can’t help but want to tease him more, push him further. “Good job.”

His head all but hangs, now, as he resolutely refuses to make eye contact with you. In front of him, his hands are clasped suspiciously in front of his crotch – a detail which you take in ravenously, hungrily.

Curbing the overwhelming desire to do more, you settle with pushing your sealed envelope into his firm, solid chest with both hands, letting your fingernails press lightly into the muscle. “Here’s today’s letter. Read it and respond well.”

“Yes, I understand,” he says, eyes still shut, head still hung.

It requires you to stand on your tiptoes, when you try to lean into his ear and whisper: “You deserve a chance to make things right. Let me help you with this.”

You let him go, then, because you’re sure he’s about ready to burst at the seams. The last thing you throw his way is yet another bit of praise, because you’re a little bit awful: “I admire your idea of pure love, Okkotsu.”

Before tonight, you’ve never seen a grown man walk straight into a windowpane. Okkotsu reels back, nods and bows to you in acknowledgement before hightailing it out of the shop so fast that, as usual, you fail to actually see him go through the motions of stepping out and leaving. He’s always in such a rush. An odd one, he is.

Good thing “odd” just your type.

From that night onwards, Okkotsu starts making himself more available outside of his usual 8:04 p.m. haunting. Now, he’ll drop by early enough in the afternoons for his shadow to be visible against the door. Still, he resolutely avoids any times when current customers are present. You tease him, lightly, for this, asking how he plans to work partially as a sales attendant if he is afraid to interact with the customer base.

His response?

“I want to work here for two reasons,” he’d stated simply. “For you, and for Rika.”

Normal women would probably find an issue with their ideal man likening them to his dead childhood sweetheart. Fortunately, you are not normal. It’s flattering, even.

Clearly, Rika was another manifestation of his pure love. That you can even approach that category, let alone be mentioned in the same breath as her, is, to you, a vibrant green flag. You must be doing something right here.

So you continue intertwining yourself deeper and deeper with Okkotsu Yuuta: the letters are a constant in both of your daily lives, as well as his visits become more frequent. As an interesting development, he’s started to bring you homecooked food. Usually, it is you who does the caregiving. The first time he shows up with an obento made specially for you – complete with a heart made out of specially cut seaweed set atop the fresh rice – you almost start crying.

Admittedly, it’s all moving very fast. Hasn’t it only been four days, now, since he’d first darkened your doorway, pitifully asking for a job with no form of communication? And now, here he is, feeding you the food he’d prepared for you to enjoy as you go about your closing shift.

“Would you ever want to go out?” You blurt, and then pause, mortified at the overtly forward implication to your words. “Like! To a restaurant! Or a café! You always bring me stuff. Let me treat you.”

���Hmmm…”

Okkotsu’s wide, dark eyes roll upwards in thought. “But I really like staying here. I like eating here. No one else gets to see your pleased, comfortable face while eating except me. I don’t think I can share that. Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you respond, dizzy. “You don’t have to.”

This is the right answer. Despite his soft, youthful features, the ginger grin he offers you is undercut by the ominous glint in his intense gaze. “I don’t have to share?” He gathers some pickled plum in the chopsticks, bringing them to your open, waiting mouth. “It’s all for me?”

“I am,” you say, and accept the bitter, delicious fruit on the tip of your tongue. It is pungent. It is sweet. It is overwhelming. You almost aren’t able to swallow.

Time spent with Okkotsu makes life seem so fantastical that it almost blinds you to the world of the living. That night, you cannot find it within yourself to leave the shop and go home after closing, instead opting to chat with this gaunt, ghoulish boy until you are startled awake in the morning by your phone’s automatic alarm.

When you come to, you discover that you’d all but passed out behind the front desk, where the two of you had sat, talking, for hours into the night. Okkotsu is nowhere to be found, but in his absence is a crisply folded piece of paper lying innocently upon the desk. Hastily, you scrub at your eyes and smack your lips, trying to wake yourself up as much as is possible before you unfurl the letter and dive into its contents.

To You, Whom it Concerns,

Do you have any idea how difficult it is to be apart from you?

If I could have, I would have stayed with you all throughout the night. I’m sorry to have left you by yourself. But you aren’t really alone. If you ever feel lonely, in the shop, please remember that I’m always there with you. Watching over you. Can you feel me?

Thanks for listening to me last night. It was a heavy story to tell, but now that I’ve confessed it, I feel so much lighter. And you accept me! Words can’t express how I feel, so please allow me to keep showing you.

Also, since Mrs. Orimoto isn’t well these days, can I ask that you don’t share with her that I’m here? The shock may worsen her condition. When she is no longer bedridden, I will tell her myself that I wish to remain and work in the shop. You shouldn’t be caught in the middle of my situation.

As always, I can’t wait to see you again. I miss you so much already, and I haven’t even left the shop yet. I’m writing this as I watch you sleep. Did you know that you snore a little bit? It’s cute.

Please think of me often.

On the one hand, you want to bury your face in your hands and scream and cry and maybe roll around and die a little bit. A love note! It’s a proper love note, this time. The thought makes your insides feel as though they’re being set alight with a bright, brilliant, inextinguishable flame.

On the other hand, Okkotsu’s mention of Granny Orimoto has brought to mind the fact that you haven’t heard from her in what is now two days. Usually, she’ll send you a message or two at the end of every day, making sure that things are in order and that you haven’t burned down the shop yet. But the last time you’d spoken to her had been when you brought over the okayu to soothe her sickly stomach…

Inexplicably, a chill overtakes your body.

Operating on autopilot, you pull yourself together – running a hand through your hair, smoothing your wrinkled clothes – and make your way out of the shop, to the external set of stairs running along the west wall.

With haste, you climb the steps, nearly tripping over yourself to reach the front door which has been left, once again, unlocked. The sense of wrongness occupying your faculties only heightens when you realize this must mean that Granny Orimoto has not been up out of bed since you’d last visited.

When you stop to toe off your shoes at the genkan, you notice that the bright pink pair of children’s house slippers are nowhere to be found, absent from their perpetual perch by the front door, as though someone – or something – has stepped inside.

Mind whirling a mile a minute, you push into the apartment and immediately reel back at the offensive scent of pure, unadulterated rot.

Oh.

Oh, no.

It could be the spoiled ingredients in the fridge, you think, desperately, as you hustle towards the bedroom. It could be anything. Anything but what it is you’re most afraid of.

Dazed, confused, scared, and still freshly woken up, your clumsy limbs somehow manage to collide with one of the low-sitting tables filling the living space. The abundance of knick-knacks and keepsakes cluttering the surface clatter in indignation, making an obscene ruckus as they fall over and to the floor. Upon closer inspection, you realize, to your horror, that it is an altar which you’d disturbed.

The only things left unshaken by your blundering blight are two framed photos: one of which displays the portrait of a young girl, no older than six, with long, dark hair and a serene smile. She seems to peer at you through the barriers of the picture frame, through the barrier of time. Her gaze hooks into your soul and invites you to step closer, to look harder. The longer you stare, the higher the gooseflesh on your skin raises in alarm. It’s an uphill battle to slide your gaze over to the picture beside her, which displays the likeness of a young boy close to her in age – presumably unrelated to her, given their distinct features, and yet, he is placed next to her on what is surely a memorial altar meant to honor and house the deceased.

While the personal effects and other supplicating items have all been disrupted and thrown off by your collision, the incense in front of the two picture frames still burns brightly, steadfastly. Oddly, it does nothing to quell the horrid stench of decay in the apartment. If anything, the altar seems to be exasperating the smell, which brings involuntary tears to your eyes and a pucker to your lips.

It's less so that the stench itself is what drives you to such a reaction; rather, the sensation invading your olfactory senses fills you with an abominable concoction of violent emotions: rage, pity, sorrow, envy, despair. You are drawn follow the source of these feelings, and your feet lead you to the bedroom, hands trembling underneath the sheer weight of all that you are experiencing as they push the slightly ajar door all the way open.

A gasp escapes you, unbidden. There, in that same, white futon adorned with layers and layers of her signature floral blankets, lies the corpse of Granny Orimoto. You can tell she’s dead because her skin has started to sag and bloat in strange and inhuman ways. This is the least surprising thing before your eyes.

Next to Granny sits a little girl – the spitting image of the girl in the portrait you’d glimpsed mere moments ago. Her gaze had once been trained steadfastly on Granny’s body, but now she looks up at you, unblinking, all-seeing.

“Hello,” says the girl, with a little girl’s voice.

“Hi,” you respond. “Do you live here?”

“Yes,” says the girl. “This is my granny.”

You remind me of my granddaughter.

She’s dead.

Granny Orimoto’s parting words to you echo in your head, rattling your brain, fizzling your consciousness.

“It’s nice to meet you, Rika. Granny Orimoto told me about you.”

Slowly, cautiously, as though you are approaching a spooked animal (ironic, given the fact that it is you who is shaking like a leaf), you crouch down and kneel on the floor, sitting on your haunches in a polite manner, mirroring the girl before you. Granny Orimoto’s body is the only thing separating you as you both sit, face to face, hands clasped in your laps, peering curiously at one another.

“I know,” says Rika. “Yuuta told you about me, too.”

Of course she would know about the conversations you and Yuuta have. This also might as well happen. At this point, after all you’ve just witnessed – first, the fresh corpse of your former employer, and now, the physical manifestation of a girl who died over ten years ago – there is very little left that could happen which would truly shock you out of your wits.

“Yes, he did. Have you been hanging out in the shop? Have you been lonely?”

The girl sticks out her bottom lip. “Yeah. You guys didn’t pay attention to me. Even when I was really loud, or turned the lights off, or broke the mirror. Sorry for breaking the mirror. I was mad.”

“It’s okay to be mad, but we mustn’t break things, or hurt others. I’m sorry for not noticing you sooner. Do you like plants and gardening? Like your granny?”

Rika nods. “Mhm, yeah. But Granny never lets me into the shop. Granny says all I do is mess things up. Granny says I’m no good. Granny says people died because of me. Did you know my dad is dead, too?”

“I’m sorry,” you say.

“It’s okay,” says Rika. “I wanted him to die.”

You blink. “Did you want Granny Orimoto to die, too?”

She takes a moment to contemplate before answering. “Granny had to die if I was going to play with Yuuta again.”

“What do you mean?” You ask, desperate to understand. When she begins to explain, you lean forward, forgetful of the fact that it is an old woman’s corpse which lies beneath you.

“Granny has already lived for so long. I wanted to come back. I died before my seventh birthday. Yuuta and I were supposed to spend it together. Yuuta never forgot about me. Yuuta talks to me every day. Yuuta went to Africa. Have you ever been to Africa? I went with Yuuta because he made a shrine for me there. Now Yuuta is back in Japan. Yuuta promised that we would play together again. Yuuta said he needed some time to prepare things. Yuuta is good at things like that – Yuuta can fight and do magic. Yuuta does jujutsu. Do you know jujutsu?”

“I know it,” you tell her.

“Yeah, Yuuta has powers. Yuuta knows a lot about dying and things like that. So, anyways, Yuuta said he would use his powers to help me come back so we can play together again. Yuuta said that me and granny have to switch places. I said ‘OK, Yuuta!’ and then Yuuta said he needed seven days. What day is it today?”

Somehow, you know the answer, even without looking at your phone’s calendar. “Monday.”

“Oh, so it’s been seven days. Yay! We can play together again. Do you want to play with us, too?”

“I would like to play together, yes.”

Abruptly, Rika unfurls from her graceful little seated position and makes her way over to you, crawling over Granny Orimoto’s corpse. You try not to think too hard about the graphic squelching that occurs underneath the childish palms of Rika’s tiny hands.

“Yay! Let’s go downstairs. Maybe Yuuta will be there.”

You don’t have the heart to tell her that Yuuta only swings by when the sun is out of sight. Her arms raise, clearly indicating that she’d like to be carried, and you are content to oblige her, as you scoop her up in your arms and make good on her direction. You exit Granny Orimoto’s apartment with Rika in your arms, her little feet dangling from your hip. The bright pink pair of slippers almost fall off as you make your way down the stairs, and you take care to remind her to make sure not to lose them.

When you get back to the shop, you must admit that you were mistaken in thinking Yuuta would not be there. As though he’d been anticipating this – which, you realize, he absolutely was, as this marks seven days from the first time he’d set foot in the shop – Yuuta stands by the front desk, wringing his hands before him nervously, sweat visible at his temples.

The both of you lock eyes, and he smiles, warm and fuzzy and entirely ill-fitting for the increasingly absurd scenario in which you find yourself. But you have little time to interrogate him about what the hell is going on – for Rika leaps from your arms and hits the ground running, screaming at the top of her little lungs, Yuuta!! Yuuta!!!, excited and so full of life, in only the way that children can scream in pure joy. Pure love.

He crouches and readily meets her, scooping the little girl up in his arms and sweeping her into the air, spinning round and round with Rika in his arms. Rika-chan!! Rika-chan!!! he cries – literally cries, that is, as you cannot help but spot the stray tear or two running down the swells of his flushed cheeks.

It is right as you are starting to feel a bit voyeuristic that Yuuta slows to a stop and finds your eyes once more. He comes to you, then, with Rika still perched on his hip, a chafingly tender smile splitting his face into two.

“I knew it was you,” he whispers with charged intensity, voice potent with unspoken feeling. “I knew you were special. I’ve always known. You never judge me. You always listen. You accepted me. And you accepted Rika, too.”

Have you? Accepted them, that is.

You shock yourself when you realize that you really have accepted all that’s transpired. Granny Orimoto saved your life when she’d taken you in and, for that, you must always be grateful. But from what Rika shared with you about how she’d been treated as a small child, and from what you’ve observed from Yuuta’s generally traumatized disposition and extreme reluctance to come face-to-face with the old woman, you realize, now, that there is a reason why Granny Orimoto had no living family to speak to or rely on when she was in her final days.

Whether or not her death had something to do with Yuuta’s apparent preternatural abilities (you remind yourself to ask about that later), it remains clear that she’d been in ill health long before you’d arrived at the flower shop. With no one to talk to. No one to care for her. You’d always felt pity. But, now, you realize that it may have been a situation of her own doing.

How could you argue with the living, breathing testament to that fact, who stand before you in fresh-faced, smiling glee?

“Of course I accept you both,” you say, earnestly, and mean it. “Rika is too cute not to love!” The young girl giggles, bashfully burying her face in Yuuta’s neck.

“And what about me?” Yuuta’s brows are quirked, his smile dipping into something a bit more cutting, a touch more heated than his simple joy from moments ago. “Am I cute enough to love, too?”

The answer is simple and requires no effort on your part: “I love you, Yuuta.”

You had more to say after that, but it proves a bit challenging to monologue your undying devotion to this man while said man is currently enveloping your mouth inside of his own. He kisses like a black hole: devouring, dark, impossibly comprehensive, and providing you without hope for possible escape.

He really is your type.

;

After those first seven days, Yuuta finally begins training at the shop. And Rika joins in, as well.

The three of you make an odd, adorable little family unit. After Yuuta had taken care of cleaning and renovating the apartment space upstairs, the three of you moved in without further delay. Your days are filled with home-cooking, raising Rika, maintaining the shop, and working alongside the man who has quickly made himself to be your life partner in every endeavor.

In fact, so much of your life is consumed with this newfound domesticity that there is little reason for you to leave the shop in the first place. Whenever you stray too far outside, you are prone to headaches, dizziness, fatigue, and even fever. It’s best to stay where is familiar, you reason. And Yuuta’s cooking is too good for you to want to eat anywhere else. He makes sure you eat three times a day, at least, and insists you finish your plate every time. Perhaps this is why you can’t stand life outside of this four, cozy walls – where else could you possibly find contentment such as this?

The business is re-named to “Rika’s Flower Shop,” which all three of you find quite agreeable given the current state of affairs. More customers than ever flow in, attracted by the colorful designs hand-painted by Rika herself on the building exterior. You generate enough revenue for additional renovations to be made on the shop. There is enough room in the budget to hire some part-time shop hands – local university students in the area looking to support themselves.

Everything is coming to fruition. For once, you truly feel as though life is blossoming.

And you can attribute all of it, every last bit of happiness, to them: Granny Orimoto, Rika, and Yuuta. The happiness is so overwhelming that you don’t ever want to leave their side, not even to run to the konbini, or to visit the post office. Why would you need to leave, when everything you’ve ever wanted is right here?

You have a family, a home, a life. You’ll remain in this shop with your loves until the day you grow as old and sickly as Granny Orimoto, and you’ll likely die upstairs, lying next to Yuuta, the both of you wrinkled and gray, curled together atop the futon, exactly where Granny had wheezed her last, bitter breath.

You wonder if Rika was there to watch it happen. You wonder if Rika will be there to see the both of you off, too.

You hope so. You really, really hope so.

You’re sure death will be every bit the dream you’re hoping it will be.

[vnti-vnxiety-recs]

Swallowing The Pain (M)

★  PAIRING: Simp! Jeno x Toxic Bully! Reader

☆ WORD COUNT:  6.4k

★ GENRE(S): Smut, Angst,Drama, Friends to enemies to lover??

☆ SUMMARY: After getting into the same college, you and your best friend Jeno were supposed to live the college experience together, so how did he get stuck becoming your errand boy? Your friendship is put to the test when you bully Jeno to impress your new college friends.

★ ☆ WARNINGS: Bullying, Peer pressure, Reader is really toxic in this one. Swearing. Drinking, Car sex, READER IS A HUGE BITCH, MDNI

☆★ NOTES: This is the 3rd installment of THE POISON ARCHIVES! This series is very toxic so beware. Each story is based off of lyrics from their song poison!

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♫₊˚.“Can’t keep count How many times I fall to my knees”♫₊˚.

Jeno doesn't have many friends, and he likes to keep it that way. The few that he does have, he likes to keep close. That's why, no matter how many times you stomp his heart out, he won't ever leave your side. You and Jeno had been friends since high school. Back then, his closest friends were you, Doyoung, and Johnny. Johnny and Doyoung went off to college first, leaving you and Jeno. The two of you started to hang out alone more, and that's when he fell for you.

Since then, you guys have graduated and gone off to college, luckily getting accepted to the same campus. For the first year, you two were inseparable. You had the majority of all your classes together and even joined a few clubs together. Everyone used to think you two were dating; the rumors made you blush, but by the next year, you were surrounded by new friends and potential love interests. Jeno had made a few new friends as well: Computer science major Jisung and sports journalism major Chenle. These two are the ones currently chewing him out. Jeno was currently sitting crisscrossed on his door room floor leveling up his character in Elder Scrolls when Jisung and Chenle invited themselves over like usual to raid his fridge and eat his snacks. Jeno has been called at least half the names in the book. His friends can't help but curse him for being so stupid.

Jeno, you've gotta have some self-respect, man. You can't keep letting her do this to you." Jisung groaned again for the hundredth time that night. "She is clearly playing you! Dude, go look in a mirror; you can have any other girl!"

Jisung had a point. Jeno had been approached by several girls since the start of college, but he turned them down. He doesn't have time for distractions when he's trying to keep up with you.

"You know it's a scary world when Jisung is right about something," Chenle shudders. "But I agree that whatever you had with her clearly doesn't mean anything anymore based on how she treats you." Chenle huffs, mindlessly tossing his basketball in the air and catching it.

Guys, I really didn't ask. literally, Who let you in?" Jeno is annoyed; his character's health was at half-bar, and they were wreaking havoc on his concentration.

"We made a spare key," Jisung says nonchalantly.

Dude, you weren't supposed to tell him!" Chenle sits up straight, glaring at Jisung, contemplating if he should throw the ball at his big head. "We only come in to eat; we promise we don't go snooping!" Chenle tries to save face.

Jeno signs exasperatedly. He always wondered what always happened to his leftovers, and he's relieved to know it was these two dorks stealing his food and not some hobo living in his walls. He once read a creepypasta about a similar story, spooked himself out, and slept with the lights on for a week.

Jeno knows that they are right, but he can't bear to lose you. Since the start of your second year of college, you two have started to drift apart as you became more popular. You started partying more; you said you wanted your money's worth and to get the complete college experience. Jeno, being the introvert he is, disagreed. He just wanted to lay low for 4 years, get his degree, and dip. He only applied to get his parents off his back about it. He didn't think he would actually be accepted. In the beginning, you would invite him out and try to drag him along to the parties, but he would turn you down. He would always tell you that he wanted to catch up on studies or hop on the game with the boys. At first, it didn't bother you—not until it did.

One night, you just snapped. You said he was a terrible friend and that he needed to grow up. You just couldn't wrap your head around it. You're finally free from your overbearing parents, and you can go wild. All Jeno wanted to do was stay home and read webtoons! You were upset that he wouldn't change his lifestyle. The first year, you would have agreed with Jeno, but now you're comfortable and ready to explore. He's supposed to do everything with you; you don't care if it's out of his comfort zone. Since that night, you have grown cold toward him. You two never hung out anymore; you were constantly around your new friends. You wouldn't spare him a glance. So Jeno did the only thing he could think of to keep you close. He became your pet.

He's at your beck and call like a puppy. He doesn't even know how or when it happened; he just knows that whenever you call, he's running to where you are. Anything you need, he provides happily. You tease and bully him in front of your friends, but he doesn't care. As long as you look at him again, he's satisfied. Jisung and Chenle despise you. They think you're a cold-hearted ice queen and can't even imagine how Jeno came to become friends with you in the first place.

They have hated you since the day you ordered Jeno to bring you a coke in the main campus cafeteria. As usual, he happily does your bidding, his tail practically wagging behind him as he goes. He's bringing you back a nice chilled coke in under 5 seconds. Before you even take a sip, you crack it open and dump it on his head.

"Bad puppy, don't you know I only drink diet?" You drop the can in front of his feet and plop back down in your seat. Your friends burst into laughter, and you feel satisfied. You hope that, with this, they will like you more.

Your group of friends, if you can even call them that, say you're too soft; they're always making you prove yourself to them. You liked being invited out and being among the popular crowd, so you did as they told you. Jeno is shocked, but before he can even say anything, an angry Chenle comes over to curse you out. You can't even argue back because Jeno is pulling him away all while dripping wet, leaving a sad trail behind him. Since that day, Jisung and Chenle have tried everything to help Jeno get over you.

Jeno was upset that you publicly humiliated him in front of half the student body, but he can't help replaying the sound of your laughter in his head over and over. Even when you're laughing at his misfortune, Jeno thinks your laugh is the prettiest tinkling sound he's ever heard. He'd let you pour 10 more cans of soda on his head if he got to hear it again. That's why he's right back by your side the next day, jumping through hoops for you.

Guys, look, I don't care what you think; you don't know her like I do," Jeno sighs, finally pausing his game.

"So-called free thinkers when a baddie is involved," Jisung shakes his head disapprovingly. Chenle snickers in return.

"Would you guys leave already? The snacks are gone, and I'm not refilling them for another week, so don't even bother coming over." Jeno gets up, snatches the basketball out of Chenle's hands, and kicks Jisung's foot, signaling for him to stand up. "Both of you are out now; I need to think!"

They groan in unison and make their way to the front door, leaving Jeno alone in his room. Jeno lays back into his bed and shuts his eyes.

He really does want time to think. He's not proud of his actions, either. He wants to be rid of you, but no one will ever understand how lonely it is, so have your closest friend turn their back on you. Jeno was thrown into a new environment with no one to turn to. He only had you. He blames himself; he thinks he was too caught up in his own fears, and that is why he lost you. If only he were braver, if only he took more risks, he could truly stand next to you. He doesn't want to think anymore, so he sits up and begins to busy himself. Just as he shuts off his console and gets ready for bed, his phone rings. He had a specific ringtone set just for you, so he knows when you're calling. He practically dives back into his bed, rummaging through the covers, trying to get to his phone.

Jisung was right; he was a so-called free thinker.

His hand finally grazes it, and he pushes the covers out of the way. He answers the call, barely able to speak, trying hard to catch his breath.

"He-hello?" He heaves, trying his best to sound normal.

"Why are you so out of breath? You just got done fucking?" You inquire, annoyed that he didn't answer on the first ring.

"Would that make you jealous?" Jeno says hopefully

"Don't piss me off," you scoff, rolling your eyes, though you know he can't see it.

Sorry," he immediately backtracks, "did you need me?"

Unfortunately, yes, my ride left me, and I have no way home. I need you to come get me." Just as you finish your sentence, Jeno’s phone dings. You had sent him your location: "I sent the address; please don't keep me waiting, puppy." And with that, you hang up.

Jeno doesn't waste time getting properly dressed and decides to just wear what he has been lounging around in all day. It's around 11 p.m. when he parks his car. He tries to call you, letting you know he's arrived, but you don't pick up. You never do. Jeno gets out, decides to look for you, and makes his way across the lawn and into the frat house. He feels a little underdressed now; all he's wearing are some grey sweats and a muscle tee. He didn't think he would have to get out of the car. The girls ogling his muscular arms don't make the situation any better. They could care less about what he was wearing; they want to see more of what's underneath. He's a bit embarrassed but continues his search of the house.

He spots a few of your friends and asks them if they have seen you. He can barely make out their slurred words, but he thinks they mention something about the bathroom upstairs, so he heads upstairs in search of you. He can see the bathroom straight down the hall. As he approaches, he notices the bathroom door partially cracked and pushes it open, peeking his head in. His eyes lock with yours. Your head is thrown back, and your legs are wrapped around some guy's waist as he gropes you over your clothes.

Jeno, you could try knocking," you say nonchalantly.

"The… The door was open, so I—" he stutters, eyes wide open.

"Alright, the show is over; I'll be right there." You roll your eyes, pushing the handsome stranger away from you and jumping down from the counter.

You're gonna leave me just like that?" the stranger teasingly pulling you back into him

"Sorry Yuta, let's catch up later, okay?" You give him a saucy wink and brush past him.

"You said that last time," he reminds you, pouting cutely as he watches as you pull Jeno by the collar of his shirt down the hall.

"Hold me to it, okay?" You yell over your shoulder and make your way down the stairs with Jeno in tow.

Jeno is quiet as you two venture down the stairs; he knows he shouldn't ask, but curiosity gets the best of him. "Who was that?" he whispers once you cross the lawn back to his car away from the thumping music of the party.

"That was tonight's fuck. Thanks a lot, Cockblock," you mumble, rolling your eyes as you wait by the passenger door so he can open it for you. He buckled you in before getting in on the driver's side.

"I'm sorry" He's not. "You should have told me you were going to be busy."

You don't reply, and you just look out the window. You can see his image reflecting off your window thanks to the dark skies, which turn it into something like a black mirror. You didn't get a good look at him at the party, but now he's all you can see as his arms flex as he grips the steering wheel. Your eyes trail down to the way he bites his lip in concentration, probably thinking of something to say.

You hate it here.

You had been pent up for the last few days, so when you bumped into Yuta, it was a miracle, and when he asked you to go upstairs with him for a quickie, you could almost cry tears of happiness. You did not expect Jeno to arrive so quickly; the man lived like 20 minutes away! Was he speeding? Regardless, the lust that clouds your eyes is making Jeno look a little too good. You hadn't really had a moment alone with him since last year, and you forgot how insanely hot he was.

Honestly, you had a bit of a crush in high school; that's why it hurt when he would turn down every chance to hang out. Sure, you were upset that he didn't want to spend time with you, but you just had to drag it out, didn't you? With the way you're practically throbbing over him, you regret it now more than ever. The way he leaned back into his seat, his posture relaxed, one hand on the wheel, and his legs slightly spread, had you nearly about to jump out of the car to escape the tension. You were still too stubborn to admit you were wrong and make up with him, so you sat in silence and suffered. All you can think about now is how pretty you would look perched right on top of his lap. If you weren’t horny before, you definitely are now. You're so far into your perverted thoughts that you almost miss the way the car jerks forward.

"What was that?" You're sitting up straight now, looking around in panic.

"shit… I think I popped a tire," Jeno groans in disbelief.

"Oh come on, I'm not walking in these heels, Jen!" Don't you have a spare?" you ask, failing to hold in your complaints.

"No, Jisung begged me to take it out so he could fit his stupid bike in the back when we went hiking a few weeks ago, and I never got around to putting it back in." Jeno sighs irritatedly and drops his head back against his seat.

"Nice going, asshat."

"Not helping" 

"How are we gonna get home?"

"You know I would be home if it weren't for you?"

Well, maybe if you watched the road more carefully, you wouldn't have hit anything."

"Oh fuck you!"

Jeno rarely got angry, and he especially never yelled at you. Your constant complaining and the stress of the situation were not helping his mood. Not to mention, it was almost 12 a.m. now, and he was tired and annoyed.

You wouldn't want him any other way.

"Watch your mouth puppy, or do I need to watch it for you?" You raise an eyebrow.

He unbuckled his seatbelt so he could fully turn to face you. His jaw was tight, and his eyes were hardened.

"I said, fuck yo-"

He couldn't even finish his sentence before you kissed him. One second you were sitting across from him; the next you were climbing into his lap, leaving feverish kisses down his neck.

"Fuck me? Your right, fuck me. You owe me an orgasm anyway," you say with a wicked smile.

Jeno can't help but reattach your lips to his; it's like his only line of oxygen. He never thought that the day would come when he could touch you so intimately. He lets his seat recline and pulls you down with him. Luckily, the car broke down in an area that doesn't catch much traffic, and even if someone were to pass by, Jeno’s tinted car would shield your dignity from prying eyes. He's running his hands anywhere he can reach; his touch is near desperate. Soon his hands venture up the back of your shirt and unclasp your bra. You help him remove it, and once you discard the offensive material, you lift your shirt over your head. Jeno is face-to-face with your naked chest and can't manage to tear his eyes away.

"What? Don't tell me you're a virgin, Jen." You tease him lightly, and before you can take another jab at him, he pulls you down against his mouth to suck at your nipples. In all honesty, Jeno didn't have much experience, but for you, he was willing to learn your body. He wanted to know how to touch you and get you to beg for him. Most importantly, though, he wanted to make you shut your fucking mouth.

"Get in the back," He commands.

You don't even bother trying to think of a snappy reply. You kind of liked it when he bossed you around. Usually he was the one taking orders; you never realized how sexy he could be making them. You climb into the back as Jeno exits through the driver's side door to meet you in the back. Once he joins you in the backseat, you're immediately grabbing at his clothes, needing to touch every inch of him. You help him undress, and you're finally able to get his pants past his waist. You can't help the whine that slips out. The moment you laid eyes on it, you knew it was K.O.

He had the prettiest cock you had ever seen, and you could barely contain yourself as you imagined taking him in several different positions. The stretch was gonna hurt so good. He tries to at least finger you, wanting to stretch you out a bit, but you pull his arm away. You're far too impatient, so you just tell him to grab a condom from your purse in the front seat.

"Jen, don't go easy on me; I can take it," you say with a lick of your lip as he slips on the condom. You're not able to pull your eyes away until he grabs your face and makes you look at him.

"Wasn't planning on it, princess."

That's all the warning you get before he's fucking into you. He doesn't wait for you to adjust; he gives it to you just like you asked, and you couldn't be any happier. Even though he was literally inside of you, you needed him closer. You immediately wrap your legs around his waist and pull him down into your chest. He fucks you like this for a few more moments until he takes over. You were always pushing and pulling him to get what you wanted, but not this time. He roughly pulled your legs from his hips, pinning them to your chest. He sits up and leans into you, fucking you harder with the new leverage. You can't help but whine.

"Jeno please"

"Shut up and just take what I give you." He was fed up with you. All you do is demand more and more from him. He's sick of being your compliant little puppy. He pulls out of you, and you nearly cry at the lack of contact. Before you can even fix your mouth to complain, he's flipping you on your hands and knees and shoving your face into his seats. When he enters you again, he's fucking you like a madman. The car is practically rocking, and you can't help but moan as he delivers a few spanks to your right ass cheek.

"So greedy. Always wanting more." He slowly pulls out, watching how your walls try to desperately suck him back in. Then he's thrusting in deep. "Look at how you take me."

Your back arches as you moan. There are no thoughts in your head at this point. All you can think about is his cock and how it has to be rearranging your guts at this point. You're trying to match his thrust as you slam your hips back into his, but It's almost too much. The way his cock was practically bullying your insides makes you hesitate for a second, your thighs shaking. Jeno notices the way your movements falter, and he chuckles. You cower away from the next thrust and whine.

"Nuh uh, baby, this is how you wanted it, right? Don't tell me you're all talk. You can take it." He leans over your shoulder, whispering deviously into your ear. the position, slowing his hips down just enough for you to catch your breath. "You want it, baby? Answer me," he punctuated with deep, slow strokes.

No one's home. You're definitely gone in the head by now, but when he threatens to pull out again, you open your mouth and just let whatever spill out. "Fuck, don't stop. I can take it."

"You gonna be my good girl?"

"Yes just...please!" You can feel your eyes start to water, and you can't stop the hiccups that escape with them.

Aw, my precious baby. You wanna cum?"

"Please!" You wail, "Just please don't stop Jen. I think I'll die if you do. I need you so bad." You ramble

Just like always, Jeno gives you exactly what you want. He's picking up speed and fucking you until you're creaming all over his cock, soaking his thighs in your essence. You can hardly hold yourself up as he uses you. You're just a whole to him right now, and he's stuffing you with his cum after a few more deep strokes. After a moment, he pulls out and immediately checks on you.

"I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me." His attitude flipped like a lightswitch.

One moment he's ordering you around, splitting you in half on his cock, and the next he's apologizing profoundly, almost crying at the thought that he was too rough with you. It was like one moment he was Mr. Hyde, and the next he was Dr. Jekyll.

"It's ok, Jen, that was amazing, seriously." You sit up and caress his face, trying your best to calm him down. He sighs in relief at your response. He disposes of the used condom and helps you get dressed.

Once you two get settled back in the front seats, he can't help but ask the question that's been tormenting him since the post-nut clarity hit.

"So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"What are we?"

"Don't get the wrong idea. Jeno, that was probably the hardest I've ever come, but you're still my puppy and nothing more. You were just paying me back the orgasm you ruined," you shrug as you flip his passenger mirror down and check your hair and makeup.

He can only manage a small "oh". Of course, this meant nothing to you; it was probably just another Friday fuck to you. He calls a tow truck to break the awkward silence. It arrives in around 15 minutes, and the driver is kind enough to drop you both off at campus. Jeno walks you home like a gentleman and then heads home himself. When he finally lays in bed, all he can do is stare at the ceiling and try to swallow the pain.

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A week had passed since the incident, and you were right—he really was nothing but a puppy to you. Everything had gone back to the way it previously was, and the situation was never brought up again. He almost would have believed it was a dream, but his new tire was a clear reminder that it was not. You go back to your usual self, bossing him around and humiliating him. Tonight he gets a text from you around 10 telling him to get dressed because he is going to be your date to a party. It surprised Jeno, to say the least. He was usually just your personal chauffeur, dropping you off and picking you up at different parties all week. To say that he was excited to be given this little promotion was an understatement. Jisung and Chenle were back now that the snack cabinet had been filled again. Since they were back, their constant commentary on Jeno’s issue was too. They were 100% against Jeno going to this party, but he ignored them and got dressed anyway. He drowned out their complaints, ushered them out the door, and locked it behind him.

Dude, come on, something is definitely up." Jisung pulls his hair in frustration.

"I'm gonna need you to find a new girl to obsess over because I'm really getting sick of having to agree with Jisung." Look at what you're doing to me," Chenle sasses.

Guys, relax; if anything is up, I'll text you, ok?" Jeno grunts as he walks towards his car. He completely ignores their protests and drives off to meet you at the address you texted earlier.

Just before he pulls around the corner that turns off of his street, he looks in his rear view mirror and sees his house lights on again. Jisung and Chenle use their spare key to sneak back inside his house. He rolls his eyes and keeps driving. At this point, he was used to their antics. Apparently they've been doing this for months, and he never took notice, so he's not worried about them making a mess or taking anything. Well, anything that's not food

It's a small college town, so he reaches his destination in about 15 minutes. He finds himself outside of a townhome when he decides to text you. There's no loud music or drunken bodies staggering around the yard. He's starting to think he's arrived too soon when you head out to greet him. He's always been able to read you like a book, so once he notices a hint of worry hidden behind a forced smile, he begins to wonder what's going on.

"Are you good?" he asks gently when you grab his hand.

"Yea just… Yeah, come on, let's go inside; the others are waiting." you smile.

You are smiling at him. The one who hasn't smiled at anything but his misfortune for the past year His alarms were definitely going off, but he let you pull him inside anyway. Once you two make it through the door, he notices it's not really a party but a small get-together between you and your friends.

"Hey Jeno, glad you could make it," they greeted him. Why was everyone being so nice? He looks to you for some answers.

"We were just hanging out and thought it would be fun if you joined, you explain, pulling him to the living room where an array of alcohol bottles were laid out.

Yeah, we were just hanging out and drinking."

"Oh, I can't really hold my alcohol," Jeno mentions awkwardly, and he sits down next to you on the couch. Your friends all laugh like he just said the funniest joke.

"Oh don't be a party pooper. Come on, here's a shot. We’ll even give you a chaser," your friend pushes.

He hesitates for a few moments before he finally folds. Maybe if he can loosen up for a night, he’ll finally be able to get a glimpse into the life that you lived. Maybe all this time you were right—maybe college was about living life to the fullest. Jeno takes the shot and has to force himself not to make a disgusted expression at the taste. He turns to you for your approval, but you just have that worried look on your face again.

"Jen, you don't have to do this if you don't want to; you know that, right?" you whisper. 

"I'm not a baby; isn't this what you wanted?" Jeno grumbles, ignoring you and taking another shot that your friend hands him. He's only two shots in, and he's already feeling it.

"Alright guys, that's enough for him, alright?" You speak hesitantly.

"When did you get so boring? Aren't you the one who always bullies him?" Your friend spit, "Stop trying to ruin our fun."

Jenos head is already spinning, but when he's handed another shot, he downs it almost instantly.

"That's my man!" Your other friend claps Jeno on the back. Jeno can barely manage a smile; he's starting to feel nauseated, and the strong scent of alcohol isn't helping.

"Look, I don't care! He's cut off!" When your friend tries to hand him another drink, you smack it out of her hand, spilling it all over the front of her dress.

"What the fuck is your problem? This is Gucci!" your friend screeches. Everything is moving so fast; everyone is yelling, and Jeno can't make out any faces. It's like his head is underwater, and the next thing he knows, he's being pulled to his feet. He can barely make out your silhouette pulling him along out of the door. You walk him to his car and help him lay down in the back seat. He's lying on his back, one arm covering his eyes from the light that shines down on him as you search his pockets for his keys.

Sorry, Jen, I'm going to get you home, okay?" You try your best to be quick. You find his keys in his back pocket and shut the back door, turning off the annoying light in return. You climb into the driver's seat and make your way to his house. When you arrive, you help him out of the back seat and to the door. Your driving is shitty. Jeno thinks you were playing Mario Kart the way you hit every single pothole on the way home. He's trying his hardest not to throw up when you open his door, but he can't help it. He pukes by the front door. You curse and help him sit down. You don't realize someone else is in the house, so when you're walking down the hall to the bathroom to get a wet towel, you see a tall figure in the hallway, and you scream. You startled not only Jeno but also Jisung, who was coming to check what all the noise was about.

"What are you doing here?" He yells back, still a bit frightened.

"I was bringing Jeno home," you huff as you hold your chest, trying to calm down your racing heart.

"What did you do to Jeno, you hussy?" Another voice yells from behind Jisung; you can't see him, so you peek around Jisung's frame and see Chenle’s smaller one.

Ugh, you're here too?" you groan. You were already stressed, and these two goofballs were just going to make it worse.

Guys, please, my head hurts," Jeno quietly groans from his position on the couch.

Jisung and Chenle race past you from the hallway into the living room, and they see Jeno on the couch.

Jeno knew he looked a mess, they were not going to let him live this down. He would have to spend a week hearing "I told you so" from them.

"Oh my god, He's dead!" Chenle wails

"He just spoke to you, idiot." You roll your eyes.

No, he didn't liar! You killed him, and now his ghost is trying to speak to us! What is it, Jeno? Who did it?" Jisung chimed in, dramatically falling to his knees in front of Jeno.

"Whose snacks are we gonna eat?" Chenle continues; he paces the room, biting his thumb.

"SHUT UP!" Jeno yells, immediately clutching his head in anguish.

"HE'S ALIVE!" They both shouted in relief.

"Don't worry, bro, I'll get you some Tylenol," Jisung says as he heads back down the hall towards the bathroom.

Now that the chaos has ceased, Chenle turns to look at you. Look, I don't know what happened, but you need to leave," Chenle says seriously from his spot perched next to Jeno. We were his real friends; we can take it from here," he adds with a scowl.

Jisung emerges shortly after with a glass of water and some pills. He helps Jeno sit up and makes sure he takes the medicine. As you watch them care for Jeno, you realize how terrible you are. Sure, they can be annoying, but because of you, Jeno is suffering. All this time, you have been making him suffer over something so childish, and you're disgusted with yourself. You can't even recognize yourself anymore, and you're sure if Doyoung and Johnny saw who you had become, they wouldn't be able to either.

Jeno used to be your best friend, and this was what your relationship reduced to? Chenle was right; you weren't his friend. You screwed up big time. You ruined everything just for the attention of a few people who don't even care about you. You gently sit Jenos keys down on the coffee table and leave. It's a chilly night, but you need to feel the bite of the wind snipping at your skin. You bear it because you deserve it. You cry silently all the way back until you reach your dorm.

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It's been a few days since then, and Jeno has been ignoring you since. He had woken up the next day still feeling out of it. Jisung did his best to catch him up to speed, and he remembers what happened. A small part of him wants to thank you for protecting him, while the other, bigger part is pissed that you even brought him there in the first place. You knew your friends were up to no good, but you still let him walk into their trap.

For the past few days, whenever you tried to approach him in the halls, he would turn the other way. He sent your calls straight to voicemail and left your messages on delivered. You deserved it after all, after what you did to him. Even so, you still want to explain yourself and apologize.

So maybe you follow him around after all of his classes like a lost puppy waiting for the chance to speak with him, and maybe you even try groveling to Chenle and Jisung for help, but they refuse. It isn't until you catch him in the library late one Sunday night. You honestly didn't expect him to be here; it was already 1 a.m., and you knew he had an early class the next day. You figured he must be pulling an all-nighter again. You approach cautiously, trying to ease your way into his space.

"Jen, can we talk, please?" You barely whisper, still afraid you may scare him away.

"Im busy," he replies curtly. The desk he's sitting at is covered in papers and textbooks. You almost leave from the guilt of interrupting him and breaking his concentration, but you stay. For once, you stay.

"Why are you here anyway? Why not just study at home? It's not like you have a roommate," you inquired. Jeno used to have a roommate, but he dropped out due to stress.

"Chenle and Jisung keep inviting themselves over", Jeno huffs irritatedly. "What is this? 20 questions? I don't want to talk to you!" Jeno flips the page of his textbook angrily, almost ripping it out.

Well, then just listen! Im sorry, ok? I'm sorry about everything. I know I was a huge bitch, and I wish I could say I never meant to hurt you, but I can't because I did! I did mean to hurt you, but I'm sorry!" You ramble, "I should have never tried to pressure you into being someone you're not. I should have respected your boundaries and not insulted you when all you wanted to do was stay in your comfort zone. And now look! The moment you finally do try something new, you suffer from it." You try to fight back the tears because you really weren't here to make him feel bad.

When the first tear falls down your face, Jeno can't help but feel his heart tighten in pain.

His face morphs from one of annoyance to one of worry. When you begin to cry harder, he can't help himself and springs up from his seat, engulfing you in a hug. Before today, there was no warmth in your arms, but now he was almost overwhelmed by your heat.

"You're a terrible friend, and I hate that I'm in love with you, but no matter how many times I try to let you go, I just can't stay away from you."

You hug him tighter at his confession, not wanting to let him go. "Jeno, I'm sorry, can we please just start over? I swear, I'll be better for you. I'm gonna do my best to make up for all the stupid shit I did. You plead. 

Jeno is quiet for a few more moments, and you almost think he's going to reject your offer, but he doesn't. "We can start small." He whispers into your hair and plants a kiss on your head before pulling away.

You look up into his eyes, and you can still see a tinge of hurt, but you can also see hope. You know he's serious about wanting to give you another shot, so you make a promise to yourself to never hurt him again. You guys start slow and hang out more, and you finally make amends with Jisung and Chenle. You find out that they are actually some of the most endearing people you have ever met. They can be a bit mischievous, but they mean well. After a month, you and Jeno start dating officially.

You definitely gave a few people whiplash with how fast your relationship developed. Just a few months ago, you were walking him like a dog, keeping a tight leash on him, and now you were walking to class hand in hand, laughing at each other's jokes like it never happened. Things were finally as they should be. You missed your best friend more than anything in the world. You hope you never have to learn what it feels like to miss your boyfriend.

[xjulixred45x]

Satoru Gojo/Suguru Geto x Carrie White like-Reader

Genre: long Headcanons/Drabbles

Reader: female

Warnings: LONG POST, Reader has a Personalilty and background like Carrie White (of Stephen King) so, is very shy, quiet, kind but has traumas with BULLYING, ABUSIVE HOUSEHOLD, ABUSIVE MOTHER, Religion themes, ,etc. Reader has telekinesis/mental Powers, Angst/comfort, Fluff. The mother of reader may or may not die horribly

Hope You enjoy! Specially @thecuriousquest and @trancylovecraft

Satoru Gojo

Regardless of whether he met you at Jujutsu Tech or when he graduated, he definitely noticed that something about you was unusual, not in a bad way, but that something was wrong... You were very withdrawn and shy, but being only a group of 4 students (if you met him at school), you would have to open up, but it was something very complicated to do. Gojo being Gojo tried to get you out of your shell by telling you funny things, welcoming you to the group along with Geto and Shoko, erc. When he noticed that you didn't even eat at school, he even offered you some of his own, which you denied until there was simply no point in going against him and you ate more. Satoru found you endearing in a way. But he definitely noticed more worrying things. for example, when you had your first period at school. god, the way you were SO SCARED and disturbed definitely left an impression on him, you didn't even know what period was! What kind of parents don't explain this to their daughter!? and it wasn't even the worst. You were scared that your mother (? You were crying so hard that he barely heard you) was going to punish you.... WHAT!?!

NOW, Satoru knew that you came from a non-sorcerer background, and yes, he can understand the fear of punishment for using your powers (which are fucking cool) without responsibility -- but a punishment for having your period? And on top of that you saw all this as a divine punishment for disobeying your mother... Gojo was definitely much more attentive to your family environment after that. something smelled VERY bad with your family. Sure, understand that most Non-Sorcerers don't believe in curses and maybe that would be your case, but this...wasn't looking good. Apart from the fact that he tried to cheer you up after that incident, whether it was helping you train, making comments that he knew would make you happy (he loves to see you smile, he wants you to do it more often), inviting you to the outings he had with Geto and Shoko , etc. Although he definitely got a little scared when you used your Ritual Technique, the way you went into a catatonic state and became an unstoppable force of destruction was a HUGE change from your normal self.

He was always able to calm you down when your technique was too much to handle. And besides, he was very useful, he made sure you knew that. and above all, that was REALLY a blessing. I think that when things get more serious he will directly ask you to go live in the academy dormitories or, of course, his house. He doesn't trust your mother in the slightest, and the feeling is mutual. He only met her ONCE and he absolutely despised her, but he tried to be "respectful" because despite everything, you love your mother. Although she did not return the favor. She was crazy, always talking to you like you were a plague. Let's say he was this 🤏close to doing something he would later regret (or not). It left him upset, tired, slightly homicidal and with an immediate desire to hug you for having to deal with this woman your entire life.

someone makes fun of you? Gojo will destroy them in seconds, either with a beating or simply leaving their pride in the ground. If we talk about more advanced terms of relationship (and in the current time), Gojo can't stand seeing you see yourself as someone "contaminated" (in any case for him, you are only contaminated with bad thoughts about yourself that he will gladly destroy)

Gojo loves to pamper you, regardless of whether it's with pampering or material gifts, although he likes the shy expressions you make when you receive either of the two much more, it just makes him want to give you a big hug because you're so adorable!

He likes the clothes you make for yourself, but he is definitely going to buy you QUALITY clothes that YOU WANT to wear, no matter how unconservative they are. Lots of nicknames, seriously, it seems like he always has a new one or a cheesy variation, especially if he sees that you're tired or had a bad day. He can always bring out his most joking side, yes, but knowing your context, he is more interested in letting you know that he loves you. I can see him taking you to the psychologist sincerely, he tells the higher ups that it is because of the connection of your mental state with your ritual technique, but he really doesn't want to have to see you as you were in your youth, mainly. (that and he'll probably send your mother to a mental institution or, with luck, jail. You don't have to worry about that, Gojo already took care of it) He is quite patient with your nervous breakdowns as a result of your upbringing and your skills, there are times when you accidentally break something and due to anguish your powers end up getting out of control, breaking more things. and you end up reduced to a mess of apologies and tears. It breaks his heart to see what THAT WITCH your mother put you through. He makes sure you didn't hurt yourself trying to fix it and assures you that he's fine, he has a lot of money, he didn't like those dishes to begin with, he can always buy another one, things like that so you understand that he doesn't care about that. In any case, he only cares about you, and your well-being.

He makes sure to take you to Dr. Shoko every time you have a mission where you used your powers, he's afraid you might have a brain hemorrhage if you push yourself too hard. He may even buy you candy to do the same thing he did at the beginning, stimulate his brain. If it accidentally makes you a sweet tooth, it will probably just make him buy more from you (again, you're too cute when you look all comfortable and happy). VERY PROTECTIVE, he knows very well what your triggers are, so he evades them as if it were the black plague. And God forbid the higher ups want to use you as a weapon, Gojo will give them the scare of their lives. only to then have a cuddle session with you when he get home. In general, very protective and loving towards you, he will not allow you to be hurt or harmed, and he will compensate for all the time without love that you have had to endure by giving you very high doses of care, patience and of course, love.

Suguru Geto

He probably meet you in Jujustu Tech.

Similarly to Gojo, he could tell that you probably didn't come from a good background, but he was more subtle about it and tried to approach you in small but sure steps. That's how he found out that you came from a family of Non-Sorcerers. okay, it makes sense now that you have so little knowledge of the world of Jujustu, he understands it well coming from a family like that himself. Although of course, he could notice very quickly that unlike him, you did not have a good relationship with your family, or rather, you were very afraid of them. It was quite noticeable in his eyes due to your nervous and quiet nature. If an incident like your period occurs, he is definitely the one who try to calm you down and console you the most, assuring you that no, it is not a divine punishment, it is something normal, and that no, he is not angry with you, everything is fine. He want to give your family the benefit of the doubt at first and think that since you come from an EXTREMELY religious home and you just had your period in your junior year (17-18 years old) your family probably didn't see the need to tell you. It's a strange excuse, especially when he sees the pure fear you had when they mentioned the possibility of calling your mother. He prefers you to say it yourself, but Geto definitely thinks (knows) that you come from a bad background. so he try to make you stay on Jujustu tech as much as possible. He tries to help you adapt to both Jujustu's world and his companions, whether it's bridging conversations, helping you with homework, just as Gojo can ask you out as a group, etc.

Did you see that Carrie in some adaptations floats with her powers? imagine doing that with Geto! either make your classmates float with your powers or float yourself, flying near the school with Suguru nearby with one of his curses in case you fall. He is much more comfortable with that carefree and calm expression on your face instead of the constant nerves. and he is quite shocked when he sees you using your powers in fights, the brutality, the anger behind all that power, surprised him, but more like a fascination than anything else. You are blessed with your powers, he can see it, but unfortunately Non-Sorcerers don't see it that way. ESPECIALLY your mother.

At first, Suguru is subtle with his dislike for your mother, again, try to give her the benefit of the doubt, but if he gets to know her sincerely it will only make him go from dislike to TOTAL DISGUST for the woman. If he sees how she treats you, GOD HELP HER, he's going to scare her to death with his curses and tell her directly NOT to lay a hand on you. and then they'll probably go eat something with you (he might even go visit his parents, out of nowhere he feels kind of grateful that AT LEAST they're not like your mom)

You are linked more by your similar (but very different) origins. a lot of compliments, and he always ALWAYS manages to make you smile (he tried to make a double meaning joke ONCE and it took you an hour to understand it on your own, you turned out like an adorable tomato! so now he says from time to time one to see Your reacction). Also be very careful that you do not use your powers excessively, no matter how fascinating they are, know that there can be SERIOUS consequences if you do not limit their use. If we talk about the most current times (when Geto becomes corrupted) chances are that you have also finally reached your breaking point (like the dance scene in the movie, only change you don't die!) (BRO, IMAGINE IF YOUR MOTHER WAS PART OF THE TENGEN CULT AND THEY WERE THE ONE'S WHO YOU TOOK OUT ALL THE YEARS OF ABUSE, IT WOULD BE EPIC bonus Geto just fell in love for the second time)

Speaking of more advanced terms of relationship, Geto is very determined that the ideas your mother put in your head disappear completely, but precisely by putting you in a position of power (the power you never had before). He wants to help you by giving you a sense of control and security. Mimiko and Nanako adore you, you and they have SO much in common that it's normal for them to see you in a similar light to Geto (it would be an absolute BONUS if you were on the mission where Geto saved them, again, super epic). Did you see that Carrie in the movies can even read minds? You and Geto will probably use this to your advantage to select Monkeys with a lot of money (and if you discover that they are lying, Geto will kill them right away, while he has you on his lap cuddling you :3). Similarly to Gojo, you are very spoiled, although with some differences.

Compliments are still Suguru's main love language, but he's also a very physical person, wanting to keep you around almost all the time (except maybe when he kills monkeys, knowing that you still feel kind of bad about it) so there's also a lot of PDA between you, hugs, kisses, cuddles, headpats, etc. Geto really can't get enough.

Someone makes fun of You? Well, not anymore:)

He becomes especially cuddly when you're tired from using your powers and you cling to him, you're too cute. If you still have some kind of nervous breakdown because of your upbringing, Geto and the twins will most likely do a ✨cuddle pudle✨ while they calm you down.

If you somehow don't kill your mother, worry not, Geto will do it for You:) He is also willing to get rid of anyone who makes you feel uncomfortable (if that person is a Non-Sorcerer it is a plus). going👏shopping👏 especially with Mimiko and Nanako, it's like an almost "normal" family activity. Speaking of, the family respects you a lot (you can bet that some of them even have a certain crush on you, but they don't say it out of respect for Geto). Similarly to Gojo, he really likes to buy you things that he thinks you might like or would like to see you wear, traditional and fine clothing, sweet food, if you have a favorite hobby you probably have special materials, etc.

mortally protective, although he includes you in his plans, at the first sign that something is wrong he will go straight to protect you (or kill whatever endangers you). and he has a lot of experience with your situation, so he is the king of comfort. GOD FORGET THE SORCERERS TO COME FOR YOU, he may be making exceptions to his rule-- Overall, he loves you more than anything, he will make sure to take good care of you and give you all the love, appreciation and luxury that you deserve.

Shares, reblogs, and comments are very welcome!

Soon i will make a Platonic versión!! Love ya❤️

[otomes-and-tears]

Wondering what your thoughts and opinions are on the rest of the jerk squad boys, especially Nate?

Know that asking me this was a mistake because I’m RABID for them. I’m FOAMING at the mouth and shaking just at being asked to ramble about my boys because I am plagued by thoughts of them that I’m absolutely going to unleash upon you now.

This is not going to be coherent at all. I apologise for that.

By the way— since I already talk about Shiloh way too much, he’s not going to have his little section here. If you want to see my rambles about him, please check my masterlist!

I’m probably going to talk about Jeremy separately because…. I actually haven’t finished his route. It’s the only one that’s left.

Since you asked about him first, Nate is one of my favourite boys. I have a special place in my heart for him because he kind of reminds me of my girlfriend, and I do think that his dynamic with JB is one of the most entertaining in the bunch. He’s always snapping back at her and it’s so fucking funny. Every time they’re out together I keep getting this mental image of JB being strapped in a baby leash with Nate trailing behind her like an exhausted parent.

Like Shiloh, he’s also a character that I think about a LOT, particularly about the way he handles (or does not handle) his emotions and his obsessive need to have control over everything around him.

I think it’s really telling that Nate continuously strives for perfection and frequently neglects his own emotional needs when he practically raised himself, admittedly saw the school as his home, and when we know for a fact that he was seen and treated as a mini-adult throughout his life.

Like, you cannot tell me he wasn’t praised endlessly as a child for being independent and self-sufficient and then when he grew older people were constantly exasperated that he was too independent and didn’t know when to ask for help when needed! Nate is probably endlessly confused as to why something that was touted as being such a good trait for a good portion of his life suddenly became a problem.

Anyways, I think it’s kind of tragic how he spent most of his life at that school and I legit teared up when they graduated. It’s also very sweet how despite being a perv and living to make him uncomfortable, JB is surprisingly respectful of his boundaries regarding physical touch and doesn’t push him to kiss or hug her. Yeah, she teases him about missing the perfect moment but she’s happy to let him decide when he’s ready to do all of that!

It’s also nice that she tries to support him, even if she isn’t exactly good at it. SHE’S TRYING HER BEST BC THEY LEGIT LIKE EACH OTHER EVEN IF THEY BOTH HAVE ISSUES!!

Regarding Everett… I didn’t expect to like his route as much as I did, but he has SO MUCH ANGST POTENTIAL.

Like, his whole relationship with Nate? The fact that he’s a momma’s boy?? HE WAS REJECTED BY PRAN In like, the WORST way possible??

It’s just, chef’s kiss. A whole lotta angst wrapped inside a tiny, hipster-shaped package. Pure perfection.

My only issue with his route is that the whole time, I felt like JB was getting in between him and Nate. This is my headcanon, but I feel like after high school, if JB and Everett don’t immediately have an explosive, dramatic breakup there are only two possible routes: either he leaves her for Nate or they add Nate into the mix.

I’m sorry, but no other alternatives compute for me, not after their conversation in the tunnel of love. That shit goes way past just a codependent friendship.

I think I’ve mentioned this once before but Bae is likely my second favorite jerksquad guy. I can’t really explain why his condescension is so funny to me, but it might be because my favorite parts of the game were the group meetings and Bae’s borderline paternalistic attitude towards the other characters (because he’s mAtURE and knows what’s best for them) and his sarcasm made for some really great dialogue and some of the funniest scenes in my opinion.

Just as a side note— I played xoxo blood droplets and Bae’s route made me realize how much potential he has to be a yandere in an au! And now that I’m thinking about this I NEED to write about it. Even if it’s just headcanons or something.

I love him in game. I’d probably throw hands with him three minutes into a conversation if he existed IRL. I sent my girlfriend screenshots of his sons of his scenes while I played and she said that I was a bit like him. It made me reevaluate my life LOL

Okay so, I’m going to be real with you: Pran is my least favorite of the boys. I’ll admit that when I played through his route last year I kept complaining about not having that much fun and not liking him a lot as a character. My view changed as I got to the end of the game:

Pran’s is still my least favorite route but he’s one of the most interesting guys to analyze.

In the end, even if it took me a bit to get into it, I still ended up enjoying it immensely anyway.

I think what made me dislike him at first was that, ironically, I think that Pran as a character works best in group scenes. He’s a contrarian and he’s very quiet most of the time, which makes his very occasional interjections some of the funniest moments in the meetings, but that’s also why I didn’t find his dates as fun LOL

I think that with the other characters I had a better time because how they played off JB during their dates, while with Pran it was funny to see JB trying so hard to engage with him or get a rise out of him just for him to barely react (and it makes the instances where she does manage to catch him off guard very rewarding) on the first few times, but it started to get old for me. There’s only so many times I can hear him say no, and that he doesn’t care before it gets annoying.

For me the highlight of his route was seeing Shiloh have a weird, one-sided beef with him. Shiloh pretends to like everyone but this is where he draws the line apparently 😭

Anyways, you might be wondering why I said he’s one of my favourites to analyse if I didn’t have much fun playing through his route. That’s mostly because of his backstory, which I genuinely find to be fascinating.

He’s basically a textbook example of avoidant attachment, which is due to the severe neglect he suffered as a child. Honestly, I could make a whole post about this alone if anyone is interested.

That coupled with having to adopt a mentality where nothing he ever did or said was ever right, because either his parents or grandparents would get upset, which led to him always being quiet or choosing the contrarian option, and you get a pretty fascinating character to think about. It’s interesting to examine his relationships through this lense: it makes complete sense that Pran has a difficult time engaging with JB and connecting to her emotional needs. The few relationships he has maintained exist out of necessity! And he tries so hard to push her away, in the same way he pushed everyone else away, but she just refuses to leave. Refuses to accept defeat. She’s fully determined to figure him out and make their weirdass relationship work and it’s something I admire JB for. That girl is a TROOPER.

[selpide]

a long, confusing, existential introduction

i have noticed there's a proportion of us humans who seem to have a tendency to look for the essence of things

an obsession, some would say

(some would be right)

minimalism, others will state

(other will be wrong)

(there's nothing small about this search)

i am a number of this proportion, you see

everything i do, i try to undress it to the bones

find the skeleton

trace the carcass

what's the closest i can get to one truth before it burns my skin alive?

that's where i like it

that's where i live

a nomad in the borderland of skulls

there's some holy serenity in being able to go the distance

that distance

i went that distance yesterday

i have trouble putting into words what i do

and what i do is who i am

so i spend an unhealthy (what is healthy anyways?) amount of time in this so-called minimalist search for the most precise arrangement of letters to make other people understand what my ego claims as hers

i am a writer

that is without a doubt

the first thing i have ever been

the last thing i will ever be

let's set aside the clearness and focus on the blurry lines

i am a singer

(i make songs)

am i a singer?

i am a cinematographer

(i am an audiovisual communication graduate)

am i a cinematographer?

do i deserve to claim myself as part of these guilds, these collectives, these ideas, these concepts, these communities, these archetypes, these

words

do i deserve to be called by any of these perfect words?

when you are called by your name

even if you know you are not your name

(you are not some letters nor their sound

you are flesh and blood and bones and maybe, if we are all lucky, a soul

however

when this name is called upon)

you answer

as if you were synonyms

as if meaning and symbol became lost within each other until becoming one and the same

so when someone says

"writer"

and i turn my head

when i jump at the sound

when my brain has already done the job — and i cannot escape my fate — the fate my brain has woven for myself — when someone calls for a writer and i raise my hand

do meaning and symbol get mixed up just the same?

this is where it got heavy for me

do i deserve to claim the same name as every single person who came before me, and whom i admire, and whom i respect, and whom i couldn't dare to offend (them nor the rest of the world) by suggesting we may belong to a somewhat similar category?

but then again

names

words

why should anyone be worthy of a title? surnames are given. they come to us by birth. like it or not, they're part of our identity — they give information on who we are — be it by acceptance or denial — be it by proximity or self-made walls — opposite or mirror — we don't need to deserve our surnames. they are us and we are them.

am i a singer?

yes

am i a cinematographer?

yes

i first was a songwriter — a writer of songs. then i discovered i could sing them. badly. but they were sung. less badly. and they kept on being sung. less less badly. and then i discovered i could put my own music into them. i once met kim yerim on the streets of madrid. i handed her a piece of paper with the lyrics of my song written on them. and she spoke these words: "so you are a producer? you are a composer?". and it was a conversation, and she was looking at me in the eyes, and so i answered. i said: "yes". and it was as simple as that. because it is true. i produce songs. i compose songs.

i am a producer.

sunghyuk said i already am a producer.

and it is as simple as that.

so i write songs. and i sing them. and i produce them. and that's all too long to fit a social media bio, isn't it?

so what am i?

a music maker

i am a music maker

i first was a scriptwriter — a writer of scripts. then i discovered writing scripts was too boring for me. there is only so much you can control about a story with a script. movies have so much more to them. movies move. so i started editing videos. turns out i have an eye for that. rhythm. that's all it is, really. i have an inner metronome. i can sense patterns. i can repeat them. i am a little clock pedaling backwards and onwards and to whichever direction has the beat that pulses the brightest. but you can't edit a blank screen — you need images. and there is only so much you can control about a story when images aren't yours. so i got myself a camera. a little green sony point and shoot, y2k excellency, all digital grain and untreated saturation and pixelated zoom. then another camera. a little red sony handycam that, as i write this, is on the cabinet under the tv of this apartment in the middle of another continent that i moved to three months ago

(i got this camera when i was 14)

(i think it might be my favorite camera)

then another one

then another one

then you know how it goes

i became a videographer

but these cameras could take pictures too, right?

pictures are so beautiful

i became a photographer

this kind of motion got be so obsessed i could not picture myself doing anything in this life that didn't rely on its cadence

so i got into college and i majored in film

(it's not film)

(you can't major in film in spain)

(not in university)

(so i got into audiovisual communication)

(you can major in audiovisual communication in spain)

(in university)

(i specialized in film)

(i wrote a film script as my final degree thesis)

(i ended up working as a scriptwriter)

(i am, as of today, a scripwriter)

(i miss my red sony handicam)

(i miss the colors)

i miss the motion

i direct my own music videos

i keep a record of my own life

i can't escape live photographs nor still movement

there's so many information in there

how can you shorten that up for a social media bio?

a filmmaker?

but does that sum up everything?

i don't think so

so what am i?

an image maker

i am an image maker

let's get back to words

because i am a writer

that's the only one i savor between my teeth

every letter is mine to say, mine to keep, mine to pray, mine for me

a writer

but what does a writer do?

letters are the smallest piece of a writer's craft

but we are not letter makers

same happens with words

we work with them

we don't create them

(not all the time)

(not as a summary of our duty and routine)

(words are not the word)

it's sentences

i guess that's it

that's just how minimalist it can get

so what am i?

a sentence maker

i am a sentence maker

i am a music, image and sentence maker

but what is music?

what are images?

what are sentences?

art

i am an artist

yes,

but

but

(always a but)

aren't they all languages?

i am a translator

aren't they all symbols?

i am a speaker of metaphors

aren't they all unexplainable ?

i am a magician

aren't they all but a beautiful attempt to capture, to portray, to preserve, to understand, to celebrate, to blame, to share

life

itself?

i am a life curator

(it's funny

i have a song about this

i scrambled some of its lyrics around

i love clues and riddles and the silly breadcrumbs some humans leave for others to find in hopes of making their everyday a little more adventurous

i hope someone someday finds this funny

i hope someone someday

thinks of this

as an adventure)

this is me

sélpide

life curator, writer and magician

welcome to the museum

i hope you find yourself inside here

[taking-thyme]

My experiences with my Deities so far

Apollo: I’ve found that Apollo just likes to show up and sit with you places. It’s his way of checking in on you. One of my friends actually did a tarot and pendulum reading for me and Apollo apparently recognized me as one of his children which, like, holy shit dude. But seriously, Apollo is super loving. He’s always just kind of around, either because you feel his energy or you see crows and ravens basically everywhere. He also has a very protective energy, I feel like he would get super mad if any of his devotees are mistreated, which definitely fits with his myths. It’s super cliché but the only way to describe how you feel with connecting with him is sunny. My body feels a lot lighter and almost like it’s glowing, and I feel more at peace. This applies to most deities, but you really get the sense with Apollo that he wants you to feel good and he’ll do whatever he can to make that happen. Also he’s fuckin gorgeous. And he really likes apples for offerings, he always asks for them. 

Artemis: Artemis has such a cool energy. I feel like she’s that badass older sister that leans against walls and gives really damn good advice. When I connect with Artemis I just feel way cooler than before, like I can take on anything. Like I could fight any man and win. But don’t get me wrong, she definitely has a softer side. She’s adamant about me taking care of myself and doesn’t want anything bad to happen to me. I deal with a lot of terrible anxiety, and she’s always super reassuring that nothing will happen to me and if it does, she will smite something. Artemis gives me confidence. I also feel really called to help wildlife when I connect with her, which is fitting of course. She has some of the most protective energy out of all my deities - they all love and protect me of course, but Artemis is the most adamant about it. Probably because she knows that helps with my anxiety. I don’t know man, she’s just so badass and supportive and reassuring. She also likes apples. I also get the vibes that the Greek Gods can be a little more vague with their answers than the Norse or Celtic pantheons, but not in a bad way, just in a “you need to figure this out yourself” way, which I can respect and appreciate. 

Cernunnos: Has an incredibly wise and ancient energy. I've found he's very clear with what he wants during tarot readings, he will tell you exactly what you need to work on and do. Cernunnos is also very adamant about self care, probably because I don't do it enough, oops. He has this rule where, if you take something from the earth, you must give something back. Like when you pluck a flower, say thank you or water the ground where it stood. It takes a bit to get into the swing of doing that but you'll have such a better relationship with the land once you do. Whenever I connect with him I feel so much calmer and level-headed than usual. He's also very insistent that I meditate more often. 

(He wanted me to use this picture lmao I love him)

Thor: 100% the deity I feel most casual with. Every time I make an offering or connect with him, I immediately feel so much more chill and laid back. We make jokes with each other a lot. Also he's the biggest hype man of my entire life. If there's a major life event going on, he will send a storm or some thunder to let you know he's with you. At my High School graduation there was a lightning storm in the distance and on my last day of school he sent me a truly apocalyptic looking storm to show his support. Also, and I don’t know if this is just me, but Thor is also a massive flirt. He will compliment you and likes to be flattered right back. That seems to be a running trend with the Norse gods, they like being flattered. But they, and especially Thor, absolutely return the favor.

[gatheringbones]

[“December 1992: Fire flickers in the fireplace, colored lights circle the Christmas tree, a Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack plays from the corner stereo. Mom, Dad, Julian, and my very significant other, corwin, are seated on couches and loveseats, piles of wrapping and bows at our feet, piles of gifts in our laps. Mom is holding one of my gifts to her in her hands and reading what it says on the back. It is a slim gray book, barely bigger than a pamphlet, really, bearing the title Telepaths Don’t Need Safewords. This little chapbook is my first significant work of fiction, I feel. It is three erotic short stories, all with themes of bondage and SM, which I have collected and self-published under the new company, founded that March, Circlet Press.

This has been a year of change, as drastic perhaps as the year I moved out of the house and went to college. This year I quit my job in publishing and entered a graduate writing program, founded a press, and made my first professional fiction sales. I’ve sold one story to the Herotica 3 anthology, one to Penthouse. My mom knows this, I’ve told her everything, and yet…it has taken me eight months to give her a copy of the book. It’s Christmas Eve, and corwin sits in our family circle, looking over his gifts, laughing at my father’s jokes, joking with my brother. No one mentions, or notices perhaps, that he wears a leather collar around his neck.

May 1993: I picture my mother in the same position with the same expression, on stool, phone held to head with two hands, worry line and so on, as she leaves me a tense-sounding answering machine message. Nothing in the words themselves says that anything is wrong, and yet there’s an unmistakable edge there, not heard since a rainy car ride in 1985. I know, with an unnatural surety, that she has finally read the book. I call her back. She has clearly been rehearsing what to say to me. No sooner does she mention that she has read it than she produces a very tough monologue about how she didn’t spend her youth fighting for civil rights in the South to have me grow up to glorify slavery. Once this piece is said, she relaxes, and, since I can’t think of an adequate response, our conversation goes on to be like most of our phone conversations. We talk politics and pop culture, she catches me up on hometown gossip. Then she begins to complain about my father. Mother’s Day has just passed, and they’ve had a fight—Mom wishes she’d had certain issues out with him when they were newlyweds. She has almost thirty years of stored-up resentments over things she didn’t mention then, and so is unable to mention now. Our commiseration somehow leads me to describe the principle of negotiation, this being the basis of all loving SM relationships. I point out that the purpose of negotiation is to overcome the sad fact that partners, no matter how much they love one another, can not read each other’s minds.Each one is obligated to tell the other what they feel, otherwise consent has no meaning. I end with a leap of logic along the lines of, “So that’s why I feel that my eroticization of SM has to do with trust and respect for a special bond between two individuals, and nothing to do with the subjugation of one race of people by another for economic reasons.” Mom—who is, remember, extremely rational and well-adjusted���replies, “Oh. I get it now.” We’ve never argued about it since.”]

cecelia tan, from picture this, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[yaboysafttheenby]

I have found a song, that some parts kinda fit Sofia or is it just me? (I respect you if you think not, but I personally think it does)

You'll be alright, kid by Alex Warren

I wish I had the number to my younger self

I′d pick up the phone and say, "You're only twelve

And you′ve lost more than most people do."

You don't know it now, but there's still more to lose.

(For obvious reasons. But let's replace 'I wish I had a number' to 'I wish I could send a letter' and remove the 'pick up the phone and say' and replace it with 'I'd give the letter and it will say' to make it fit Sofia's era.

'You're only twelve and you've lost more than most people do', REALLY fits Sofia in my image, she literally lost her freaking childhood due to becoming a protector! But, it's actually more appropriate if we make twelve to eight as Sofia was eight at the start of the show/the movie pilot

'You don't know it now, but there's still more to lose', you can see alot of things but I see is that at first, Sofia only lost her father, and only had her two bestfriends and her mom to -hopefully not- lose. But after becoming a princess, she has more friends, siblings, a new father, and a whole kingdom to be worried about losing due to being protector an princess.)

′Cause friends move away, and people get older

Your heart′s gonna break over and over

You're not to blame, so don′t blame yourself

I hope this helps.

('Cause friends move away', of course in "Forever Royal" we see the kids graduating Royal Prep, and while I doubt they'll drift. It will become hard to see eachother often. Since I believe they'll be going to different schools.

'And people get older', as of "Once upon a princess"/ Sofia the First pilot, Sofia is eight. And by "Forever Royal" she's twelve. And those years, Sofia slowly lost her innocence, getting trauma. Plus herself and everyone around her aged.

'Your heart's gonna break over and over', like seriously, the poor girl gets trauma plus Amber betraying Sofia I believe atleast more then once and Cedric scheming behind her back and to betray her aswell, at least both made it up to her :)

'You're not to blame, so don't blame yourself, I hope this helps', Sofia will definitely try to stay positive.)

You're gonna ask, "Why?"

You′re gonna want answers

Gonna feel like no one ever understands you

You're gonna think twice before you start praying

And wonder when the walls stop caving

Hate to be the one to tell you this

But you′ll be alright, kid

('You're gonna ask, "Why?", you're gonna want anwsers' Cause season 1-2 Sofia gave me a curious child figuring out what being royal's all about hah! Get the pun? I know.....I'm lame😭 vibe.

'Gonna feel like no one ever understands you' because, Sofia had to keep being storykeeper and protector in training a secret -save Amber finding out later in the seasons, Amber does somewhat get Sofia. But I have a feeling Amber doesn't fully get it-.

'You're gonna think twice before you start praying, and wonder when the walls start to stop caving'. I personally see the walls caving as responsibilities placed on Sofia. And the gonna think twice before you start praying is because Sofia knows it's NEVER gonna stop.

'Hate to be the one telling you this, but you'll be alright kid'. Sofia feels....mixed about the fact no one has thought to say those things, and she is thinking it herself.

I'm totally not making an animatic/edit about this song and Sofia in my head 👀 :)

[strawberryblondebutch]

i’m not sure if kirby’s relationships with her classmates in scream 4 is as interesting a topic as her dynamics with the core four but if you have any thoughts i would love to hear them!! ❤️ jill charlie olivia and robbie and all of them

Ahhh this is a fun question! I'm going to be pulling somewhat shamelessly from my fic i'll be your dead bird, you'll be my bloodhound because it gets into a lot of my main headcanons about them! Also because I love that fic and more people should read it

Let's get the cat out of the bag right from the start: she was in love with Jill. We all joke about her surviving a codependent homoerotic teenage friendship, but that's what that was, without a doubt. Jill was her first love, her first kiss (they had to practice. for boys), and the person that she always, always wanted to protect. She totally accepted that she was the sidekick, that her main role in life was to lift up Jill Roberts.

As a consequence of that, she always hated Trevor. Had literally no idea what her best friend saw in the guy. Okay, sure, he's conventionally attractive, but he has all the personality of a napkin drifting in the wind under a freeway. However, Jill was the most important thing, so she kept her opinions to herself when they were actually dating and only got to be a bitch once the cheating allegations came to light.

Similarly, there was a childhood jealousy of Olivia. Jill and Olivia were best friends first because they were neighbors, so they went on neighbor playdates. Ironically, while Jill's interest in boys created friction in the friend group, when Olivia started dating, it was a relief, because she was no longer the immediate competition.

Now, did Jill actually love her back? Insomuch as she was capable of loving anyone, maybe. She liked the attention that she was getting, absolutely. That's maybe the most honesty we can ask for.

Robbie and Kirby have such an interesting dynamic to explore. Based on the casting call for Kirby and everything else about her, I think it's pretty clear that Olivia and Jill were the popular ones, and Kirby's social status was dependent on her being in with them, because otherwise she's just as much of a dork as the Cinema Club guys. There's a bit of self-reflection through the other with Robbie that lends her to keep her distance, be more sardonic towards him, because anything else might cause her place to slip. She pities him.

Charlie was the last person to join their little social web -- they obviously didn't meet until high school ("4 years of classes together," etc.) Now, you know how pairs of people tend to happen? Jill was dating Trevor, Robbie was head over heels for Olivia, that left Charlie and Kirby.

Enter the most toxic lesbian/straight man dynamic, a universal experience for those of us who graduated high school in the 2010s. You meet a guy who shares some of your interests. You realize he's kind of a pompous dick about it. You grow to hate his guts. Through the shadow of heteronormativity, everyone thinks this is flirty bickering, but you genuinely hate this man.

Bisexual Kirby truthers, I see you and I respect you, but I don't see it. At no point before the almost-kiss does anything register beyond "jfc can you go be annoying somewhere else." Now, drunk and realizing that she might die and that she's fallen behind all her peer's social benchmarks, here's when comphet sneaks in, tells her, Hey, this boy is interested in you. You don't want to die a total loser, do you?

The inherent tragedy of Kirby Reed: knowing that your place in the school's social hierarchy is entirely dependent on the whims of the girl you happen to be in love with, who all the time is chiding you about the boy you should like

[ravennasgf]

LL: the new headmistress

Tw: talks about SH, panic attacks, ED

If someone asked what your relationship with Lady Leonora Lesso was you’d honestly have no idea what to tell them.

Having gone to school at the same time, you didn’t fit into just one school. You were in between. So you’d attended both schools, rooming with Clarissa Dovey when at the school for good and Leonora Lesso when at the school for evil. 

During those years you grew really close to them becoming best friends with the both of them. Graduating at the same time was a wonderful memory you treasured. Dovey and Lesso appointed deans of their respective schools, you were beyond happy and proud of and for them. You became a teacher music at the school for good and sword fighting teacher at the school for evil. 

Once you’d become teachers things changed. You’d managed to keep your friend dovey but with Lesso well that was another story. From comforting you through panic attacks, nightmares, relapses (SH) and working through your eating problems to throwing them back in your face but only if the two of you were alone to making you feel worthless and so much more. Then to constant arguing and bickering. 

You tried so hard not to fight with her. Learnt to ignore the hurtful things she said as much as possible it was killing you. Literally. You’d relapsed with self harm and eating again. So once the school year ended you decided to take a year off for many reasons.

y/n POV

My year off had come to an end. Entering the school bombarded by Dovey embracing me in a tight hug, leading me to her office she catches me up on what happened. 

“So you’re telling me that Rafal was back and no one thought I should know so I could come back and help?” 

“Well you were taking time off…”

“Clarissa, I would’ve come back,”

“Nothing too bad happened, it got sorted so don’t worry,” 

We catch up talking about the merging of the schools. 

“So since the merging of the schools there are a number of students that don’t fit into a particular school they fit in the middle. So we want to to create a third school for the in between.”

“That’s a great idea,”

“Glad that you agree now the only thing is to find a dean for it,”

“Well who do you have in mind,” 

“Well you… you attended both schools you have a good understanding of what they’d be feeling.”

“Dovey, if you think it’s a good idea then i’ll do it,” 

“Oh, thank you y/n. So there will be a mix of dorms the in between castle is being built. The in betweens with attend all lessons mixed with the other schools.”

“Sounds good”

“With the head master turning out to be Rafal Lesso and myself believe that there are two options. 1. Being the three deans work together as one to run the school or option 2. Due to you being the dean of the between you have a middle ground on which you can run the school.”

“The storian wrote these options didn’t she?”

“Yes,” 

“Can you think about it?” 

“Of course, now let’s talk about your trip,”

And we do. After a few hours she leaves me to rest. I have a week before i have to tell dovey my decision. 

I then come up with an idea we can try all three of us but if we don’t get along then we go back to only having me. I’ll make sure to mention it to Clarissa tomorrow. I get ready for bed exhausted from the day. 

Pt 2 is out

[twistedtummies2]

Top 15 Portrayals of Raoul (ALW’s Phantom)

“The Phantom of the Opera” closes in two days on Broadway, and I’m still here to give my second favorite musical the honor it deserves! I’m counting down my favorite performers who have played the three key roles of the show. Yesterday, I presented my favorite people who have played Christine Daae. Today, I move on to the next major part: Raoul, Vicomte de Chagny.

Raoul is a character who, even more than Christine, I feel gets a bad rap. He’s the least popular and well-respected of the three main characters; his goals, motivations, and personality are the most simple and altruistic of the three, and as a result he’s often perceived as the least interesting. People tend to gravitate more towards Christine’s many dilemmas, or the tortured and haunting darkness of the Phantom himself, than the seemingly more whitebread Raoul. It’s telling that in the sequel to Phantom, “Love Never Dies” (by the way, I’ve ONLY been considering the first show, not that one, too, in my choices here, at least as much as possible), Raoul is actually changed into one of the main VILLAINS of the story…which, in my opinion, is both nonsensical and a total show of unwarranted contempt for his character. While it is true that Raoul is the least layered character of the three, I think he works because he serves as an interesting counterpoint to the Phantom. Like the Phantom, Raoul is deeply in love with Christine and admires her voice. But while the Phantom has lived a life of torment in the shadows, Raoul has effectively been raised with a silver spoon: he’s a generally optimistic, outgoing, wealthy young man. In fact, at times it seems Raoul is a bit…slow, shall we say? I wouldn’t say he’s stupid, outright, but I feel that part of the character a lot of people don’t realize is that he’s not necessarily the brightest bulb in the bunch, certainly not when compared to the Phantom. But what makes Raoul so wonderful is that, while the Phantom represents all sorts of complexities and tragedies and decadent possibilities…Raoul represents something simple: pure and wholesome goodness. His love for Christine seems absolutely honest and untainted, and the fact he’s rich never really seems to be something he lords over anybody. He doesn’t try to bribe people, he doesn’t try to use his money as something to flaunt, it just…exists. He’s someone who wears his heart on his sleeve, and he’s still willing to take risks and go to great lengths to help those he cares about most. There’s nothing WRONG with Raoul, at the end of the day; he only seems to be “less interesting” because the other characters have so much else going on. Raoul’s motivations and goals are simple: all he wants is to help and protect Christine. He loves her, and he is willing to go to any length to keep her safe and make her happy. There is nothing selfish or self-righteous in his soul. Something interesting about a lot of the actors who have played Raoul best over the years is that they often seem to “graduate” to playing the Phantom later down the line. This isn’t ALWAYS the case, but you will see several examples of that between this list and the one for the Phantom, which shall be done tomorrow. This isn’t always the case, however; what makes a great Raoul doesn’t necessarily have anything to do with the Phantom, they simply have to be people who understand who he really is and why he is such a good character in this tale. Once again, this will be a description-less list (just names and pictures). With that said, here are My Top 15 Portrayals of Raoul from Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Phantom of the Opera!

15. Byron Nease.

14. Killian Donnelly.

13. John Riddle.

12. Rhys Whitfield.

11. Simon Bailey.

10. Tim Martin Gleason.

9. John Cudia.

8. Reece Holland. (Yep. The March Hare played Raoul. I was pretty surprised, myself.)

7. Ramin Karimloo.

6. Michael Ball.

5. Steve Barton.

4. Hadley Fraser. (I actually used to dislike his Raoul, and I don’t really know why. Nowadays I think he’s great.)

3. John Barrowman.

2. Andrew Ragone.

1. Patrick Wilson. (Not sure how popular this opinion is, but it is the hill I choose to die on.)

Tomorrow: My Favorite Portrayals of the Phantom!

[helshollowhalls]

Personal Rant about the current situation

I fucking hate it here. Not Depressed Nousagi remarking that the inclusion of Millie's and Enna's info in the document from Selen's lawyer might be hinting towards them being the bullies.

Obviously, I don't know Millie in person. And it's probably better that way to be completely real for a second.

But I only have four oshis - Zentreya, Vesper, Fulgur and Millie and Millie is my kamioshi.

Vesper graduated/presumably didn't sign another contract with Cover (that's fine he's still active online so idc), Fulgur and Millie are in Niji (which currently is the equivalent of having a fucking bomb chained to your damn foot) and Zen... Zen is the only one doing okay apart from probably being really sad and shaken by Yunii's upcoming graduation.

I just... I have trouble imagining Millie bullying anyone. From all that I have seen of her, she's such a kind and well-meaning person. I get the impression that she'd rather saw off her own arm than consciously hurt anyone else. A little bit unhinged sometimes and definitely in need of a good therapist, yes, but aren't we all?

Imagining Enna or Finana bullying someone? I hate to say it but not outside the realm of possibilities. But Millie? Please say sike.

I speak from personal experience that it's so easy to slip into becoming a bully once you're being bullied yourself... and judging from Millie talking about her childhood and experiences in school she definitely didn't get off the hook without any damages and scars, but I choose to believe that she's better than me in that regard. And if it turns out to be wrong, well then it's my fault for being a fucking dumbass and assuming things about people on the internet.

I don't even know what she would gain from bullying Selen. Favor with management? What's the point. Ethyria is the unloved and sidelined middle child of the family and Niji doesn't give a damn. LazuLight is the first wave, Obsydia had Selen, Ethyria... Exists... And then immediately there's the cash cow of the English branch, Luxiem.

Luxiem is the favorite child, LazuLight the first one so they get a little more attention and before Selen got terminated Obsydia had her going for them. As for Ethyria... Nina never compared to Selen in earnings, Reimu is left to rot in a ditch, Enna is used for song promotions and the likes because she has a good voice and it's convenient and Millie tries to make the best out of her situation.

And I personally think her defending the company is for one based on her relative inexperience in the corporate vtubing scene (she was an indie before. Niji is the only corpo she's experienced so she doesn't really have anything to compare it to besides shitty minimum wage retail jobs), her choosing to believe in the best in everyone and her frustrating lack of self-esteem (which can lead to allowing others to walk all over you). She does deserve to be supported and get opportunities just like anyone in Luxiem, hell like anyone in Hololive or VShojo. She's a talented entertainer and streamer and I wish her nothing but the best.

At the end of it all, she's entitled to her own opinion and I respect that, even if I don't think her truth is the end all be all and don't agree. But if management isn't outright pounding her into the ground every three to five business days as they did with so many other livers I'm glad. I doubt all managers in Niji are assholes. Some just try to make the best of a very fucked situation. But the fact that some livers get the bare fucking minimum when the bar is the ground and Riku "Yacht" Tazumi brought a damn excavator, doesn't mean that it's okay or god forbid, good. You should do better. You need to do better. No talent deserves this treatment.

At this point everything just feels like one menhera tattling on the other - Yes, news youtubers and even myself included. Depressed Nousagi isn't really hiding the fact that he's mentally ill. I'm not going to sugarcoat this, my mental health is down the drain as well and I'm living with the consequences. This entire situation is so messed up.

Please don't harrass any of the livers. Bullying and threats aren't going to get us anywhere and in the end all of them are at the mercy of the company in regards to what they can or can't do. And everyone's situation is different. Maybe Niji is the first time they ever had this much money or a semi-stable income at all. Maybe the only other option besides Niji when it comes to getting a job is a fucking gig at Target, Starbucks or Hollister. Or social security. Maybe graduation isn't an option because being out of a job might mean the immediate loss of home, access to insurance or vital medical care and mental health care or not being able to support family and/or pets anymore.

I wish every liver the best and hope that everyone gets the help they need. And most of all, I wish for Niji to fucking rethink and improve their marketing, overall internal structure and business decisions. For the love of God.

[yourkimjaejin]

Old Acquaintances, New Friends

‼️Trigger Warning‼️ for negative thoughts and descriptions of panic attacks

Legend ~ January 6, 2017 - Backstage at Music Bank

Moxy felt her heart pounding and it wouldn’t stop. 

I can do that move in my sleep. How could I mess up now!?! Moxy thought. Mechanically she went through the paces of bowing to her seniors. Allowing the makeup noonas to touch up her foundation with a shade lighter than her own, then moving to the green room to wait until the award ceremony came. 

The rest of the members spread out Some reaching for water and personal fans, some sprawling across one of the couches lining the room, others stripping off their outer layers

Moxy just sat in the middle of the chaos, no one noticing how her hands were starting to shake. Eyes beginning to tear up. Her leg bouncing up and down. Try as she might to keep the breakdown in, Moxy felt it bubbling to the surface. She thought about burying herself into Johnny or Doyoung’s side but she didn’t want to take their time away from members they were clearly closer to. 

They’ll never choose you over them

Your just the tag along

The fans are gonna rip you to shreds.

You might as well pack your things up now.

They don’t want you

They’ll never accept you. 

Just admit it. There's NCT 127 and then there’s you. The little girl about to cry over a tiny fumble on her first music show performance

Moxy shot up, her breaths picking up as she walked to the door. 

“Where are you going?” Taeyong's voice startled her. Tears almost spilled over. Carefully keeping her voice steady she said,

“I just need some air.” 

“You better be back for the award ceremony. We can’t be late waiting for you if you get lost.” Moxy didn’t see but Doyoung and Johnny were giving Taeyong looks urging him to chill out. 

Moxy huffed. “I won't be late.” With that the door slammed shut behind her. Walking down a level, the quiet met her. Moxy slipped into an empty green room. She walked over to the opposite wall, sliding down until her butt met the floor. Moxy buried her face between her hands trying to shrink as small as she could go. 

Tear drops. Sniffles. Sobs. 

Moxy couldn’t stop. All the feelings she’s kept bottled up bursting into pieces. Leaving her overwhelmed with no way to calm down. The self deprecating thoughts stuck in her mind. Shouting at her. Making everything worse. Her hands began shaking again. Breathing became difficult again. Time seemed to slow in a haze of panic. 

Until someone sat next to her. And then another person joined, locking Moxy in on both sides. One hand slipped between her own interlocking fingers together. Another hand rubbing circles into her back. Nobody spoke. Just stayed by her side until the tide washed away.

Once Moxy felt her breathing return to normal, she looked up expecting Doyoung and Johnny. Who she saw were two Korean girls in costume like hers (well not like her. Moxy was dressed like a dude and these girls were in beautiful dresses). One she recognized. 

“Dayoung-ah?” 

“Hi Gyeongie. I thought it was you! I almost second guessed myself. I didn’t see your hair.” 

Moxy and Dayoung met a SOPA. They were in the same class but didn’t run in the same friend groups. Once they graduated, they both went their separate ways. Moxy continued her training with SM. Dayoung went to Starship and went on to debut with WJSN.

“I didn’t know you were training to be an idol.” Moxy wiped some of the tear tracks from her face when Dayoung’s friends handed her a tissue. 

“Yeah I debuted with WJSN a couple months before NCT. So you better show me the proper respect.” That got Moxy to laugh, playfully shoving Dayoung. “This is one of my members, Yeoreum. We heard someone crying and went to investigate. Are you ok?” Dayoung asked. 

“I….I messed up. I know these moves backward and forward. Every day I feel like I’m skating on thin ice. One wrong move and I’m drowning. My members hate me……I don't know how much more I can take.” 

Moxy kept folding the tissue between her hands, avoiding eye contact with the two girls

“I know we don’t know each other that well but I saw your group performance. I barely even noticed your slipup. I was too focused your dancing.” Moxy and Dayoung giggled at Yeoreum’s confession. “I’M SERIOUS! You were amazing. Stories about you used to float around SOPA. ALL the dance teachers thought you chose the wrong major. Seeing what I saw today confirmed it for me.” The onslaught of compliments was making Moxy blush.

“On the subject of your members. Give them time. You being added was a timeline they weren’t prepared for. Now in a couple months if things haven’t changed let us know. We’ll sick Exy unnie on them. She’ll set them straight.” Now that got a genuine laugh from Moxy. 

Yeoreum got up. She held her hand out to help the other two up. Together the girls helped Moxy make sense of her hair and makeup before going back out to stage for the award ceremony. Before the girls could split up, they all exchanged numbers. Promising to keep in contact. Moxy made it back to 127’s room right as the members were being guided to the main stage. With a quick head nod, Doyoung and Johnny’s worries were assuaged. The two brought her in front of them, keeping her safe in the middle of 127’s line of members. 

On the stage, Moxy bowed to the WJSN members. Dayoung reached out and slapped her arm. The three girls laughed with each other while Moxy’s other members looked around at each other, puzzled.

/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\/\

Taglist: @alixnsuperstxr

New friends for Moxy in WJSN's Dayoung and Yeoreum!! Hope you enjoyed this post. Stay tuned for more! ~ Author Izzy

[testajuliejane]

20 Something Woes

Lately, I’ve been reflecting on how common it is for people in their late 20s, like myself, and early 30s, to feel overwhelmed by criticisms. I often wonder: am I too reactive, or maybe even overreacting, when people criticize me? One memory that stands out is when I was maligned and slandered by a coworker, someone much older, who seemed to take a particular disliking to me. She was a middle-aged, single woman, and for some reasons including a very low emotional intelligence, low self-esteem, and extreme insecurities, treated me with disdain when I was just starting out at 23.

That hateful, envious spirit propagated among the members of her like-minded circle. Before long, the jealous sentiments of other disgruntled co-workers began to surface, each expressing their own frustrations in countless undesirable ways like maligning and ostracizing me, or attempting to block any learning opportunities for me. And it appears that they do these things probably for these reasons: not having lived their best lives in their 20s, feeling threatened by outdated or insufficient credentials, fearing that their younger counterparts are more equipped, living with regret, worrying that their children may not fulfill the dreams they once had for themselves, or dealing with a troubled family life.

Looking back, it felt like my age and potential success made people uncomfortable, especially those older than me. There seemed to be a fear that I might achieve something they hadn’t. It wasn't just my perception—many of my peers, especially those who perform at a high level, have shared the same sentiments and similar experiences in their respective workplace. It’s strange to think that my accomplishments, like graduating cum laude and earning the highest licensure exam rating among my coworkers, would make me a target, even though I’ve always tried to stay low-key. I never bragged about anything nor paraded any of my achievements. In fact, those are things of the past -- something that no longer weighs heavily in my present life. But ironically, my quiet nature, my tendency to stay reserved, has also been a point of criticism, as if my silence is something people don’t know how to handle. The more I tried to stay private, the more they craved for information as if I am more than worthy of their energy and attention.

These people even dig relentlessly into my personal life and personal whereabouts when I take vacation leaves and eavesdropping through private conversations, making me even more cautious with what I share. (If one of those people came across this page and this particular post, Wow! That person has a different level of obsession that he/she even found his/her way here. Whew!)

But, what can I be grateful for in all this?

Despite the negativity, these experiences have taught me valuable lessons. I’ve learned to stay resilient, to keep striving for excellence despite the noise around me. Perhaps, some people in this life stage have to go through this phase. These are character-refining situations. The criticisms have forced me to reflect, to grow, and ultimately, to practice humility. These experiences give me an opportunity to be forgiving and to show love as Jesus commands me as a Christian to love my enemies. It's difficult to do these things but my situation provides me an avenue to practice this radical approach of Christianity in dealing with earthly life. I’m learning that I don’t have to react to every unkind word, that being misunderstood or criticized doesn’t diminish my worth or potential. I can be grateful that these challenges are shaping my character and helping me to become more compassionate toward others who face similar struggles and even toward my offenders who may be going through silent struggles. It has been said, "Hurt people hurt people." But as a healed child of God, I can be a person who could bring healing. After all, we all need grace. In this situation, I am being trained to trust in God's protection and to trust that He will fight my battles on my behalf. I am also learning the principle of The Audience of One -- to only seek the approval of my God Who is my Ultimate Master. I am being grounded in my identity as a Child of God the Most High. I am grateful that I have never been the same. Above all, these experiences remind me to keep my eyes on the bigger picture—my purpose, my growth, and my faith.