#I’m sure everyone else has come up with much better/more creative things than me!

[dontflirt]

Stray Kids 5th Anniversary Event Big Hugs, Even Bigger Butt Day — Bang Chan 🖤

#chan #bang chan #stray kids #mygifs #flashing tw #stayblrskzanniv #createskz #bystay #jypartists #channiesnet #kpopco #laura.track #dreamytag #melontrack #kiwitracks #usersemily #tuserchrissy #adriblr #this is really boring and nothing special but I think I’m happy with it :) #I’m sure everyone else has come up with much better/more creative things than me! #anyway can’t wait to see what stayblr has cooked up

[writingjourney]

I’m in need of some advice and kind words. As a fellow writer I’m really struggling to believe people will and want to read my stuff. There’s no real engagement anymore and I’m worried that if I post my long-form fic that no one will give it a chance. It’s really bringing me down because I love it so much but it feels like no matter what I try to do my stuff just doesn’t get seen or liked? I’ve even thought about changing my entire way of how I do things since I don’t think the way I write is working for the masses. How do you keep up the motivation as a popular writer and do you have an advice?

Hello anon!! I feel like this is something many of us currently deal with. And first of all I seriously hope that you do share your story!! ♡

To be completely honest with you the lack of engagement in the fandom has for sure impacted my own motivation which is why I haven't been putting as much time into longer fics (nor the Friday Nights series or IKNBS, I do write but I refuse to force myself). I don't feel any urgency because uploading fics hasn't made me as happy as it used to. It feels like only other active writers are reading fic atm and it creates a lot of pressure on creatives to stay super active.

I'm aware that I'm insanely privileged to have the engagement that I do have, that the type of stories I want to write are also the type of stories that generally seem to appeal. However, engagement tells you NOTHING about the quality of your work, only how many people are active in a fandom or like a specific pairing/character/trope. Your own unique voice matters more than numbers.

I also notice that a lot of people who used to read my works have disappeared which I completely understand. The fixation can ebb away during times of inactivity or when a certain hype dies down. People just don't get that dopamine hit anymore and move on. It's also entirely possible they get tired of a certain style of writing and prefer other writers at times, what do I know. I definitely don't blame anyone for that. First and foremost people should read for their own enjoyment and engage with fandom in a way that makes them happy. It makes no sense to pressure people into engaging. A huge issue right now is people overthinking these things which makes support transactional instead of genuine.

I don't care much about notes but I REALLY miss the feeling of sharing a fic with people who are excited for it, that sense of an active community. BUT the activity will come back – the movie will come out, new music and videos, heck even a whole new Papa!!! That's the natural flow of things. We can't be excited and super active all the time, we need phases of calmness as well (which is an act of rebellion in the capitalist hellscape of overproduction and churned out content. I am honestly glad Ghost is taking it easy).

Now, I recommend you write your story exactly how you want to!!! do NOT change it for the sake of popularity because it will lose its very soul and you will struggle to be happy with it by the end. You know how you want to tell your story and nothing else matters. It will find its readers or you can wait and share it at a later point. I recommend that you approach other writers and readers and intensify that contact, make friends and talk to them about your stories, hype each other up, share snippets. It's even more meaningful to know people you like enjoy what you do. I am currently working on super niche fics for non-Ghost characters and I'm honestly having a great time chasing that dopamine by just writing what I'm really into and sharing it with friends. Fandom is community, fandom is fun and we can work to make it better for everyone.

A few general tips when it comes to making stories accessible: Format them to be readable (paragraphs!!), add a "read more" break, add proper content information and a nice summary to draw people in, add some visual appeal like a banners or stock image edits (like i do for IKNBS) and then tag the fics with relevant tags (and only those). Also make sure to tag the OG post, tags on reblogs do nothing for reach. Engage with the community when you feel like it and it's likely that the community will engage back. Being supportive is worth it, being kind is always worth it even if it amounts to nothing.

#your fear is valid and wanting engagement is valid!!! #but don’t let it stop you from writing :) #asks #anon

[theladyragnell]

i have my first ever dnd session next week and i’m. nervous-excited! any tips?

Oh, wonderful! I was about to demur and say I'm not an expert and take everything with a grain of salt, and then remembered I've been playing a game most weeks for most of the past decade and played two 1-20 campaigns and am now DMing another. So I guess maybe I do have some right to give advice?

Engage! Truly, this is the biggest piece of advice I can give you. You and your table are telling a story together, and it's a better story the more engaged people are. Be the kind of character who picks up plot threads the DM leaves dangling and chats with NPCs, be the kind of character who asks their party members about themselves, even if your charisma score isn't high. It doesn't take improv skills unless you're playing at a table that's recording a podcast or something, just a willingness to be curious, and it makes a huge difference.

Communicate. With your DM especially, but with your fellow players too. Let them know you're feeling nervous and might be a little shy but that you want to engage! If someone tries to engage you in roleplay, go for it and don't worry if you feel a little silly doing it. If you aren't having fun with an aspect of your character ("whoops, I should have taken a different rogue subclass") or the game ("heyyy, I didn't realize that killing wolves and elk would bother me so much, is there a plan to fight more magical monsters I'll feel less guilty about in the future?"), chat with your DM before it gets to be a bigger problem. And hopefully your table has chatted about triggers and systems to make sure you're all safe around that, a lot of tables do these days, but don't be shy about your needs.

Try to go with the tone presented! Hopefully your DM has told you what kind of game you're in, but a lot of table frictions can come when one player is playing Smeef Smeekle, jolly halfling weed dealer whose goal is to get into as much trouble as possible, and everyone else is playing A Team Of Heroes. Or, for that matter, when one person is playing Bluhdborne Pahth'ojenn, world's angstiest rogue, and everyone else is a fantasy k(obold)-pop band that fell into a dungeon (though comedy games do love a straight man, so that's mostly not fun for Bluhdborne).

Give kudos! When the DM or another player does something cool or creative, improvs a line that gives you chills, anything like that, let them know it! Either in the moment quickly, or after the session in some way. It can be a bit of an emotionally intense hobby, and it's nice to check in with your fellow players and tell them how awesome they are.

And last, some Common D&D Good Manners Things: in combat, have some idea of what your action is going to be before your turn comes around (some players make flowcharts, which I have never tried but might be your jam). Know your abilities as much as is realistic, and have descriptions of abilities and spells close to hand so your DM can ask you instead of looking them up. Take notes if you're playing longer than a one-shot, even if it's only a few words, both to keep yourself engaged and to give yourself the assist later when you need to remember whether this shopkeeper likes you or hates you.

Okay, that got very wordy! But really, just jump into the story, communicate with your table, and come at it with curiosity and collaboration, and it's hard to go wrong if your table is on the same page as you.

Enjoy!

#anonymous #answered asks

[spookyscarydemonbabe]

Blog Spotlight

Hello everyone! since i don’t have a ton of time to work on fics and stuff like i used to, i figured i’d use this opportunity to share around some other creators 🥰 i want to be able to show this community more love and support and so i’m going to try and make this a weekly thing! all of the content creators deserve to be shown love and support and if anyone has any creators they’d like me to mention in one of these id love to check out their work and mention them!

the very first creator i’ll be mentioning is my lovely friend @wheels-of-despair

they’re someone that i’ve been mutuals with for a while and i’m so glad that they’re the very first person i’m using for my blog recs!

They write for a variety of Joseph Quinn’s characters and honestly i love to see how much of a genuine fan they are of his characters. She always makes sure to do her research too! For her more historic fics she will always make sure everything is very true to the time period.

They also have their own specific universes for their fics which i love! You’re able to see the difference in personalities when it comes to interacting with the characters.

They collectively have 50+ fanfics already posted for her characters and that’s not including all the other extras 👀

Because they’ve written so much i’ve decided to pick my favorite fic for each of the characters they write for 🥰

Eddie: Wake-Up Call

I’m an absolute sucker for lazy mornings 😂 absolutely adorable and his mannerisms were captured so well! though it’s a shorter fic you’re able to get all the perfect parts in one little package 🥰

Billy: The Little Plant That Could

So sweet! It’s so simple and yet so touching, even if it is just bringing an adorable little plant back to life, i actually got excited to see Billy’s reaction at the end c:

Ralph: Worth It Chapter 5

Picking out just one was a bit tough 😅 but i do love that these fics are written in a way where they can be somewhat read as one-offs as well :) this is the one fic that actually made me shed a tear as i read it, Ralph is just his sweet self as always and it’s hard to not love that!

Tom: The Boyfriend Cure

Though this is their only fic for Tom it was one that i loved nonetheless! Very short and very sweet, i love smaller fics like this, especially when they’re this comforting!

They were also kind enough to let me give them a little interview to help you guys get to know them better 🥰

what got you into writing?

Insanity? 😂 The Brainrot had me in such a chokehold, I had to let it out somehow. I was driving my normal friends crazy. So I came to tumblr last fall, after I'd read almost everything on AO3, and conned eddiemunsonsmum into being my friend. (She wrote a series I read and loved last the summer, when I was still suffering through The Brainrot in silence.) She's the one who convinced me to start writing. So really, this is all her fault. 🥰

do you write anything else other than fanfiction?

I do some writing for work, but it's not that creative.

how many followers do you have?

Closing in on 400. 😳

other than writing, what other interests do you have?

Watching the same things over and over again, and buying things I don't need at thrift stores. 😂 My favorite things to collect are DVDs and old kids' books. I have no place to put either, but if a movie has someone I like in it or a book with cool illustrations was printed before the 70s... yeah, that's probably coming home with me. 😍

if anyone has any of their favorite blogs they’d like me to recommend to everyone i’d be more than happy to check out their work and give them a shoutout 🥰

#stranger things #stranger things 4 #eddie munson #timewasters #ralph penbury #cb strike #billy knight #make up #tom grant #joseph quinn #fic rec #blog recs

[weirdkpopgirl]

Blind Date | Jeno Imagine #1

Title: Blind Date

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: Mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 1292k

Author’s Note: This was something I came up with last week, and I’ve been wanting to write an imagine for our adorable Jeno. I hope you guys liked this one ^ - ^ 

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ

“Please (Y/n)-ah! We just need one more person,” Your friend, Eunchae begged.

You let out a sigh of annoyance. Eunchae and a few other girls were going on a group blind date with some guys from the computer science department. One of the girls had a schedule conflict, meaning that they had to find someone else to sub in.

“There’s no point in me going,” You huffed. “Guys aren’t usually attracted to quiet, boring, plain-looking girls like me.”

Eunchae’s jaw dropped, “What are you talking about? You’re not ‘plain-looking’ or boring. And some guys do like quiet girls.”

You decided to ignore her and went on your way to the dorm building. But your friend refused to give up and continued to try and convince you to come.

“Eonnie, I’m just not interested in dating anyone,” You tried to deny her again. “You should really find someone else.”

Eunchae clasped her hands together, “I’ve already asked some other girls and they said they couldn't. You don’t have to be interested in dating, all you have to do is be there.”

Feeling exhausted from this conversation, you looked at your friend and knew she wasn’t going to let this go. Honestly, you had no desire to socialize. But Eunchae was desperate and it was just one night. Also, you couldn’t resist an opportunity for free food.

“Alright, I’ll do it.” You gave in, and Eunchae squeezed you into a hug as a response.

She pumped her fist in the air, “Yes! Thank you, my friend.”

~ ~ ~

Truthfully, this was the first time you were going on any sort of a date. Eunchae said it was going to be a casual get-together, so there was no need to dress too fancily right?

In the end, you chose a simple black top with a white cardigan and a pleated black skirt. You weren’t sure what to do with your hair, so you just left it down. Any makeup you put on was light, as you didn’t see much point since you were wearing glasses.

The designated place was a Korean barbeque restaurant. The guys hadn’t arrived yet, but all four girls were there.

“You look so pretty today!” Eunchae, who was sitting across from you, cheered. “Whoever your date is will be lucky.”

You laughed and shook your head, “You’re just saying that.”

A few anxious minutes later, the guys finally came. Everyone exchanged formal greetings and got situated. You were kind of taken back by how good-looking the boy you were paired up with was. He had nice-looking skin and dark hair was swept to one side, revealing his forehead. He was wearing a plain white shirt and ripped blue jeans. 

“Hi, it’s nice to meet you,” He bowed his head shyly after he got settled next to you. “I’m Lee Jeno, third-year computer science major.”

You found yourself smiling at him. “Oh, I’m (L/n) (Y/n), first-year creative writing major.”

“Creative writing? That sounds fun,” Jeno remarked. 

“Well, it has its ups and downs,” You shrugged. Were you seriously blushing right now?

To your surprise, your date was able to keep a conversation going. Everyone around the table was chattering. But you still felt like you were alone, with this one person. Things got even better when the food arrived. 

“Not bad,” You acknowledged, as you watched him skillfully cook the meat. 

His proud smile went up to his eyes which formed into crescents. Cute, you couldn’t help thinking to yourself.

A few minutes later you asked, “Are you sure you don’t want me to help?”

“No, it’s fine. I can handle this,” He insisted while cutting a few pieces of pork belly with the scissors.

You frowned momentarily, before using your chopsticks to place a piece of meat on top of his rice bowl.

“You should eat some too,” You said quietly. In response, Jeno gave you an appreciative smile. 

“Thank you.”

Honestly, you were a bit surprised with yourself. You’ve never taken such interest in a guy so fast. Somehow this adorable boy was able to charm you with just a few friendly exchanges. 

Of course, there was a lot of drinking among the group. You didn’t like alcohol too much, so you only had a little bit. But it was a little unflattering to watch the other people at your table getting drunk as they poured more shots for each other. 

Jeno, who seemed to be thinking the same, leaned closer to you. “Do you want to get out of here? There’s another place I know that’s nearby.”

Without much hesitation, you nodded and followed him out of the restaurant. No one seemed too bothered by you guys ditching them. You would probably have to message Eunchae later though.

Jeno ended up bringing you to the basement floor of a building where there was an arcade. The room was lit up with neon lights, and different types of games were everywhere.

“Do you like it?” He asked you, slightly wary of what your reaction would be. To his relief, you nodded excitedly.

“This looks so fun,” You gushed, your eyes scattering around. “Where should we start?”

He smiled and reached for your hand, “May I?”

You’ve never had a boy ask to hold your hand before, but you found this gesture so sweet. Too flustered to say anything, you simply nodded and let him hold your hand. He led you around.

“Wah, you’re so strong!” You exclaimed, eyes widened when he got the highest score on the hammer strength game.

His eye smile appeared again, happy to impress you. You guys played some other games, but your favorite was the claw machine.

“This one looks cute, don’t you think?” Jeno pointed to a Rilakkuma bear wearing a chef hat.

You took a closer look, pressing your fingers against the glass. “Should I try to get it?”

He didn’t expect you to say that because usually, it was the other way around. But Jeno wasn’t going to stop you. He was pretty surprised when you managed to get the bear. 

“Wow,” was all Jeno could say when you handed the prize to him. You beamed and exchanged a shy laugh with him.

The night ended much too soon for the both of you. You’ve never been alone with a boy before, much less spent time with one. Jeno was a real man, but he had a cute side to him. 

“Honestly, I wasn’t too sure about this blind date thing in the beginning,” Jeno confessed later, as he waited at the bus stop with you. “But now that I’ve met you, I think it was worth going.”

You glanced down, too shy to meet his eyes. “I also feel the same.”

“So…you wouldn’t mind seeing each other again?” Jeno asked, nervously pressing his palm against his first. “I know we just met and all, so I understand if you say—”

“No!” You lifted your head and shrank back when you realized you had spoken too quickly.  “I—I mean, yes. I’d like to meet you again.”

Jeno was relieved to hear this and you guys exchanged numbers before you had to get on the bus. He couldn’t help smiling when you waved to him from the window. His heart was still thumping against his chest the rest of his way back home. He couldn’t wait to get to know you more.

° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 °° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ° 𐐪𐑂 ♡ 𐐪𐑂 ₒ

#nct #nct dream #lee jeno #jeno imagine #jeno #nct fluff #kpop #nctzen #czennie #college au

[quindriepress]

This week's spotlight is on Ell J Walker and their comic Catharsis. Ell is an Edinburgh-based artist who originally washed up on the shores of Orkney. She likes drawing sad men, horses, guitars and folklore. (@elljwalker | website | instagram | mastodon | twitter)

Catharsis follows Dimitri and Asha, two young heavy metal musicians. "Catharsis is about self confidence, figuring out how to express vulnerable and destructive feelings, and about seeking confidence from within yourself rather than from some outside source. It’s also about death metal, demons and young aspiring musicians, backed by the setting of remote coastal Scotland."

Read the spotlight below the cut!

"This comic is a bit of a mix of things - first and foremost I wanted to create something that I’d really have a lot of enthusiasm about. I’d had a really rough time creatively over the past few years during lockdown and the ongoing pandemic, and I really needed to be kind to myself and make sure the next thing I made was going to be fun. I remember thinking to myself when I was putting together the pitch: ‘if I’m going to be drawing 40 pages of this, it’s going to have to contain things I really enjoy drawing’. Hence the sad boy with long hair, the horse, the demon, the guitars and the sea."

"On top of that, I’ve been on a huge metal kick lately. It was something that helped pull me out of the strange, buzzing, numb anxiety that the pandemic had injected into me. Listening to metal was weirdly soothing - it felt like a way to feed the parts of me that had been depleted with music I could really feel. Growling, angry, monstery vocals, insane shredding, weird time signatures, the seismic thrum of double-pedalling bass drums, galloping rhythms - it’s something that helps me simultaneously soothe myself and really feel things. Maybe that doesn’t make a lot of sense. I just really like metal, and wanted to express both how it’d helped me, and how much of a valuable medium it is to safely express volatile feelings - a key theme in Catharsis." 

"I think since music has always run parallel to art for me, they naturally feed into one another, even if it hasn’t felt like it at times for me. I’m sure it’s different for everyone, but personally, playing music feels like tapping into an internal part of me that knows what it’s doing - it’s how I found confidence in my teen years. I was lucky enough to start learning piano from age 8 and guitar and bass from age 12 - so I got the awkward part of the learning process out of the way fairly quickly, when I didn’t have all that much self-consciousness to hinder me. And while I’ve never been super great at composing or improvising, having the confidence to know my technical skills let me perform always fuelled my confidence. Saying that though, like Dimitri, at times I do often struggle to play in front of people. Ironically, my younger, more generally self-conscious self was better at that than my current, more confident adult self. I wonder why that is? Maybe I should draw another comic to find out."

"Art, although I’ve been doing it for even longer than music, feels very different as a creative process. It definitely comes from somewhere else in me, somewhere maybe a little bit more introspective and personal, and therefore more delicate. I’m still grasping to find my art confidence - I suppose writing and drawing Catharsis is a reflection of that, and reminding myself that it’s just a case of finding it within yourself eventually, even if it means taking baby steps, and gradually practising how to express that vulnerability."

While music has played a big role in Ell's life, it hasn't been their only influence. "For a long time I’ve drawn inspiration from folklore and stories that appear fantastical, but can be read as allegorical or metaphorical. I think art and stories are made real by the viewer/reader and their interpretation, and ancient stories that are retold through the mind of someone new are super interesting to me - what new themes can be added by the reteller, and what original themes that were put there hundreds, maybe thousands of years ago, persist? I particularly enjoy the Hellboy comics for this reason (also because they’re so much fun) as well as the God of War games.

"I also take a lot of inspiration generally from the natural world around me, and how I feel when I’m in nature. I think having recently taken more time to practise mindfulness and work on my own mental health has really expanded how I think about stories, the world around me and how I relate to it. I want to help inspire others to find the strengths that exist within themselves that they might think aren’t there, or they can’t reach."

"I grew up in the town of Stromness, in Orkney (a small archipelago of islands off the top of Scotland, for those who aren’t familiar), and therefore spent most of my young life living about ten paces from the sea, so the sea in particular has always felt like a part of me and my development.

"I was taught to fear and respect the ocean from a young age, particularly because the sea could be incredibly rough and dangerous around the islands. I know of several people who have lost their lives to it in one way or another. I think the fact that such a powerful natural force that was nevertheless teeming with life - the contents of rockpools, seaweed, seals, otters, seabirds, fish, cetaceans - was just really fascinating and interesting to think about. Of course folklore is something else I heard a lot about as a kid, and being able to hear these stories, then go for a walk down the shore and imagine these creatures of myth and legend existing in the same place - or even to see the selkies watching me from the water - was an amazing inspiration."

Ell has this advice for aspiring comic creators: "Make sure you’re making comics for YOU, not what you think other people want! This is something I’ve struggled with for a long time (art school taught me to make what the tutors wanted, not what I wanted) and can be more difficult than you think. But ultimately if you have enthusiasm for your project, it will always shine through. If it’s a slog, and you’re not enjoying it, hit the bricks! Have fun with it and don’t let expectations, or worse, perceived expectations, curb what you enjoy making."

 You can pick up Catharsis, alongside the other three comics in our 2023 collection, right here on Kickstarter!

#elljwalker #ell j walker #catharsis #2023 collection

[nonsensical-escapism]

If I had a world of my own...

Megs: *Fussing with Ellis’s jacket and his hair.*

Ellis: “Megs”- 

Megs: *Noticed his magic gem pin was crooked on the lapel of his jacket, and so I fixed it right*.

Ellis: “Megs will you-”

Megs: *Brushes a speck of dirt off of hi-*

Ellis: *Gently grabs Megs’s hand to stop her*. “While I appreciate your concern, I’d prefer it if you’d stop fussing over me like you are my mother.” *snickers*

Megs: *Smiles and sighs as he let’s go* “Sorry Ellis..I just want to make sure you look your best for the introduction is all..” 

Ellis: “It’s only an intro, it isn’t as if we’re going to a garden party or an event at the school…And besides, I don’t always look this way- more often than not I look like I just came out of a rabbit hole. Might as well let people see the authentic me, right?” 

Megs: *I smile*. “Right.” 

Ellis: “Right, let’s crack on with it then~” 

{Aesthetic below was made by me}

Greetings everyone and welcome to our little corner of Wonderland~ (Twisted Wonderland for that matter).

This blog is all about Ellis Wondre ( a take on Twst Alice/Alice Kingsleigh) and his many exploits and adventures. I, the admin, am actually @1930sdarlin and I created this blog for my boi to share him with you all and to interact with other folks from Twisted Wonderland. 

Some more Information about Ellis: 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Species: Human 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Age: 17-years-old 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Gender: Male (he/him) 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Ethnicity: English ( He's British-)

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Birthday: May 4th (Taurus)

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Height: 171cm (5"7)

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Dominant Hand: Right Hand 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Class: 2-C (Sophomore) 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 From: Pyroxene (originally), The Queendom of Roses

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Favorite Subject: Practical Magic 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Club: Equestrian Club 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Likes: Reading Fiction and Creative Writing

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Dislikes: Nonsense that destroys productivity 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Favorite food: Shortbread Cookies 

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Least Favorite food: Diet Soda (inexplicably always gives him heartburn.)

࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔 Speciality: Winding up in ridiculous situations and somehow managing to always get out of them.

Now that you’ve all gotten to know him a little better, I think we ought to set some ground rules. Ellis may be able to handle chaos better than most but he very much has a limit when it comes to nonsense. 

Rules for Interaction: 

Who can interact with Ellis?: Most anyone, really! Asks from other twst ocs, canon twst characters, people playing their sonas- it’s all on the table. However, on that note, certain types of interactions are not allowed:

No nsfw interactions (I, Megs, am not a minor but Ellis is. Also I’m highly uncomfortable with such things). 

No trauma dumping (Ellis and myself are not therapists and can’t really give you much help in regards to any very serious things you may have going on, although we wish you the best and hope you can find help) {Ellis: “My own mind isn’t even always stable enough to help someone else’s…”}

No hate speech or bigotry (This one is essentially self explanatory but Ellis and I both strongly oppose racism, sexism, and homophobia/transphobia of any kind. This is meant to be a safe space.)

Romantic/ Flirty Interactions: Ellis is mostly alright with these to an extent, a slightly flirty compliment here and there is alright, just don’t expect him to have a romantic relationship with any other character on here. {Ellis: “Besides, I already have my mind and heart set on someone in particular heh". }

Is there anyone else on this blog?: Well, aside from myself (Megs) and Ellis. There are actually three other characters that can be optionally interacted with here! (Three other of my ocs). 

Meliodas White- He is an oc based upon The White Queen from Alice in Wonderland (2010). He is Ellis’s roommate and clubmate and when he talks it will always be italicized. 

Damien Tweed- an oc based upon Tweedle Dee from Alice in Wonderland (2010 and 1951). He is one of the two identical Tweed twins and is another one of Ellis’s friends/ his kohai. When he talks his text will always be colored pink. 

Duncan Tweed- an oc based upon Tweedle Dum from Alice in Wonderland (2010 and 1951). He is one of the two identical Tweed twins and is another one of Ellis’s friends/ his kohai. When he talks his text will always be colored orange. 

Although these characters are available to ask at times. This blog is mainly about Ellis so I’d prefer most questions/ interactions to be directed to him. These three are more likely to occasionally pop up. 

Final Notes: We both ask that you remember that there is a person behind this blog. One who can occasionally be busy with other life things as well as someone who isn’t constantly on Tumblr. Ellis himself realistically wouldn’t be on here all the time either, he’s busy with school and such too. As you can imagine Royal Sword Academy is no walk in the park when it comes to classes. (Ellis: “Barely maintaining my average grades in some subjects as it is.”) 

Be kind and respectful, we give the same courtesy to you. Please and thank you. 

Main Tags:

#-kind regards; Ellis (Ellis answers an ask)

#A curious new thought (Ellis makes an individual post)

#Ellis's adventures in Wonderland (Ellis interacts with another blog)

#Madness Returns (Ellis is not in a good mood...)

#Through the looking glass (4th wall breaking)

#Megs's Drabbles (Megs makes a post ooc)

#Darlin speaks (Megs responds to a question)

#-best wishes; Meliodas (Mel answers an ask or interacts)

#-sincerely; Damien (Damien answers an ask or interacts)

#- have a good one; Duncan (Duncan answers an ask or interacts)

{Tags for returning askers will be likely made)

#pinned post #Megs's Drabbles #twst oc #role play blog #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland oc #ellis wondre #long post warning

[drarrily-we-row-along]

hi!!!

can i ask something? im not trying to be rude (i really like the things youve written overall!) but im curious. why only happy endings? dont you feel like you could write more or be more creative if you werent set on ending everything happily?

imnot trying to make you feel bad or feel like you need to change what your doing. i guess i just dont want you to feel like we only want that from you.

Hey there nonnie!

Sorry, this one has been sitting in my inbox for a little while; I wasn't trying to ignore you, I've just been trying to formulate a response that articulates why happy endings are a thing for me.

I've said this before (maybe it was too long ago at this point?) but I write happy endings as much for my own sake as for anyone else’s. I write because I see so much hurt, so much darkness and I want to see (and be) the opposite. I write because I have been deeply hurt, my heart wounded and bruised (beyond recognition, it sometimes seems). There is so much to despair about, so many things that want to drag us down and make us believe that we are made to stay in the mud. I want (perhaps the better word is need) to be part of what lifts people up. I want to give comfort and hope.

Writing, for me, is about healing something that is broken; sometimes that broken thing is something a reader asked for me to write about, sometimes that broken thing is the world. But more often than not, that broken thing is me.

Honestly, a little bit of my heart is in all of the things I write, a little of my search for healing, a little bit of hope that things can and do get better. I write happy endings because I want that for myself and for all of the people who come to read my fics to escape the things that are hard for them. When I write, I am creating a world where good gets to win, where love is stronger than hate, where there is enthusiastic forgiveness and acceptance. I am creating the world that I want to live in.

So no, I don't think that writing only happy endings constricts my creativity or my ability to write more things. I'm not trying to be prideful, but I have literally posted over a million words worth of fics and hundreds of stories, my WIP folder is so full that I’m sure some of those things will never see the light of day. In short, my creativity isn't suffering.

In conclusion, I am not trying to imply that only writing happy endings should be a thing for everyone. I’m more than happy for other authors to write the things they want to write- I know healing, and joy, and catharsis, and anything else we’re looking for when we read can be found in all sorts of ways. But writing happy endings heals something broken in me and gives me hope. And I share the things I write in hopes that it might do the same for someone else.

#ask #love is what matters #happy endings #writing #personal #write what you want

[numbknee]

i seek your advice numbknee. i really wanna write my own kyman fics and i have so many ideas for them but i’ve never written a fic before and i’m frightened to dip my toes into it. i’m not a writer, i’ve never written before. like how do you just sit down ans qrite something??? jfkgk i’m so confused, what’s your process or do you have any writing tips? i ask you cuz i love your writing and i look forward to your posts a lot.

That's so awesome, good for you dude!! Writing can be a really fun creative hobby but I totally get where you're coming from. The first fic I ever wrote was for the adventure time fandom 10 years ago (yikes I'm old lol) and I was really scared to post it. I don't remember how exactly I got the courage to finally put it out there but it def feels like diving into the deep end. Just know that everyone has to start somewhere!

The good thing about fanfiction is that it's as "low stakes" as you can probably get when it comes to creative writing. It's not for a job, it's not for any academic assignment, it's just something you do for fun. And I think the culture around fanfiction understands that a lot of writers are amateurs and are generally supportive regardless of your starting level in terms of skill. Personally, I would rather read from an inexperienced writer who's clearly trying their best and has some interesting ideas over a more polished/experienced writer taking themselves too seriously or treating fanfic writing like a competition.

There's no single "correct" way to write, because ultimately you have to do what best suits your own style and preferences. But for me, I generally start out with an idea for a single scene that inspires me and come up with a story around that scene so it fits into a cohesive fic. For example, for my first kyman fic I initially had the idea in my head of Kyle being mesmerized by Cartman dressed in drag and impulsively making a first move on him. I worked backwards from there, so I had to come up with 1) why he was doing drag in the first place, 2) why Kyle would be there watching him, and 3) how they end up alone together so Kyle can make the first move. The last one was the trickiest for me to figure out for some reason, but eventually I came up with the idea of Cartman tripping in his giant heels and injuring himself so Kyle would have to help him inside the house. It was funny but also helped move the plot along.

Planning out the scenes ahead of time like this can help a lot, but also don't be afraid to change things up as you write it out if you think something else works better. Since you have a bunch of your own ideas, start out with the one scene/scenario that inspires you the most and plan it out from there. I'd suggest first writing a shorter one-shot since that's easier to plan for than a longer, multi-chaptered fic. There's a ton of resources online you can find to help with story structure if you're not sure where to start or how to build on your idea. (Like this video about the 6 essential questions of storytelling).

Other logistical things: Make sure you save your work frequently. Spell-check is your friend. If you're not comfortable asking someone to beta-read your fic, use text-to-speech or read it aloud yourself to help catch any mistakes and listen to how sentences flow. I highly recommend using AO3 to publish your work since it has a great tagging system and helps you get visibility because of that, but also ensures your work will stay safe from the whims of corporations destroying/erasing fanworks since it's independently run and funded.

One last thing to keep in mind: it's nice to get positive interaction from the fandom, but ultimately you should write for yourself and your own enjoyment. If you only write seeking the approval of others, you're never going to be happy because you're solely basing your writing's worth on strangers' opinions. There have definitely been fics I've written that didn't get as much interaction as I would have liked, but in the end I was happy I wrote it because it was something I could be proud of having made for myself as my own audience.

Hope this helps! Good luck 👍

#ask #anon #my post

[lauvra]

How often we’re caught in the most mundane of acts when life happens to us. I find I’m often waiting for it to go wrong enough. When it finally does it rarely lives up to expectation. I’m tired of holding my tongue with iron bitterness at my fingertips while nothing much happens, so I think I’ll just confess. The dull edge of everything that ever happened has led to this. The early ambitions of my life were clearly a facade. I think back to nights part-taking, exposing vulnerabilities and deep desires to others also making a show of exposure and really I think we were all full of shit. All our costume ideations of philanthropic endeavour. Looking back, I think the people who were least full of shit were the ones with sights set on getting their next fix. I’ve always wanted to create but really I’d begged for the curse of an embodiment. To be a particular kind of person. What a shallow notion, good intentions swirling in a useless potion. I’ve finally acquired the only authentic ingredient; necessity. Drawing in thirst from the shallow well within, free-falling backwards at will. Once chin deep clawing at the walls attempting to flee my own baptism of consequence, escaping then labelling the scarred wall History or Art. Are you an artist if you make art or if other people believe it? Maybe you’re an artist if your only other option is violence. Someone compares my work to that of Franz Kline, describes a thematic kinship with Francis Bacon if Bacon were more abstract than figurative. I laugh. We make a deal: I’ll paint dumb shit and you market it. Because I’ve only ever been a con artist. In creativity, in conversation, in bed, in love. But I once would have sworn to have sought connection leading to larger scale connection. It’s like when you go to shows, everyone holding up a smart phone. The performer has a love-hate relationship with half the audience. The drones get the message out but what’s the message? there’s a distinct intimacy robbery. More eyes the better to draw bigger crowds. All the better for... a larger scale robbery. The truth is, once you create something and share it with the world it’s no longer about you, as if it ever was. As if there were ever a you to speak of. I guess it’s always hard to perform, to trust what it’s for. My mythologically collaborative intent sure sounded noble enough to be true. People confess to me, though I am no priestess which is usually precisely why. I never wanted to live a life, I only ever sought to be the most well-fed parasite beneath the skin of anybody else who’d dared to. My empathy was true once, but some days I fear it’s diminishing quickly. I want to feast, they come to me with tattle as offering. Regular people calling from the eye of a storm just to tell you how fine things are going. How often I wish to turn and say ‘I am sorry, I am no longer interested in dividing my time within the inherent compromise of companionship, I have too much to do alone. Besides, I’ve grown tired of all your circular problems which are in fact, very ordinary.’ I’ve heard word of tables in old pubs crowded in commune by creatives and the idea sounds tempting until I consider in earnest the way I am. My bowels would constrict, the muscles of my stomach would strangle itself into letting out distressing creaks and groans forcing a memorably anti-social departure. I live in my mind, it’s such a shame about the body which deceives me.

I was born with a clogged filter between my mind and mouth, perhaps one fitted backwards in a frantic nature as I insisted on leaving my mother weeks too soon. On that day my mother had locked herself in the hospital bathroom beneath a scolding hot shower. When they finally coaxed her into unlocking the door she was red raw. She said “it feels like an alien, get it out of me!” The midwife Katherine, asked “how do you know what an alien feels like?”“Get it out!”  I suspect from the beginning I’ve wanted to get this whole thing over with. My inner idyll of thought is romantic, succinct in its elegance yet all that escapes when I open my mouth is the wailing of a fool only articulate in its desperation to get it out.  It’s not an original idea that being human is inherently humiliating, but I never claimed to be.

#me #word

[pizzagranni]

back to tumblr, cause it was either this or blogger and I’m not even sure that still exists (fact check later).

I think I’m sick of all the upgrades. Bigger, better website, phone, car, life, etc.

I DON’T CARE.

I just want to share my real thoughts, unencumbered by everyone else’s opinions. I want real conversations about real life, and not all the bad shit either. All of it. The good, the bad, the messy, and the clean. But never too clean. I’m not that type of person, but I also don’t think it’s always honest.

This year has been weird. I’ve had so many thoughts, more dark than light, and I’ve finally gotten to a place again where I love that about myself. High school was actually one of my favorite pastimes because I didn’t care about others’ opinions enough to stop me from fully expressing myself.

I was creative. I was bold with my speech. I wrote boldly and shared it. I painted my thoughts and feelings and gave it away and people liked it.

But ya know, somewhere along the way I started to care too much and that basically put a cork in my creative flow. I had “friends” who took what I loved and turned it into profit for themselves. My sacred practices became tainted with bitterness and resentment. I had YEARS where I hated even the idea of painting because I had been burned so badly. That’s super shitty, by the way. To have something special to you become something for someone else’s gain. It hurts in a fiery way. Like the brushes would burn my fingers if I grabbed them.

I always feared my thirties because I was so afraid of getting older and not knowing how the hell I’m supposed be function at that level. But now I near 32 and I’ve realized how much of a gift they are because they’ve set me free from the chains that my twenties put me in. I’m not saying that the whole of my twenties was bad, but they did a lot of damage. A lot of stock was put in people who never meant to stick around, never meant to build me up, just use me as a stepping stone. A door mat.

I’ve had a lot of lessons learned this past year (how weird is it that 2023 only has 3ish months left? Ugh), and I’m certainly still learning most of them (thank god), but hot damn. When they say drinking from the firehose, that’s exactly how I feel. An ocean’s worth of water coming out of my Nalgene.

But hey, I’m grateful. It means I’m alive and pursuing something more than this consumerism minded life I’m supposed to be living. By the way - fuck. that. shit. I could on and on about how this society is doing more damage than good, but I feel like a broken record. You don’t need the stuff they’re selling to you. You certainly won’t be happy with it, cause *news flash!*, there’s a new version coming out next week, month, year, whatever for ever and ever.

Back to the point…

I wanna get back to this. I wanna document like I used to because I wanna remember this. I want to slow down enough to experience my life. I want to prioritize the things that matter. Like my family and my friends that are like family. I want to host meals to remind people we were made for community. I want to create art that shows people how beautiful their souls are. I want to write words that speak life and question the status quo. I want to shift this god-forsaken paradigm.

This is only scratching the surface of all the thoughts I’ve held back for the last decade, but it’s coming. And if you want, you can read along and maybe we’ll have conversations about it. I’ll make you a cup of tea (or coffee, if that’s your thing) and we can just be in this space together.

So yea.

Until next time.

x Hannah

p.s. I’ll spell check when it matters. like when I write my book.

#life #honesty #thirties #real life

[shallowbreaths]

Some of us beat ourselves up regularly over things we can not change. Many of those things were done when we were young, or traumatized, or when we simply didn’t know any better. I thank God there was no one around to “cancel” me when I deserved it, because that would have been a validation to me that I was beyond forgiveness and change.

There are those of course that never take ownership and just wish to excuse their own behavior while trying to gaslight others. I suppose not everyone deserves forgiveness, but to a loving soul, it’s necessary to forgive anyways. To let go of that hatred and venom so that we can heal ourselves.

There are days I’m simply overwhelmed by life and I find myself truly believing that if someone else would simply love and support me that I could walk through fire, but the truth is, that would only make it easier. The actual ability needs to come from within, and because I may not have that outside source of motivation I need to be far more creative in finding ways to motivate myself, and I must carefully guard my heart, mind, and soul from those who would try to self aggrandize by stepping on my throat, my beliefs, my dreams, goals, etc, not because I don’t forgive them, but because there is a difference between forgiveness and inviting someone back in to your sanctuary.

We have been completely apart in every way for almost two years, and more or less completely disconnected for 8 months before that, and still she made sure to tell me before she left that she forgave me and expected me to be better in the future. Anyone who has followed me for a while would know that forgiveness did not lessen the pain that I experienced, in fact, there were times that my soul burned all the more because of it. It did close the door though, and it did make it basically impossible for me to spin it overtime in such a way as to ease that pain by leveraging my own pain and anger. It made it so I needed to offer her the greatest respect I could and try to honor her desire to be around me no longer. Forgiveness is not absolving anyone of their actions, but recognizing their right to make mistakes and grow in the same way we require. Mostly it’s our way to avoid “drinking poison and waiting for the other to die.”

Forgiving yourself is much harder. Overcoming your impressions of yourself is lengthy and painful, and while she helped me heal by giving me tools and support that I’d always lacked, the “healing” came from within. It’s absolutely to only way it can come. I’m overwhelmed today. I’m anxious and afraid, and so my mind (as always it seems) turns to her. I miss her terribly every day and in every way, and life would be beautiful with her in it, but I don’t “need” her. I can do this. I can survive. I can grow. I can heal. Only I can stop me, so as long as I don’t give up I have every reason to believe that tomorrow will be better. Better than if I had her in my life? Maybe not, but better than today, and that’s what matters. Are you going to be better off tomorrow or worse? If circumstances are what dictates that, then you’re a victim of life. I will be responsible for those who are willing to be accountable, the rest I will forgive and walk away from because I am hoping to become a man that deserves better.

#Youtube #fearless soul #don’t give up now #forgive yourself #heal #grow #be who you are meant to be regardless of who is watching

[stuckonvenus]

In 2024, Rolling Stone released four consecutive issues detailing the lives of the members of the world’s biggest music phenomenon seen since the 1970s...

              INTERVIEW WITH RIDLEY ALBRIGHT — 1/13/24

What is the most difficult thing about being a musician?

Probably the fame [chuckles]. I like to think I can handle my fair share of bullshit, but people really show you who they are when you’ve put yourself on a pedestal. But I don’t mind it that much, I used to be really into debate, so I know how to navigate the attention better than others I’ve seen.

Which song from your current album is your personal favorite and why?

“Videodrome”. And not just because of the solo I get. I think we really came out of our shells brainstorming ideas for it and even though it wasn’t the single we picked for radio stations or anything, I’m still proud of how well it does live.

How do you manage to maintain musical integrity while being commercially successful?

Remembering where you came from. Life wasn’t, uh, always like this, and it’s important to remember that it can be taken from you just as quickly as it was given. Kind of a cliché, but if I didn’t think about my scrawny college-aged self fighting just to make it through the day, I’d get in way over my head and it would drag everyone else down with me.

How do you deal with creative blocks or performance anxiety?

My sister helps me the most when it comes to anxiety. She has her own issues, but she always makes time for me when I most need it. I don’t really know where I’d be without her. When it comes to creative blocks, I mostly smoke a joint and see how far that gets me, and if I’m at a stand still, I just give myself the time I need to actually think and not force anything out.

How would you describe your style of music?

Um... Probably, like, post-grunge, alternative rock. We’ve still got fragments of grunge here and there in our sound, but for the most part we’ve evolved from just being tethered to one genre of music. I’d even go as far to say that we’ve dipped into hardcore with songs like “Light Me Up”, which was a lot more popular than any of us were expecting whenever it first came out. It shot to the top of the charts almost immediately.

Are any of your songs based on real events or people we might know? If so, can you tell us more about them without giving away too many details about the song itself?

[laughs] Definitely not anyone the outside world would know, but that might change with our next album, definitely. Everything on “Technicolor” is mostly based off of figures and experiences from our youth that, as musicians, we’re morally obligated to hold a grudge against in order to make a good album, and with that an even better story that’s tied into it.

                       INTERVIEW WITH EL MERCER — 2/15/24

Isn’t it true that with songs like “August Honey” and “Snuff 102” you really re-discovered Tom Petty and Heart for the younger generation that’d never heard them before?

Yeah. We really all channeled what we listened to when we were kids, or, well, what our parents would listen to and we’d be subjects of, y’know. Stuff that we thought deserved to be brought back to the mainstream.

At that time did you think you were going to be a writer and get into all your own things as you have?

I always had a certain fixation toward writing, but I don’t think I could’ve predicted all of this. Dreamed about it, sure. But knowing for sure where I’d end up? Hell no.

Your change in style came about when you thought enough people had been turned on to grunge?

I think our change came about the same time a lot of the grunge resurgence started. When there were no hit groups. We were grunge purists who liked ever so commercial things but never did them on stage because we were so horrible and so aware of being grunge purists, y’know what I mean? We used to be so surprised to hear other people do the same things we were doing. The thing is that the public didn’t know about any of this music because the record companies were issuing hundreds of singles a week so naturally most people missed a huge lot of them.

What were the first things you wrote?

The first thing was “REDROOM.” Well, that wasn’t the first thing we wrote but it was one of the first things we recorded that we had written. Also, “Things We Do in the Dark,” “August Honey,” which was a hit here. We were writing ballads, essentially.

Is there a central figure in your writing, someone you’re writing to or about in particular, or does it shift with each song?

I feel like I write everything for my younger self, first and foremost. Shit that kid would’ve listened to and thought, damn, this is sick. I tend to write more ballads for my dad, who died when I was sixteen-ish, because he loved that sort of stuff. He was big into David Bowie — who wrote some of the best ballads known to man, like “Wild is the Wind” and “Heroes”.

Do you prefer songs with a subtle or obvious message?

I’d say subtle. Sometimes I get carried away with flowery language that Gabe, our drummer, has to be like... Dude, no one knows what you’re talking about. Are you high right now? [laughs]. But that doesn’t mean some songs aren’t more straightforward than others. Like, “Antenora” is probably the most layered song I’ve written, and I think everyone gets the gist of “Apocalypse”, so, it varies.

   MANON ALBRIGHT AND GABE LAHEY INTERVIEWS COMING SOON...

#self-para

[soul-of-the-sanada]

Happy birthday! Dear Solomon '22

Unkeyed Route for part two

official Solomon 2022 birthday story, scripted.

2-A

Solomon: Do you remember Simeon’s first answer when I asked him what item he wanted?

MC: *Something to restore broken things.

Solomon: That’s right.

Solomon: You understand why he said that now, right?

Solomon: The glass dome is probably still bothering him.

Solomon: He’s the type to worry about that sort of thing, even if you tell him not to.

Solomon: That’s why I refused.

MC: *So it was out of kindness!

Solomon: It’s not such a big deal…

Solomon: …but perhaps being showered with kindness by you and everyone has changed me?

Solomon: That’s odd. I thought this was supposed to be the Devildom.

Solomon: That being said, if I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t be able to let it go either.

Solomon: I might even prefer some kind of punishment.

MC: *Then he should do something to apologize!

Solomon: Hm, that might work.

Solomon: Asmodeus did tell me to let them know if I thought of any birthday requests.

Solomon: Yes, I think I have an idea.

—

Diavolo: Hello, Solomon. Thank you for your invitation.

Satan: It’s rare for you to call us together like this.

Asmodeus: Did you think of something you wanted?

Solomon: Right, about that…

2-C

Solomon: If it’s not too late for a birthday request, could I ask all of you for a glass dome?

Simeon: …!

Solomon: I’m hoping to hang it up somewhere as a reminder of my birthday celebration.

Luke: Ooh, good idea!

Solomon: I’d like you to put something inside of it that will make a good memento of the occasion.

Belphegor: So anything goes? You don’t want to be more specific?

Solomon: Well, I trust your tastes on this more than my own.

MC: *Let’s get to it, guys!

Diavolo: I take it you’ll be supervising, MC?

Barbatos: It would certainly end up rather chaotic without direction.

Mammon: Ya better let me bust out my creative skills!

Asmodeus: Everyone’s blabbering away, but at least they’re motivated!

Simeon: solomon… are you sure about this?

Solomon: Yeah.

Solomon: Instead of an old empty dome that contained some ancient memory…

Solomon: …I’d much rather have a memory from this present period of my life.

Solomon: Don’t you think, Simeon?

Simeon: Solomon…

Simeon: I promise we’ll make you something worth remembering.

Lucifer: Simeon, what are you doing over there?

Lucifer: We’re going to hold a meeting to discuss the dome immediately.

Simeon: Understood!

Solomon: Welp, see you later.

Solomon: I’ll be working in my room if you need me.

2-E

Asmodeus: So, what are we gonna put in the dome?

Simeon: It’s supposed to represent a precious memory, so I’d prefer it to be something unique.

Raphael: Then, how about we make it by hand?

Luke: I agree with Raphael!

Luke: We could make dolls of everybody and line them up inside!

Satan: Dolls, hm? We’ve made something like that before, so we can use that experience.

MC: *I’ll make Solomon’s doll!

Asmodeus: Aw, but I wanted you to make my doll!

Belphegor: We all want that, don’t we?

Lucifer: MC can make Solomon’s doll, and everyone else can make their own. Is that acceptable?

Leviathan: Aight.

Asmodeus: We’ll also have to get ahold of the glass dome itself.

Simeon: Preferably a large one to fit everyone’s ideas inside.

Mammon: I saw somethin’ like that in one of the shops I do modelin’ for.

Mammon: I think they said it was handmade, so that fits the “one-of-a-kind” requirement, yeah?

Simeon: Okay, I’ll go to buy it.

Mammon: I’ll tag along. It’ll be faster to show ya, and I can get a discount there.

Simeon: Thanks, Mammon.

Mammon: Hey, it’s no biggie.

Asmodeus: Guys! Let’s make Solomon’s birthday one to remember!

<All> Yeah!

—

The day before Solomon’s birthday.

Solomon: MC, there’s something I need your help with.

Solomon: Could you come to my room after class?

2-G

Solomon: *chuckle* Didn’t expect to see this many magic items, did you?

Solomon: I’ve made everything that everyone asked for.

MC: *How about mine?

Solomon: Of course.

Solomon: That was the first one I made.

Solomon: There are a few things I can’t test by myself, though.

Solomon: That’s why I asked you here today.

Solomon: For example, this one. Leviathan requested an item that gets you fan service from your favorite person or character.

Solomon: It’s in the shape of a bracelet, so you can wear it like this.

Solomon: And since you’re my favorite person, if we make eye contact…

MC: *Blow a kiss,

Solomon: Huh, so that’s what it’s like to get fan service.

Solomon: It kind of makes you feel special, doesn’t it.

Solomon: Now I know for sure it works.

Solomon: Let’s test out the next one.

Solomon: I just need to put the bracelet back in its special case…

Solomon: Whoops.

2-I

<All> Happy birthday, Solomon!

Solomon: I’m so happy that we can celebrate together again this year.

Asmodeus: Simeon! Hurry up!

Simeon: Right.

Simeon: Take the cover off, Solomon.

Solomon: Huh?

Solomon: Wow..

Solomon: So this is the glass dome that you all made for me?

Leviathan: MC was in charge of making your doll.

Belphegor: They were pretty insistent about it, too.

Solomon: Really? That means a lot to me.

Solomon: Thank you, MC. And everyone.

Solomon: I’ll treasure this for a long, long time.

Mammon: So, uh… What about the stuff?

Mammon: You made them all, right?

Solomon: Well, yes. I did.

Solomon: It’s just that…

MC: *There was a bit of an accident.

Solomon: One of the pieces exploded, and now everything is broken.

Solomon: Sorry, guys.

Mammon: Are you friggin’ serious?!

Solomon: Sorry, everyone. I’ll make it up to you next time.

Solomon: How about some home cooking instead?

<All> ?!

Beelzebub: You should make a magic item that ensures food will always come out tasty first.

<All> Please!!!

Solomon: …Why?

FIN.

PART ONE

PART TWO KEYED ROUTE

#luna.script #obey me #obey me solomon #solomon #happy birthday solomon 22

[sineala]

How would you say fandom culture has changed over the years? What are some differences you notice between older and younger fandom folks?

I’ve been thinking for a while about how to answer this, and I’m not sure I have a really good answer, but I’m going to try.

I’ve been in fandom since approximately 1995. Maybe 1994. At that point, the world wide web was a relatively new part of the internet, and the fandoms I was in had most of their activity on privately-hosted mailing lists (predating eGroups/OneList/Yahoo Groups) and on Usenet newsgroups, with fiction beginning to be available on websites as part of either fandom-specific or pairing-specific archives as well as authors’ individual pages. Fanfiction.net did not yet exist. LiveJournal did not exist. AO3 definitely did not exist. If you wanted real-time chat, there was IRC. I was coming in basically at the tail end of zine fandom; zines were no longer the only way of distributing fanfiction, as fandom started to move online. So I have a selection of zines from 90s-era Western media fandoms but even by then zines weren’t where I was doing most of my reading.

I think in terms of generally “what it was like to be in fandom,” the big-picture stuff hasn’t changed. Fandom still produces creative fanwork and likes to, y’know, get together and talk about fandom. Also, almost every fight or complaint that fandom has about something is a thing that has been going on for actual years. People complain that, say, the kudos button is ruining comment culture because back in the LJ days the only way you could comment on a story was, well, by leaving an actual comment, or sending an email on a mailing list, and this might mean that people who would have otherwise commented have left a kudos instead. But back in the LJ and mailing list days, people were complaining that commenting was going downhill since the days of zines, when in order to comment on a story you had to write a real paper letter and mail it and because you had to do that, the quality of feedback was so much better than you got nowadays because people could just dash off a quick email or comment. You get the idea. Top/bottom wars are not new either. Pairing wars are not new. If you’ve been in fandom a while, you will pretty much have seen all the fights already. I think one thing that is new, though, is the fandom awareness of things like privilege and intersectionality and various -isms, as well as things like “providing warnings might be nice” (do you know how much unwarned deathfic I have read? a lot!) and I sure won’t say we’re perfect at any of this now, but I think fandom is trying way way more about all that stuff than it used to.

There are some fights we actually don’t have anymore, as far as I can tell. I feel like it’s been years since I’ve seen the “real person fiction is wrong” battle, but also I don’t hang out in a whole lot of RPF fandoms, so it’s possible that’s still going and I just don’t see it.

There also used to be a recurring debate about whether gay relationships that were canonical were slash or not. When slash started, obviously this wasn’t a question because there weren’t canonical gay relationships in fandoms, period. But as gay characters began to appear in media, people started to wonder “does slash mean all same-sex relationships, or does slash mean only non-canonical same-sex relationships?” Now, you may be reading this and think that sounds like an incredibly weird thing to get hung up on, but that’s because what appears to have happened is that the term “ship” (originally from X-Files Mulder/Scully fandom) has, as far as I can tell, come up and eaten most of the rest of the terminology. Now people will just say, “oh, I ship that.” For any pairing, gay or not, canonical or not. Fandom seems to have decided that for the most part it no longer actually needs a term specific to same-sex relationships as a genre.

Similarly, there are a few genres of fic that we used to have also pretty much don’t exist anymore. There are also plenty of genres that are well-entrenched now that are also extremely recent -- A/B/O comes to mind. But there are some kinds of fic we don’t write a lot of now. Like, I haven’t seen smarm in years! I also haven’t seen We’re Not Gay We Just Love Each Other in a while. There was also a particular style of slash writing where you’d basically have to explain, in detail, what made you think that these particular characters could be anything other than straight. You’d have to motivate this decision. You’d have to look at their canonical heterosexual relationships and come up with a way to explain why all those had happened in order to reconcile how this one guy could have romantic feelings for another guy. When had he figured out he wasn’t straight? Who might he have been with before? How does he interact with people in ways that make you think he’s not straight? That kind of thing. You had to, essentially, show your work. And these days a lot of fanfic is just like, “Okay, Captain America is bisexual, let’s go!” It’s... different.

Fandom also used to skew older, is my sense. A lot older. I don’t know, actually, if it really was older, but I get the sense now that there are some younger people who are surprised that adults are still in fandom. I have seen people saying these days that they think they’re too old for fanfiction because they are not in middle school anymore. And I think a lot of this has to do with the fact that the barriers to access fandom are a lot lower than they used to be. You used to basically have to be an adult with disposable income (or know an adult with disposable income who was willing to help you out; but even then if you were reading explicit fiction you also had to swear you were 18+, usually by sending in an age statement to whoever you were buying the zine from or to the mods of the list you wanted to join, so a lot of fandom was very much age-gated). Internet access was not widely available. Even if you had internet access, you maybe didn’t have your own email address, so you couldn’t sign up for mailing lists; free email providers didn’t exist. If you wanted to buy zines, you had to have money to buy them. If you wanted to go to cons, you had to be able to afford the cost of the con, travel to the con, et cetera. If you wanted to have a website you had to know HTML. Social media did not exist. You want to draw art? Guess what, you’re probably drawing it on paper! You might be able to upload a picture to your website if you have a digital camera or a scanner, but both of those things are expensive, and also a lot of people don’t have the capability or the money to download pictures from the internet (some people have data caps with overage charges, and some people have text-only connections!), so they won’t get to see it. Maybe you can sell your piece at a con! You want to make a fanvid? We called them songvids, but, anyway, you know how you’re doing that? You’re going to hook two VCRs together and smash the play and record buttons very fast! If you want anyone else to watch them, you are either making them a tape personally and mailing it to them or bringing your vids to a convention. Maybe you can digitize them and upload them, but it’s going to take people hours to download them!

(Every three hours my ISP would kick me off the internet and I’d have to dial in again. If it was a busy time of day, it might take me 20 or 30 minutes to get a connection again. And that was assuming no one else in the house needed to use the phone line. Imagine if your modem went out every three hours now.)

And now, for the cost of my internet connection, I can read pretty much whatever fanfiction I want, whenever I want it. I can see all the fanart I want! I can watch vids! Podfic exists now! Fanmixes exist! Gifsets and moodboards exist! If I want to write fic I can write it with programs that are completely free, and as soon as I post it everyone in the entire world can read it. If I want to draw or make vids that may require some additional investment, but I may also be able to do it with things I already have. Do you have any idea how good we all have it?

There are a couple of kinds of fan activity that don’t seem to exist anymore, though, and I miss them. I know that roleplaying still goes on, but I feel like these days most people who do real-time text roleplay have switched to things like Discord. I know that in the LJ days, RP communities were popular. But I really miss MU*s (MUDs, MUSHes, MOOs, MUXes..), which were servers for real-time text-based RP with a bunch of... hmm... features to aid RP. There were virtual rooms with text descriptions, and objects in virtual rooms with descriptions, and your character had a description, and they could interact with the objects as well as with other characters, and you could program things to change descriptions or emit various kinds of text or take you to different rooms, and so on. Just to, y’know, enhance the atmosphere. It was fun and it was where I learned to RP and I’m sad they’re pretty much gone now.

I also don’t think I see a lot of fanfiction awards in fandoms. Wonder where they went.

Going back to the previous point, the barriers to actually consuming the canon you are fannish about are way, way, way lower now. You can pretty much take it for granted that if right now someone tells you about a shiny new fandom, there will be a way to read that book or watch that show or movie right now. Possibly for free! Of course you can watch it! Why wouldn’t you be able to?

This was absolutely, absolutely not the case before. I’m currently in Marvel Comics fandom. If there is a comic I want to read, I can read it right now on the internet. I have subscribed to Marvel Unlimited and I can read pretty much every comic that is older than three months old; the newer ones cost extra money. But I can do it all from the comfort of my own home right now. I was also, actually, in Marvel Comics fandom in the nineties. If I wanted to read a comic, I had to go to a comic book store and hope they had it in stock; if they didn’t, I had to try another store. Not a lot of comics were available in trade paperback and they definitely weren’t readable on the internet. I used to read a lot of Gambit h/c fic set after Uncanny X-Men #350. I never found a copy of UXM #350. I still haven’t! But I did eventually read it on Unlimited.

Being in TV show fandoms also had similar challenges. Was the show you were watching still on the air? No? Then you’d better hope you could find it in reruns, or know someone who had tapes of it that they could copy for you, otherwise you weren’t watching that show. It was, I think, pretty common for people to be in fandoms for shows they hadn’t seen, because they had no way to see the show, but they loved all the fanfic. The Sentinel had a whole lot of fans like that, both because I think it took a while for it to end up in reruns and because overseas distribution was probably poor. So you’d get people who read the fic and wrote fic based on the other fic they’d read, which meant that you got massive, massive amounts of fanon appearing that people just assumed was in the show because it was a weirdly specific detail that appeared in someone’s fic once. Like “Jim and Blair’s apartment has a small water heater” (not actually canonical) or “Blair is a vegetarian” (there’s an episode where his mother visits and IIRC cooks him one of his favorite meals, which is beef tongue).

Like, I was in The Professionals fandom for years. I read all the fic. I hadn’t seen the show. As far as I know, it never aired in the US, and it certainly never had any kind of US VHS or DVD release. I’d seen a couple songvids. I eventually saw a couple episodes in maybe 2003, and that was because my dad special-ordered a commercial VHS tape from the UK and paid someone to convert it from PAL to NTSC. I didn’t get to see the whole show until several years later when I got a region-free DVD player someone in fandom sent me burned copies of the UK DVD releases and then I special-ordered the commercial release of the DVDs from the UK myself. But if I were a new fan and wanted to watch Pros right now? It is on YouTube! For free!

I think also one of the things about fandom that’s not immediately evident to new fans is the way in which it is permanent and/or impermanent. There are probably people whose first fannish experience is on Tumblr or who only read fanfic on FFN and who have no idea what they would do if either site, say, just shut down. But if you’ve been in fandom a while, you’ve been through, say, Discord, Tumblr, Twitter, Pillowfort, Imzy, DW, JournalFen, LJ, GeoCities, IRC, mailing lists. And sure, if Tumblr closed, it would be inconvenient. But fandom would pack up and move somewhere else. You would find it again. It would, eventually, be okay. Similarly, if you’ve been in a lot of fandoms, if you’ve made a lot of friends, drifting through fandoms is like that. You’ll make a friend in 1998 because you were in the same fandom, and then you might go your own ways, and ten years later you might be in another fandom with them again! It happens.

But the flip side of that is that I think a lot of older fans have learned not to trust in the permanence of any particular site. If you like a story, you save it as soon as you read it. If you like a piece of art, you save it. If you like a vid, you save it. Because you don’t know when the site it’s on will be gone for good. I have, like, twenty years of lovingly-curated fanfic. And I feel like people who have only been in fandom since AO3 existed might not understand how much AO3 is a game-changer compared to what we had before. It’s a site where you can put your fic up and you don’t have to worry that the webhost is going out of business, or that the site might delete your work because they don’t allow gay fiction or explicit fiction or fiction written in second person or fiction for fandoms where the creator doesn’t like fanfiction, or whatever. Because all of those things have absolutely happened. But, I mean, I still save pretty much everything I like, even on AO3, just in case.

So, basically, yeah, fandom is a whole lot more accessible than it used to be. I think fandom is pretty much still fandom, but it’s a lot easier to get into, and that has made it way more open to people who wouldn’t have been able to be in fandom before. There is so, so much more now than there ever was before, and I think that’s great.

#Anonymous #replies

[dropsofletters]

runaway silhouette [jjh]

—summary: no one asks about that polaroid picture of a woman yoonoh keeps in the depths of his wallet.

lace, measurements, models—jung yoonoh has worked for the world of fashion for a little too long, but he’s as unknown as the person next door. with his inspiration dying down and his designs getting cheaper by the day, yoonoh has changed his ways. no longer is he the best lingerie designer in ‘silhouette’, the company he works for, neither is he the playboy he used to be and the dulcet-mouthed man that got his way through success.

bad luck has settled in his life, much like it has done on hers. the manager of a hotel that slipped his fingertips when one night she denied him all—the world, her hold, her smile, and just left him with a picture on his wallet.

only when he has to prepare one of the biggest fashion showcases of his life does he meet her again, and he realizes things could never be easy between them.

why is he, a man of fashion, infatuated with such a lovesick, monotone, blazer-sporting hotel manager? no one will ever know.

a runaway has captured him, and he’s not sure how to get his heart back.

maybe, he should start by forgetting that night.

—title: runaway silhouette  —pairing: jung yoonoh x reader  —genre: lingerie designer!au ; hotel manager!au ; strangers to lovers to enemies!au ; slowburn!au ; slice of life!au  —type: fluff ; angst ; humor ; drama ; suggestive —word count: 19,326 (i said slowburn and i meant it) —warnings: mentions of sex (the act is never on paper or narrative)

Jung Yoonoh is dressed to succeed.

With folded white sleeves and a black vest that becomes a second skin, he merges into the office like it belongs to him. It might, at some point in time; an associate after a few years and then, onto another business that was his own—vision, designs, everything. That’s the plan. His suitcase hangs, paces back and forth in the hook of his fist while all eyes cast on him while walking through the cubicles.

Today, Yoonoh is becoming the one in charge.

Silhouette is the lingerie line everyone wants to have cladding their skin. Expensive, intricate and elegant. It’s one of those things people put on when they need to feel their best while also being comfortable. Garments that enamor the buyer and the people who see them. His home for the past two years, Yoonoh has broken his ass to get to the manager position in the design department.

When settling his suitcase on his cubicle, he shares a smile with his neighbor. Johnny, part of the social media team, with his long-curled hair framing his rounded face. Fixing the collar of his shirt, Johnny interrupts him to say.

“Big day today, aye?”

Redemption, he likes to call this day. The payment for the parties he didn’t go to and the obnoxious nagging he stood from his boss, Mrs. Kang. This tall woman with atrocious so-last-season fluffed out coats in bright pink who screams at the mere sight of beige underwear. As she says, it’s tacky and simple, the kind of clothing you’d want to wear when un-turning someone on.

Yoonoh can’t wait until he can make decisions, organize collections, make bigger and better options for Silhouette to expand.

“You see, John, once I become your boss…I’m making you the leader of the PR and Social Media Team.” This place is a nest of snakes. One bite on his first day and he already became smarter. “Can’t be trusting anyone else with these babies.” With that, he opens his suitcase, sketchbook pressed to his chest just as Johnny claps his hands.

“Better position means better salary.” Johnny conquers, as casual as ever in his baby blue sweater

There are a few rules to Silhouette. To any workplace, really, and Yoonoh thinks about this just as he swings his long legs with Johnny following after him like a dog and his tail.

He had written them down in a portion of his brain that keeps his coffee order and his mom’s birthday. He’ll never forget them.

1)     Never trust nobody—never say where you come from in business, where you’re headed, what your dreams and aspirations are. Copycats exist everywhere, and they’ll do anything to follow your track if you’re doing good.

2)    Say goodbye to friendships but hello to hypocrisy. A smile is needed, but is it real? Not at all.

3)    Differentiate your works from others. Being special is the only way you’ll stand out.

One push of the door spreads a smile on his face, brown hair pushed back to showcase his plush, rosy lips and his gleaming eyes. What’s rule number four, you may ask?

Don’t let them see how tired you are.

Mrs. Kang sits at the very end of the meeting table. Always early, never late. Her face is dense with makeup, each wrinkle becoming more apparent as she applies a third layer of bright pink lipstick. Yoonoh knows Mrs. Kang has been the biggest dictator of all—giving him more work hours, destroying the designs she didn’t like from him, and making him get jittery fingers from how much he had to sew and unsew with the sewing machine to show her what his mind had captured. Now that she had found a way younger boyfriend that is eager to give a trip to the entirety of Asia, he’s over the moon.

Because that means old and grumpy Mrs. Kang will be gone for a while, and whoever becomes manager will be, then, the one in charge.

“Mrs. Kang!” Yoonoh greets in a tone that is much too faux, his dimple becoming apparent by the second. The woman looks up and away from her compact, stopping the conversation he is having with his biggest rival in the office. Not worth even thinking about. “Classic always goes best. You look beautiful today.”

She can barely even move her features in a smile. That’s how obstinate this woman is, but one of her wrinkly hands comes up to hold Yoonoh’s bicep when he leans down to press two kisses on each of her cheeks. The old European greeting. “I know, Yoonoh.” She adds, extending her hand towards him. “May you show me your designs? I got here earlier than expected and I have something to do right now so—”

That makes Yoonoh’s smile falter the slightest, just as he opens his sketchbook and splays it in front of Mrs. Kang. “Well, Mrs. Kang, if you let me have a few of your minutes, I prepared a PowerPoint presentation and a video for the collection I have in mind as my desire to become head of the designing team—”

“Silence, Yoonoh.” Mrs. Kang interrupts, going through his lingerie designs for both men and women. It’s not the kind of job people think about when designing, but there is something about seduction and comfort that just works well for him. “I’m in the midst of planning my engagement and I don’t have the time for whatever extra thing you have in mind.”

The room is silent, but if features could talk, the woman seated next to Mrs. Kang would have burst out in laughter. Siyeon is a 4’11 piece of shit that dared steal one of his designs when in his beginnings in Silhouette.  A fuchsia baby-doll that turned viral in the blink of an eye once it appeared in runways. Comfortable, sexy, with the right number of straps and the comfort of wearing it at any occasion, companion or not.

Yoonoh had left his sketch at his desk, only to find it gone the next morning. Mrs. Kang was over the moon, both from the money she got and about the audacity of the design. Siyeon had turned it in as hers.

No wonder her husband doesn’t stand her. She’s the devil reincarnate, and slips in Johnny’s DM’s every once in a while.

Yoonoh can’t say he doesn’t have some screenshots saved on his phone just in case he needs to blackmail her. This is the kind of man he has become.

“Done before.” Mrs. Kang flips onto another one of his designs. “Done before.” And then, she continues with the rest. “Vulgar. Boring. Ugly. Done before. Jesus, Yoonoh, did you even try to do anything?”

Yoonoh is used to praise. He has got it from women, throughout his time in college and even at his previous jobs. As an intern, he was refreshing and a nice sight in the designer area. Now, he is the floor Mrs. Kang steps on with her Louis Vuitton’s.

“I—” The meeting room is silent, everyone in the designer team trying to peek at his sketches. A short laugh leaves his lips, though awkward in tone. “We’ll compete against brands like Savage with designs like this. They’re brave and fitted and—”

“Boring.” Mrs. Kang completes, and Siyeon actually laughs at that moment, playing with one of her curled bright red strands of hair. “Yoonoh, I’m being serious. If the women you’re sleeping with are wearing lingerie like this…I’m worried about your sexual health.”

More laughter, and his jaw finally tightens. He tries to tell himself to smile, but he doesn’t, instead, snatching the sketchbook from her.

Mrs. Kang notices this, pushing her reading glasses down her nose before sighing. “Yoonoh, you need to learn how to take constructive criticism. You’re not perfect and I’m here to make you grow.” Says the woman that steps on him each time she can. At this point, he’s practically plastered on the floor. “I’m sure you’ll get to divert these boring ideas into something creative once Siyeon becomes the head of the department. You two have been so close since the beginning and I am sure she will work magic on you.”

“No.” Yoonoh shakes his head just as he plasters a faux smile on his features. “Ah, I—Well, I won’t—”

Siyeon stands up from her seat, fixing the sleeves of her white dress before clearing her throat. “I’m glad of getting the position and being the one, remotely, in charge of Silhouette as Mrs. Kang goes find true love.” This is not happening. Yoonoh rubs at his eyes in case he is dreaming. He has been preparing for this presentation for five months— “All I have to say is…I wouldn’t have been able to do this without the support of everyone here. My team. My heart. I have grown to have a family with you, not because we’re perfect, but because we’re together and…of course, it’s nice to continue down this path.” She hums. “A woman in charge and then, another woman. Isn’t that the whole point of Silhouette?”

His tongue scalds his palette when he takes a seat next to Mrs. Kang, closing his sketchbook with a harsh slap of his hand. Siyeon’s eyes connect to his own, fluttering her dense mascara-coated lashes before sighing.

“I had the pleasure of seeing Yoonoh in his first few days here and he has lost that spark, but I’m sure we’ll find it again.” Oh, everyone gets roses but he gets a few, too. For his social funeral, that is. He really wants to get out of there as soon as possible. “I’m thankful.”

There go the tears, and Siyeon covering her face with her hand, a smile hidden behind the action.

…Has he ever said he hates working in Silhouette?

“You’re going to make me cry, too.” One of the members of the manufacturing team says in between big sobs and Yoonoh can’t help but roll his eyes.

Fuck this place.

After an elongated meeting with tearful hugs and looks thrown his way, Yoonoh is ready to find somewhere else to work in. Keep to himself until he dares get his curriculum somewhere else and stab this company straight in the back. Not because he didn’t get the job…but…

Let’s be honest, it’s because he didn’t get the job and he lost it to Siyeon.

Johnny slips around a few hours later with some cheeseburgers in a plastic bag, dense in cheese and stinking the two conjoined cubicles before he says:

“She’s the devil.”

“An exorcism wouldn’t be enough for her.” Yoonoh replies, tongue itching to say something when he unleashes the cheeseburgers from their confines. He’s only five minutes away from lunchtime, after all. “I can’t believe they gave it to her. Her designs are…I don’t know, like lace over lace. That’s not elegant, that’s not what Silhouette stands for—”

“Here’s the thing,” Johnny says, smacking his lips as he speaks with a mouthful of burger in his mouth. “You never had a chance.”

A pang rests in the pit of his heart when he scoffs. “Yes, I did.”

“No, you don’t.” His friend replies. “Everyone in this office hates you but me. I believe it is a Freudian theory. The Jung Yoonoh Effect.” Voiced out like a movie trailer, Johnny extends one of his hands in the air.

“Sorry for not caring about anything but business. Everyone here are suck-asses and crybabies. Why should I care?”

“Because people feel disconnected to you. They don’t to Siyeon.” Johnny conquers. “The Jung Yoonoh Effect is simple.”

“Stop it. You don’t even know who Freud is.”

“That one psychologist that compared everything to sex. That’s who he is. Hence, why you’re there.”

Yoonoh quirks an eyebrow, playing with a slice of meat that had gotten out of his burger. “What are you even talking about?”

“Interns always thirst over you. At least, five out of every nine people in this office has had a wet dream about you, liked enough of your Instagram pics to look like a freak, or would have your dick in a second if the second step of your effect wouldn’t come around.”

“…I’m not that bad of a guy.”

“But you’re bland. Work. Work. Work.” Johnny moves his hand as if it’s talking. Now he’s playing marionettes. Great. “We’re selling lingerie, and you are always about competition and work. We need you to be passionate.”

“Passionately suck up to people?” Yoonoh shakes his head, huffing in the process. “No thanks, man. I’m not going to lower myself to Siyeon’s standards. Not sure I want to get pink eye from kissing so much ass.”

“Been there, done that.” Johnny sighs, a smile displayed on his features. “I’m just saying, bro. Maybe, change the game—”

Something Yoonoh is…stubborn. He’d die with that title, and it is only enhanced when he feels a long nail tapping on his shoulder, making him turn around. He expects to see one of those interns that try to stumble out words when asking him for his e-mail to send him the summaries or designs they have worked on, but this time around, he is met with Siyeon’s face.

“No eating until lunchtime.” She tuts, shaking her finger in the air.

This means war.

Yoonoh points at the clock on his wrist, showing it to her. Rolex, maybe, he’s spoiling himself with the benefit of showing her he has also earned some money, designs mediocre or not. “It’s already my lunchtime.”

“Not to me.” Siyeon answers, straightening her back. “Maybe, you’d like to listen to me before I kick you out of the team, don’t you, Yoonoh?”

With that, he pushes the burger onto his desk, covering it just as Siyeon smiles.

“Good boy.” She coos, laughing when she turns around and returns to giving a run-around the office.

“That’s it.” Yoonoh whispers, running his hands through his hair, not caring if he messes it up in the process. “I’m designing the best fucking collection one could ever find and showing everyone in this goddamned office that I have talent.”

“Ooh, and where do you think you’ll get inspiration from?” Johnny tries to gossip, and Siyeon’s soft touch for him is shown when she doesn’t even spare him a glance as he munches on his burger.

“I think I have someone in mind.”

###

She’d color-code her life if she could. Hence, it’s still a mess, and while she is as organized as she could be, her mind is still trying to process how to keep the hotel she works in safe and sound and quiet.

One would think that being the manager of a hotel would be easy. A three-star-hotel, no celebrities, no paparazzi’s, definitely not enough rich people who care about their environment. As long as she made it homely, clean, and nice to stay in, it wouldn’t be much of an issue.

The problem is…everything is a mess.

For one, her boss, Sachiko, has not appeared in the last two days into the hotel. None of her well-prepared summaries, in Times New Roman twelve, with enough punctuation to make it look like a contract, have been read. The maids keep talking amongst themselves, gossiping instead of cleaning. They got a bad review on their restaurant because the head of the cooking team had decided to shout to one of the clients about how ‘they didn’t have an ounce of taste’ because they disliked the taste of his Ratatouille and oh, how to forget? The fact that her duties as a manager transcend to something else.

She rushes through the kitchen, heat and smoke accompanied by the sizzling of veggies and meat. She doesn’t care that there are flames around her, or that she bumps into one of the cooks in the process.

Sachiko has a mini version of herself, gift of a getaway with her ex-husband to try to make her marriage work. Then, came the five-year-old that had slipped her hold as she was attending one of the residents in their hotel at the entrance, granting them information about the type of rooms they offered. Erika, in all her round-faced glory with grabby hands and too much energy, had slipped from her line of sight and her hold.

She has roamed the entire hotel and she can’t find her.

Oh, then, she should change her statement that she hasn’t seen Sachiko in two days. She has. Sachiko’s heels have clicked against the tiles of this hotel. Only to leave Erika with her, spitting out excuses about having to get on another meeting for the expansion of the hotel, before she’s off the hook of being a full-time mother.

She doesn’t even get more payment for this.

“Have you seen Erika?!” She asks out loud, voice strained from so much shouting, only to watch the head chef speak, his moustache moving with each word he says.

“Oh, little Erika?” Well, seems like he has a soft spot for someone. His eyes glimmer, just as he wraps his hand around his mouth, as if to utter a secret. “She’s in one of the tables. She asked for two milkshakes already. Oreo milkshakes. She’s starting to jitter.”

“Mr. Oh!” She whines, throwing her head back with a groan before splaying her hands on her hips. Navy blue uniform as a simple suit giving her the most boring yet comforting outfit she could come up with. “I am the one that has to get her to sleep, and if she has sugar before bed, she won’t even close an eye—”

Mr. Oh shrugs. “What am I supposed to say? She’s my boss’ daughter.”

“I am your boss as well.”

“You’re getting me fired?”

She can’t even answer to him, hearing the Baby Shark song spoken at the top of someone’s little lungs. Her feet are rushing out of the kitchen by the time she notices it, blazer opening up when she gets to the table Erika is in. Red walls and marble tables don’t scare her, playing with the straw of her drink and grabbing someone’s phone to listen to that fucking song again.

“Erika…” She tuts, voice stern, hands spread out on her knees. This cardio routine has been enough to make her burn all she has eaten this month. The little girl’s short hair caresses her cheeks when she turns towards her, a mischievous smile on her face.

“Yes?”

“Let’s go to your room and wait for mommy to get here.”

“Nope.”

“Yes, Erika. I am not playing.” Her voice levels itself, only to have Erika staring back at her. Big brown eyes blinking, playing with the edge of her pretty pink dress before sighing.

“But you won’t let me…let me watch my shows.” She takes in a breath, shuddering it out as a pout splays on her lips. “Y—You…mommy said you’d be with me, but you aren’t with me at all—”

Tears wield her eyes and she has to rush to cage her in her hold, hoisting her up before a big wail left her lips and she lost her job. “I’m sorry, Erika. I’ve been so busy, I hadn’t realized.” She mumbles out, pressing her cheek to the top of her head before sighing. “Do you want to give a walk around the hotel and go back to your room to watch as many shows as you want?”

She has to play good cards here. She’s not raising this child, after all, so if the long hours of TV-watching make her turn out bad when she’s a teen…that’s not her business.

Erika nods continuously, engulfing her arms around her shoulders. “Yes! Yes! Yes!”

At least, she has found Erika before Sachiko arrives the next morning, but her body practically glues itself to the floor in tiredness by the time she slips out of the restaurant.

The best part of being a manager is when she gets back home.

###

“So, you’re saying you practically lost your job?”

Yoonoh’s life revolves one thing. Those four walls of his cubicles, the connections he has gotten from his workplace and his elongated list of explanations that always go unheard. In any other occasion, he would have been delighted of being given the benefit of lying. Casual relationships are more of his thing and explaining his every insecurity, recollection of time or worry isn’t part of the plan. Carnalities? Sure thing.

A hook-up turned friend with benefits pushing him by the chest and practically gasping when he sighs? He didn’t think it’d end this way.

“Mia,” His voice rasps out, leaning back on his calves while hovering over her. Her bed is as pristine as always, the rosy satin sheets from last week turned into beige, deep fibers that do sound too elegant for them to do whatever they are thinking of in the bed. “I didn’t lose my job, I just didn’t become the head of my department, okay?”

He’s trying to spell it out, but the model is just as confused. Mia had modelled for Silhouette a bunch of times in the last two years, and that’s how he met her. Fitting one of his designs to her will had led him to be asked out on a date and then, the contract came about. Just sex, nothing more.

Mia scrambles away from underneath him, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand as if repulsed. As if she had kissed an ogre itself. “Yoonoh, you’re practically jobless—!”

“I am not.” He sighs out, trying his hardest to concentrate on anything around the room. The tall ceilings, the conversation at hand, anything but the obvious problem in his boxers right now. “I swear, I will just be working for Siyeon but it’s for a period of time. I’m sure I’ll get her position soon enough.”

“Oh my God,” Mia pushes her long brown hair away from her shoulders, widening those innocent eyes of hers, sharp cheekbones lifting in distaste—not even a smile of comprehension. “I can’t believe I almost slept with a good for nothing. You told me you’d get that job and now you didn’t?”

“A good for nothing?” Yoonoh stands up from that bed, hands on his hips when Mia nods, once and then twice.

“Your dick is good, but not that good.”

Is this the day Yoonoh’s ego gets bruised to shattered little pieces that poke at his feet like glass? Perhaps.

Is this the day Yoonoh lets that pang of pain in his chest become visible? Not at all.

“Were you just with me because I was probably going to be a manager?”

“Silhouette is—listen, they are established, but it’s not what I had in mind.” Mia puts on her robe, covering her Goddess-crafted body before picking up a glass of the wine they had been sharing. “If you became manager, I’d have more connections with other teams. I would probably be in better runways and—”

“I’m not your manager or your little linking buddy, Mia.” Yoonoh complains, chest flushed when he seethes, pushing the strands of his dark hair away from his face. “We’re just having fun. I wasn’t going to bring you as my plus one when we had already established—”

“I don’t know if you notice,” She starts, licking her lips in elegance. “But you’re…you’re going to end up alone, Yoonoh. All you do is work, you’re always tense and silent and…a little bit boring, if I’m being honest. I am definitely the closest thing you’ll ever have to a relationship.”

Oh, no. That’s the thing he hates the most. How the world has been divided in romanticists and hard-workers. You’re one of the other, can’t ever be both, and sometimes, he feeds into that stereotype. He knows he doesn’t have time to fully sit down and talk to someone about his interests, let his heart be wandered about like a museum, but somehow…hearing anyone tell him that he’s tense, silent, boring…doesn’t sit well with him.

He shrugs, eager to poke just like done to him. “Good thing I never wanted a relationship with you to start with.”

Mia gasps at that, plush lips parted before she’s opening the window of her one-floor home. Elegant, but still not the grandest thing out there. “Oh, is that so?”

“You happen to be presumptuous, superficial and now, a complete opportunist—” He says, walking behind her until she turns around, her robe falling off one shoulder when she points at the window, crisp air whisking the tension around.

“Then, leave.”

“Okay.” He’s about to turn around and grab his clothing, when he feels her tugging at his taut forearm.

“Not through the door. You don’t get the benefit to do that.” Once again, Mia is pointing at the window and that catches a chuckle out of Yoonoh, that rises and rises in tone.

“I won’t get out through there.”

“I didn’t ask you. I told you to.” With that, she’s pushing at his chest, trying to get him out as he scrambles to get a hold of her.

“Mia! Are you fucking insane?!”

“Tired of your bullshit, Yoonoh. That’s it.”

Mia is, perhaps, not stronger than him, but for someone who walks on runways…she’s mad strong. Maybe, it’s the necessity to get him out of her home or the flying atrocity of her train of thought that has him stumbling backwards in one of those moments. In just his boxers, the prickling of the grass and the flowers in Mia’s garden caress and poke at his skin, tickling in enormous amounts just as he falls into the most embarrassing position he has been in.

The moonlight seeps over his skin, a groan ripping from the depths of his soul at the ache on his back when he hears the window closing, not without a few words from Mia: “And don’t you dare call me again, asshole.” And maybe, he would have laughed at the stupidity of the statement, because throwing someone out of a window is definitely not a reason to call someone back, but now, he’s much too surprised and in pain.

### 

She wishes she was back to being a kid.

It’s a thought she has when the days are tough and uncertainty fills her, like a vase that is neither half full or half empty, but just stuck. In this town, with a job that she had wished for years ago, that takes away every ounce of will and thrive that she ever had. Days are tiring, nights even more so, and sometimes, she wishes the lake would stop being so calm. For it to be some movement, some waves, some dance of life that tells her: ‘this is something new and I give it to you because you deserve it’.

Instead, she’s walking alongside Erika, whose little feet in her elegant tiny boots are kicking a rock on the sidewalk. They had decided to walk for another block near the hotel, houses scattered in their glow in this enchanting night. It’s a moment of quiet, and she relishes on it, sending a look to the rock and to the little girl, just in case she’s not warm enough or she’s tired.

Oh, how she wishes she was tired.

Erika calls out her name, soft and through a pout, in a way that makes her sound like her age. Very much little a baby. “…Why do…why do girls your age never like boys?”

“What do you mean?” She questions, a smile on her face when sparing Erika a glance. A shrug is given. “I think boys are cool. Not all boys, but some are.”

“Mom doesn’t like my dad, and he’s a boy.” That must be the way she explains her parents’ divorce, but how she’s involved in that? She has no idea. “You…you don’t have a boy. I never hear you talk about boys.”

You see, she hasn’t dated in a while. A while as in…years. Comes to be, building trust into someone after having another person shatter it for you is not only difficult, but somehow near impossible. A plane ticket had said farewell to her in-person relationship and she had embarked in this immense long-distance relationship with too many tears and too much longing. He was distant after a while, and she blamed it on time differences…

Time differences that were proven to be someone else when she called him to tell him she had saved money for seven months just to visit him, only to hear him with another woman.

Another woman who claimed to be his girlfriend of four years.

Not one. Not two. Not three. Not even three and a half. Four.

“I don’t know.” She starts, trying to find the best way to say this. “We don’t always need a boy, Erika. Us girls, we don’t. The only people we need are our family, our friends and ourselves. Princesses can still be pretty and have a lot of people looking up to them without a prince.”

“Like Moana?”

“And Merida.” She completes, a smile on her face when she tugs the little girl up to scoop her in her hold. “Your mom has a hotel and she takes care of it very well without a boy. That doesn’t mean your daddy is not important, but they are happy even when he doesn’t have a girl and she doesn’t have a boy.”

“Then,” Erika plays with the collar of her white button-down. “We all have to be in pairs?” She stops.

“You mean couples?” Erika nods. “Oh no, honey, not all of us have to be in pairs or be part of a couple.” She chuckles at Erika’s innocence. She must be a bit insufferable, but still a kid. With the nightly air blowing at her face, she sighs. “We can all be with anybody, depending on who we like, girls…boys…your mom has told you that, right?”

Humming, Erika opens her mouth to speak up. “Yep.”

“Good girl.” She coos, smiling in the process. “Do you know what decision means?”

“Yes.” Erika conquers. “Carrots or potatoes, like that.”

“Exactly. What you choose is your decision.” She’s trying to make this easy for her. “Your mom doesn’t have to love a man, because that is her decision. As long as she loves herself and you, she’s already complete.”

“And you?” Erika questions.

She hadn’t thought about it in years. It didn’t feel right to be next to someone else, and she doesn’t know if that falls on her a little bit. Loneliness is inherent, this wandering thought that comes to her when she stops and wonders if there is someone out there. Not to complete her, because she’s already full by being on her own, but to support her.

“I am complete, too.” The answer is simple, tucking a strand of Erika’s hair behind her curved little ear. “So are you.”

“I am complete!”

“Yes, you are.”

Something interrupts them just as they pass by a cream-colored house. A groan comes from the flowers planted in the front-yard, and that has her stopping. Flowers don’t talk, obviously, but if someone is hurt—a dog or a human, she has to check.

More groaning and then, she sees a peak of milky skin under the moonlight, paired with tousled black hair. A man is standing in between the bushes, with his lower half thankfully covered by the plants, a short small nose, decently sized lips and a face that speaks anything but a good time.

And he’s half-naked. Only in boxers.

Her hand comes upwards to cover Erika’s eyes just as a loud gasp leaves her lips and she screeches: “Pervert!”

“No, no, no!” The man in question shushes her, lowering his body until even his taut chest and abdomen are covered. His eyes widen comically, and she has to shut her mouth to hear him speak. “I’m not a pervert, I promise! I know this looks wrong but—”

“You’re hiding in the bushes without clothes on, sir. This is definitely something illegal—”

“I was with a woman,” He sends a look towards Erika, levelling his words just because a kid is there, trying to snatch her hand away, but its grip is tight like iron. “And she threw me out because we had a break-up. Kind of. Not serious enough to call it a break up but…my clothes are inside and she won’t let me in. I’ve tried for such a long time. I was hiding until someone passed by but…no one did.”

Still far away from him, she quirks an eyebrow. This relatively, conventionally handsome man had been kicked out by a woman…almost ass-naked?

Talk about an attitude.

“Well, I’ll call someone over to help you out—” She’s about to move again, not completely trusting the man in the bushes when he calls her over with a hiss from his lips. A mix of ‘psst!’ and ‘hey!’ that obnoxiously makes her stop to turn around, still covering Erika’s eyes. “What?”

His eyes glisten when he says: “Help me.” He must be some kind of boss. The stranger says these two words like she has to do it, and she would have turned around again had it not been for those plush lips saying: “Please.”

“What do you want?” She questions, only to have him smiling.

Oh, there is a dimple there. A very profound and albeit, a bit attractive, dimple.

“Clothes.” The stranger adds. “Can you buy me some clothes? I promise I’ll pay you. I just need to get out of here. I think a cockroach bit me in the ass.”

“Language.” She spits out, just as Erika tries to wiggle away from her hold and repeats:

“Ass!”

“Erika!”

“Sorry.” He says again, bringing his hands together in a plea before sighing out: “I need them right now.”

She fixes Erika’s hold around her body, before rolling her eyes hard enough so she cans see the back of her head. “Fine. I’ll find you some clothes.”

###

Erika won’t take care of the family business. She’ll be a stylist, for sure. 

The only thing opened at this hour of the night that doesn’t cost her a big portion of her salary is the thrift store and after endlessly explaining the situation to a very eager Erika, she is watching the little girl moving around the store as if she owns it, grabbing clothes here and there in a hassle.

“Erika, be careful. We can only pick three pieces of clothing!” Not that the teenager by the counter cares, popping his bubblegum in between his thin lips, looking down at his phone and tapping on it with a speed that a piano player would envy.

“We have to make him look cute.” Erika tries to say in her most professional voice, and she has to sigh. She will definitely not become a mother anytime soon.

“Yes, but we also have to make it cheap. I don’t have much money in this suit.”

“Yes, yes.” Somehow, she feels like Erika is not listening, pulling at a t-shirt on a table nearby, only to unfold it and give it to her. Her body is so small that she couldn’t see the imprint on the front. As her babysitter of the night, she expands it over her chest, only to watch something within Erika lighting up. “I like it!”

“Good,” She checks the price after muffling a laugh at the words written at the front. “It’s cheap. We can get it.”

Small steps patter against the tiles of the grand store before she’s tugging at the leg of a pair of pants she found on a rack, too tall for her to grab.

“This, this, this, I want this!”

Those ones are a little bit pricier, but when she gets them out of the rack, a smile finally spreads through her features. She has to get it. “You have a gut for styling, little one.”

Erika straightens her back in pride, fisting her small hands before nodding. “Thank you. Want me to buy one for you?”

She chuckles at her words. Definitely not, but she masks it by saying. “We don’t have enough money tonight. Another time.”

### 

Props to the man whom now she knows is called Jung Yoonoh…he doesn’t look half as bad in those clothes as anyone else would.

The milky way spreads on Erika’s pupils when she leans on the table that she had taken up in the hotel’s restaurant a little bit over an hour ago. Her line of sight is filled with none other than Yoonoh, whom she had practically cried to just to invite him to have dinner with the two of them. Erika has practically eaten her weight in Oreo milkshakes, but she can’t quite say she is not starving by the time she slips into the leather seats and she smells the delicious cooking from the kitchen.

Compare that to the bland sandwich she has in her locker.

The little girl talks even out of her elbows. Yoonoh, however, patiently listens, trying to keep up with the grand story she has for the outfit she had picked for him. That explains why people take second-glances towards him. Not that he is not handsome enough; the lighting at that house his girl had kicked him out of did not do justice to his chiseled, quite carved face, but there is something about his clothing that captures most of the attention.

A pair of pink flip flops that Erika had picked up at last after they both forgot about shoes. Tight red leather pants that showcase the strength and curve of his thighs, quite lean, elongated legs that she had taken a second look at when seeing him out of the bushes with some clothes on. And, how to forget the old, quite used black tank top that reads: ‘With a body like this, who needs a personality?’.

She had laughed when she saw him.

Her fingers dip her fries on some ketchup by the time Yoonoh does so, sparing her a glance over Erika’s shoulder when the little girl says:

“My friend doesn’t need boys.” The girl adds, wrapping her hands around her mouth before saying. “But don’t feel offended, she still finds boys cool.”

“Some of them.” She corrects, connecting her gaze with Yoonoh’s just as the man leans back on his seat, crossing his arms across his chest.

“Oh, words from a broken heart. Who hurt you?” He questions, quirking one of his eyebrows before taking a bite of the fried chicken he had insisted on getting. Something about those brown eyes seem to capture her perfectly, as if reading her like a book…and she doesn’t like it.

“I’m just too busy to care.” Her voice wavers the slightest when letting out her excuse and then, she scoffs. “You know, that happens when you’re the manager of a hotel.”

“Understandable.” Yoonoh nods a few times before that dimple appears again. “Too busy to care or too busy to date?”

Her face burns by the time Yoonoh asks that question, pleased with the way she widens her eyes. “When did we decide to make me the subject of our conversation?”

“You saw me half-naked, I get to know something about you other than the pressed suits and the obvious distrust issues.” Yoonoh’s tone is playful, that smile never erased from his features, while her frown deepens. She can’t say he’s not correct, but he’s also poking at her nerves with his words.

“I don’t have trust issues.”

He hums. “Your first reaction is to say no to everything. You deny every word that is thrown your way.”

“Because I happen to think guys like you just feel like they know it all.” She comments, taking the same position as him while crossing one leg over the other. Erika just looks between the two, trying to understand this conversation to no avail. “You read and read people, but I can read you well, Yoonoh.”

He expands his arms, showing that ridiculous shirt. May be half true, his body is great, and his personality may be a little bit insufferable. “Read me.”

“Bachelor with a good job who has that ‘rise and grind’ mentality. Don’t take relationships seriously. Can’t look past what’s in front of him and oh, trust issues, too.” She relishes on leaning over the table, watching as his eyes concern the rest of her face, taking in her every feature before his gaze delves down to the fold of her shirt, no buttons opened, but he’s trying to see something there.

“You want me to look at what’s in front of me?” He questions. “It’s you. Didn’t know that was your way of flirting with me. Guess I really do have to thank you for the…outfit.”

“And me!” Erika raises her hand, waiving it in the air happily.

His tutting tone changes when smiling at her. “Thank you, Erika.”

“Who hurt you, Jung Yoonoh?” She questions, mocking the tone he had used on her and trying to stop a smile from appearing on her lips. So, playing around with him is fun, as it seems.

He stops for a moment, as if thinking. The curve of his mouth falls down the slightest and she hears a breath-in that she overthinks about, noticing that there is pain in even the brightest of people. Instead, he shrugs. “I haven’t gotten my heart broken.” Yoonoh says, playing with the strands of his hair, curves of his arms contorting. “Want to be the first to break it, sweetheart?”

“You wish.” She scoffs, only to have Yoonoh dipping more of his fries in ketchup.

“You wouldn’t even kill an ant.” Yoonoh swats without importance. “I doubt you’d break my heart.”

“I wouldn’t want to break your heart, and that’s what differentiates us.” She points between them. “Good cop, bad cop.”

“Excuse me.” A tender voice cuts through the air around us, a young-looking guy with innocent features and glasses too big for his face waves a Polaroid camera in his hold when nearing them. “May I take a picture of you? I have a photography project for a class I’m taking in college and I need to take pictures that bring nostalgia and warmth. I happened to think your little family could be the perfect subject.”

Before she could fully deny they are a family, Erika is wrapping both her little arms around their shoulders as she settles at the center of the table, smiling at the camera. “Cheese!”

Two pictures are taken before she could fully bring a smile to her face, her eyes connecting to Yoonoh’s over the table in a look that she can’t quite recognize. His smile has erased but still, he’s the one to take the picture when the college student says:

“One for you, one for me.” He says, bowing slightly. “Thank you.”

With that, he is gone, but the effect of his picture lingers when she realizes where she is. A complete stranger sits at the same table as her, trying to figure each other our while she should have put Erika to bed long ago, continue with her job and not even look to the sides to see whose lives are coexisting while she’s just working.

“Sorry.” She stands up, shaking her head at her own antics. Helped him, she had already done, and now she has no business to sit with him, grab a bite and just pretend that she doesn’t have things to do. Yoonoh looks up from the picture, eyebrows furrowed when she grabs Erika by the arms and hoists her up. “I—I have to work. I don’t…I shouldn’t…I shouldn’t be here with you.”

“Why?” Yoonoh questions, voice softened when she shakes her head.

“I just shouldn’t.” She finishes, not knowing quite well what this feels like. Casually flirting with a man like him means trouble. “Goodbye, Yoonoh.”

She says those words with the harshest weight of the world, turning around and rushing out of the restaurant while Erika screams out Yoonoh’s name in need for more fun in the night. Nonetheless, she feels someone’s eyes trailing after her, but she knows one look over her shoulder would only bring more questions to her head.

What was the universe trying to do when putting him on her road?

###

There is a picture in his wallet that doesn’t even begin to answer the questions roaming his head. As confused as in the beginning, Yoonoh remains.

He doesn’t know why he stares at it after finishing his meal during lunchtime, the office emptied out of people, flicking at the corner of the Polaroid he would not show anyone even if they paid him a billion won. He just wouldn’t. That ridiculous shirt and those obnoxiously tight pants that definitely gave him a carpet burn that he’s still feeling two days later, should have been enough of a reason not to wonder about the sudden change of mind the hotel manager had. 

Maybe, he had offended her. Though, she had kept on playing his game—and he half meant what he said. People like her are easy to read. Definitely an organization freak, perhaps a bit nerdy, with enough worries in her mind to fill an entire book. She wasn’t wrong about his trust issues either, but as he splays his fingertips on top of her placement in the picture, the only one who is not fully smiling, he ponders…

What’s about this girl that has his mind bringing her back all the time?

He closes his wallet just as he opens his sketchbook. A new one, because in his hassle, he had ripped the other that he had filled with all his dreams and hopes. He had crafted bodies, all in different sizes, to design something…and nothing had come to mind, not until he saw her again. That treasure hidden under baggy suits and clothes that he would have never looked at twice if only he hadn’t been captured by the naïve elegance in her face.

His eyes had tried to look, capture a glimpse of the curves around her body, and his imagination gave him more than what he could actually perceive. Yet, it had been enough. Flipping through his color scheme cards, he compares it to the vision he had inside his brain. Conservative, but still enough to feel powerful…

Violet. He doesn’t know why he picks it, but he does.

His fingers can’t stop sketching over the model he has on his sketchbook. He imagines lace and stain, draped thin pieces of clothing over the shoulders. Enough coverage for a one piece…and it comes to him in the form of a muse he would have never imagined. Someone who did not even show him anything, never gave him a chance to talk or fly, because that’s what he had never tried. What Silhouette had never stood for.

The people who are too shy to wear something like what they design.

Attractiveness is a feeling most people should get used to. Being looked at in an adoring light or have a flower thrown their way in the form of a compliment is desired, but has been lost in the eye of lust. Every word of adoration these days has been related to something—the imminent stoppage of the moment for the promise of sex. Never had Yoonoh thought of his designs as something more than a form of self-seduction, with the portrayal of self-love as a higher force for lust, but now, he sees it again.

Lingerie shouldn’t be seducing. It should be a weapon of beauty; a piece of clothing to be taken into consideration, colors that merge well with one’s personality. Not everyone is ready to fully unveil themselves in the light of the sexualized society we live in. Sometimes, people just want to feel nice fabrics against their skin or a glimmer of gorgeousness without showing everything.

The magic of designing is in delicacy.

The ideas come to him then. What was once a two piece for Yoonoh, now is one. What was once see-through, now makes up for riskiness in designs and curves, fabrics added to give more structure, instead of more nudity. Lingerie doesn’t have to be a thin layer of clothing—it can be beautiful, crafted and built.

His e-mail dings with a new entrance, stopping him on his third design as he envisions what must be under that suit—what would fit her and other working people for needing a boost, without actually showing the clothing to anyone but themselves, but soon enough, his face falls at Siyeon’s e-mail.

Subject: The Boss Wants You to Work.

Greetings, my beloved Yoonoh,

Silhouette has been known for its strong stance in the fashion community, and I have been pleased to land a runway show for us in, specifically, twenty-nine (29) days. In light of this, I send you the list of things you have to do:

1)   Design a set for the main male model of the runway, Kim Jungwoo. It has to be a showstopper if you want to keep working with him. I need this to be sent in 6 days.

2)   Find a nice and not as expensive place for the publicity photoshoot to take part on. I don’t want simple. I need ravishing visuals.

3)   Talk to the newbie models and make sure that said day, the stylists don’t screw up.

Thank you.

Sincerely,

Jeon Siyeon.

Yoonoh rolls his eyes before starting to type a reply. The devil must be in front of her computer.

Subject: [RE]: The Boss Wants You to Work.

Hello,

I had already started working on a female set. I’m a female lingerie designer. I think I am not the one in charge of Jungwoo’s outfit.

Sincerely,

Jung Yoonoh.

The response comes just as he begins scrabbling his ideas into paper once again.

Subject: Who asked?

I want you to work on Jungwoo’s outfit. See if you get better while working on boxers instead of bras.

Not as sincerely,

Jeon Siyeon.

Spreading one hand on top of his sketchbook, he rubs the bridge of his nose before he breathes in deeply. Okay, now it seems like he has to craft something for a model that he doesn’t even know about, as well as finding the place for a photoshoot. An assistant, he seems to be now, and Siyeon’s, nonetheless.

But a place comes to mind, soon enough.

###

Devastation comes short to the wails that leave the kid’s lips. That speaks of pleas and pain.

Over a week of Sachiko coming up with different meetings had led up to an expected, yet somewhat uncalculated, road trip to where she hopes to build her second hotel. That said, she won’t stay for a day or two, but for the entirety of two weeks away from Erika. The daughter that now clings onto Sachiko like a koala, hiding her face in the crook of her neck, black hair matching her own as she cries uncontrollably.

Sachiko is at her apartment’s doorstep, luggage by the side of her elongated legs, as she shushes her daughter with a worried gaze. “You’re going to be okay, baby.” Then, she calls out her name, trying to wipe the tears in her eyes with just one hand. “You’ll be taken care of…and I will be back before you know it.”

“Why do you leave?!” Erika screeches, and Sachiko tries her best to reason with her, but her own whines are stopping her.

So, with her pajamas and tiredness lingering within her, she places a hand on top of Erika’s back. “Because your mom wants you to have a great life, Erika. She wants to buy you all you need and for you to have dreams as big as hers.” Maybe, she won’t get it now, but it’s the best she can do to explain the situation.

It manages to make Erika turn around, blinking her tears onto her cheeks. “I don’t want her to go.”

“We’ll mark the calendar…and she’ll come soon enough.” She whispers out, and it’s at this moment that she regrets saying yes to Sachiko when she asked her to take care of her daughter for a little while longer.

A little while longer shouldn’t mean two weeks.

Still, Erika doesn’t let go of her mom. She’s glued to her.

“I made you some hot chocolate, and I have some pudding that I prepared for me earlier.” Because sugary sweet meals seem to make her feel better in these days of uncertainty. This makes Erika widen her eyes, looking back at her mom before questioning her with a small smile.

“There you go, there’s my smiling baby.” Sachiko finishes, putting her daughter down before looking down at her watch. “My taxi is waiting for me. You can call me tomorrow, Erika, okay?”

“Yes, mommy!” But Erika is already moving towards the kitchen to grab a mug of that sweet, sweet hot chocolate.

She knows sweets are her weak point.

The only weak point she has.

“Make sure she sleeps early, okay?” Sachiko says, and all she can do is nod.

“Sure thing.” I can’t promise a thing, she thinks.

“And that she doesn’t eat too many sweets. I’ll let this one slide.”

“Only veggies.” She says as she grabs her doorframe in between her hold. Only to give her something sweet after she throws the veggies at my face, her mind replies.

“Thank you.” Sachiko adds over her shoulder, a smile to her face. “I know it’s difficult, but I really don’t have any family to take care of her and I really do trust you. I promise to pay you well after all this.”

That’s a nice start.

“Don’t worry. Me and Erika get along well.” That’s not a lie, but taking care of a kid is extremely tiring. “Just get in your taxi. We’ll be fine.”

With that, minutes pass by of complete silence, Erika’s eyes trained on her phone, blasting Peppa Pig, with one or two hiccups escaping here and there as she drinks her first mug of chocolate. She joins her, slicing another bit of cake and shrugging off whatever thought appears inside her brain.

The chocolate merges on the roof of her mouth, warming her to the tip of her toes, each aching muscle after hours of working relaxing, even a bit entranced by the show she’s not watching, but might be brain-washing her just like the rest of the kids.

“Another one, please.” Erika says after finishing her episode, extending her mug of chocolate towards her before she smiles sweetly.

She shakes her head. “Mom said no sweets.”

“Please?” The little girl drags with dulcetness in her tone, but she repeats the previous action.

“Nope.”

Erika places the mug down, head laying low before she repeats: “Chocolate, please!”

“I said nope.”

The kid stops for a moment, thinking as the sound of the dishwasher starting up as she cleans the mugs and the plates, and just then, her small voice is heard again:

“You don’t give me chocolates because you’re sad about Yoonoh?”

That makes her halter all steps. Yoonoh. The man that she had met days ago. Adonis without a shirt on, and then some weird 2011 wannabe that happened to have dinner with her and Erika. The lingering flirtations between the two had not been forgotten, those pair of eyes that somehow seemed to want to strip her of her utmost secrets, only for her to back away.

Yoonoh means trouble.

“I am not sad about Yoonoh.” She adds, turning around with her damp hands ending up over her waist. “Why do you think I’m sad about him?”

“Because he’s your boy!” Erika screeches as if it’s the most obvious thing, and she’s starting to get tired of the kid’s insane romanticism mixed with optimism. Sure, she’s a kid, but Disney should start making less princesses with a prince. “Mommy explained it to me.”

“What did she explain?” Not that she’s understanding a thing, but please, she does need to be enlightened.

“I asked mommy how people acted when they were in pairs.”

“When they are couples.”

“Yep!” The grin on her chubby cheeks is enchanting, but by what she’s saying, she’s about to ask Sachiko to pick her up again. The love talk is not her thing. “And she said boys smile a lot and they speak weirdly, like things I can’t understand.” That is a way to put it. “And the girl looks down a lot…and I don’t remember what else she said, but you did all those things with Yoonoh. He is your boy!”

“Boyfriend, not boy.” She corrects, turning around to continue to wash the dishes. Was he smiling at her? She had seen the dimple, but she hadn’t thought that he had beamed around like a madman. “And he’s not my boyfriend. I don’t have one.”

“But why?” Erika drags her voice.

“We already had the talk of Moana and Merida.”

“I get that. I’m like them. I don’t want to be with boys.” She utters innocently, standing up to tug at her sleeve. “But you are with Yoonoh.”

“Oh, no.” She shakes her head, laughter escaping her lips. “You hit your head, Erika.”

“I didn’t!” The little girl says, scratching her head just in case. “You’re a princess. He’s a prince—”

“Erika!” She stops her, interrupting her with ease before sighing. “I met Yoonoh the day we saw him, and I didn’t like him that way. We aren’t even friends.”

She juts out her lip. “I wasn’t friends with Mina either.” That’s Erika’s best friend from school. “But we became friends in a day. She put a worm in the teacher’s sandwich…” Her voice becomes soft, a blush appearing on her face. “It was awesome.”

“It’s different for adults.” That’s the best way to put it. She shakes the water away from her hands after closing the faucet before patting them dry on a towel. “What would you do if I said I disliked Yoonoh?”

“Nothing.” She adds. “You said you liked cool boys, and he’s a cool boy.”

He’s an overachieving asshole with a nice smile that could potentially enter her heart if she let him, but that should and would never happen. That’s who he is.

“Erika, I’ll tell your mom to ground you if we keep this conversation up.”

That seems to make her stop, grabbing her phone once again—and she knows the password, which is even worse, kids in this generation are geniuses—, before adding: “Does Peppa have a boy?”

“Oh my God, no!”

This will definitely be a long night.

###  

His mind is blank. Absolutely blank. Lingerie for men is even more difficult than lingerie for women. 

Jungwoo gives another walk on the stage, bleached blonde hair barely moving with each step he takes. He’s in the simple designs, the first launch of Silhouette, as bland as bland can get, and while his strut is fine, he can’t think of anything. Nothing that couldn’t be just a simple pair of boxer briefs thrown on a model. He could do that, but that’s so common, so plastered on paper. He wants to do something else, and yet, in the day of the photoshoot, he can’t think of anything.

“Why are you making me do this?” He met Jungwoo a few days ago, and he was actually quite surprised to recognize who he is. A runway model that has been around the world and all over fashion weeks. His dulcet personality and tall frame have gotten him somewhere, that’s for sure. “I should be already in my clothes and ready to take pictures.”

“I have nothing.” In the middle of the hotel’s ballroom, Jungwoo stops walking at the sound of Yoonoh’s voice. The designer looks down at his sketchbook, where he had made the drawing of a body similar to Jungwoo’s and still, nothing came to mind.

“…You have to have something.”

“A pair of black boxers.” He turns the sketchbook around just as Jungwoo slips a robe over his body and ties it securely. “Better than white boxer briefs, sexier, too. All the women I’ve been with likes them.”

“I won’t model that.” Jungwoo conquers, a lightweight laugh following after. “Those look like plain cotton boxers.”

“Well, I just don’t know what to design. Either I make you look tacky or I make you look bland. There is no in-between.”

“That bad?” Jungwoo questions, taking a seat next to him before grabbing a water bottle. “People are going to be here any minute. Everyone has decorated and I’m not sure my manager will be happy to hear that I came here just for nothing.”

A look is spared to the model, with Yoonoh shaking his head softly. He has to think of something. He can’t give Siyeon the benefit of seeing him tuck with a simple design.

His pencil taps against the drawing for a few seconds before he breathes out a few words: “You’re okay with being more covered?”

Conservative and elegant is more of what he has been aspiring for, with that peek of skin that makes the world go around. It’s what he has been drawing these days, but mostly with a muse in mind.

“Sure. I wasn’t over the moon thinking my ass was going to be out in the world.”

Yoonoh chuckles at that, turning the page around from the plain black boxers before sketching something else. “How about a crop top? With a fabric similar to a bralette, and you look better in red than you do in black.” He draws a diagonal line across the ribcage, making slitted long sleeves to showcase pieces of biceps, filling it up with the color red in a quick hassled manner that he will fix later. “Maybe some chains and garments around that wrap up to your waist.”

“I like that.” Jungwoo announces when looking over his shoulder.

“I’ll keep the black boxers. I still think they are classics, and I can talk to the management team to make them more than just cotton.” Yoonoh announces, soon after looking at the picture before clicking his tongue. “I think there’s something lacking.”

“Dunno. You’re the designer, but I’d wear this out of the runway.”

That’s something good, but Yoonoh is thinking of something else. People in real life transcending into their own confident version. That’s what he wants to portray. He draws a suit jacket draped over his shoulders, falling onto his long legs until it reaches midway through his calves, before sketching a pair of pants on the side. Loose, simple, highlighted in the waist.

“We could connect do something like…like suspenders. Office guy turns into midnight God.” Once again, he’s sketching. “You’d wear this, the crop top underneath but I have no idea how you’d show the boxers.”

“Make them low cut.” Jungwoo suggests, eyes trained on his phone momentarily when he crosses one leg over the other. “That way, the boxer’s band will be showing, and it will have Silhouette’s name there. I’d take off the jacket to show the statement piece.”

Yoonoh thinks about it, erasing the line at the waist before drawing the band, and his eyes glimmer at the image underneath him. Not as bad as he imagined it.

“Your ideas are good.”

“Thanks, I’m not just a pretty face.” Jungwoo jokes around, only standing up when the doors of the ballroom come open.

The theme of the photoshoot is simple. A party at the eighties, with beaming colors and disco balls. Darkened walls, confetti, everything has been added to highlight the idea Yoonoh had come up with. Nonetheless, his team is not the one barging in the room when the doors open, instead, he’s met with another darkened suit and a serious face that stares down at her agenda.

“Morning, people. I’m sorry I’m late. I was figuring out an issue at the penthouse, but I am here to help you with any form of decoration or with any question you may have.” The hotel manager stands there. Not that Yoonoh ever pondered they could not meet each other when he had specifically picked her hotel—he had walked through when entering the restaurant, and the three-stars help with the price, but the decorations are immaculate. Architecture its utmost beauty.

Now that he sees her, a smile spreads across his features. Maybe, a bit too soon—in a way that has him pushing it down because it is not possible to get that reaction out of him when it’s not faux. That woman had stood him up without even much of a reason, in the literal sense of the word, took those pretty legs away from the seat and walked away after they had been having fun.

He wore those leather pants. She owed him not leaving him in the middle of a restaurant with her meal and his to pay.

When she looks up at him, a few sentiments flash before her eyes, but he can’t guess any of them. He breathes out her name, capturing her off guard when she questions:

“You remember me?” Her voice is levelled as she moves forward, with a tinge of curiousness.

Yoonoh shrugs his shoulders in his fitted black sweater, paired with dark ripped jeans. “I wasn’t shitfaced. Just half-naked.”

That makes her frown deeply when she looks up at him again. “Don’t you dare say that out loud in front of anyone.” Soon after, she’s talking to Jungwoo. “I—Don’t listen to him. I’m the manager of this hotel and I have no business with this man.”

Jungwoo lifts his hands in the air. “None of my business, but please, do let me hear.”

He doesn’t know why it surprises him that Jungwoo likes gossip. “Why? You’re embarrassed of helping me out?”

“You’re saying it with double intentions.”

Yoonoh chuckles. “I wasn’t intending on anything the night we met.”

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes, making him raise his eyebrows. That cynic voice in her is not something he expected. “We both know what kind of intentions you have with everyone. It seeps from you.”

“Seeps from me?”

“You had no issue going with some stranger after being kicked out of your…your hook up’s house and you were smiling and using those eyes on me and buddy,” She stops, a short laugh leaving her lips. Her index finger extends to point at him. “I’m not a charity case. I’m not in need of a man. I don’t need you to come around and cause me trouble, okay? If you’re here just to tease me instead of letting me do my job, then we’re off to a bad start.”

Offended is short for what he feels. Sure, he may not make a big deal out of hook ups, but it’s not like he’s the easiest man in the world. And if he was, why does she care?

“You’re the one talking about my eyes. I never made eyes at you.”

That makes her stop, holding her agenda to her chest before patting her ponytail in place. “Okay. Fine.”

“You just think you’re so much better than you, don’t you?” Yoonoh spites, crossing his arms across his chest, never once raising his voice.

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, yes, you take care of your boss’ child. You’re so sweet and kind. So in synch with yourself you need no one’s company…” He trails off, pointing them out with the sharpness of his words. “That’s fine, but it’s not fine when you point fingers at people for being with other people. The twenty-first century is calling, they are here to say you can show someone your ankles without losing all sense of rightfulness.”

Scoffing, she shakes her head, a sarcastic smile appearing on her features. “Yoonoh, I know men like you.” She starts. The typical stance people have of him. Men like him. “You’re a…around with a bunch of women, and you use your good looks to your advantage, never care about anybody but you, never take anyone out on a date—”

He gets closer at that moment, lowering his eyes onto her lips before connecting them with hers. “…You wanted me to take you out on a date and that’s why you’re mad about me being a thot?”

“No!”

His hand reaches for one of her ears, laughing when he feels the heat. “Your ears are hot. Have something to tell me?”

“Where’s the person in charge of this photoshoot?” She slaps his hand away, turning to Jungwoo who has the biggest grin on his features.

“Oh, it’s him. The asshole Jung Yoonoh.” Jungwoo conquers with a flick of his finger before he expands his hands in front of them. “But please do continue. I love a good drama.”

“You?!” She gasps that word out as if it’s venom, a sharp intake coming after.

“Me.” Yoonoh retorts, a smirk appearing on his face. “And I happen to have lots of questions about this ballroom.”

He doesn’t, but he enjoys his next thirty minutes, trying to get the offense out of his body by having her carrying boxes—not heavy, but definitely bothersome when ordered by him—and giving her his phone number wrongly three times as she finished up the contract and the bill for the rent of the ballroom. Exasperation is short for what she feels, but as she’s working on that bill, he realizes something.

The shirt underneath her suit is a sunshine yellow, and he may change violet from the position of his desired color on her, because yellow makes her beam like never before. It gives her a powerful stance, standing out even in between seas of models posing around.

Though what she thinks of him has been a repetition of what he has heard before, somehow, he cares a little bit more when it comes from the one woman that has inspired him to do better with his designs. Not that she even cares about his position as a designer.

For her, he’s only another asshole who uses people to his will, and that’s only half correct.

###  

“The sexual tension was so thick I had a hard time breathing. Seriously, it was like when I used to steal rated magazines when I was young!”

The maids cheer and giggle to themselves when Blue spits out another version of the story that she and Yoonoh supposedly wrote yesterday afternoon in the ballroom. She has to play with the lettuce of her sandwich, cheek squished against her palm as she watches Erika stare in between the seas of women, following after every reaction even when she doesn’t understand them.

“Blue, don’t say such words in front of Erika.” She tells them, biting on her densely sauce-coated sandwich, before breathing out softly. How could they think of Yoonoh as a dream when he’s obviously a womanizer dressed in sheep’s clothing?

Or the devil. He’s definitely the devil.

“Whatever.” Blue, in her eighties, moves the skirt of her gray uniform before picking up one of the maids. One of the youngest and the tallest, with a long black fringe and moon-bathed features. Chaewon, she thinks her name is. “He told her: ‘Need help with those boxes’?” She lowers her voice to be a faux deep vibrato. “And she said: ‘No, I can do it myself. Thank you.’” That time around, her voice lifts up.

“I don’t speak like that.”

“And then, he retorted by saying: ‘I know, but my arms are waiting to hold something. I think you’d rather it be boxes.’”

More screeches and giggles follow after that statement, and she rolls her eyes because he did say that.

Chaewon ends up being swooped over, rolled around in Blue’s hold before she’s cooing. “I was expecting him to lower her down and give her that kiss that she was definitely asking for with her gaze,” She imitates the actions by looking down at Chaewon. She’s an actress, even at such an old age. “She kept looking at his lips before she cut him off, and you had to say the way his eyes lingered on her…”

“Where was he looking?” One of the maids asks, organizing the towels in their little eating room when Blue lets of Chaewon to let her sit somewhere else.

“He wasn’t looking.” The manager defends, ears heated up…but because of the golden lights here, definitely.

“Everywhere! There was not a portion of her that he simply did not worship with his gaze alone. He wanted to ravish her like—”

More heat, and maybe, summer is coming around earlier than expected. “Blue, stop reading those romance books with naked men on the cover. They’re getting to you.”

Blue laughs at her antics, her curled gray hair jumping around when she takes a seat in front of her. She continues to bite on her sandwich. “Aw, come on, boss. You can’t expect us not to want to see you with that man.” She covers her mouth to lower her voice before whispering: “He’s sexy.”

“Jung Yoonoh is anything but that!” She defends, leaning back on her seat and trashing the last bit that was left of her sandwich. She opens her water bottle and gulps it quickly.

“Look at that heat!” One of the maids adds, and Chaewon nods in return. “How does he look like, Blue? He sounds like a dream.”

“Pecs over pecs over pecs. He had…” The oldest woman curves her hands in the air and the manager has to scoff.

“Stop thirsting over him.”

“His girlfriend over there will get jealous but you had to see that sweater on him. That man is lean and had the sweetest, prince-like face. But not the kind of prince that wants you for his kingdom, having you wearing proper dresses and greeting the crowd.” She stops for a second, thick silence lingering in the air before she adds. “But the kind of prince that sneaks you into the castle to show you ever room—”

“More sexualization, great.” Her knees buckle when she picks Erika up from her spot in between the maids. “I have a meeting with the valet team. You better stop talking about this if you don’t want me to talk with Sachiko about your disrespect towards our clients.”

She opens the door when Erika wraps her arms around her neck, turning around to wave to the maids. “Bye!”

“Bye-bye, honey!” Blue waves back, returning to the crowd to say: “And his hair—”

She has to close the door with a bang as a huff leaves her lips. Everything has been about Jung Yoonoh these days, but what is the sudden obsession to have her paired up with someone who will definitely shatter her to pieces?

Every thought about him shall be erased as soon as possible now that he has finished with his photoshoot. She won’t hear about Jung Yoonoh ever again.

###

“And then, she went on to call me a man-whore or something. Practically drawing me as the biggest scumbag to ever exist.”

It’s way over nine at night when he finally has the time to check over what the manufacturing team had done with the design that he had sketched for Jungwoo. He still needed to take his pictures for the event, asking the graphic design team to help him out with the deadline, but that’s the least of his worries. Johnny is by his side, lost in his phone as he listened to his story, being his support for another all-nighter.

He unfolds the blood red fabric of the crop top and smiles in delight. Fitted, with slits that could pierce well into the subject of edge, and some chains dangling in elegant curves towards the waist, with Swarovski diamonds in between. He continues to look through the pieces, pants and jacket as well, when he hears Johnny speaking up.

“She’s not wrong.” He says, still engraved on his phone. “You’re a bit of an ass and you haven’t been in a serious relationship ever since I met you. Even before that, you have been single and into hook-ups. Why are you bothered?”

“Because I am not like that. I don’t have the time to embark in a relationship, okay?” Yoonoh mutters out, placing the jacket down on the table to look at it more precisely. “She has this…this air of arrogance of thinking she’s better than me. I don’t know, like…she just thinks I am some kind of douchebag that gets to her nerves—”

“Yet, still you sketch her.” That is the moment he hears the pages of his sketchbook being flickered at. Yoonoh widens his eyes, turning around to close it just as he says:

“Let go of that!”

“They’re pretty. Don’t be a nerd about it.” Once again, Johnny has taken the sketchbook, turning around to keep it away from his hold. “Are you into BDSM or something? People talking down on you? Women hating you so badly that they are kinda into you?”

Hate. That word is enormous, and he wouldn’t like to use it when plotting what she feels for him. Strong dislike, let’s go with that. “I’m not.” He denies all allegations. “…You just have to see her.”

“Ass or tits?”

“Not that.” Yoonoh feels his own cheeks heating up as a smile takes over his features. Not that he had gotten to see a lot with how baggy her suits are, but attractive is short for how he would describe her. “It’s in the way she holds herself. She’s the quiet kind of powerful. With everyone, she is kind and understanding, and yet, her action speak louder than she does. She’s independent and doesn’t let anyone else help her, even if she’s over the top with assignments and—”

“And it kind of sounds like you’re paying a little too much attention to her.” Johnny closes the sketchbook at that moment, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. “What’s with you, Yoonoh?”

The man scoffs, shaking his head. “Nothing. Just saying. I’m so angry that she’s like that, I just—”

“No, you’re not angry. Real angry Yoonoh? It’s the kind of Yoonoh we see with Siyeon. Not this one, talking about how he loves someone’s kindness.” His eyes trail over to his sketchbook, then to the design for Jungwoo before he’s ripping one page out and jotting down a message for the manufacturing team. It’s alright, he just wants a few more diamonds. “Come on, man. Talk about it. Mama Seo used to say there are no secrets in this household.”

“What do you want me to say?” Annoyance seeps from his voice when he looks over his shoulder. “Yes, I was interested. Yes, I guess we kind of flirted. Yes, she still ran away and yes, she absolutely despises my guts?”

“…She blew you off.” Johnny says that as if it’s the biggest announcement in the world.

Yoonoh shrugs. “Yeah, so what? It’s not like I asked her or made it known—”

“For the first time in his life, Jung Yoonoh didn’t get blown, he got blown off!”

“Johnny, it’s not funny—”

“I have to see who this woman is.” Johnny gets his phone out of his pocket, opening his Instagram app before he’s lurking for her. “What’s her name?”

Maybe, curiousness got the best of him when he stands behind Johnny, looking over his shoulder when he rasps out her name.

“There we have her.” His friend announces just as he clicks on the first account. “Private. I can’t really see her face in the profile picture.” It’s the silhouette of a woman, most likely her, in a sunset. Her hands are fisted deep in her pockets and she must be looking at the sun. “Should I message her? Something like: ‘Hi, if you don’t want to date Yoonoh, I’m single and the second-best option’?”

He’s joking around, yet, Yoonoh stares longingly at that picture. Something about her is so lukewarm that he finds himself at peace. He has always liked everything scalding hot—his relationships, his hook-ups, his meals, even the days that he spends at the beach, but now, he is interested in silence and tranquilness. In that lukewarm nature that comes within her, never too cold, never too hot.

“No.” His voice sounds unused when he finally speaks up. “Leave her be.”

Johnny’s eyes inspect his features. “Dude…there is really something about her, isn’t it?”

“I’ll never know, I guess.” Yoonoh finalizes, shrugging his shoulders before moving towards the edge of the room and turning off the lights. “Let’s go, I’m starving.”

###

“I won’t take a bath! I don’t want to!”

Five days from Sachiko’s arrival and she already feels like breaking. Breaking down or breaking out of her home, one or the other. Erika screams at the top of her lungs while rushing out of the bathroom, still very much in her pajamas, to sit down in front of her TV and watch another cartoon.

She throws the towel over her shoulder, eyes half-closing from tiredness when she breathes out softly and approaches her again. “Erika, get in the bath. It’ll be quick.”

The little girl shakes her head, hugging her knees to her chest. “I don’t want to.”

“Sometimes, I don’t want to either, but you have to.” She announces, taking a seat next to her to run her fingers through her hair. “Come on, Eri, it’s just a bath.”

“Nope.” The little girl mumbles, growing more annoyed by the second.

“You’ll stink. You don’t want anyone to smell your scent if it’s bad.”

“It’s okay.”

“Someone will come visit us.” She doesn’t know why that’s the first excuse she comes up with. Truth be told, none of her friends live in this city, and her family are nowhere near either. Loneliness is something she is used to, and she doesn’t like being the house’s host all that much, either. “And you really like them, so we need to bathe you before they come.”

Erika raises her eyebrows, a big smile appearing on her face: “Peppa?”

“No, not Peppa.” From the back of her mind, she can’t think of anybody who will come here that Erika really likes. She’s not entirely obsessed with Blue, and the woman is too old to take a taxi here. She is not sure who Erika likes apart from her…and Sachiko is not here. “Ah…” Think, think, think. “Yoonoh, my…uh…my boyfriend. He’s coming over.” 

The title makes her cringe, but Erika stands up in her couch, hair wild and little fists connecting to her shirt when she says: “He’s coming! You didn’t tell me!”

“Oh, I was just waiting for you to take a bath first.” She tries to sound smart, but this is the worst idea she could have. Sure, she saved his number when she was making that bill for the rented ballroom, but that has been about it. Never texted him, never planned to, much less to tell him to come over and pretend to be her boyfriend just so Erika takes a goddamned shower.

“I will! Hurray!” Erika moves away from the couch, rushing over to take off her clothes.

“I’ll go fill up the bathtub in a sec, okay?”

“Yes!”

This is the worst idea she has ever had.

By the time she hears the door to the guest room closing, she sighs deeply, going over to the kitchen to unplug her phone and look down at her contact list. Her heart is racing, eyebrows frowned in worry when she sees it in glimmering lights:

Jung Yoonoh (Never Respond. Not Even If You’re Dying).

She’s not dying, but she definitely feels like it.

Whenever she got a cut as a kid and she put a band-aid on it, she took the band-aid off in one harsh tug. It’d rip some hairs apart, but it wouldn’t hurt—it wouldn’t make her hesitate as much as she did. This is one of those decisions that need to be done that way; as if she’s drunk and she needs to call her ex, or as if buying that dress that she’ll never wear sounds like a good idea today.

The phone rings a few times and she paces back and forth in the kitchen, giving a few puffs out and jumping in place before she hears it.

“Hello?”

His voice is to die for. One of those melodies that anyone wants to hear when they are waking up, mumbling sweet nothings, promising whatever the hell sounds great at the time, and it’s so dangerous that it has her closing her eyes, trying to fight a shiver and not exactly of anxiousness.

“Yoonoh, I need your help.”

A bead of silence follows soon after, and it comes as a surprise when he mumbles her name. She hums in return. “Why are you calling me? How do you have my phone?”

“Don’t ask.” She tells him, about to start her rant when Yoonoh cuts her off with a deep chuckle.

“You stole it from my bill.”

Caught, yet, she places a hand on her waist. “I wanted to save it just in case you decided to call me and make my day more difficult.”

“Oh, if I called you, it’d be to ease any kind of stress.” He purrs out, making her groan out loud when a lighter laugh from him comes about. “What can I help you with, ice princess?”

“Stop it with the names.”

“Boss?”

“I said—”

“Stop it with the names, I know. I will.”

When there is another pause, she knows she can speak, so she does. “…Erika believes we are in a relationship.” He doesn’t scream at the idea or laugh straight at her face, so she sighs. “And she’s also like madly connected to you. Seriously, she never stops talking about you and how you were so cool and whatnot. She only agreed to bathing now that I told her my…” She clears her throat. Shit, this is awkward. “My boyfriend is coming to visit, but you’re my supposed boyfriend and you’re nowhere around. I was wondering if you could come over, I don’t know, for like thirty minutes and then leave, just to fulfill that promise.”

Another elongated silence comes soon after, but it’s followed by a hum from Yoonoh.

“You didn’t say we were friends,” He teases, and she rolls her eyes at his antics. “You still went on with the boyfriend thing. Something you want to tell me?”

“Erika thinks we are together.”

“Erika meaning you.”

“I would personally sew my lips if we were to be in a relationship, Yoonoh.”

He chuckles, though she hears some moving. “Why? You’d want to make out with me so badly that you would want to stop yourself?”

“You wish.”

“Kinda.” Yoonoh confesses and it sounds like a pin falling to the floor. It makes her anxious, because the idea of being trapped in his arms, mouths molding into each other, breaths mixing, tongue intertwining is not so bad when in theory. “So, where do you live?”

“You’re coming?”

“Yeah, but in like forty-five.”

With that, she gives him the address, only to hear Yoonoh breathing into the microphone.

“So, my dear girlfriend, my beloved future wife,” Those dramatics that come with him make her want to slice him in half, but she keeps on just for Erika. “…How long have we been together, exactly?”

“…Since my headaches started coming daily.” She responds, hearing pattering in the hallway. “Call me when you’re here, okay?”

Once she hangs up, she sees Erika ready for a bath by the kitchen’s door, waving her hands in the air.

“Let’s go!”

Kids are nightmares.

###

Epoch hats don’t fit him well, Yoonoh realizes as he sits on a little stool that barely can hold his weight, knees practically touching his chest as he plays tea-house with Erika and her babysitter. Or well, her mom’s worker that happens not to know how to say no.

Erika had gone over the top to make this a grand event, the Peppa Pig plushie he had brought with him when entering the apartment seated in front of Erika, while he stares ahead at the woman that has his mind a complete mess. She is wearing a pair of wings on her shoulders, and her clothing is different, still not letting him see much, but the baggy t-shirt and sweatpants still fit her nicely.

The roles are simple. Erika is the princess, and they are their Aunt and Uncle. Peppa Pig is her sister, and that’s about as much as he knows as he sips on the two-point-five milliliters of water with lemon that Erika dares call tea.

“More tea, please.” Yoonoh says when placing the small cup down and looking at the woman ahead of him. She is the one serving the tea, yet, she quirks an eyebrow at him.

“That’s your fourth cup.” She explains, shaking her head when he tries to reach for the tea. “You’ve already had enough. You’re doing it just to see me serving you.”

“While the sight is adorable, beautiful, this cup is the size of my pinky. I can’t even feel it going down my throat.” He waves the little cup in his pinky before trying to reach for the tea again. “I’ll serve myself if it makes you feel better.”

“You’re too sweet-mouthed…” She looks over at Erika, inspecting them with interest. “Sugarplum.”

“Sugarplum?” Yoonoh questions the nickname, pouring himself a cup of tea when snatching it from her hands before leaning his weight forward, taking a sip that has him downing the entire drink. “I’m not sweet, don’t know if you’re noticed.”

“Quite clearly.”

“May change my ways for you if you stop judging me.” His eyes trail over her features, the culprit of his playfulness spreading across his face.

“Oh, I happen to be very judgmental.”

“Get to know me,” He waves his finger on top of the cup, tracing the outline only to see her gulp soon after. “…I promise the last thing you’ll end up doing is hating me.”

Erika stands up in between the two, her little hands spreading on their chests when she says: “Princes and princesses don’t fight.”

“We’re not fighting, Eri.” She tells her, though she sends a glare his way. “Right, sugarplum?”

“Of course, beautiful.” He uses that same nickname, relishing on the way she seems to be seething at the name. Truth be told, he knows that she’s, at least, a bit attracted to him…but whatever is stopping her must be strong enough to have her stopping on her tracks that first night. His lips wrap up in a kiss he sends flying in the air before adding: “We actually love each other. My kingdom is now better because I have found my truest love.”

“Yeah…” She trails, looking over to the side before she takes a sip of her own tea. “How’s the collection going?”

That question surprises him. She must have supposed he was a designer, much more after all he did in her hotel, but he didn’t think she was paying attention from up close.

“It’s not a collection.” Sweetly, he corrects, voice lowered when he puts the cup down. “I—I’m only working on this one fit. An outfit. We design lingerie, as you could see. I’m normally in the women design department, but my boss which is an absolute…” He stops, looking at Erika. “Witch, changed me to the men’s department just to freak up my head.”

A small chuckle trips out of her lips at the choices of his cusses. “So, you were designing Jungwoo’s fit?”

“Precisely.” Yoonoh takes his phone out of his pocket before displaying something only for her to see. “Erika, you can’t see this. It’s…it’s not something you should be seeing, okay?”

And actually, she listens. Yoonoh can’t understand why she says that Erika never listens to anybody. Her eyes trail over to Jungwoo, and the way they scan up and down have something within him tugging his phone away.

“That’s my design.”

“You’re talented.” Those words shouldn’t weight as much as they do, but he hasn’t heard them in a while. Perhaps, in two years. “If only you weren’t so much of a butt-face whenever we speak, I’m sure that part of you would show through.”

“What part of me?”

“The part that doesn’t try to hide that you care.”

That’s the moment Yoonoh backs away, because he shouldn’t care. It’s easier to go through life without caring about the people around you. The small stool falls behind him just as he stands up, clearing his throat after a harsh swallow.

“I have to go.”

Erika stands up as well, eyes widened. “Is it because she called you butt-face?”

Yoonoh chuckles, ruffling her hair with one hand. “No, I—I think I left my stove on at home.”

He hears the sound of her picking up her keys, nodding in the process. “I’ll walk you there. Don’t worry. Erika, stay here.”

The hallway that leads to her door is far too cramped for the two of them, his shoulders brushing with hers as they walk alongside each other. The part of you that doesn’t try to hide that you care; it’s not like he cares about her past the normalcy of two people who happen to be attracted towards each other buy deny it—

He turns around, his chest expanding with each breath that she takes, oxygens mingling when he looks down at her features, those lips that he would have kissed if granted the permission, but instead he asks:

“Is that why you hate me?”

She doesn’t listen, a deer caught in the headlights when she questions: “What?”

“Because you think I don’t care. Is that why you hate me?” He questions, only to have her shaking her head. His fingers hook a strand of her hair behind her ear, feeling the heat of her skin, much like that one time he had touched it.

“I don’t hate you.” She confesses, honest and yet surprising, before she breathes out in a shudder. “…Sometimes, it’s better to not wonder, Yoonoh. Not be curious about people like you. Not because you’re bad, but because you’re not right, either.” She shrugs her shoulders. “Stop looking at my lips, it distracts me.”

Yoonoh trails his eyes up before engulfing the words in his plush lips. “And what about you?” He questions. “If I’m all types of wrong, what are you?”

“All the different types of wrong that aren’t yours.” She says, just as his chest brushes with her own again, her stomach extending, back bending, body molding closer to his just because of electricity and gravity, she opens the door, releasing a breath that feels like a million pounds of weight. “Good night, Yoonoh, and thank you.”

He nods, and while he wants to return the words, he can’t.

###  

Four Years Ago.

She never came back.

Sometimes, Yoonoh felt stupid for believing that there was someone in the other side of the computer. That said chatroom that had once started as complete curiousness had now turned into something else, tangible, present in his every day. He was young, his eyes wandered, his mind stopped thinking about the importance of his future and he thought that Dami was it. The woman of his dreams, the picture that he couldn’t take out of his head when he laid still at night and looked at his ceiling.

His friends made fun of him, because this is not the Jung Yoonoh that had gotten secret notes during Valentine’s Day in high school with love confessions and promises of marriage. This was a young man, seated in front of a computer, waiting for an answer. Waiting for the day she returned, after she said that she’d come back. It was only supposed to be a lunch break, but with no contact other than this chatroom, than what they had in social media, how was he supposed to get in touch with her?

JJH1997: Hey, did I do something wrong? (Three weeks ago.)

JJH1997: Hello! How are you doing? Are you okay? (Three weeks ago.)

JJH1997: I bought that one record you told me about. (One day and a half ago.)

JJH1997: [Picture Attached]. (One day and a half ago.)

JJH1997: Are you mad? (Thirteen hours ago.)

JJH1997: I’m sorry if I offended you. (One hour ago.)

The reply he got soon after, as he was studying for one of his finals, had him widening his eyes. She had not answered in weeks, this was the best news he could hear—

DAMISONG96: This is her husband. Who are you? (Just Now).

His hands shook, trying to find the words to say. Husband. All this time, he had been talking about a future with someone with a husband…

DAMISONG96: I’ve just read your messages. Stop talking to my wife, you fucking kid.

[This contact has blocked you].

The worst part was that he could never know if it was a catfish, if the person he talked about was real…or, actually, that he could never apologize, perhaps for ruining a marriage that he never knew of.

Love doesn’t come easy when you don’t know how to trust. 

### 

The reason why he became a lingerie designer instead of any other kind of designer is because of the subtlety. His friends think that it is because of the obvious love Yoonoh has for the human body, but as he sits on the front row of his own show, staring at the Silhouette designs his team had worked on, with harsh white lights matching the upbeat and bass-boosted songs that have models swinging their hips from side to side, he feels proud and more.

Jungwoo is the next one to come, and all signs of his beam is long forgotten as he struts down that runway. At first, he does it simply, how he’s taught, the buttons of his jacket are done, undoing them as he walks to showcase the crop top underneath, only pulling it down and turning around to throw the jacket aside and show the top and the chains, along with Silhouette’s name on the band of his boxers. It’s perhaps something not seen in the streets, but he can imagine celebrities falling in love with the design.

He’s concentrated on the faces of the people ahead of him, cheers resounding around the air as Jungwoo finishes off his catwalk. The invitees seem to be overjoyed, and just when a smile creeps up his features, fixing his stance in his tailored black suit, he feels a hand spreading on his thigh, a chuckle being breath out in his ear.

“You’ve done a great job, Yoonoh.” Siyeon speaks with certainty, and to anyone, they are just two friends congratulating each other. He does great work in feigning a smile when turning to her, but what he says is not so kind.

“Thank you. I’m known for that.”

“I know…if we don’t compare that to your organization problems and your endless witty mouth.” Siyeon starts clapping when another model comes around before a beam appears on her features.

Something doesn’t feel right.

“…And what about it?”

Siyeon’s long silver earrings move when she turns to him, quirking an eyebrow in the process. “Well, you see, Yoonoh, the reason why I wanted you to craft a showstopper and to leave with a bang is because…” The acids in his stomach go up, nervousness creeping up on him, trying to keep the dimples there to no avail. “You’re no longer going to be part of our team. Out of all the designs you’ve done, this is your best, but you proved yourself right a little too late. Sorry.”

She’s not sorry, and he knows this. The smile that he has fought so hard to keep there is no longer of his interest as he stands up, pointing at her while scowling.

“You can’t do that.”

“Yoonoh, you’re making a scene.” She tries to chuckle through her words.

“I’ve been working for this fucking company for two years and I haven’t slacked once.”

“Says you,” Siyeon shrugs. “I’m in charge, Yoonoh, and I saw you’re slacking.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have heard that before.”

The air around him engulfs him in a way that almost makes him feel like he’s trapped. He’s out of the expensive hotel Siyeon had found in seconds, but yet, he feels like he has run a marathon. His eyes concentrate anywhere, hand coming up to his chest, his dream shattered when trying to give this company another chance—

The night whisks him in the face as he runs, not caring to grab a taxi, not minding that he feels like his life is falling down…because this is stupid. Life is so fucking ironic that he hates it. He trusts people? He ends up losing. He doesn’t trust them? They never believe him.

What’s the realest way to get a happy ending? He’ll never know.

### 

Eight hours of sleep feel marvelous once she gets them back.

Not only has she gotten to return her calls, but it doesn’t smell like baby food in her apartment and she gets to take a break from Peppa Pig. Erika had been sad when letting go of her, pressing her face to her stomach in a hug before she was off to holding onto her mother for dear life. Her paycheck came around, life was good, and this night was excellent with the bag of savory chips she had just opened.

The crunch is the only thing that can be heard, mingling with the noise of the romantic movie she is watching, tears wielding her vision and yet, she pushes them away. Tragedies are the best form of romance—when both characters have gone through so much that finding happiness in each other feels a thousand times more personal. Perfect, even. It’s a nice chance for her romantic comedy binge from earlier.

The air is interrupted when she hears someone ringing her doorbell, and that brings a frown to her features. First, she’s not waiting for anybody. Secondly, she had been crying just now. Grabbing a napkin, she taps it against her ears and waltzes over to the door to see who is standing by the door through the peephole.

And if there was a sight that could capture her breath away just as much as it could make her be excited about something, it’s this.

Yoonoh stands outside her door, with the buttons of his shirt half-opened, a peak of his shirt showing, his jacket thrown haphazardly over one forearm, and if only this peephole let her see lower, she would relish on the strength of his thighs. Confusing or not, as well as a bit annoying, one can’t deny that Yoonoh is extremely handsome. Taken out of a magazine, even.

She opens the door softly, unaware of why he is there. Today, the runway for Silhouette should be happening and yet, he’s here, at 10:45 at night, with his hair made a mess and his eyes trailing on her.

“Yoonoh,” He doesn’t stop looking at her eyes, a frown in his features. “Hi…uh…may I help you with something?”

“You’re right.” He starts, entering her house just as she moves to the side. He must be in a rush. The door closes behind her. “I try not to care about things. I don’t take relationships seriously. I’m an asshole at most times. I’m fake and boring and quite clearly, all kinds of wrong.” Well, that is a statement. She knows there is some good for Yoonoh. He’s always one call away, he’s organized, he’s given. He’s strong and rampant and fiery, in that way that have people shuddering in their spots.

“So?”

“So, yes, I’m fucking tired of being that because it doesn’t work.” He stands in front of her now, in that same hallway that had trapped them weeks ago and had managed to make her even more confused. “I just lost my job and I don’t know what the hell I am going to do with my life. I was used and—fuck!”

Her heart weights down when he admits that. “Why would you lose your job? That outfit you designed for Jungwoo is amazing…”

“Because my new boss hates me, just like you do.”

“I said I didn’t hate you.”

“Then why?” Yoonoh questions. “Why did you run away that night? What about me is so repulsive that you can’t even look my way without frowning when all I have been thinking about since that moment I saw you in the restaurant, in nice light, after getting me some clothes, is that you’re the kindest and most humble woman I have ever met and I would do my fucking best to kiss away every fucking insecurity you have about me?”

Silence comes to be awkward around them. Or, well, filled with tension. But this silence is of understanding. Yoonoh’s eyes that night, that had scanned her with such intricacy, had thought about the same things that she did. And yet, she had let it slide—because it’s easier to fear than to try, to run away than to stay.

“Because…you’re difficult, Yoonoh.” She states. “And I don’t mean it in a bad way. I just know…I know I would like you.” That makes her ego blot down the slightest. “And then, when you realize that kissing me is not enough, that waking up to me is not enough, that I won’t give you whatever interesting shit you were doing when I found you outside that house, you’ll leave…and I’m not at an age or time in my life where I want to see you leave without an explanation. I don’t.”

He finally reconnects his gaze with her eyes. “The explanation here is simple,” He conquers. “You’re beautiful. Each part of you I get to see and each part I don’t. Every bit of my imagination can only think about you, so much that everything I design is everything my mind gushes about and can only perceive on you. It’s stupid enough that…” He chuckles at his own antics, leaning his head back on the wall. “That I think about what color fits you best and I am certain it’s not the navy blue you like to use. It’s yellow, because you’re so bright it practically burns my fucking eyes. You’re so smart and given and you don’t even let me tell you that, because you’re always…pushing me away.”

“Yoonoh—” Her heart flutters at his words, but he doesn’t stop talking.

“And you’re your own kind of goddess and it drives me insane, because I was the type of dumbass that didn’t like the chase, but each and every time I hear you speak, I just want to tease you more and…” He stops for a second, finally fixing his position to look at her. “I just wanted you to know, because if I’ll never get a chance, at least I want to say I—”

Silences are what made them. It’s what she likes the most about him, when he’s silent and concentrated, when all his might goes to one thing and one thing only. She doesn’t know what overtakes her at that moment, when her lips clash against his in a dance that it’s much too passionate. She can’t keep up with whatever she wants to do, her hands hooked around his waist to mold him against the wall, his abdomen carved against hers when a groan traps itself on the back of his throat and he grabs the back of her head, taking more of her in, granting himself entrance, rubbing his lips in a tempting touch before he’s diving in for air…and she’s his oxygen.

Yoonoh’s hold is not strong, overly passionate, tumbling. In his own way, Yoonoh is delicate. It’s just when she kisses him that she realizes there is a beautiful thing to Jung Yoonoh. The delicacy he portrays in lingerie, that translate into his utter fears. The pristine glass he is when she caresses his neck with a touch of her mouth and he shudders while grasping the back of her shirt, asking to see her—to be seen.

When heartbreak happens, there is always a dot. That one finalization of a chapter in your heart that aches insufferably. Her dots connected to him, in one way or another, in the moles in his face or the way he begs to connect to her lips again when she pulls away. He’s gravity when she asks to be taken to her room in one simplistic glance and he’s smiling by the time he puts her down on the sheets.

Over all, Yoonoh is a lover of beauty, and maybe, for once in her life, she feels like art, just when he throws her shirt over her head, staring down at small portions of her body being shown before showing that dimple that she had trained herself to hate.

But who is she kidding? She didn’t hate it at all.

“…You were forbidding me of this.” He points at her body, earning laughter from her, ears heated up under his gaze. “And for that, I’ll never forgive you.”

That night, it’s not a promise of love—it’s lust mixed with something else, that fluttering feeling of having a crush, maybe, or the start of something…how he calls it…beautiful.

###

Normally, Yoonoh doesn’t text. He hooks up with someone, leaves it in the air, then moves on to working. Awakening in his lover’s bed, having breakfast with her, arguing in that way that only they know how to do—playfully, of course—and then having to see him himself off just so she can go to work, however, is completely different.

Just as he lays on his bed midway through the day, he looks at her contact. Missing her would be a statement, and it would be absolutely correct. His gut twists, not knowing exactly what to say—new and yet old in this dating thing.

Uh, can he call it that? They haven’t even gotten out on a date.

Yoonoh: We haven’t gotten out on a date.

Yoonoh: Do you want to?

She must be near the phone, because she replies quickly.

Beautiful: If I slept with you, I obviously want to go on a date with you.

Beautiful: Duh.

There is the bite that he likes, enough to bring a smile to his face before he’s biting down on his lip.

Yoonoh: You didn’t sleep with me when I was employed, wearing suits, confident and flirty. Your standards? Very low.

Beautiful: You’re complaining? Because I could not do it again.

Yoonoh: Who said I was complaining? I was trying the whole time and just when I’m a huge loser, I get the girl.

His life seems to be twisted in circles, cycles that he don’t know how to stop, but a text from her gives him hope that he’ll figure it out.

Beautiful: You’re not a loser. I don’t date losers.

Beautiful: Dinner tonight? I brought a sandwich, but that’s bland.

Yoonoh: It’s a date.

A few seconds pass by before he’s typing again.

Yoonoh: Wait, how do you have me saved in your phone?

A screenshot comes soon after, and he doubles over in laughter when he sees ‘Sugarplum (DNI)’.

###

She has forgotten how to say it, and it’s not like it’s another language, but nervousness clads her every pore just as she sits down by a table at Erika’s seventh birthday party.

Five months into this dating thing, and she doesn’t understand most of it. What she knows is that it feels great. Waking up next to Yoonoh—her place or his—, being kissed on the cheeks, on her forehead, only to be ravished by one of those kisses that he only knows how to give. To watch him grow away from his fears and create his own lingerie line, obviously with the support of his model friends that were eager to take pictures with his pieces and make do with what they have.

It’s difficult, but just as Yoonoh lowers Erika after hoisting her up in the air, always charming with her and with anyone, she doesn’t know how to say it. You know, those three words that have captured her ever since Yoonoh smiled at all her baby pictures, or when he spends some extra time in the kitchen making her favorite meal just because he feels like pampering her.

Three words that she has said before, even jokingly, and yet, she’s petrified.

The trees are tall in the backyard of Sachiko’s home, yellows and reds contrasting the feeling in her heart. It’s pure pink, just like the glow on Yoonoh’s cheeks or that set he had once sewed himself just for her, the one that he never gets enough of and still groans at. Childish music and cake should be enough to calm her down, but just as Yoonoh plops himself alongside her, resting his head on his forearm on the picnic table she’s by, all words she had practiced are lost.

How does he have that effect after five months?

“Erika loved the gift.” Even their gifts had been united. From Uncle Prince and Aunt Princess, they had written on the note. A doll that she had been screaming about months ago when they had visited her.

That word, even he is saying it. If Jung Yoonoh is capable of spitting it out, why couldn’t she—?

“You look like you’re sick.”

That makes her sigh. “Thanks. I don’t see you complaining.”

Yoonoh’s smile grows wider at that, rolling a piece of her hair in between his index finger. “I like the sick look.” He replies. “Something about the sight of a girl who wants to throw up on me. So sexy I could take you to a bathroom right now and just—”

“Yoonoh!”

“There it is, not so sick anymore. Now you’re angry.” He has his ways, she has to admit, and even when finds herself laughing when he changes that glimmer of his eyes that always gets him what he wants. “What’s with you?”

She opens her mouth, placing a piece of cake inside of it—just a little bit too big—when she says: “I love you.”

Or whatever can be understood in between a mouthful of cake.

Yoonoh quirks a perfectly styled brow. “You what?”

“I love you.” She utters out, swallowing soon after before giving him a smile. “Okay, alright, I’m done here—”

His hands gravitate to her hips before she could stand up, sitting her down on his thigh and bringing her face to his by her chin before asking, much too close and too softly for her to ever resist him. “You what?” He repeats, much more delicately, and finally, she finds the reason to stop being nervous.

Those brown eyes look from her eyes to her lips, never getting enough of her, never knowing how to battle the thoughts that show on his features. That kind of adoration she has never gotten before, and that is worth trying for.

She hides her face in his neck, breathing in his scent before spitting out: “I love you.”

It brushes against his skin, tickles him in a way that has him tightening his hold before he replies: “Sounds so good when someone means it.” And that confession is only meant for her to be understood, before he’s pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “I love you, too.”

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