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skekheck · 3 years

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All About the Seven Clans: the Vapra

THIS POST CONTAINS EVERYTHING I COULD FIND ABOUT THE VAPRA. SOME INFORMATION WRITTEN HERE ARE FROM OLDER MATERIAL AND MAY EITHER CONTRADICT STATEMENTS OR IS NO LONGER RELEVANT. I WILL DO MY BEST TO STRING IT ALL TOGETHER AS COHERENTLY AS POSSIBLE. IF THERE IS INFORMATION THAT I AM MISSING, PLEASE LET ME KNOW AND I’LL ADD IT!

Clan Index: Dousan Drenchen Grottan Sifa Spriton Stonewood Vapra

High above the Northern Mountains that bordered the Silver Sea Coast lived the Vapra. As the Skeksis’ ambassadors for the Gelfling race, their high societal status led them to acquire an abundance of resources which made them both rich in wealth and knowledge. Ha’rar was not only the capital of the Vapra but for the entire Gelfling race during the Age of Division. It was also the home of the All-Maudra, who doubled as maudra of the Vapra and the matriarch leader of all the Gelfling clans.

The Vapran totem animal was the Imperial Unamoth and their core elements were light, day, and keepers of the future. Their clan color was silver, their sigil was purple and silver, and their pennant color was purple with silver and gold detail.

Characteristics

The Vapra were well adapted to their environment as they were hardly affected by cold weather, ice, and snow. As creatures of altitude, air, and lightness they lived comfortably high above on the windy mountains. They were the masters of camouflage as they could easily disappear into their surroundings. Some works said this was thanks to their physical appearance but others, those of which were older, credited this to a type of magic they had.

They had a fair complexion with hair that was generally light as well. Hair color ranged from white to silver to various shades of blonde. On rare occasions a Vapra had black or brown hair. It could have had highlighted sections of dark blue, blue-purple, lavender, or all three. Vapran hairstyles were commonly extravagant, even in Gelfling who performed trades or menial work. They could be curled, straight, braided and more, with ribbons and beads for decoration. The Vapra had a diverse range in eye color which could be shades of green, yellow, brown, grey, and blue. In the J.M. Lee book series, they also had lavender-colored eyes.

Unlike most clans, Vapra prioritized fashion over function. They had clothing for every occasion or to portray a certain mood. Vapra fashion had an ethereal quality with soft light blues, silvers, and pinks that matched the sky. They wore plenty of jewelry, a sign of their nobility. Vapran garment had wind shaped vestments along the back even worn by those who never had wings. They were heavily garbed with cloaks and hoods whose function was to protect clothing and jewelry from the elements rather than keeping the Gelfling warm.

According to skekNa the Slave Master, Vapran essence was prized above all others for their restorative effects making the clan an important resource for the Skeksis.

Vapran Wings and the Art of Flight

The Vapra’s gossamer wings were broad and light which made them one of the fastest flyers among the other gelfling, only rivaled by the Sifa. Their skills were largely contributed from their environment with its updraft winds created from the Silver Sea and manmade airy channels within Ha’rar. At the same time, their abilities were thanks to the Vapran tradition of flight. Like most Gelfling, taking wing was seen as one of the most joyous pleasures of Gelfling life.

Flight was also a sign of prestige, power, and ability. It was believed that the skeksis placed the Vapra above all other clans was due to their aerial abilities. When winged Vapras needed to settle a dispute, they’d compete with each other in the air to test their agility and strength.

Lifestyle

Life in the Northern Mountains was always cold with long, dark winters with snow falling nearly every day. Even during the summer the sky remained clouded with very rare instances of sunny days. The Vapra carefully prepared for the stretches of dark winters and shortened days during the summer.

As their maudra was also the matriarch leader of all Gelfling, the All-Maudra was too busy to make time for them. So the Vapra became independent and self-sufficient which allowed the All-Maudra to tend to her duties. Each Vapra did their part together doing specialized tasks that allowed the community to flourish. In fact, the Vapra had the highest population count out of all seven Gelfling clans.

The Vapra lived luxurious lifestyles, thanks to their access to natural resources, their strong trade economy, and their relationship with the skeksis. Being placed the highest on the gelfling hierarchy provided them with services that were a rarity among gelfling, including the ability to read or write. Although some Vapra flaunted their status in the public eye, most held private lives which they spent the majority of with their families.

When a Vapra committed a transgression, punishment involved being sent to a gelfling community service called the Order of Lesser Service. Led by the Daudran, the “Members of the Lesser Service” were forced to do unpaid work such as pre-chew food for Nebrie or do a Podling cleaning ceremony called “deterge” while wearing a jester hat with bells. A Vapra could spend up to a trine in the Order of the Lesser Service dependent on their sentencing.

Daily Routine

Unlike in other clans, the Vapra didn’t rise together in the early morning. They each had their own unique, flexible schedule to follow throughout the day. It was primarily self-determined and revolved around the Vapra’s needs and the needs of others. They spent their days working their trade and returned home in the evening to be with their families.

The Vapra were a large industrious clan and had a variety of different occupations. Some of the more prestigious jobs were metalworkers and artisans. They had great access to minerals and metals found within the Silver Sea cliffs and were skilled in both practical and ornamental designs. Artisans, for example, were praised for their metal and colored glass works which were commonly seen in Vapran architecture. Plenty of Vapra dedicated time to scholarly and political activities thanks to the abundance of knowledge readily available to them.

The Burden of the All-Maudra

According to skeksis propaganda, the role of the All-Maudra was created to end supposed clan discord and skirmishes and brought order to all gelfling. Although gelfling of other clans had taken up the title, the skeksis decreed that only the Vapra could be All-Maudra some time during the Age of Division. As a ruler and ambassador, the All-Maudra had to take care of their own clan, the other six clans, and heed the will of the skeksis to bring it down upon all gelfling. On the rare circumstances the All-Maudra was absent, the successor or a regent would temporarily take their place.

The All-Maudra spent their days trying to fulfill the needs of the the Gelfling and the skeksis lords, the latter of which were very demanding and impatient, within a timely manner. The All-Maudra had little time for their own clan. Many spent their entire lives without seeing them and simply gaining a hearing with them was considered an exceptional honor. Even their family was neglected where the idea of “duty first, family second” was something that couldn’t be tested. Relationships between the All-Maudra and their successors were constantly strained as the successor went through difficult and harsh training so they would be prepared for the role. The intention was never out of malice, but it negatively affected many generations until the Gelfling Rebellion.

This role was discontinued during the Age of Power as both Jen and Kira ruled as the Great Elders of Thra.

The Living Crown

The traditional head adornment of the All-Maudra was the Living Crown. It was a symbol of the All-Maudra’s power, unity of the Gelfling race, and loyalty to the skeksis. It consisted of seven detachable pieces which were only removed when it was time to appoint the new heir. The coronation of the new All-Maudra was a highly celebrated event with Gelfling all over Thra arrived to witness.

The ceremony began with the All-Maudra breaking the Living Crown into its seven pieces. They give six of the pieces to Windshifters to be sent to the other maudras. If the All-Maudra died unexpectingly, the heir would sing a song to have the Windshifters take the pieces themselves. The other maudras would then go on a pilgrimage to Ha’rar with their piece of the crown, assisted by their own successors and closest council members. Once arrived, the maudras reassembled the Living Crown whilst giving their blessing to the heir. The blessing was also an oath of fealty, not just to the new All-Maudra but what they presented as the ambassador of the Gelfling. If the All-Maudra was still alive, they placed their final piece of the crown and officially crowned the new heir as the All-Maudra.

Possible but rarely could the claim for the Living Crown be challenged. One of the maudras could withhold their blessing and fight for the Living Crown through trials. This occurred during Seladon’s coronation when Maudra Fara challenged her to Trial by Air. A similar crisis like this happened 639 trine prior. Trials like these, as noted by Maudra Seethi, weren’t the way of the Gelfling but of the skeksis. Other gelfling could make legitimate claims for the crown under certain circumstances. Fenth of the Sifa clan had made at least three attempts and was the only male Gelfling noted to do so but was not successful.

The Living Crown was destroyed during the late Age of Division. Instead of going through with Maudra Fara’s challenge, Seladon made a new crown proclaiming the old one was tainted by the treachery of her mother. When Maudra Fara refused to accept her as the new All-Maudra, Seladon threw her into the Living Crown and broke it.

Paladins

Paladins were specially trained, mostly Vapran, warriors who worked under the All-Maudra. They were charged with a variety of tasks including protecting Ha’rar and its Citadel, escorted Vapran trade caravans across the Skarith Region, captured fugitives, and go on rescue missions. Paladins with wings also undertook airborne missions. Many paladins were skilled at fencing and riding Landstriders. When one addressed a paladin, they were given the title of either “sir” or “lady”. A paladin was stripped of their title if they acted dishonestly.

For a gelfling to become a paladin, the All-Maudra must knight them. Not all paladins were Vapran as evident by a Sifan paladin and Hup the Podling who was knighted by All-Maudra Mayrin. Sometimes when the All-Maudra had multiple children, if they chose, could lead the entire paladin class. Princess Katavra, for example, commanded over the paladins during the late Age of Division.

Chrysalisday

Two nights every trine the three Sisters appeared in the sky, which was a gelfling holiday known as the Celebration of the Sister Moons. On the day before one of these nights the Vapra celebrated another holiday: Chrysalisday. The Unamoth, the Vapra’s sigil animal, had an unpredictable hatching timeframe from their chrysalis. Some opened within an unum while others waited a trine or longer. And some never opened at all, which the Vapra used their chrysalises as good luck amulets. No naturalist or far-dreamer could predict when the Unamoth chrysalises opened. Thus, Chrysalisday was a reminder of the potential of the future and the unpredictability of fate.

On the evening of Chrysalisday, youths carried lanterns down to the wharf where they’d released them into the sky. The lanterns themselves were made of paper, crafted by their bearers, and mixed with flammable bluedust. The dust eventually caught fire from the heat of the lantern and popped in bright colors. However, the distribution of the dust was uneven so no one was able to predict when they ignited, if at all.

Diet

The Vapra had access to all sorts of foods and spices through trades, making the Vapran diet varied with meats, fruits, and vegetables. Vapran chefs were also knowledgeable in preparing traditional dishes from other clans, putting their own spin on it. A gelfling could get any kind of food they’re craving, but would had to pay a large price for it. Not surprisingly, the Vapra had excellent dining manners and preferred using utensils.

Vapran food was sweeter than other clan cuisine because of the groves of sugarwood grown in the mountains. They also preferred less spices and seasonings in their food.

A traditional Vapran dish was a hearty, sweet stew of mushrooms and cream. It was sometimes served with a baked mint-apple over the top of it and garnished with Hooyim oil. Vapran Frost, a type of soft cheese dusted in powdered sugar, was considered a delicacy.

Ha’rar, Capital of the Gelfling World

Surrounding the cliff sides to the north of the Silver Sea Coast lied the city of Ha’rar. It was the largest gelfling settlement on Thra lined with hundreds of domed, thatched roofed houses clustered together around the Citadel. Vapran homes had additional doorways on the roofs, sculpted with hand and foot rails and platforms for winged gelfling to land comfortably on. Underneath Ha’rar were vent channels created from the wind helped winged Vapra get around.

As it was considered the capital and hearth of the Skarith Land, it was a popular destination for both tourists and merchants. Ha’rar was in a good location near the mouth of the Black River and along the Silver Sea Coast which brought a large of influx of merchants and goods to the city. Its port market was the best place to sell and purchase goods. Gelfling from all walks of life could be found there, even rare visits from Dousan and Drenchen travelers.

Important ceremonies were held at Ha’rar, one of which was the tithing ceremony. In the early Age of Division, it was held every three unum where gelfling from every clan made their way to Ha’rar and offered their products of labor to the skeksis. Over time as the gelfling populations grew, tithing ceremonies were reduced to once a trine and were held in other gelfling settlements. But Ha’rar was still honored with being the first to hold their ceremony and other clans still came to attend. It was the only opportunity for a gelfling to see both the All-Maudra and the Lords of the Crystal themselves.

Outside of Ha’rar were individual Vapra villages, hot springs, the Waystar Grove, and Landstrider pens to its south. Hidden within the cliffs and mountain forests lied a hovel made of stone and ice. In the book series, it belonged to urSan the Swimmer. Her home was filled with charts of the stars and waterways found all over the Skarith Region.

During the Age of Power, the Gelfling capital was moved from Ha’rar (or what remained of it) to the Castle of the Crystal.

The Citadel

The Citadel was the capital building of Ha’rar and the home of the All-Maudra and their family. It was built from carved stone of the Vapran mountains, reinforced with metal, notably silver, and crystal. It was visible nearly anywhere along the coast and was a must-see for any gelfling visiting the city. The Citadel housed the All-Maudra’s throne room where they’d met with citizens and the Skeksis, hosted ceremonies, and held court. Within their personal chambers was a cluster of Unamoth chrysalises as a reminder of the meanings taught by Chryalisday. A secret chamber lied beneath the throne room which housed Lore, a creation of skekGra the Heretic and urGoh the Wanderer, who would help the Gelfling end skeksis rule if they solved the puzzle in the room.

The Citadel’s creation, and who built it, was lost to time. Most historians believed it was built with the help of the skeksis, but most information was transformed into legend. The structure represented as the symbol of the Vapra and considered the most impressive Gelfling architectural feat. Some songs, like the ditty “Twin Castles”, compared its likeness to the Castle of the Crystal.

The Library

Just as important as the Citadel was the Vapran library. It was only a short walk from the Citadel and one could easily spot the white marble domed building. It was a labyrinthine of multiple floors, book cases, and spiraling stair cases with its stained glass ceiling illuminated the entire building. It contained an overwhelming amount of tomes, scrolls, and precious artifacts neatly organized and maintained by librarians. Librarians could have familiars as evident by the Librarian in the Age of Resistance and his Pluff’M.

Any Gelfling could come to read or be read out loud by librarians for those who were illiterate. Plenty of scholars like Princess Brea came to the library to learn. Brea utilized a lot of what she learned from the many scrolls and tomes on her quest, including the book that gave her the vision of the aureyal.

An ode called “Immortal House” was created by an unknown songteller who was present on the day the library was completed.

Mountain Hot Springs

Deep within the mountains were pockets of hot springs. Getting there was difficult as the distances between Vapran settlements and the springs were filled with blizzards and slippery conditions which made mountain climbing dangerous. But despite the risks, dozens of Vapras could be found occupying the pools at a time.

The springs also held a bizarre tradition or belief. For one to enter the vicinity, they were required to disrobe. Even hair garments were taken off. The belief was, as the gelfling were only in their own skin, no one could tell what status they had. Whether Vapra or any gelfling from another clan, in these places they were all one.

Kira-Staba

Kira-Staba or the Waystar Tree was a grove of trees that resided within a bay near the Silver Sea. Much like the Cradle Tree, all of the trees were a part of one tree which grew around it like toadstools. The Waystar Trees had an interesting property to it which allowed them to glow blue at night. Its light wasn’t seen from Ha’rar but easily anywhere along the Silver Sea Coast.

The Waystar Tree was used as guidance by all gelfling, whether it be Sifan sailors or Vapran explorers. It was because of the Waystar Trees that the Vapra founded Ha’rar. It was memorialized in a song called “the Forty Sisters”. The grove was also a metaphorical guider as the Vapra looked to in times of need. The journey to the grove was not easy as there were no carved paths and the winds were relentlessly cold. But when they reached the grove, the gelfling would be warmed up by the light the trees gave off.

In the book series, in order to reach out to the Vapra clan and help them light the fires of resistance, Tavra, Kylan, and Amri went to the Waystar Tree. With Kylan playing his firca, Amri dreamfasted with the tree to help Tavra carry her message to her people to encourage them to join the rebellion. She was able to inspire the Vapra just before skekSa the Mariner destroyed one of the trees.

Relationships with the Skeksis and Other Clans

Although there were some Vapra who looked down upon outsiders and held attitudes of superiority, most of them were kind, curious, and considerate. This doesn’t mean they weren’t susceptible to ignorant stereotypes and were less likely to get in trouble for it. Some clans viewed them with contempt. The Stonewood, for example, believed they should have been chosen as the Gelfling ambassadors and weren’t afraid to make such remarks known. These vents never took too far as it would have damaged the Stonewood’s reputation with both the Vapra and the skeksis. Going against the Vapra was going against the skeksis.

As the Vapra were the skeksis’ chosen ambassadors for gelfling kind, they were the closest to them. The Vapra even developed a dialect that matched closely with the skeksis’ gelfling accent, which they emphasized around the Lords and other clans. In turn, the skeksis favored the Vapran above all others which the clan benefited from the wealth and security awarded to them. Despite the trines worth of service, it was the All-Maudra who stood up against the skeksis and would have been the first to convince the Vapra to join the resistance if she wasn’t killed.

As Ha’rar had a trade-based economy, the Vapra sought to maintain trading relationships. Arguably the most important of these relations was with the Sifa. During the spring and autumn, the Sifa arrived at Ha’rar’s port and traded goods from the sea and in turn the Vapra exported foodstuffs like Nebrie eggs and Sourloaf. Over the Age of Division, the Vapra and Sifa got into skirmishes. The most notable of them was the Age of Sifans secession movement which was created as a result of late All-Maudra Seladon’s (mother of Mayrin) treatment of them. The other was a shorter diplomatic incident caused by Princess Brea when she erased Elder Cadia’s memories. Both conflicts were solved and restored clan relations. There was a brief period of strong unity between the two clans when All-Maudra Mayrin decided to wed and had a child with a Sifan captain named Kam’Lu. For unknown reasons, their relationship ended and whatever positive implications it had vanished as enforcement of clan separations continued. It was considered a punishable offense, which required serving time in the Order of Lesser Service, if a Vapra dated outside of their clan. This was especially ironic as, in the book series, Mayrin disapproved of Tavra and Onica’s relationship to the point the two had to keep it a secret.

The most interesting clan relations were that of the Vapra and Grottan. The two clans used to be one, known as the Silver Sea Clan. According to the Song of Six Sisters, the Silver Sea Clan was tasked with not only looking after day and night, light and shadow, but also the past and future. Because this was too much for one clan and Thra desired seven clans, the Silver Sea Clan was split into the Vapra and Grottan. The Grottan had some connection with the Vapra during the early Age of Division as some of their spices were still sold in the market places. But with a combination of the Grottan’s reclusive nature and their association with dark and unknown things, the Vapra wanted nothing to do with them.

Outsiders often called the Vapra Silverlings. Vapran princesses or those of royalty were sometimes referred to as “their Silverness”.

Legacy of the Vapra: Kira

Although most gelfling were seemingly wiped out during the Garthim Wars, some managed to survive. One of these gelfling were Kira. Although the identities of her parents are unknown, her mother was at least of Vapra descent. Her mother (presumably) hid her within a tree, but was captured by a Garthim shortly after. Kira ended up finding a podling village and was raised by Ydra. She lived with them and her pet Fizzgig for many trine up until her fateful encounter with Jen. She immediately helped him on his quest, using her skills she learned from the podlings including bola throwing and animal soul speaking. After she was caught within the castle’s catacombs and nearly drained of her essence by skekTek the Scientist she threw the crystal shard to Jen so he could heal the Crystal. But in the process she was fatally stabbed by skekZok the Ritual Master. She was later revived by UngIm when the skeksis reunited with their mystic counterparts.

Like Jen, Kira was taught about her heritage but it’s unknown how much of it she knew. She was at least told about what happened within the ruins surrounding the Wall of Destiny that she refused to go there for what happened to the Gelfling. However, she showed leadership qualities. When she sat on throne within the Gelfling ruins, she noted how it felt right for her. She would also rule over the repopulating Gelfling civilization with Jen as not an All-Maudra but a Great Elder of Thra.

Notable Vapra Members

Brea: All-Maudra Mayrin’s youngest daughter who lived during the late Age of Division. An inquisitive scholar who, after witnessing two gelfling who couldn’t pay their tithe, began questioning skeksis rule. It was through her curiosity that she discovered the truth about them and joined the Gelfling Resistance with Rian and Deet to end skeksis rule.

Katavra: Better known as Tavra, she is the second oldest daughter of All-Maudra Mayrin who commanded over the paladins. In an attempt to rescue Gurjin, she was captured by the Skeksis and later used as a vessel by the Ascendancy to capture other Gelfling. In the book series, she also had a secret relationship with the Sifa far-dreamer Onica.

Seladon (II): (Note the Roman numeral is not canon it makes it easier to identify the character) The eldest daughter of All-Maudra Mayrin. As the eldest child, she was trained to become the next All-Maudra. She suddenly succeeded the throne when her mother was killed and had a brief rule as All-Maudra Seladon. After a traumatic experience with the skeksis and realizing the error of her ways, she joined the Gelfling Resistance with her youngest sister.

All-Maudra Mayrin: The matriarch leader of all seven clans during the late Age of Division. Her early rule started when she suddenly succeeded the throne after her mother’s death and quickly had to deal with political tension between the Vapra and the Sifa. During her rule she both respected and feared the skeksis and never questioned their decisions. But when confronted with the truth, she made a stand against them only to be killed by skekVar the General.

Mira: A Vapran castle guard and former girlfriend of the Stonewood Rian. She was the very first victim of essence draining and her death had a ripple effect on the relationship between the gelfling and skeksis lords which eventually developed into the Gelfling Resistance.

Juni: A Gelfling girl who was sent to the Order of Lesser Service for trying to have a Spriton lover.

The Librarian: A nameless Librarian who had a Pluff’M familiar during the late Age of Division. He worked for the royal family aiding the scholar princess Brea with her pursuit of knowledge and was present while All-Maudra’s was tended to. He used to travel with the Sifa and had an unspoken relationship with Elder Cadia.

Kira: Descendant of the Vapra clan, saved by her (presumably) mother and raised by podlings for many trine. She grew up with some knowledge of Gelfling culture, including what happened to the Gelfling race. Eventually she met Jen and aided him in his quest to heal the Crystal of Truth.

Seladon (I): (Note the Roman numeral is not canon it makes it easier to identify the character) The All-Maudra who proceeded before All-Maudra Mayrin. Although she made efforts to bring unity, she severely neglected the other clans to the point their cultures were endangered. Despite this and the strained relationship they had, All-Maudra Mayrin named her first daughter after her.

Dot'leth: Loyal royal advisor and friend to both All-Maudra Seladon (I) and All-Maudra Mayrin during the late Age of Division. When the Sifan Fenth sought to exploit the political void left by the disappearance of Mayrin, Dot’leth acted as regent to stop his efforts from claiming the Living Crown.

Barfinnious: A paladin during the late Age of Division. He became a traveling bard who told exaggerated stories of his adventures to villages all over the Skarith Region. He ended up meeting a podling chef named Hup and promised to teach him how to become a paladin like him.

Kel: Also known as Lady Kel, she was the daughter of Elder Vedev who lived during the late Age of Harmony and early Age of Division. She was one of the few witnesses of the Great Division.

Elder Vedev: The mother of Kel who lived during the late Age of Harmony and the early Age of Division.

[Sources: Song of the Seven Gelfling Clans, the official Dark Crystal website, Shadows of the Dark Crystal, Song of the Dark Crystal, Tides of the Dark Crystal, The Dark Crystal: Age of Resistance, the Dark Crystal, The Dark Crystal Age of Resistance, An Epic Return To Thra, The Ballad of Hup & Barfinnious, the Journey Into the Mondo Levidian, Author Quest: The Gelfling Gathering, Creation Myths, Heroes of the Resistance, the Dark Crystal Bestiary, Power of the Dark Crystal, the Dark Crystal novelization]

#the dark crystal #gelfling #all about the seven clans #vapra #my posts

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everydayanth · 4 years

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Question re: cultural appropriation: I am Vampirically WhiteTM (I combust/evaporate if exposed to sunlight over 5 seconds), but I sometimes do *all* my hair in tiny, uneven plaits that don't hug my scalp. Answers on various forums seem to only distinguish between big/sparse braids & Black hairstyles, so there isn't a nuanced answer for, "This style isn't Cornrows but I *do* use all my hair." [1/2]

The intention *isn't* to cuddle up as closely to traditionally African styles as possible, but rather so I can take the braids out 3 days later to poof up like a lion/Princess Merida. Humans are a braiding, weaving species, I really do like doing this thing, & I'm not always of the mindset that just b/c something *might* be problematic, I should just bend to my anxieties/White Guilt. Am I still sending the wrong message with my style? [2/2]

Honestly, I have to start by saying I’m a white female, so the action/consequence of this process holds no harm over me and therefore my answer cannot speak for the people (black, specifically women) being potentially appropriated. I can only speak of my own development and understanding of appropriating black culture, specifically with hair.

I grew up in a “black neighborhood” (a problematic concept in itself) and in school, we sat in a train-line of girls during read-aloud and braided each others’ hair. I learned to braid black hair by 2nd grade. We were kids, we saw the differences in our phenotypic traits, but we adapted and didn’t mind much. One time a friend tried oiling my hair and it did not end well, lol, I was a greasy mop the whole day. Braiding was culturally relevant to us as friends, but also to me as an individual: my mom would braid my hair on her good days. In the summer, she would put my hair in many tiny loose braids, similar to what you described, not cornrows, but small braids because it was hot and we didn’t have ac and it was an easy solution. We were judged accordingly based on uniform and size and I distinctly remember the day I learned about the use of a long pinky nail, lol. I didn’t think about it much until I got to high school, then college and studied social science and talked to POC friends there and really began to understand the problems.

It’s not the act of wearing your hair in a particular style, we humans learn from each other, we copy, we reproduce, we recreate, and we do it for decoration and efficiency or usefulness. Every culture plays with hair and braids and for every example of appropriation, someone has a counter example perceived to be “their ancestors” or some sort of genetic heritage (”I’m 1/32 Native”) giving them rights to partake in a specific kind of decoration or practice. But that’s not the issue. The issue is that when black people, specifically black women, wear their hair in braids, they are treated disrespectfully by our society, while when white people, specifically women, wear locs or braids, they are often rewarded for being worldly or exotic or interesting.

There is not a common consensus; “black people” are not made of a uniform opinion, and whether something is problematic or offensive varies from one person to another. Appropriation, however, is a little easier to spot because it comes with a reward to some but with a punishment to the people who owned, initiated, or historically created or utilized a thing in the same way.

Black hair and hairstyles have been historically degraded, and its easy to think we live in a better world, but when Kim Kardashian wears “boxer braids” it becomes a trend, while Sasha Obama’s braids were criticized or attributed to past trends rather than her own rich ancestry. When Zendaya shows up in beautiful dreads and dressed to the nines, she is met with racist remarks, while Christina Aguilera’s were considered an “urban” phase.

Appropriation comes from capitalizing off something that isn’t yours, or that you can remove from your identity should the oppressor challenge you (thus why “white-passing” is often part of the conversation). Actively fighting against it means educating yourself on histories of oppression and abuse, modern social perspectives of white privilege, and what we do with all those pieces.

Black girls are sent home from school or suspended all the time for wearing their hair naturally, in traditional styles, or in styles like weaves that make black hair easier to manage in a non-African climate. Loose braids worn by black girls are still condemned in schools today, while white girls back from Jamaica go unpunished and their braids and beads remain a symbol of money, experience, and privilege. Black men, as well as black LGBTQ+ individuals, are also judged harshly by different (often white-dominated) groups for their own styles and are definitely part of the conversation.

Understanding the role of hair in culture and seeing the ongoing inequality is the most important thing we can do. Ideally, someday, we live in a world where we can all do what we want so long as it doesn’t harm another person, but we do not live there, and BIPOC are much more subjected to policing of their images, bodies, and especially hair than white people.

Hair dressers learn white hair by default, not both, most kids never learn about different hair textures or the evolutionary purpose for the differences, they simply learn that one majority group can do whatever they like without negative reinforcement, while the other must adhere to strict rules to emulate the look of the majority with chemicals, expensive tools, and treatments, or be mocked, judged, degraded, and not able to participate in society without fear or ridicule of their personhood, their bodies, their natural selves, as well as the potential loss of job security, violence, or harsher social punishments, like ostracization, being jailed, or murdered by police without consequence. How a majority identifies an “other” has historically included hair texture and style as well as skin color.

Personally, I think intent matters. I don’t braid my hair anymore as a public style. Sure, I braid clumps of it while watching TV or hanging out around the house if I want something of a uniform wave (my mom has type 3 and my dad has type 2 and I got a franken-head of both lol), but I don’t wear many braids as a style out in public. Wearing braids as a young kid made me look like the girls in my class, it connected me to the people around me, and I was subjected to judgement by the black moms based on quality (at least those who spoke up, again, I was a child). I was blending, but when I got to high school, I realized that wearing braids brought an attention with it - oh, you’re interesting, or pretentious, but for my POC friends, employers made them remove braids. They heard condescending things like “your hair is too ghetto” while I began to hear that I was the “ghetto friend, wow so cool and cultured and street smart.” It was always insulting, but one is shittier (you know which one) because it is only condescending, and seeks to erase culture and judges based on racist biases.

If we normalize black hairstyles through popular trends, that seems like a good thing, right? But if white people are the ones normalizing it, then the agency of black people has been taken away from the black communities and restored through a white-savior complex. Not free will or choice, but through the appropriation of their own culture which then replaces the act of demonstrating culture (like wearing braids) as an act of the oppressor mocking and being praised.

I know or plenty of white girls who wore braids or dreads or black hairstyles as a counter-culture identifier, in the way of popular artists and celebrities, but also activists and stoners appropriating Rastafarian culture. This makes black culture a counter-culture instead of an aspect of American culture or black culture within America that is respected and valued inherently. It otherizes, fetishizes, and tokenizes black culture, takes advantage of the current racist system and white privilege/bias, and gains an aesthetic. That is an intent to appropriate for social gains, and it’s all over the music industry and Hollywood.

At the end of the day, I don’t think my opinion here can matter, I’m not harmed by your action. Braids are braids and I have a... not-normal history of exposure and love of black hair that most white girls don’t, but even then, I had to grow and listen and understand the nuances of my environment and the society around it. Is it different wearing styles in the middle of nowhere with no social interactions vs. posting on social media or interacting in society? Yeah, I think it is.

So I suppose the sum of the parts is:

Are you benefitting socially from wearing your hair this way? If so, then yeah, that’s sucky for the BIPOC people being pushed down for doing the same and is harmful appropriation. How you measure that seems to depend on intent, so the bias of wanting to keep doing something you like has to be accounted for.

Is your intent to fit an aesthetic? If so, yeah, definitely a problem.

Reflect on why you like doing this, what is it you gain or feel or imbibe or get out of the experience in the first place? I’d say at the end of the day, know the history of oppression that exists in America and around the world. Being aware and able to identify appropriation in media, pop culture, and everyday life, as well as the history of it, allows you to be an ally.

And finally, do you listen to what people are saying?

If/when people say things about your hair, understand that you are a social exception to the style and address it. I do think there is a responsibility to engage in these conversations when we ride the line of these grey areas, like when culture is shared with us, to what extent we participate and own it is 100% dependent on that relationship. Be willing to hear black people if they say it is uncomfortable, listen to what they mean, have a conversation about it and be willing to let go of a thing you want if that is the feedback you get.

I think a lot of appropriation comes from the denial of history and the ignorance of oppression. If Kim K made a statement that said “these aren’t boxer braids, they are cornrows, worn by African American women for centuries, mocked and ridiculed by white culture, but have been an efficient way to manage African textured hair in the new climate environment of the Americas when forced here as slaves. Many were forcibly shaven, but for those who were allowed to express themselves in small subtle ways as slaves, through jim crow, and even today, the decoration and design of cornrows was and is incredibly meaningful.” That’s a different conversation about appropriation, that’s using privilege and platform without placating or denying the experiences of others to educate and address appropriation, rather than solely profiting off the attention and claiming to create a “trend.” Black hair is beautiful and should be appreciated and allowed to be as bold or big as an individual wants it to be.

Hair is one of the coolest, most useful phenotypic traits of thermoregulation in humans/primates, and science still has a few questions yet to research regarding the evolution of different textures and colors. Your own hair texture can change over time, as you grow, especially in women, depending on hormones, especially through pregnancy, nutrition, and chemical treatments like chemotherapy, as well as genetics, and even environmental changes in water hardness, haircare routine and treatment materials.

With slavery, migrations, immigrations, and other historic and contemporary movements of humans comes the issues of adaption and change to fit the new environment, fighting forced assimilation, colonization, denial of cultural expression, and active racism. We need to be able to talk about these aspects of race in society and listen if and when people say what we are doing is harmful. I think the most important thing to do is educate ourselves on the purpose, history, and meaning of a thing, particularly if we are gaining positive attention from it while others suffer for it. Talk to people of color around you who are willing to offer an opinion, and listen to them. Research the history and speak up when you see the double standard in practice.

My line is here: if I can find evidence of a POC being criticized for a style (and it’s not my natural hair), I’m not going to wear that style in public or on social media, but I am going to praise it, and criticize those racist comments degrading or demeaning it, I will champion it and demand schools do away with discriminating hair policies, and ask my library to spend money on children’s books about black hair, and do the work of finding black people voicing their opinions, or having a vulnerable and authentic conversation with a friend, then listen and make a judgement from there. If the consensus is that the style is harmful and you continue to wear it, then yeah I’d say that’s a pretty bad message that says: I just don’t care, I want to do this so I will.

This follows a moral judgement for me: if you love someone and they tell you a thing you do is actively harming them and show you evidence of the harm (as in: it’s not just annoying, but actually harmful to them), but you continue to participate in the thing, that’s not love. I can’t fully picture the specific style, and I don’t know your intent or if/how you gain from the style, so I’m having a hard time forming a full opinion. Is this a style that has been addressed by black communities as harmful? Is it a few different styles put together? Are you in a diverse place, are you criticized for the look, is it even a look to you?

Personally, I’d say it rides too close to the line for my own comfort and I wouldn’t be wearing a multi-braid style in public (as in more than two, I rock the french-braid pigtails while hiking because its easier to find ticks), but again, I’m not someone who would be being harmed by it. I often try to resist judgement of strangers’ hair unless I know them and their background or platform, because I don’t know their culture, ancestry, or heritage, so I don’t hold others in society to the same standard as myself.

I’d love to hear other peoples’, particularly POC, opinions and experiences with hair and appropriation.

If there are a few un-uniform braids, is it different than many uniform loose braids, what about compared to cornrows, where is your personal line? Is it different from your social line? How would you judge or hold people accountable in society?

P.s. Thanks for asking and trying to learn more about the potential social impact you are having. I think that’s a great step toward a more equal world that can appreciate culture without taking advantage of others. It sounds like you’re trying to do your research to learn more about whether your action is having a negative consequence, and I appreciate you taking the time to be vulnerable and research and question yourself. I think that also has to be rewarded.

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dontcallmecarrie · 4 years

Note

“if Bucky got wind of what went down in canon, he’d start screaming internally and never stop” ... So! How about a dimensional travel style crossover between By Dawn’s Early Light and either canon or one of your other AUs? ;D

That’d be…messy, because BDEL is, apart from being a fluffy fixit-slash-break-it-differently AU, also a timeline-got-squished-and-things-got-switched-up AU.

For instance, remember how Tony’s hometown got a visit from SHIELD because of a meteor crash? That was Mjolnir, crashing into Earth way ahead of schedule because the Bifrost got a bit wonky when Odin did his thing. By the time Thor arrives, nearly a decade’s passed on Earth, Natasha is a shiny new agent of SHIELD, Bucky’s been out of the ice again, Bruce is cursing his new green anger management issues and there’s a lot of talk about Y2K going on in the background.

So, we’re talking about taking this Bucky, who escaped HYDRA in the early ‘80s and has since spent that time recovering with the help of his new family. Who’s used to a universe where Tony Stark went MIA and didn’t contribute to technology and progress [because he used that creativity and innovation to hide better, but shh], so tech’s about what you’d expect.

You take this Bucky, and stick him in canon? Things are going to explode, and there’s going to be a lot of screaming.

Bucky’d take one look at canon, with its “assholes are yelling ‘Hail HYDRA’ in the year of our lord 2014″ and “wait what do you mean I killed Tony’s parents and all these other people” and would immediately go ‘thanks I hate it’.

Would go “I don’t care if they have hoverboards, take me back, I want to go home fuck this I’m out”, because to him, canon’s a melodramatic mess and clearly a very bad timeline because the people he cares about are either long dead or wouldn’t be able to look him in the face [and it would sting, knowing that this Tony has very good reason for why].

And Steve— the way this other Steve looks at him would freak him out. Because there’s a strange sort of hope in there, only it’s not very comforting when it’s the “oh my god you look so much better!” hope, with a side of “you’re the person I remember you as, and if you’re not it’d only take a few tweaks” […yeah I’m still salty about the way Steve handled Bucky’s trauma. Fight me.] and as if that’s not enough, all it’d take one look at his alternate to know that apparently he got off lightly when it came to trauma.

Only— that’s not true, is it? It’s just that he was lucky enough to have been able to heal from the worst of his trauma in an incredibly supportive environment, and for all that they give him grey hairs, Bucky is still very grateful for the sheer diehard loyalty that Maria and Tony showed when he was at his lowest.

But these guys don’t see it, just see him after years of recovery.

…yeah, Bucky wouldn’t really like this weird alternate universe.

As for the stunts that Steve pulls, though…hmm.

On the one hand, part of me thinks that he’d be almost desensitized to it. After all, in his universe, Maria burned both Stark Industries and SHIELD in the early 1980s— so when he finds out that Steve did something similar in 2014, he’d be torn between facepalming and screaming.

On the other hand, finding out that Steve caused an international incident […or just gets wind of the Civil War mess in general, for that matter] because of Reasons would just result in internal screaming. Because come on. Steve was supposed to be the reasonable one, was supposed to be the one who wouldn’t go to town if Bucky was ever mildly inconvenienced and how was it that he kept hanging out with these jerks in every universe? He’d have expected this shit from Tony or Maria, but he had high hopes for you Steve, gdi.

Meanwhile: it’s Uncanny Valley Hour for everyone in canon.

Because this Bucky looks like their own, but the way he acts? The way he keeps blurting out stuff that’s just this side of ‘wait wtf’, or fumbles with smartphones but has no issue with talking to JARVIS?

Tony’s freaked out because this Bucky acts very, very familiar with him [Bucky: I taught you how to shave, kid. Enough said]. Doesn’t help that this Bucky’s also very very protective with a side of mother-hen tendencies [Bucky: how tf is it that you have even worse self-care habits than you did as a tiny fifteen-year-old?! Eat something you’ve been up for nearly 36 hours now]. [Incidentally, stuff like this also gets him into JARVIS’ good books, too.]

Everyone’s heart hurts whenever Bucky mentions Maria and Tony’s face just freezes over for a second, and there’s a lot of brain-breakage when he mentions wanting to punch Howard too.

Clint and Bruce and Sam would just be watching from the sidelines, Natasha stealing popcorn every so often because this Bucky remembers bits and pieces of his time in the Red Room but it’s clear that he’s healed from that and they’re cool.

Steve, though…

Steve sees this Bucky, and he can’t.

It’s just— this Bucky is a staggering contrast to his Bucky, in all the worst ways.

This Bucky is everything he wishes his Bucky could be— he has his old self-confidence back, is clearly at ease and comfortable with his place in the world, isn’t struggling to put himself back together again, isn’t a patchwork of scars and open wounds.

[This Bucky is unrecognizable. Is clearly better off without him.]

It’s everything he could hope for, in terms of recovery for his best friend. It’s so close, and so, so far.

This Bucky can barely stand to be in the same room as his alternate self. Shifts uncomfortably whenever it happens, looks at his alternate with a strange sort of pity [Bucky: torn between going ‘holy shit was I ever that bad? Wait nvm I don’t want to know’ and ‘…I am still going to yell at Maria next time she blackmails municipal government into unnecessarily changing zoning laws’].

All in all, nobody’s having a very good time, if BDEL!Bucky were to crash-land another dimension.

#I got an ask!#Naught replies #replies #behind the scenes #By Dawn's Early Light #shatterpoint #Naught rambles

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frickfrackjimin · 6 years

Text

Whiskey on Ice

⇻ Meeting Jungkook at an award show after party leaves a bigger impression on you than you wish to admit.

Pairing: Idol!Jungkook x Idol!reader Genre: Slight smut (Like, if you really, really squint. Basically just my first attempt at trying to write a make out session in detail bc I suck at writing smut :/ lol) Words: 4.8k Inspired by: “Gorgeous” by Taylor Swift; “Delicate” by Taylor Swift; “Sex” by the 1975 Warnings: Mild language, mentioning of alcohol, mentioning of drugs

You were drunk. So, so drunk.

The drink in your hand was your fifth of the night, something that your cousin, Aura, ordered for you originally. You had no idea what the contents of the drink were, only that it was bright blue and sweet and that you couldn’t get enough of it.

You were enjoying yourself on the dance floor of the club you were at. The bass was pulsing throughout the building as strobe lights lit up during the build up to the bass drop of the EDM songs playing. You could feel yourself letting loose and enjoying yourself for the first time since your ex-boyfriend,Youngjin, pulled that whole stunt last month. You pushed off every guy that tried to dance on you; Youngjin may have been an asshole, but you were positive you did not want to hook up with a stranger in an attempt to get over him. You didn’t understand how people could go home with someone they just met, and probably don’t even know the name of.

Aura approaches you on the dance floor, saying that she was leaving with someone. You look behind her shoulder at the man standing behind her. Did you know the guy? No. Did she know the guy? Probably not, which worried you. You tried following after her to tell her not to, especially since you did not know your way around that well and your phone was nearing 10%.

By the time you reached the front of the club, Aura and her mystery man were nowhere in sight. You yelled out for her, hoping that by chance she was within ears distance and would return to you. When she did not appear, you could feel the tears pricking at your eyes. Your phone is nearly dead; you have no idea where you are or how you are going to get home. What are you supposed to do?

In your drunken stupor, you felt someone grab your hand and start to pull you down the street.

“You know it’s not safe to be walking around the city this late at night by yourself,” a male voice speaks out. You could not see who he was since he was concealed by a dark hoodie. You felt a scream get caught in your throat but in your shock from the situation, could not seem to let it out.

A few seconds later, you both ended up in a run-down restaurant in the middle of the city.

After slumping down into a booth seat, you looked at your captor sitting across from you. Low and behold, it was Jeon Jungkook, in all his gorgeous glory.

A smug smirk sits on his face, fingers intertwined on the table. A grey beanie adorns his dark head of hair that stops at the nape of his neck. You can vaguely see the loop of his grey earrings peeking out from under his beanie. His hair is longer than you remember it being. Granted, it has been two months since you have last seen him. He has a black facemask pulled below his chin, revealing his face. A risky move, considering the fact that he is out in public in a city where someone could recognize him by his pinky finger.

You feel yourself staring at him. Shaking your head slightly, you break your eye contact and begin to look around the restaurant.

“Where are we?” is all you manage to sputter out.

“Not too far from where I found you,” he responds. A waitress appears at your table, putting down two glasses of water.

“You were at Club Zero?” you ask back. He did not look like he was dressed to go to a club. You took a sip out of the water glass in front of you.

“No, I was on my way home when I saw you. Who is Aura?”

“A stupid girl,” you mutter.

“A friend of yours?” he asks, lifting an eyebrow.

“My cousin. She wanted to take me out, something about drinking away the breakup, or the bad publicity, or whatever the hell people are supposed to do when they get their ass chewed out by their famous ex-boyfriend on social media for the world to see,” you reply sarcastically.

It hits you that this is the first time you have spoken to him face to face. At the after party a few months ago, your interactions were brief, but left a mark on you nonetheless.

➵

You walked into the after party hand in hand with your boyfriend, Youngjin, his hand on the small of your back. The environment screamed an industry after party; a hell of a lot of alcohol, the strong smell of weed and whatever other drugs were being passed around, and a heavy beat playing. You saw a few familiar faces of various singers, producers, and even actors that were given access to the after party.

Youngjin and you approached the bar, him ordering a scotch on the rocks and yourself ordering a cosmopolitan. Even though you had just turned 19, the bartenders around here will start serving you at 16 if you are lucky enough to pass off as older. You never got into the drinking scene until you were around 18 like most people in the normal world; in this industry, however, it was practically unheard of.

“Hey _____! Congrats on your awards!” you hear from behind you. You turned around and greeted the face that met yours; Choonhee, a new breakout artist from this year and one of your closest friends.

“Thanks! You too girlie!” you congratulated back.

“Did you come here with Youngjin?” Choonhee asked.

"Of course-" you start, turning around to show that you indeed, did show up with boyfriend. You furrowed your brows in confusion when he was not standing behind you like he was thirty seconds ago. You looked around before realizing that Youngjin was nowhere close to you. Your eyes skimmed the darkened room before seeing him standing on the second floor talking to some men you didn’t recognize. They were more than likely other artists in his genre you didn’t know or producers. Youngjin was apart of the EDM industry and was always collaborating with people you had never heard of.

“Well, I guess he’s ditched me yet again. The big boys snatched him before I could grab ahold of him,” you chuckled, slightly annoyed.

“He’s always pulling shit like this, why are you still with him again?” Choonhee asked.

“I love him, that’s why,” you retorted.

“Right…” Choonhee replied again.

“Come on, stop with the negativity! Let’s celebrate! We are AWARD WINNERS!” you screamed, grabbing ahold of Choonhee’s wrist and throwing it up in the air with yours. The two of you cheered, grabbing little attention from the people around you since the music drowned out your cheers.

➵

It had been about an hour since Youngjin had ditched you for his little work buddies and honestly, you were having an amazing time! A hella amazing time, if you will!

Maybe it’s the fact that you were on your third cosmo, but all of your shyness that came from talking to strangers had flown out the window. You were approaching nearly everyone and starting a conversation about absolutely anything. Thankfully you were still aware of your surroundings and you were only tipsy so you didn’t make too much a fool out of yourself … you think.

You and Choonhee began to make your way to the second floor, drinks in hand. The VIP sections were located up there and you saw people like EXO, Super Junior, and Twice all popping bottles of champagne in celebration. They should all definitely be celebrating, they all went home with a shit ton of well-deserved awards that night.

You were looking around for Youngjin but instead, your eyes lock on a different pair of eyes. From far away and with the terrible lighting, you couldn't tell what color they were. You don’t immediately recognize who he is, but after seeing the people standing around him, you put together that he’s a member of BTS. You can’t remember which one specifically, maybe V? You honestly can’t remember any of them besides him right now.

Holy shit though, you wish you remembered that one’s name. Point blank, he was gorgeous. Suit pants and dress shirt, no suit jacket though. Loosened tie around his neck; rings on his fingers glistening as he swishes his glass in his hand. His dark brown hair is tousled in a way that makes it look like he just had sex, but is still put together.

You downed the rest of your drink, walking to the mini bar to order another one. You looked back over and saw him still staring at you. When you catch him this time though, he slowly turns away.

“Does you know the name of that guy in BTS over there?” you ask, resting your head in your hand as you wait for your drink.

“Which one?” Choonhee asks.

“The hot one,” you reply.

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“Okay seriously, the one in the tie with the dark hair. That’s not V is it? He dresses too plain to be V, from what I remember.”

“I think that’s… Jin maybe? Or Jungkook? No, it’s definitely Jungkook,” Choonhee confirms, also slightly tipsy.

“Well, that boy got me jungshook, that’s for sure,” you say, grabbing your drink as it’s handed to you.

“He’s hot as hell.”

Choonhee laughs at your bluntness. “Hey honey, don’t you have a boyfriend that you supposedly love?”

“That doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate art when it’s put in front of me,” you smirk. She gives you a worried look. “Oh come on, I’m just kidding. Let’s just go say hi. The worst that could happen is that they ignore our existence completely and I have to hide my face around them for the rest of our careers.”

Choonhee gives you a scared glance before following in step behind you.

Once you were in front of the group, you felt seven pairs of eyes on you and you were suddenly intimidated.

“H-hi,” you stammered before clearing your throat. “You guys are BTS right?”

“Hey, yeah we are. _____, right?” one replied back. His presence gave him the feel of a leader. This one must be RM.

“Yeah I am, and this is my friend Choonhee,” you said, pointing to the girl standing on your left.

“You won best new artist tonight, right?” one asked, looking at Choonhee.

“Yes, I did,” she shyly smiled.

“Congratulations. I love your song, by the way. I’m Taehyung.”

“Thank you, Taehyung,” Choonhee bowed in appreciation of the compliment. “_____ should be getting credit for it as well. She wrote the song, I simply perform it.”

“You wrote that song?” another one asks you. You nod your head in response.

“Your songwriting skill is amazing. You write beautiful lyrics,” He reaches his hand out, “I’m Yoongi.”

Following that, the rest of the members introduced themselves. Of course, once you reached the last member, he simply nodded his head at you. You noticed that in both ears he had small hoop earrings in. You smiled before averting your eyes. Why did he make you so nervous?

Choonhee began conversing with RM and Taehyung about her upcoming music. Jimin, Hoseok, and Yoongi started a conversation with you. From your conversation you could tell that Yoongi was immensely passionate about music.

“So let me put a scenario out there," you started. "I have an idea for a song. Would you be down to work with me on it if I sent you some samples?” you ask him. Drunk you should be allowed out more frequently. You often struggle to find other people to work with because you’re so shy.

“Definitely, I have some beats saved in my studio computer, I could see if one of them would work with the vibe you have in the lyrics,” he replies, grabbing his phone out of his pocket. You exchanged emails and agreed to attempt to work on a song together once your schedules both cleared up.

The three boys fell into another conversation about something involving the award show as your attention fell to the two boys behind you who were avoiding conversation with you. Jin and Jungkook were goofing around with each other, pushing at each other and speaking in weird voices. Why won’t they come over and talk to you? You’re more than capable of talking to them. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t really interested at all?

‘Whatever,’ you thought.

“I’m going to get another drink, anyone care to join?” you asked, addressing the group.

“I’ll come,” Hoseok replied.

You both walked back over to the bar where you decided to switch it up and order a vodka cranberry. You felt the presence of a figure next to you as you waited. When you turned your head to see who it was, you saw it was Jungkook. Getting to see him up close in this light, you realized that he was wearing blue contact lenses.

You turned away, blushing slightly at the eye contact. As the bartender gave you and Hoseok your drinks, you heard him ask Jungkook what he wanted.

“Whiskey on ice,” Jungkook replies. You snicker to yourself. His voice sounds so different than what you expected it to. That also didn’t seem like a drink Jungkook would be drinking. He seemed like more of a sex on the beach kind of guy; you were clearly mistaken.

He places his hands on the edge of the bar, one of them covering your right one that was placed in a similar way. You looked at him, shocked that he was being so bold.

There was no way that was an accident.

He grabs the drink from the bartender before sparing you a glance. He had a look on his face that was hard to decipher. Before you could question him, his hand slid off of yours and he turned to walk away. You shook your head, taking a deep breath before following behind him with Hoseok to rejoin the group.

“Hey _____, isn’t that Youngjin?” Choonhee asked, pointing behind you. You turned around to look, and sure enough, your boyfriend finally decided to show face.

“We should probably get going,” you say.

“It was great getting to meet you guys, we’ll definitely keep in contact,” you smile.

You heard a chorus of “Bye!” and “Nice to meet you!” and “Don’t forget to email me those samples!” from the group as you and Choonhee walked away. Choonhee began to walk down the stairs, but you stopped her, saying that you wanted to grab Youngjin first.

He was standing at a small table overlooking the first floor, another scotch on the rocks still in his hand.

“Hey, where have you been this whole time?” you asked him, putting your hand on his chest.

“Talking to some producers. You know, business talk,” he responds. There was a bit of a condescending tone when he said "business talk," but you chose to ignore it.

“What have you been up to?” he asks instead.

“I met BTS. They’re really cool, actually; I got one of their emails so we can try to collaborate on a song together. How cool is that?” you ask, excited.

“Super cool," he says in a bored tone.

“They were all super nice too. Except for one, Jungkook. He didn’t talk to me the whole time. The only time he said anything near me was when we ordered drinks at the bar. He sounds so different. You’d expect him to have a deeper voice,” you laugh, the alcohol starting to really affect you now.

“Um, _____,” he says, glancing behind you.

You turned around to see Jungkook standing there, looking at you. You can’t decode the look in his eyes, you instantly feel bad though.

That guilt went away when you see him smirk at you, glancing between Youngjin and you before turning and walking away.

“What was that about?” Youngjin asks.

“I’m not sure, let’s go though, it’s getting late,” you reply back, grabbing his hand and walking down the steps and out of the club.

➵

Aside from that basic introduction, no words were actually exchanged between you two. You only snuck glances and he practically held your hand. You would think that you would be a bit more nervous talking to someone that looks as amazing as him; the alcohol must, once again, be giving you the confidence to hold a conversation.

He breathes out a laugh through his nose, rubbing his thumb against his bottom lip. You could feel your mouth go slightly dry at the sight. You took another sip of water before you continued.

“She ditched me for some guy in the club. I don’t venture into the city much aside from going to work. You would think that she would have enough common sense to assume that I don’t know where the fuck I am or how to get home.”

He cocks his head to the side a bit. “Where are you staying? I’ll give you a ride,” he offers.

“No thanks, I’ll just call a cab,” you say, rifling through your purse for your cell phone. Unfortunately, when you retrieve it from the depths of meaningless receipts and gum wrappers, it is dead. You sigh, rubbing your hand down your face, disregarding the fact that you definitely just ruined your makeup. Honestly though, it was probably already ruined from the sweaty nightclub.

You slowly meet Jungkook’s eyes, sparkling with amusement.

“Problem?” He cheekily asks, peering at you from the top of his water glass as he takes a sip.

“Can you call me a cab?” you ask.

“Now, let’s look at this logically,” he starts. You roll my eyes.

“Why would I, a gentleman, let you, a pretty young woman,” he pauses, glancing up and down my body. You can feel a blush appear on your cheeks.

“Call a cab in the middle of the night, costing you roughly 500,000 won, when I can just give you a ride for free? It will ensure the safety of you and your wallet’s well-being.”

You know he makes a good point. It is not exactly safe for someone to be catching cabs this late at night, and you really don’t feel like spending more money than you already have tonight.

You groan in annoyance. “Fine.”

➵

Twenty minutes and a plate of fries later, you are both approaching a dark van parked outside of the restaurant. Jungkook’s hand is guiding you towards the vehicle, resting on the small of your back. Dangerously close to your ass, you may add.

“This is yours?” you ask, hesitancy in your voice.

“The band uses it. I called my driver to come get us.”

“You woke up your driver in the middle of the night? I told you I could have just taken a cab.”

“He wasn’t asleep, he was dropping the hyungs at the dorms. I wanted fresh air so I decided to take a walk before going back home,” he explains, opening the back door for you.

“You know it’s not safe to be walking around the city this late at night by yourself, Jeon Jungkook,” you tease in reply. He plasters that infamous smirk on his face as you slide in, careful to not let your dress ride up. You didn’t particularly feel like flashing the passerby’s.

“You may be right, ______, but ask yourself this; if I had not taken that walk, where might you be now?” he questions as he hops in the car behind you.

Even though you scoot all the way to the other side of the van, Jungkook sits in the middle, right next to you. His jogger-covered left thigh is touching your bare right one. You are so distracted by the fact that he is sitting so close that you nearly forget to give the driver your address. After he puts it in his GPS, he puts up the divider between the front and back, for privacy, you guessed.

“You live in the suburbs?” Jungkook asks.

“My parents do. I’m staying with them for a while,” you respond, looking out the window.

“Ah, too much drama back in Seoul?” he assumes, throwing his arm around the back of the seat behind you. You are all too aware of the fact that you can practically feel the tips of his fingers on your left shoulder.

“You have no idea,” you utter out. “Everyone thinks I’m some pretentious princess that only dated him for publicity.”

➵

Last month is when shit hit the fan.

You had started to get a bit tired of always being put on the back burner by Youngjin. Even when he was not promoting, he always seemed to be filling his schedule up with other things. Whether it be interviews, rehearsals for a comeback that was still months away, or hanging out with his friends from his label that he sees all of the time anyway. He was constantly blowing you off for any small reason it seemed. When you approached him about it, he got defensive.

“You’re overreacting like a child, as per usual,” he rolled his eyes.

“As per usual? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that you are still immature. You don’t know what it takes to be in this industry and quite frankly, you don’t have it. That’s why you clung to me like glue after the one time I flirted with you all those months ago, to grow your career,” he scoffed.

“What are you talking about? I responded to your flirting because I like you as a person! How dare you think I did this for my career? I am perfectly capable of building a name for myself without you!” you nearly screamed.

“Oh yeah? Prove it,” he sneered.

“Fine. We’re done,” you said adamantly as you grabbed your coat off of the arm of his couch. Walking towards the door, you stop right in front of his face.

“Watch me.”

Turns out, ending things on negative terms with a pissed off ex-boyfriend who has a high status in the media wasn’t the best of your plans.

You may or may not have released a cover of an English song, “Sorry Not Sorry” onto your SoundCloud just days later. Rather than just letting the bit of shade slide, Youngjin decided that he needed to rebuttal.

He did a V Live, indirectly telling the world that someone close to him betrayed him for their own personal gain. It was the biggest load of horseshit you had ever heard, but the fans somehow connected the dots and practically overnight the entirety of your country had seemingly turned on you. That is why you had to move out to the suburbs to live with your parents, and why you had gone into a sort of hiding and social media cleanse.

➵

“I don’t think that’s true,” he says. You can feel his hot breath on the side of your face. You’re too nervous to turn and look at him.

“I think he’s the pretentious one, and he’s an idiot for doing that to you. He wants sympathy for a situation nobody is sure actually happened.”

“Well, at least somebody is on my side,” you whisper, glancing at him for a second before looking down at your lap. You feel his hand that’s not around your shoulders play with the end of your dress.

“By the way,” he says in a low voice, his mouth so close to your ear you can feel his lips on your earlobe. “Black lace really suits you.”

Your eyes widen and your heart rate begins to increase as you realize he must have seen your underwear when you got in the car, despite your efforts to make sure that did not happen.

Instead of feeling mortified like you should have, you felt powerful. Maybe it was the alcohol taking affect on you, but your mood went from upset to almost… lustful?

“Does it now?” you questioned back. He hummed in reply and you could not help but let a breath out of your mouth when you feel his teeth graze the cartilage of your ear.

“Sexy,” is all he murmurs. Your thighs involuntarily tightened closer together at the simple word that fell from his lips.

You gazed up at him for a split second, seeing his eyes full of lust.

Next thing you knew, your lips were on his.

His hand on your shoulder moved to behind your neck as your lips hungrily meshed together. Goddamn, his lips are softer than you thought they would be.

There was no questioning whether or not this was right or wrong, no devil on your shoulder telling you that you barely knew the man tangling his tongue with yours. The only thing your mind was telling you right now is that you needed more of Jungkook, and you needed him now.

Your hands slid up his chest, lightly gripping onto his black hoodie. You felt his free hand resting high up on your leg with his thumb rubbing slow circles into your inner thigh. You tried withholding a moan, you really did, but it slipped out anyways. His grip on your leg tightened at the sound. You lightly bit his lower lip in approval before pulling back for air.

Holy shit, he’s an amazing kisser. It has been so long since you’ve kissed someone like that.

Jungkook took that opportunity to move his lips to your neck. He brushed your hair back before letting his tongue trace up from your neck to your earlobe, gently biting down. You could feel your desire for him building by every hot breath in your ear, every movement of his tongue on your neck, every purple mark he left.

You grab the back of his head, gripping onto his brown locks before pulling them away from your neck and reattaching your lips with his. His hand that was on your leg has moved your dress up and dangerously close to the band of your underwear. One more inch and he would probably be able to feel how badly you want him right now.

Instead of letting him get that close, you swing your leg over his until you are straddling him in the backseat. Your hands go up to his chest and your forehead rests on his briefly before you go back to kissing him. You feel his hands tightly grip your hips and in that moment, you wanted your dress off.

A knock on the divider is what pulls you away from each other.

“We’re here Jungkook. Say goodnight,” his driver says from the front seat.

“Let me walk you up,” he insists. From the way he looks at you, you know he’s not giving you an option.

You swing your legs back over to your seat before you adjust your dress and open the door. You wait for Jungkook to follow you. He shuts the car door before signaling “one minute” to the driver. His hand returns to the small of your back just as it did earlier as you approach your parent’s front door.

“Thanks for the ride,” you say nonchalantly.

“Same to you,” he boldly replies. “We should do it again sometime.”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, holding it out to you. You go to his contacts and put your information in before handing it back to him.

“Well, goodnight,” you state, putting your hand on the doorknob. You begin to turn it before you’re pulled into Jungkook’s chest, hand being ripped away from the door. His lips crash down on yours hard, kissing you for a few seconds before pulling away.

“Goodnight.”

Before you could even open your eyes from the kiss, he is walking away and back towards the van.

Standing there stunned, you take a minute to compose yourself before you reach for the doorknob again.

“Oh, and _____?” you hear him yell.

You peaked over your shoulder at him, standing by the open van door.

“Purple suits you as well,” he smirks, motioning to his neck. Your mouth drops as the reality of his words sink in, and you instinctively reach towards your own neck. A small hiss escapes your mouth when you feel the ache of the numerous marks he littered on your skin. You look back up at him with a small glare, to which he cracks a smile and gets in the back of the van. You watch the vehicle drive down the street, turn left at the intersection, and off into the night.

Walking into the house, you shut the door quietly behind you before leaning against the dark wood. A sigh escaped your lips and the only thing you could think of was how utterly screwed you were.

#jungkook #jeon jungkook #jungkook drabble #idol jungkook #jungkook bts #bts drabble #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook fic #bts #ffjwrites #jungkook x reader #idol!jungkook

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that-nerdy-court-witch · 5 years

Text

Ninjago Become Human- Prologue

...

Cold.

That was the first word that came to mind when he opened his eyes to the frozen foliage around him, nothing but snow being seen in all directions.

'Cold. Definitely cold. Around -25 degrees farenheit.' he deduced, his eyes scanning the forest while his LED flashed gold.

"Location unidentified? That can't be possible. I must've found my way here somehow...if I could just-"

He instantly began to wince when he tried to move, his thirium feeling as if it was beginning to freeze.

"AUGH! Damn it...my reserve energy won't last much longer in these conditions...how long was I out?" he thought out loud, his processor moving a mile a minute to try and reactivate his internal heater.

He cursed to himself in hissed whispers as he got to his feet. His mechanical joints cracked and popped from the sudden movement as snow dusted over his form. He could feel his teeth chatter as he hugged himself tightly, trying to gain any form of warmth.

"Come on...why am I still cold?"

He let out a growl of frustration when an error message flashed in his vision.

"Internal heater damaged? Perfect...you chose the absolute PERFECT time to start malfunctioning, didn't you Zane..." he spat, trying to ignore the freezing pain in his metal body as he began to walk.

"By my calculations I'm the only one out here, seeing as there are no other footprints out here besides my own. My top priority should be finding shelter before I shut down...maybe then I can contact Borg Industries to come get me..." he thought out loud, his grip on his arms tightening as he pushed himself forward.

For awhile the only sound that could be heard was his feet crunching in the snow and the wind howling in the air. There was no real change to the environment around him as he moved on. The trees looked the same and there was no other signs of any life in the forest. The only piece of evidence that could be had to ensure he was progressing at all was the footprints behind him.

He was truly on his own out here.

He never thought he'd ever experience this much pain before. Especially in this current situation.

"I'm supposed to be programmed with defenses for any kind of environmental situation. I've been in snow far worse than this before. Why isn't the heat coming through? How did I become so damaged?"

He knew deep down nobody could answer him, yet his questions rang through his processor none the less.

"I doubt that Liutenant Garmadon would just leave me out here. He's bound to be looking for me right now. I need to keep moving...come on Zane...you're a machine...you can't get hypothermia or any human illness out here...you'll...be...fine...just...keep...moving..." he muttered through gritted teeth, urging his legs to keep moving.

Despite his words, he could feel his insides freezing little by little, chunks of ice forming around his joints and on his face. Synthetic breaths left his mouth in clouds and his steel grey eyes squinted harshly against the storm.

"I sincerely hope that wherever Liutenant Garmadon is...he's not stuck out here. And with luck he won't decommisson me because of my poor performance in this situation. Though to be fair, I would decommission me if I was him. What sort of android would let himself fail this way...?" he stated, the quivering in his voice at the last part shocking him instantly.

"Wait...no...this isn't my fault. Surely not. It's not like I broke myself on purpose! The liutenant will understand! I'm sure the warrenty is still available and I'll be fixed good as new. I could serve just as I always have! There's nothing to be worried about!" he exclaimed, his voice pitched as he tried to reassure himself.

'Yet...why do I feel such dreadful fear?'

Feel...

That was something he was unfamiliar with. He wasn't supposed to feel anything. Yet the thought of anyone seeing him in this state made his thirium run colder than it already was.

"Ack...What is this storm DOING to me?" he cursed softly, bringing his frigid hands to his face to provide a gentle breath to try and warm them.

As if answering him, a bird's crow began to ring through the forest, breaking the silence he had just begun to get used to.

He instantly whipoed his head around, trying to find the source.

"What the?"

His eyes suddenly widened when they set sight on a branch above him, where a dark grey falcon perched. It's head tilted slightly when eye contact was made, its golden irises holding a decisive expression within them.

"A falcon? No...that is not possible...a bird that small wouldn't stand a chance in weather like this..."

He gasped in pain as he urged his arms to loosen, a hand being extended toward the bird.

"Hello little one. If you remain out here any longer, you will surely perish. If you accompany me I can find us shelter. Do you understand?" he asked, a light blue hue coming to his eyes for a moment at the gesture he was making.

Software Instability

He brought his hand back in surprise when another falcon flew past, perching itself next to the first.

"Two of you?"

As if to defy him, another one flew past. And another. And another. Before long there was a whole flock of falcons perched in the trees, all of them staring down at him.

"I...do not understand..." he said out loud, his stress levels increasing steadily in response to their stare.

He felt himself freeze in place as the sound of footsteps reached his ears, the sound growing closer and closer behind him.

"Who is there?" he asked, his fists clenching when no response was heard.

"I can hear you...don't even try to sneak up on me!" he shouted, turning around quickly with a determined look; only for that look to twist in terror at the sight before him.

It was him. Or maybe it wasn't. It was hard to tell with half of the face torn off to reveal the titanium plating underneath. The broken Zane tilted his head with a curious look, almost blending in with the snow in his white attire. Without a word spoken, he raised an arm in a welcoming gesture as one of the falcons flew down and perched itself on it.

"Who are you?"

The broken Zane stared on, not saying a word as it stroked the falcon's chest.

That didn't sit well with him.

"I askd who are you?! Where are we?! What is this place?! Where is the liutenant?!" he shouted.

The broken Zane still didn't answer.

"Why won't you answer me?! If you think this is some form of a joke it isn't funny! I will not be made a fool by someone like you! I want answers and I'll get them by any means necassary. I'm only going to ask this once more...WHO ARE YOU AND WHAT AM I DOING HERE?!"

At that, the broken Zane began to chuckle, startling him. The broken Zane gave a sympathetic smile as he continued to stroke the falcon.

(Find the rest on Wattpad! Link in the notes of this post! :D)

#ninjago #ninjago zane #detroit become human #Ninjago Become Human #fanfiction #fanfic #crossover #au #android #nindroid

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lotrobsession · 6 years

Photo

Letter to Brigit By Viggo Mortensen I could not bring myself to take pictures of any of it, to take anything, although I did for a moment consider grabbing my camera to ensure that later on I’d have an image, some tangible visual record of the process of losing you. Maybe that momentary impulse came from fear that the emotional weight of participating in your last days as flesh-and-blood would eventually outweigh or alter the straight facts that photographs might hold. Fear that visuals so fresh right then, as I sat on one of the two plush green leather couches of the crematorium waiting room, would reshuffle themselves and gently blend together as merely tolerable sentimental recollection. It wouldn’t have been right, though, to shoot what only you and I should know. The camera stayed in the truck. ---- The kind man in charge of the ovens had just gone out into the noon blast of July in the San Fernando Valley to check on the progress of your burning. I’d followed but stopped thirty feet back as he’d asked me to. “You don’t really want to see—it’s something you probably wouldn’t want to see… The. … uh …,” he’d mumbled, faltering in a way that had won me over instantly. “You mean if she isn’t done yet?” I’d said, completing the thought for him. “Yes, exactly. The, uh… sometimes they’re not completely …” He’d paused, looking as pained as if he’d known you the way I had. “Her insides?” “Yes,” he’d blurted out with a slight squeak in his voice. “It isn’t pretty.” “No. I can imagine it wouldn’t be,” I’d said. “Not at all pretty.” He had stood there, putting on his fire-retardant gloves and his sunglasses, still looking at me as if needing to say something more. And I had waited. It’d already been a hell of a long morning, so I hadn’t been in any big hurry at that point. “I do this all the time, but I couldn’t personally, you know, do this.” I’d thought I understood more or less what he meant. “My uncle’s dog,” he’d continued, “I had to do that one, and it was very difficult. I could never do it again.” “I understand,” I’d said. “Very difficult.” “Yes, I’m sure.” He’d started backing sideways toward the oven. It was one of the three on the back lot that seemed to be in operation, as evidenced by the grey smoke rising from their steel-pipe smokestacks into the smoggy haze above us. As inappropriate as the thought might have been, I somehow couldn’t help but think of the much larger indoor ones I’d once seen in the Dachau concentration camp memorial. I’d felt a momentary urge to ask if these ovens had been manufactured in Europe, but it had passed. “Please stay back here while I check and see how she’s doing,” he’d then said. “OK,” I’d said. “And how do you check?” He’d stopped side stepping toward the oven. “I open the door and look.” “Oh. Yeah.” “She might not be done. She might not be ready.” “Yeah. OK. I’ll wait… ” “Plus, it’s real hot. About 1,500 degrees.” “I’ll wait here then.” “I’m so sorry,” he’d said, tugging down the bill of his navy-blue ball cap and turning toward the oven. He’d said “sorry” several times since I’d arrived, and he seemed to mean it. “Sorry for your loss. I am truly sorry.” After a minute spent carefully peeking through the slightly opened oven door, he’d closed it and walked back to me. “I’m sorry. She’s not done yet. Another ten or fifteen minutes.” “Should I go back inside to the waiting room, then?” “Yes. If you don’t mind. Sorry. I’ll let you know just before I get her so you can come and watch me do everything. Check, you know, to see if… see that… ” “Yeah, good. OK, thanks.” ---- A tall, well-groomed black poodle named Paris, as I’d overheard her being called when I’d first arrived at the crematorium office, had been staring at me for a while. From her position under a sort of anaemic-looking potted ficus by the doorway to the office, she was able to monitor all comings and goings. Suddenly, she rose and bolted straight for me, jumping up on the couch right next to me, barking excitedly. Her breath smelled like boiled carrots. Sort of sweet and not altogether unpleasant, but not something I craved at that moment. The receptionist called Paris, no doubt trying to keep the dog from further upsetting me, the grieving customer. Paris was not bothering me at all. I understood that she had been barking for attention, not out of aggression—probably bored out of her mind in this place where all other dogs were dead and burning or about to be. She hadn’t even barked that loudly, really, and her company was comforting in a life-goes-on-and-there-are-lots-of-nice-dogs-in-the-world-sort of way. Paris gave me one more quieter bark right in my left ear, licked my face and left me to see what the receptionist wanted. “I’m very sorry,” the receptionist said, as she led Paris into the back of the office area. “That’s OK,” I said. “She wasn’t bothering me. Female, right?” “Yes, she certainly is. I am sorry for your loss.” I know she meant it as well. Expressions of sympathy for the customer would to some degree have probably been obligatory for the crematorium personnel, but everyone did seem to be personally and genuinely concerned. People doing their utmost to run a decent family-owned business with kindness and compassion. The compulsion to record all of this got the better of me, finally, and I went out to the truck to look for my notebook. After a quick scramble through the papers, books, cameras and other assorted commuter debris on the back seat, I found the notebook. Although I had not had the time to take many pictures or to sit down and write much of anything lately, a camera and something to write in are always in the car, or in whatever bag I carry, just in case a moment special to me presents itself to be stolen. Resisting once more the temptation to take the camera, I grabbed the notebook and a pen and returned to the waiting room to begin writing this. Kind strangers have given me a few handsomely bound journals and notebooks over the years. Some, like this one, are bound in beautifully tanned and tooled leather. This one’s cover has a giant oak tree cut into it, with other old oaks on a distant ridge beyond it. The big pewter button used for tying the notebook closed with a leather thong is cast with an oak leaf and acorn detail. I am not much good at keeping a diary, or diligent about any sort of regular journal entries. My way to remember has usually been to write stories, poems or more often than not, to make photographs or drawings. I felt a little rusty and awkward writing in the waiting room under the quietly watchful eyes of the receptionist and Paris. Maybe it didn’t seem at all odd to them, my scribbling away. Probably what bothered me was my own sense of guilt over being inclined to record the events surrounding the processing of your body. Just a short time earlier I had been openly weeping while crossing the city in morning rush-hour traffic. I suppose we humans can be resilient—nearly as resilient as you were, Brigit—and as accepting of life’s unpredictably rough patches as most animals seem to be. Whatever the reason, I found I could not write fast enough in my attempt to describe the events of the day. “Do you want to come out while I clean this out?” the kind voice of the oven-minder asked softly, interrupting me in mid-sentence. I looked up and nodded. “Yes, please. I’ll … let me … let me just finish this sentence—this paragraph. I’ll be right there.” “Sure …” ---- “Do you write a lot?” he asked, as I followed him outside. “Used to.” “Nice-looking book you got there.” “Thanks. Yes, it is.” I closed it, marking my place with the pen, just as he stopped and turned to me. I was standing on the same spot I had been asked to watch from earlier. “Please stay right here. I’ll shut her down and get everything. You’ll be able to see everything happening, but it is very hot now, and also …” “Yes, ok I’ll wait here.” As I stood still in the by-now withering heat and watched him switch off the oven and open it, I suddenly realised that there had been no muzak, no music of any kind playing in the waiting room. That was a pleasant surprise and seemed remarkable to me. The tact involved in such a choice on their part told me that they really must care. The ovens were out behind the small, one-story building that holds the tidy crematorium office, some oversize freezers and the very pleasant air-conditioned waiting room. The property was surrounded by twenty-foot-high stacks of automobile carcasses, entire auto bodies and an enormous variety of neatly sorted bits and pieces—fenders, doors, hoods, seats, side mirrors, steering mechanisms, engine parts, dashboards, roofs, etc., arranged in row after row—apparently according to year, make and model. The sprawling salvage yard dwarfed the crematorium and its modest parking lot. Although there was no vegetation in sight, the colourful, encroaching heaps and rows of rendered vehicles almost looked like exotic organic growth, a sort of postmortem environment that seemed to me to perfectly complement the pet-burning business. The thick, lightly buzzing strands of heavy-duty power lines drooping as they crossed some thirty feet above us from one massive steel support to another only added to this entirely man-made, and remade, end-of-nature garden. Its perfume was a blend of acrid and oily-sweet, of melting rubber and asphalt, of taffy-thick black engine grease, of yellowing plastic and peeling paint sluggishly wafting upward and blending with the constant dead-fish reek of Los Angeles smog. ---- I had risen very early—or, rather, got out of bed early, as I hadn’t slept at all. Knowing it was today that I was scheduled to pick up your refrigerated corpse at our trustworthy local veterinary hospital and drive it out to this industrial hinterland for cremating had kept me from being able to rest. Probably I am able to write about this with a degree of detachment because your brother Henry and I have already gone through the worst of your final decay and death process together. We took you, our fifteen-year-old, completely lame and largely incontinent pal, to be “put down” three days ago. In the intervening time we had to wait for a slot at the crematorium to open up. I have been able to largely digest and assimilate the stronger surface emotions of your final morning. As much as I am and will continue to be haunted by your sweet, departing gaze when the brain-stopping serum was administered, time and the responsibilities resulting from your passing have more or less carried me away from that heartbreaking scene. I will always see your eyes slowly lose their gleam as I gently lay your head down. Will always remember your final generous gesture of rolling halfway over to let us rub your belly one last time before the doctor gave you the sedative. I’d arrived at the back door of the vet’s office feeling like I was complicit in some sort of underworld transaction. As had been the case all week, the morning sky was overcast, and the clammy grey marine layer had only added to the death business I was now part of. Two men in overalls had come out with what looked enough like a curled-up “you” shape inside a light-blue trash bag. As I had taken the thawing bundle and carefully laid it on the towel-covered passenger seat of the pickup truck, I had looked at the older of the two men. He’d nodded, seeming a bit uncomfortable, and then had turned and followed his colleague back inside the building without a backward glance or farewell. I had been very tired, a bit teary-eyed, and had not said a word myself. Probably not the most pleasant person for them to be around. I had gotten in the car and begun making my way to the 405 freeway. Moving slowly, stuck in the usual massive commuter caravan headed north toward the Sepulveda Pass, it had occurred to me that tomorrow would mark the 60th anniversary of the Hiroshima and Nagasaki atomic bomb drops. Then I had thought, not for the first time when passing the Sunset Boulevard exit, about O.J. Simpson’s bizarre televised journey in the famous white Ford Bronco. I had continued in that vein for a while, my mind becoming cluttered with a dizzying assortment of images involving unforgivable murders and other perversions of justice. The ideals of compassion had seemed distant, insignificant. I’d felt resigned, passively understanding that life moves forward just as traffic eventually does. Suddenly, the cars in front of me had slowed abruptly and I had braked hard, glad to see cars in my rear-view mirror doing the same. The bagged corpse had slid off the seat and onto the floor, and I’d tried to pull it back up with my right hand. It had been quite heavy, and I’d realised it would be a difficult and dangerous task to accomplish while driving, so I had made my way across two lanes of traffic and off onto the side of the freeway. As I had come round the front of the truck and opened the passenger-side door, I had decided I’d have a look at you to see if you were intact. I had straightened out the towel on the seat and lifted the bundle back onto it, then poked a hole in the plastic bag, now wet with condensation, where I could feel one of your frozen paws. Long black hair, long black nails. Not much like any of your paws. I had quickly felt for the body’s head, finding a stiff tongue projecting beyond clenched teeth, and then a collar around the neck. We had taken your collar off when you’d expired at the vet’s, and I knew that Henry was wearing it wrapped twice around his wrist as a bracelet today. This dog was not you. The absurdity of it all had hit me immediately as I had stood up and stared at the mass of moving cars through the poisonous-looking heat waves. The sadness of it had been suddenly overwhelming, as was the smell of initial decomposition, which I had not been aware of until that moment, like that of a dead deer that’s been hanging for a few hours from a tree. I had never really wanted to live in Los Angeles. Here I was, on yet another ridiculous errand, feeling vaguely like I was being punished for some past transgression, marking time and forced to make sense of an oddly evolving riddle. I had secured the corpse and made sure the towel was placed so as to keep the dead stranger from touching the seat or any part of the truck’s interior. Eventually, I’d got myself turned around and headed back to the vet’s, feeling sorry for this poor dog I did not know, and for its unwitting owner. En route, I had called the crematorium and informed them that I would be late for our oven appointment because I’d been given the wrong dog. They’d been very kind, had said I should get there when I could, and that they were very sorry. ---- Now the crematorium is about two miles behind me as I sit listlessly sipping coffee at a Mexican restaurant. This is as far as I have got, with my new cedar box containing your remaining bone fragments and ashes. I had asked the oven-minder to please not crush your bones if that was what he’d planned on doing. “Yes, normally we do very gently break down the bone matter so that it fits comfortably in the box or urn as the case might be. If you prefer, though … ” “Yes.” “…we can also not do it and just try and place her, the bone matter—the bag, that is—in the cedar box for you. If they’ll fit—if it will fit—that is.” “That’s ok, I can do it.” Earlier, out by the ovens, I had been allowed to scoop up all your burnt bits from the metal tray that the man had scraped the cooling, fragile ghost-shape of your skeleton onto. I had stopped several times to carefully examine some of your more distinguishable pieces. Vertebrae, hip parts and most beautiful of all, the rounded piece of bone that I instantly recognized as the top of your skull. We have petted that part of you so often. I can feel its shape even now, in memory, feel the bone through your smooth fur, feel your warmth and your happiness. All of it had gone into the plastic bag he now held. “Ok, sir. As you prefer.” I proceeded to gently rearrange the bag and its contents inside the box, and then placed your crematorium nametag and the receipt for services provided on top of your remains before closing the lid with its little brass clasp. “We would like you to consider the cedar box a gift from us due to the unfortunate mistake that was made this morning. We are very sorry about that.” “Oh. Well … thank you …” A woman who seemed to be the oven-minder’s boss, and perhaps the owner of the establishment, stood up and came around her desk to address me. “We are very sorry that … Brigit?… that Brigit got confused this morning.” I almost pointed out that you had not been confused at all, being quite dead, but I resisted the temptation, knowing what she meant. “It is very unusual that something unheard of like that would happen,” she continued. “Very unusual, and we are extremely sorry. If you prefer a larger box or don’t like cedar as a wood type… maybe an urn would be more to your liking?” I was truly moved by her words and the generous offer. “Is it Western red cedar?” I asked, for some reason unknown to me now—perhaps being at a loss for anything better to say by way of response. “You know, I am not real sure about that,” she replied, a bit thrown off by my question. “I certainly can try and find out for you, if you like?” “No, thanks. I was just wondering. Just curious, I guess.” “Would you like to replace the cedar?” “Replace? No. I like cedar. Smells good, looks good. Thank you.” I now felt like a complete idiot. “You don’t have to give me the box, though. Don’t have to give it… I’m happy to pay for it.” “We insist. It’s something we want to do for you.” “Thank you very much. Very kind of you.” “If Brigit doesn’t fit comfortably, not being completely dust and all… ” (“Comfortably?” Never mind… ) “No, that’s fine. She fits. I got her in there ok. And it’s a beautiful box. Thank you.” ---- “Me podría traer un poco de arroz con frijoles, por favor?” “Would you like anything else with that?” the waitress replied, in heavily Spanish-accented English. “Gracias, pero la verdad es que no tengo mucho hambre.” She looked at me calmly, and said “I’ll bring it right out. Warm up your coffee for you?” “Fijese: ahora que lo pienso creo que sí me gustaría una pequeña ensalada de lechuga y tomate… y cebolla, si hay.” “Ok,” she continued in English, “and will you like some dressing—vinaigrette, ranch, French, blue cheese, or oil and vinegar—for that?” Doesn’t happen often, but once in a while my gringo looks or perhaps my Argentine accent seem to be held against me like that. She glances at the cedar box resting on the table to the right of my place setting. I wonder if she has seen this sort of box before. The crematorium isn’t far, and maybe other people stop here now and then as I have, unable or unwilling to drive any further. Maybe they sometimes come here and get a little drunk, become indiscreet and open their boxes to look at what’s left of their animal friends. Maybe they cry and have to be consoled. I do not look at my box, just hold the waitress’ gaze when it returns to me. I’ve taken an initial dislike to her because she seems to refuse to speak Spanish with me, so I’m certainly not going to give her any more clues now. “Will that be all, sir?” she asks dryly. “Sí… y si me puede traer la cuenta con la comida—y un poco más de café—se lo agradecería.” She looks at me for a moment longer, then reluctantly mutters “Por supuesto, señor,” as she turns to go place my order.

#viggo mortensen #brigit #letter to brigit #national dog day #dogs

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sequoiann · 6 years

Text

limerence

pairing: mingyu x reader genre: angst, fluff, ceo!gyu, secretary vernon word count: 16.3k

synopsis: a pretty typical ceo fic, but with the ups and downs of falling in love with someone of such a high position.

“Y/N! Could you help me mop the floor at the back? I’ll take care of the cashier,” the slightly plump lady requested.

“Sure,” you responded, and she smiles in gratitude. You return the smile. She was the owner of the mart you were working at — and she was amazingly nice and sweet, like a mother. She wasn’t often in the store when you were doing your shift, but she comes by once in a while to check up on you and help out, although she is the lady boss. She even brings packed food sometimes.

You were a part-timer who had worked pretty much everywhere. You had a job as a barista, a salesperson, and as mentioned, a cashier at a mart — everything. You knew that your family wasn’t very well-off, even though they tried to hide it from you. But c’mon, you were a grown-up, you would be able to tell as years went by. But you had pretended you didn’t.

You pretended that you didn’t see how your mother would always not eat the meat and give them to you and your older brother during meals. You pretended that you never noticed how your father works overtime almost every day, just to bring home an extra meagre sum of money. You acted oblivious to the fact that you often heard your parent’s quarrels in the middle of the night, after they assumed that you had gone to sleep, about the household bills and their unpaid debts.

You had quietly worked hard in high school and college, where you had taken up a marketing course, making an internal vow to yourself to get a good job when you grew older to feed your family properly and just clear up all their debts and bills at once. It even made you daydream sometimes, about how it would be like if you and your family were free of financial issues. That made you envy others a lot more, too. It must be nice being so free of worries.

However, your university life didn’t last very long. Having to juggle almost 3 part-time jobs while in college didn’t do you much good, and you soon had to drop out because one, you knew you couldn’t stop working — as your pay was providing the family almost half of the amount of money that they had — and two, because you couldn’t afford your school bills any longer.

There. Bills again.

So that happened. You stopped schooling, even though you were one of the best students in the cohort. They provided scholarship since your results qualified you for it, but of what use was it if you don’t even have time to sit through every class without having to rush off?

As a result, you started focusing on working with whatever knowledge you had from school. You didn’t have a diploma or anything, but you had your persuading techniques.

You were on your usual evening shift as a cashier in a mart that day, and a well-groomed stranger walked in, dressed smartly in a suit, his dark blonde hair styled up. He looked so high in both social and business status that you were almost afraid to look straight at him as he enters the store. What would such a rich-looking man be doing here, you thought. Shouldn’t you be shopping at a high-class mall? Sipping red wine in a restaurant? Ordering your steak in your superior language that I never understood?

However, the tone of your voice did not succumb to your thoughts. “Welcome,” you greeted him automatically, trying to make it as chirpy as you could without it sounding overly bright.

The corner of the man’s lips turned up slightly in response, walking over to your cashier. You panicked for a moment. He hasn’t even browsed the store yet? Why was he going over to you? Was he one of the debt collectors or something?

Instead, the man pulls out a business card from a cardholder, handing it over to you politely with two hands; and you respectfully receive it with both hands too, befuddled.

“This is…?” you ask, your eyes scanning through the details printed on the small card. It read:

Kim Marketing Company Hansol Vernon Chwe Secretary +82-1-432-5928 Seoul, Street 86, Building 7

“My name’s Vernon,” he says, not answering your question. You noticed how a small, friendly smile played on his lips, though he remained formal. “My CEO would like to invite you over to the company.”

You blinked. “Me?”

The man named Vernon nodded.

You laughed a little, extending your arm to return the business card back to him. “Sorry, but I think you’ve gotten the wrong person.”

Vernon shakes his head. “You’re Y/F/N, 20, dropped out of Haein College, right?”

You widened your eyes, unsure whether to feel offended at the last comment. Your voice drops. “How’d you know?”

Vernon chuckles, breaking off from his cool demeanor. “Because you’re who I’m supposed to find,” he said.

You were still not convinced. “But… Me? Why?”

“Mr. Kim would like to have you as an employee, Miss Y/N,” he explains simply. “Everything will be further explained to you by Mr. Kim himself. He’s very keen on meeting you, actually.”

“E-employee?” you parrot. Vernon nods, getting just slightly annoyed at how slow you were catching on, even though he had practically spelled everything out for you.

“Do you know who exactly am I?” you said, your tone dropping as your sentence progressed as you caught yourself sounding a bit too harsh. “I dropped out of college. I don’t have a diploma, a certificate or whatever, I don’t really have any office-working experience either—”

“That’s no problem, Miss Y/N,” Vernon interrupts. “We’ll train you from scratch in the office.”

You hesitated, your thoughts rushing through your head as it tried to process the long-term advantages and disadvantages of working in an actual company. It would definitely increase your pay by a whole lot, and you wouldn’t have to be standing all day. But should you actually trust this man? What if it doesn’t work out? As you had said, you had zero experience of working in the business industry.

“You don’t have to make a decision right now, you know,” Vernon says. “You can just come to the office, hear what the CEO has to say, then decide.”

Well, that solves everything, doesn’t it? It won’t hurt to just check it out.

“Alright then.”

Vernon broke out in a smile once again, showing a hint of relief. “Great. Is your schedule clear tomorrow?”

“Only in the afternoon, for about an hour or so… I’ve got a couple shifts tomorrow to work for,” you said while grimacing, although unsure if he in the know of your financial situation.

“That’s no problem either. I can ring up your boss and talk to him, and we’ll cover for your pay for tomorrow.”

“It’s a ‘her’, actually,” you corrected, to which Vernon responds by forming an ‘o’ with his mouth.

You couldn’t help but express your amazement. Money really does wonders, huh? One can even buy time.

“Alright then. What time do I go over?”

“I’ll pick you up at, say, 3pm? Is that okay?” he asked, flipping through a black leather-cased book, which you assumed contained his schedules.

Your eyebrows furrow together in puzzlement. Pick me up?

“You know where I live?” you asked, narrowing your eyes at him, suspicious. A sheepish laughter bubbled from Vernon as he rubbed the nape of his neck.

“I’m sorry to say, but we’ve done a pretty deep background research on you before approaching… So yes,” he said, and you pressed your lips together to form a straight line. Vernon does the same, apologizing once more, knowing that it was pretty much an invasion of privacy.

You were going to get mad at him, but his guilt showed through his features, making you shrug it off in the end. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

Vernon smiles and nods, bowing slightly. “See you tomorrow, Miss Y/N.”

Just like that, the plan was confirmed, and Vernon picked you up from your front porch the next day, right on the dot at 3:00pm. He wasn’t the one driving, though; there was a chauffeur — another man at the wheel, one of whom you didn’t really hear the voice of. You didn’t even see his full face, only catching glimpses of his features through the rear mirror in the car after you sat at the back, with Vernon in the passenger seat. The car was black and shiny on the outside; matte and well-kempt on the inside. The seats were all made of expensive-looking leather, and you could only guess how much it cost.

You donned a pretty formal outfit; a light blue long-sleeved blouse with white skinny jeans. You had barely worn this set of clothes before (though you wear jeans often) — you never had the need to dress formally. Your blouse was so deep down in the closet that it was all wrinkled and crumpled up when you took it out. But you had made sure it was ironed out, pressed till it was crisp but flowy. Your mother had given you questioning looks, but you just gave her a wry smile.

Vernon had greeted you with a smile, subtly complimenting on your attire, but other than that the car ride was fairly silent, and comfortably so.

The car drove out of the area where you lived, and into the city — and you could see the view outside gradually transition from the sight of trees and humble houses to towering skyscrapers and busy roads.

As you followed Vernon into the building, you couldn’t help but widen your eyes at the professionally-designed space. Workers bustled around and about, not noticing that you, a stranger, was in the private building. Not that you mind — made everything less awkward.

It was never your plan to step foot in such a big company building, or anything close to an environment that resembled it. It was majestically huge, the glassy interior making it look classy. The offices you passed by as the Vernon leads you down the hallways were all painted grey and white, having large floor-to-ceiling windows which faced the main road, in the state of a half-organized clutter — mahogany desks placed back-to-back with just enough space to walk, swivel chairs, mac books and pens in a tin on every tabletop, tall black bookshelves designed in a unique zigzag manner, with books leaning against one another in different directions, filing cabinet with paperwork stacked on top, and a coffee maker which was just slightly stained.

The both of you came to the elevator, entering it when it reached the level you were on. Vernon presses the button with the number “23″ on it — the top floor. You subconsciously started fidgeting with your hands as the elevator made its way higher and higher up, nervous to actually meet someone of such a high status.

“Calm down,” Vernon said after noticing your tenseness. “He’s pretty nice, don’t worry.”

You smiled dryly, grateful for his attempt at calming your nerves.

The elevator finally reaches the 23rd floor, and Vernon extends his hand, gesturing for you to exit first, and you do. The two of you walk down a hallway which randomly twisted and turned, and you were sure that you would easily get lost in a single level by yourself.

“Here,” Vernon said, stopping in front of a large wooden-looking door. You swallowed as Vernon knocks lightly at the door. A gentle “come in” was heard, and he pushes the door open.

You nearly forgot that you were there to see the CEO after you stepped in, your eyes scanning the whole room. It was huge and beautifully furnished, warm lights lining the ceiling, giving the room an extremely calming atmosphere.

“Mr. Kim,” Vernon said to the CEO — who had his eyes on the paperwork lying on his table — to raise his awareness of your presence, and you quickly came back to your senses, turning your attention to the end of the room where the office table stood. ‘Mr. Kim’ stands up upon your entrance, and buttons up his suit, walking over to the sitting area where you and Vernon had stopped at.

You bowed quickly. “Hello, Mr. Kim.”

As he comes closer, you noticed how handsome he was. Like he really, really was — so much so that you started questioning how you hadn’t noticed the moment you came in. He had the kind of face that would stop you in your tracks, and you guessed that he must be used to that, the sudden pause in a person’s natural expression when they looked his way followed by overcompensating with a nonchalant gaze and a weak smile. His facial structure was fine and perfectly symmetrical, his hair styled back sleekly. His height was staggeringly tall, and he looked like someone who would grace the covers of a fashion magazine. There was softness in his eyes, his gentle smile welcoming.

You nearly agreed to work under the company right there and then. I mean, you would be able to see this living god every day, who wouldn’t want that

“You must be Y/N,” he says, and you nod. “Have a seat.”

Vernon was instructed to wait outside. You sat down on the firm but comfy sofa, a black coffee table in front of you, and Mr. Kim takes his place on the single couch diagonally beside you.

“I’m Kim Mingyu, the CEO of Kim Marketing,” he introduces, and you two exchange a handshake. “Feel free to call me Mingyu if that makes you more comfortable.”

You smiled at his hospitality.

“I’m Y/F/N,” you said, feeling a little weird inside since you knew he already knew you way past your name. He chuckles a little at how poised and systematic you were acting.

“So, I’m sure Vernon has already filled you in on the main point of me calling you in, right?” he starts, sitting in a way such that he would be facing you.

“He did, but he only told me about you wanting to employ me,” you informed him, and he nods.

“Yes, I do,” he said, and you showed your surprise as if it was your first time hearing it all over again.

“But why?” you asked, almost sounding overly disbelieving. “I—”

“— dropped out of college, don’t have a diploma, a certificate or whatever, and you don’t really have any office-working experience either,” Mingyu cuts you off, and you cocked your head to a side slightly at the familiar words and speaking tone. “Right?”

You could literally feel the deja vu rush through every cell in your body. You were subtly bewildered. “…Yeah.”

Mingyu laughs again at your expression, his sharp, charming canines showing. “Vernon quotes others quite often. And he does it with a lot of… emotions… in his words.”

You widened your eyes in realization, laughter bubbling from your lips.

“But that doesn’t matter. I’ve received information that you topped the cohort for two years in Haein College, did you not?” Mingyu asks.

“Yes… I did, but I didn’t last in there till the last year,” you said, your lips pursed in a small pout.

Mingyu smiles at the sight. “That’s fine. I’ve reviewed your work from Haein College, and I really hope you’d agree to be employed by my company,” he said. “You seem to have a lot of talent in this industry. You did really well in understanding concepts that many people fail to.”

You were flattered. “Really? I never knew.”

“Well, now you do,” Mingyu says, and you grin.

“But what would I be doing? And… um…” you hesitate, wary that your question would be too direct and impolite. “The pay…?”

“Oh, of course,” Mingyu said, indifferent. “You can start off with the Market Research Analyst team, where the main responsibility is to gather and analyze market data. The team now has about 14 people, and they devise methods and procedures for obtaining data, such as conducting Internet, telephone or direct-mail surveys or face-to-face consumer studies. It’s not as hard as it sounds, though, you’ll learn as you go.

“The pay for that would be around…” his eyes looked up to a corner as he thought. “…$6,000 to $7,000 a month?”

You were almost sure that your ears nearly physically propped up once he got to the money portion of the talk. “6k?”

Mingyu nods in confirmation. “But I think you’d be able to move up to the Marketing Manager position quick with a brain like yours. That position has an annual pay of about $123,450.”

Your eyeballs nearly bulged out of their sockets, and you started being even more incredulous.

“Are you sure you want to hire me? What’s the catch?” you questioned almost suspiciously, making Mingyu chuckle.

“No catch,” he said. “I just hope you’d work with me.”

More like under you, though.

“No interest fee either? For my lack of, like, everything?” you asked again.

Mingyu shakes his head. “No interest. You have a lot of knowledge and sense, you’d be able to help us a lot.”

You became so deep in thought — you were really considering taking up the job. It all seemed pretty legitimate now, and the pay was unquestionably mindblowing — and the environment was definitely great. You would be able to pay off your family’s debts easily if you get the position.

You didn’t notice Mingyu stand up from his seat and grab something from his table drawer — the contract. He places it in front of you patiently.

“If you want to,” he says. “It’s all up to you in the end.”

You stare at the black hard case in front of you, pressing your lips together.

“Oh, and also, we’ll provide for your meals during your working hours, and there’s a little resting room at the back with beds. You can nap there if you need to,” Mingyu said, adding to the pile of pull factors that were already in the list.

You raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like Google’s office.”

Mingyu beamed, almost proudly. “We try.”

You chuckled at his humor, then gently flipped the contract file open, as if it would break if not treated with care. You were internally confused about what you had to do — you never signed an actual contract before. All your jobs were part-time ones.

Mingyu shifts a bit further to the edge of his seat so that he’s closer to you. “Just read through it, and we can discuss further if there are any changes you’d like to make. If not, just sign at the bottom, on the line.” His fingers grazed the paper as he spoke, and you unavoidably noticed how sleek his fingers were.

You read through the whole agreement, which took you a while since it was so dramatically long, but you got to the end soon enough. Mingyu just sat there, looking at you (but not in an uncomfortable manner), patiently waiting for your final response. There was really nothing for you to rebut — everything was to your advantage. You could drop all your current jobs and just work this one, and you’d still be earning more than those 3 jobs combined.

And you signed it, of course. How could you not?

“So, what’s the dress code for work here?” you inquired.

Mingyu shrugs. “It’s up to you, just don’t come in wearing flip-flops, please,” he said, smiling cheekily. “As I said, we do try to be Google-like, but we still need to be… proper, you know?”

You laughed. “Of course.”

You started your first day of work the day after. You were nervous, for sure, but the adrenaline surging through you wasn’t low-profile either. You had literally jolted upright on your bed awake early in the morning the moment your alarm rang its first ring, and you slammed the ‘off’ button. Your brown locks were in a mess, sticking out in weird directions, some strands all over your face — probably due to your tossing and turning during the night — but that wasn’t something that you cared about.

You had told your mother about your new job while being a giggly mess the day before while she was reading the papers. And she didn’t believe you, of course.

“You? My daughter? In Kim Marketing?” she said. “I think they’d rather hire the stray cat that’s wandering outside. Should I adopt it?”

You whined and pulled on her arm like a child. “I’m serious! I signed the contract!”

Your mother had only started to believe you after your continuous persistence.

“…Really?”

You hummed sharply and nodded. “Yeah!”

You could see the joy and happiness in your mother’s eyes, but she kept it low-key. “Don’t work too hard, you’re still young!”

“I’ve been working even harder with the three jobs, Mom,” you pointed out, and she sighed.

“Right.”

After washing up, you went outside and noticed that your mother was already awake, although it was just seven in the morning. She placed a plate on the dining table.

“Woah, you made something for breakfast?” you asked, eyes enlarging and mouthwatering.

“Of course,” you mother said, seeming satisfied with her own cookery. Your family rarely eats for breakfast; it was a redundant meal in your opinion. “It’s my daughter’s first day.”

You grinned, partially in embarrassment, and sat down at the table, being extra quiet as you pulled the chair out since your brother was still asleep. You assumed that your father was already out for work; you rarely see him home, actually.

Your mother sat opposite you, and you eyed the waffles on the plate, which had strawberry jam drizzled over it neatly.

“Dig in,” your mother said, folding her arms on the table, smiling. “I made the food for you to eat, not stare, you know.”

You laughed and started indulging in the food prepared.

Once you were done, you headed back to your room to change. You had already picked out an outfit the previous day, even trying it on to make sure it looked okay.

It was a fairly simple white turtleneck sweater, paired with light blue jeans that were something you wore often. It looked formal enough, but not over-the-top.

You patted on your usual makeup and threw on your apricot trench coat, leaving it unbuttoned, and left the house after pulling on your shoes and waving your mum goodbye.

You took the public bus there, but you were in no rush since it was still pretty early. Your phone vibrated in your pocket and you swiped the screen, opening the unread message.

From Vernon: first day today, right? :p

You smiled.

Sent: haha yep! im on the bus now!

You laid your head back for a moment, looking out of the bus window, but you received a reply a second later.

From Vernon: ?? bus ??

Sent: yeahhhh, why?

From Vernon: you’ll take forever to get here!

Sent: it’s okay HAHA i’ll get there on time!! it’s still kinda early

Sent: i don’t think i’ll get killed for being like five minutes late even if like a jam happens right?

From Vernon: yeah u won’t but no that won’t do

From Vernon: i’ll get vernon to pick you up

Your eyes immediately darted to the contact name to check who you were texting. When you confirmed that it was indeed Vernon, you checked his message again. And it did have Vernon’s name on the last received text.

Sent: ??

Sent: are you not vernon?

You were suddenly so cautious of your messages.

From Vernon: yeah vernon here now

From Vernon: mingyu wanted to check on you and he took my phone bc he doesn’t have your number ahaaa

You nearly dropped your phone and screamed. You were talking so casually to him. You were fairly uninhibited with him before, but now that he was officially your boss, you can’t help but feel the inferiority complex set in. Vernon was a little different though, since he had talked to you for quite a bit that day after you left Mingyu’s office, even going out of his way to buy coffee for you — and you two were friendly with each other now, after agreeing to drop the formalities since you two were only a year apart in age.

Sent: !?!?!?!

Sent: I’M SORRY MR KIM

From Vernon: i’ll relay that message

From Vernon: ,,mr. kim is confused as to why you’re apologizing

Sent: VERNON

From Vernon: WHAT

You didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. You noticed how Vernon had been using ‘Mr. Kim’ and ‘Mingyu’ interchangeably, which only shows how long they’ve been working together. They must be close, you thought.

From Vernon: anyway, u heard Mr Kim !!

From Vernon: get off the bus at the next stop and text me where you’re @

Sent: no thank you i’ll take the bus >:(

From Vernon: mr. kim is gunna get mad

Sent: I’M OFF THE BUS

You legitimately instantly pressed the bell on the bus pole, getting off at the next stop. If there was anything you had learnt from your past part-time jobs, it was to never go against your boss’s words.

From Vernon: i hate you

You laughed, sitting down on the seat under the sheltered stop. You glanced around, looking for the name of the road you were on, and texted it over to Vernon.

Sent: i’m getting on the next bus if you don’t get here quick

From Vernon: first of all, i’m older than you, how dare you order me around like that

From Vernon: second of all, do you hear the vroom vroom

You laughed aloud again, internally grateful that there was no one around the stop you were at. They’d think you were crazy, chuckling to yourself.

Vernon really reaches about ten to fifteen minutes later, pulling up in front of you. You easily recognized his car — the one that was your ride to the company building a few days ago.

He was not the one driving, like the previous time; the same chauffeur was behind the wheel. You only recognized him by the back of his head. Vernon was in the passenger seat.

You got into the car, seating at the back again.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you were gone when we got here,” Vernon jokes, looking behind at you, and you grin.

“Thanks for picking me up, though,” you said, and Vernon shakes his head as the chauffeur starts driving.

“No problem. It’s Mr. Kim’s orders, after all,” he said. “At this rate, he’s probably going to purchase a house for you in the city so that you can get to the office more easily.”

You scoffed, smiling subconsciously. “Why would he?”

Vernon shrugged, recalling the morning that day. “He seems to like you quite a bit.”

Mingyu threw his ash-grey ironed suit over his white dress shirt, fixing up his cufflinks. He made sure his hair was styled to perfection, and couldn’t stop checking the mirror.

“How do I look?” Mingyu asked Vernon, who was going through the schedules for the day.

“Good, Mr. Kim,” Vernon said, amused at his extraneous care on how he looked.

“Really? Do I look a little extra rad today?” Mingyu asks, tugging on his suit to straighten it, before spreading both his arms to the side to give Vernon a ‘better look’.

“A little, I guess.” Vernon complied, laughing. “What’s the special occasion?”

Mingyu smiles, suddenly acting aloof. “It’s nothing… I just felt the need to check.”

Vernon chuckled and shook his head at the recollection, and you just snickered quietly at the sight, not questioning.

“We’re here!” Vernon chirped, and you chuckled at how bright he was, pushing the car door open, not forgetting to thank the driver — who had acknowledged your gratitude with a nod — before stepping out and closing the door after you.

Vernon and you walked into the building, and you definitely felt the difference — it was like, hey, you’re working here now.

“Good morning!”

You turned to the owner of the sprightly voice, and you couldn’t help but smile when you saw Mingyu.

“Good morning, Mr. Kim,” you greeted back, bowing slightly. Mingyu furrows his eyebrows together in disapproval.

“Why the sudden formalities?” he asked. “Just keep at Mingyu.”

Vernon widened his eyes in shock. You could practically see question marks dancing around the crown of his head.

“But I’ve been with you longer, for, like, 3 years and you only allowed me to—” Mingyu cut Vernon off with a mild side glare, and the sense of betrayal lining Vernon’s voice caused you to snicker.

“No, Mr. Kim, it’s only right that we keep the formalities. You are my boss, after all. It makes me feel more at ease like this,” you said truthfully, trying to keep a straight face while speaking as you saw Vernon in your peripheral vision with disbelief written all over his face, causing you to glance at him for a moment and break out giggling again.

“Ah, is that so?” Mingyu muttered, nodding and following your line of gaze at Vernon, who had hurriedly switched his scowling expression to a bright, gummy smile. “…Alright then.”

Mingyu squinted at Vernon skeptically, but Vernon only gave a wider, more awkward smile.

“I’ll take her up to her department, Mr. Kim,” Vernon said, but Mingyu interrupts.

“No, that’s fine,” he said. “I’ll take her.”

Vernon seemed like he was going to disapprove of Mingyu’s decision, but didn’t argue in the end. “Alright. I’ll head back to the office first then.”

Mingyu nodded, and Vernon bowed before leaving to wherever he was supposed to go.

“Let’s go,” Mingyu said, walking towards the lift. You immediately synced up with his footing, falling into place like an eager child. You wouldn’t deny that you were indeed excited about your new job.

When you two arrived at the lift, Mingyu clicked his tongue, his head cocking to a side dubiously. “Didn’t you just meet Vernon the other day, when I asked for him to look for you and invite you over to the company?”

You nodded. “Yes, of course. That was our first time meeting. Why?”

Mingyu sharply sucked in air, stepping into the elevator which had arrived at your floor. “You two just seem a little close for new friends.”

You stepped in after him, chuckling. “Do we? I mean, he is nice.”

Mingyu wrinkled his face in a scrunch. “Only sometimes.”

You laughed.

Mingyu led you out of the elevator, and down a couple of hallways, passing a few wide open areas here and there.

“Remember where your office is,” Mingyu said. “I can’t be bringing you every day.”

You widened your eyes in realization. You hadn’t taken note of the routes since you stepped out of the elevator. (Yes, a single level was that big.) “Shoot.”

Mingyu chuckled, stopping in front of a translucent glass door. “Here we are.”

He pushes the door open and holds it there for you, allowing you to go in first. You did, and he went in after you.

“The office isn’t the biggest, but the people you’ll be working with are right next door. That door at the back connects all your offices,” Mingyu said.

You didn’t reply — you were too busy staring at the office — your office. Your eyes travel to the door Mingyu was talking about; it was situated snug at the corner of the room, implanted in an also translucent glass wall that was a foggy green, separating the office next to yours. The left side of your office was a bare wall (your office was at the end of the hallway), so only a single door was at the back of the right thick glass pane.

A fairly lengthy black desk was sitting at approximately the quarter mark of the room, an office chair tucked under it, a MacBook sitting closed on top of the desk, and a mini vase of flowers in the corner.

“Are those real?” was the first thing you asked, a meek finger pointing to the beautiful, pink-and-purple floral blooms.

Mingyu smiled sheepishly. “No, they’re not, but we can bring in real ones if you’d like.”

You immediately shook your head. “No thanks! They’d probably die in two days or something.”

Honestly, you loved flowers, and you had them at home, during the time when you were actually still free. But in your workspace, no, you didn’t think you’d have time to water them every day.

Laughter bubbled from Mingyu. “I relate to that.”

“So, get cracking, assignments are already listed in your laptop. It’s all quite orderly and simple, I’m sure you’d be able to do them. Jihoon is right next to your office, you can ask him if there’s anything you have trouble with. Learn as you go,” Mingyu said.

“Sure, Mr. Kim,” you replied, and he smiled once again before taking his leave.

“Have fun!” he said, making you chuckle.

“Oh, right.” Mingyu suddenly enters again, before the door closed fully. “I almost forgot.”

You turned to him questioningly, looking around for a moment to check if he had left anything behind. “Yes?”

He pulls something out of his suit pocket, extending his hand and passing the object to you. “Here.”

You retrieved it, and a wide grin moulded itself onto your face. It was your personal company identification card, with a black lanyard which had white wordings of ‘Kim Marketing’ lining the entire strap.

You couldn’t contain the squeal that erupted from you. “Thank you, Mr. Kim!”

Mingyu smiled. “Not a problem.”

He leaves the room for real now, and you settled down in your seat, still staring at your identification card. The photo on it was from your photo taken in Haein College, but you didn’t mind. The photo wasn’t taken much long ago and you looked decent in it. Thrilled thoughts were running through your mind, and you were beyond elated.

You were an office worker now. You’re literally gonna get paid a sum for sitting down and doing mainstream work (to you, at least) in this beautiful environment, with such nice people…

Woah.

Like that, days passed, and months moved along with it. You were able to pay for all your family’s debts and easily help with the utility bills after receiving your monthly payment — that took a huge weight off your shoulders. You got by every day of work with fair ease, although there was, of course, times when you would just feel overwhelmed with the paperwork you needed to complete as more work was entrusted into your hands.

But it was nothing you would dare complain about. Compared to all your past jobs, this was beyond heaven. Your friendship with Vernon didn’t get superbly far to the point where you two were ultra-best-friends, since he was your higher-up after all. However, it was an unspoken agreement for you two to always hang out for a bit if your lunch timings overlapped, sometimes heading out to the nearby cafe to grab some needed dose of caffeine. Vernon usually orders an extra as takeout for Mingyu, since the oh-so-busy man never had time to leave his office to travel ‘that far’ to get coffee. Vernon had subtly spilled that Mingyu was really just lazy.

Oddly, many of the files you had received were ones that had to get back to the CEO, aka Mingyu. You were tasked to make any necessary edits to the documents and check for any numbers that seemed off. By then, your job scope was pretty much doing a little bit of everything. Not many of your co-workers seemed to like the idea of going all the way upstairs to Mingyu’s office to deliver the completed work, so you became a little messenger. That, you wouldn’t grumble about either — you were the youngest in the industry, and it would be downright disrespectful to be unwilling to carry out duties given to you. Besides, you personally didn’t really find it a chore to go upstairs. You liked leaving your seat every once in a while, considering the fact that it gave you time to stretch a bit to release the tension building up in your neck, and you’d have the leisure to walk around the building while on your way up to Mingyu’s office; no one would be there to rush you to deliver the documents.

That was how your trips to Mingyu’s office became frequent, and you two would simply exchange a few words before you took your leave. “Have a good day”, and “Thanks again, Y/N” became phrases you heard every day, to which you’d reply with “You too, Mr. Kim” and “No problem, Mr. Kim” respectively — it was almost robotic. Almost. He didn’t brush you off, though — he always looks up to smile, slightly or not, and would occasionally get up from his seat when you knocked so that he could take the marigold-color file from you himself; appreciation and recognition were definitely high up on his list of attributes. Owing to that, you would always find yourself shooting glances at Mingyu’s figure sitting behind his desk, blinking as if capturing a picture with your eyes to be stored in your mind. You were liking him more than you should.

You gradually became somewhat of Mingyu’s side-assistant, and would periodically spend time in his office — which was huge, if not emphasized yet — sitting on any one of the couches in the room with your laptop on your lap to help with whatever he needed aid in. You had usually remained silent whenever in his office, and the only sounds that could be heard were the soft clicking sounds of Mingyu’s mouse or the typing noises that more than often came from you. There were times where you two would talk, of course, but it was only about work — if you had any doubts about your assignment — to which he would very politely and patiently answer. Vernon would occasionally come in and his eyes would widen in surprise at the sight of you being in Mingyu’s office, and you two would exchange a few words before he leaves to his own office — the one right beside Mingyu’s.

At the third event of having to remain in Mingyu’s office to assist him, you had mustered up your courage ask a question you had been holding in ever since the ‘staying-in-the-office’ thing started.

“Mr. Kim, if you don’t mind, I have a question that is not… very relevant to the work I’m doing right now.”

Mingyu had looked up from his laptop, folding his arm across his desk, leaning forward. “Go ahead,” he said. “Is everything fine?”

You quickly nodded, clearing up any wrong assumptions that he might have. “Yes, of course. But I’d like to ask why Vernon… isn’t the one doing these? Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that it’s a burden for me or anything. I’m more than willing to be able to assist you with these, but I was just curious since he is your secretary.”

“Ah,” Mingyu said, and seemed almost relieved that it wasn’t anything serious. “Vernon is busy with planning my schedules and stuff related to that. He has to…” Mingyu trailed off, tilting his head to a side in thought. “…call a lot of people to arrange meetings, to put it simply. You’re the one who is finishing your work the fastest, so I thought you’d be able to help me with mine.”

Your lips formed a shape of an ‘o’ and you dropped your head in embarrassment, a small smile playing on your lips; you felt flattered. “I’m glad to be able to do that, Mr. Kim.”

Mingyu smiled before turning back to his computer.

The events of you staying in Mingyu’s office definitely played a huge part in building your bond with Mingyu, though you never spoke much to him — he was the one doing most of the talking. He had confided in you about a surprising number of things, and you would listen as he rambles about his daily chores as a CEO, or sometimes even go into storytelling his personal life; you cherished the trust he had in you. Mingyu had complained that you were too reserved around him, but you had merely shaken your head and chuckled. You didn’t want to become too casual with him in fear of becoming discourteous or, even, growing feelings for him. He’s the CEO, you constantly reminded yourself.

Nevertheless, this day was a little different from the usual sayings you two traded.

The sky was a negative image of its daytime beauty, midnight blue with clouds swirling like pints of grey ink trickled into water. The soft, muffled moonlight poured into the fairly empty office building through the glass windows that you passed by.

You had a couple of paper files in your arms — four, if you remembered correctly — and you hugged them close to your chest to make sure nothing fell along your way to Mingyu’s office. There were past instances when a few loose sheets of paper managed to slip out of the files and had calmly drifted to the ground, and you were oblivious to it until one of your colleagues had picked it up and chased after you to return it. There wouldn’t be anyone to help you with that now, since most people had already gotten off work, except for a few of the higher-ups who were finishing up their work for the day.

Making your way into the empty lift, you pressed the button with the numbers ‘23’ on it. As the doors of the elevator closed, you rotated your neck clockwise to roll out the tightness in it before leaning onto the chilly metal walls of the lift. You began to notice the faint buzzing in your ear and the light dizziness that was making you feel unsteady on your feet. You felt unnaturally fuzzy too, both on the inside and outside, and you couldn’t help but rub your palms against your forearms, hoping that the friction would warm you down a little from the abnormal coldness you were feeling.

When you see the numbers ‘22’ appear in red on the display of the elevator, you immediately pushed yourself up from the wall, straightening your back.

The doors opened at the 23rd level, and you stepped out, walking down the twisted hallways, turning here and there. You had memorized the routes to Mingyu’s office already, after endless mistakes of entering the wrong office or just going in the wrong direction overall. It was funny to your colleagues, they had told you — your confused expression which transitioned to embarrassment was humorous to them.

As you arrived at the door of Mingyu’s office, you knocked on the door with your knuckles quietly; it was a habit for you to do everything quietly once the night came. It was also partly because you didn’t really have the strength in you to do anything forcefully — you were starting to feel limp, the energy that fueled you just a few hours ago starting to seep out of your body.

“Come in,” you heard Mingyu say from the other side of the door, and you immediately pushed the door handle down and pushed the door open as you entered.

“I have edited the documents you sent me, Mr. Kim,” you said. Mingyu looked up. He was halfway through flipping his paperwork, with a black-and-gold fountain pen held loosely in his hand, and he instantly put both of them down when he saw you.

You made your way over to his table, trying your best to walk in a straight line, but that only seemed to make you stumble a little more. But Mingyu doesn’t notice that — what he does notice is the way your eyes were beginning to droop languidly, and how your skin tone was matching that of an ivory carving.

You extended your arms with the files and handed them over to Mingyu. He smiles appreciatively, like he always does, and takes them from you, his hand brushing against yours — and that one moment of contact was enough to have his smile falter when he felt the lack of humane warmth in your hands, especially your fingers. He caught how you pulled your jacket tighter around your body once your arms were free of the files.

“Thank you, Y/N,” he said, restoring the beam on his face as his eyes traveled from your hands to your eyes. “Sorry you had to stay till so late to finish these up.”

You smiled, shaking your head slightly so as to not worsen the lightheadedness you were feeling. “No problem, Mr. Kim. It’s my job after all.”

Mingyu’s expression softens at your courteousness.

“I’ll take my leave now, if there’s nothing else,” you said, bowing before retreating to the door.

“Wait,” Mingyu suddenly said, and you stop, turning around.

“Yes?” you asked.

You thought you saw a frown flash on Mingyu’s features, but you weren’t sure.

“Are you alright?”

You were surprised that he asked you such a question.

“Y-yes, of course,” you said. That was a lie, but who were you to complain about your slight unwellness to a CEO? You just needed to make it home, and get some sleep.

Mingyu hesitated uncertainly, then nodded, dismissing you. “Okay then. Get home safe, Y/N.”

You smiled. “You too, Mr. Kim.”

With that, you left his office to return to yours. You were done with work for the day, you just needed to pack up and you could head on home.

After you had stepped out of Mingyu’s office, a worried look spreads itself across his face. He sits back down on his office chair and opens the file you gave to him, pulling out a random sheet of paper and scanning through it.

About halfway into the page, he spots a minor calculation error, and that only fed his troubled thoughts. You never made any mistakes, especially ones that are as simple or careless as this.

Just as you had closed down your laptop screen, three soft knocks were heard on your office door. You heard the click of the door being unlocked and pushed open, with Mingyu behind it.

“Mr. Kim,” you faltered, taken aback.

Mingyu smiled. “Can I come in?”

You nodded, and Mingyu steps in, closing the door behind him.

“Is there anything…” you asked, but he cuts you off, shaking his head.

“No, no,” he said, and the glower on his face becomes more apparent when he notices how beads of sweat were forming on your forehead, and how pale you were becoming. You couldn’t even stand still by yourself — you would sway extremely slightly when nothing was there to support you. But now, your hands were pressed onto your desk, your weight leaned onto it to hold you steady.

“Are you sick?” he asked, tilting his head and bending down a little to meet your eyes.

You chuckle un-spiritedly. “I’m alright,” you told him. “I think it’s just a cold.”

Mingyu abruptly reaches out, causing you to flinch at the sudden movement and move back. Your heel knocks onto the leg of your chair behind you and you staggered. Mingyu instinctively reaches out and grabs onto your wrist, pulling you back up before you fell flat on the back of your head. You ended up crashing into his chest, and you found yourself wanting to snuggle up to his body warmth — but you caught yourself before you did.

You instantly pulled yourself away, the tips of your ears turning red. “I-I’m so sorry.”

Mingyu shook his head again and reached out, this time almost cautiously. You intuitively moved away again once his hand barely came in contact with your skin on your neck — you were well aware of how sweaty you were.

Mingyu knitted his eyebrows together, his gaze almost firm. “Just stay still.”

You bit your lips and did so, your body tensing up when he pressed the back of his hand to your neck, then your forehead.

“What cold?” Mingyu uttered. “You’re running a fever.“

You shrugged, exhaling a hot breath. “I’ll just head home and get some rest. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”

“Home? You’ll take two hours to get there by public transport,” Mingyu stated, and you chuckled.

“I’ll survive.”

“No, you won’t,” Mingyu insisted. He stands there, looking at you for a while, as if contemplating something.

“This won’t do. Stay at my place tonight.”

You snapped your head up so fast you were almost sure that you heard your neck crack. A wave of nausea washes over you, and the room seemed to spin faster for a moment.

“What? No!” you blurted, perhaps a little too harshly towards Mingyu. “I mean, I can make it home by myself. I’m not that unwell.”

Mingyu raised a dubious eyebrow. “In your state, you’ll faint before you even get on the bus or subway.”

You pouted stubbornly. “I won’t.”

“Why’re you so against it?” Mingyu questioned. “Am I really that much of a stranger to you? Even after half a year now?”

You gulped, lowering your head. “T-that’s not it, I just…

Mingyu grinned triumphantly, knowing that he had won the little push-and-pull game. He pulled his cell out of his pocket and dialed a number.

“Hey, Vernon?” he spoke, and you were so tempted to shout into the phone for him to hang up.

“Get my car ready at the lobby. I’ll bring Y/N over to my place today. She’s sick, and the ride to her house would take too long. She shouldn’t be staying in a car or bus or subway for that long in her state,” Mingyu sighed, glancing over to you. You could hear Vernon’s muffled, undecipherable reply from the phone.

You mouthed an “it’s okay, really” to Mingyu, but he just shushed you, turning his attention back to the call.

“Yeah. I’ll drive, that’s fine,” Mingyu continued, pushing his free hand into his pocket. “Yep, that’ll be all. Thanks, Vernon.”

“Okay, let’s go to the lobby. Vernon’ll be there.”

You were still indecisive. You didn’t want to be a burden to Mr. Kim, though you greatly appreciated his gesture. You didn’t want to let yourself be any closer to him. You knew you were going to fall in love, and that’s including the fact that you were already starting to bear feelings for him. If all these continued, everything would just accelerate from here on, like the sharp down-curve of a rollercoaster.

You couldn’t let that happen, but at the same time, that wasn’t something you could control. Right?

You still ended up in his car anyway. He had practically threatened you — “I’m going to carry you if you can’t walk”, he had said. You didn’t even have any energy left to argue, and you felt like your knees were going to give out any moment, so you followed him to the lobby, with him standing as close to you as possible without actually touching you. Mingyu was afraid you’d fall or collapse or whatever — you weren’t exactly walking straight.

Vernon had driven Mingyu’s car from the carpark to the pick-up point outside the lobby, and the shock on his face when he saw you was almost funny. You would’ve laughed if you weren’t feeling that weak — a mere almost-soundless chuckle came from you.

“Woah, what’d you do to become this pale?” Vernon asked softly, his eyes wider than usual. “You look like a ghost!”

“I wonder too,” you responded, smiling feebly. Mingyu’s eyes met with Vernon’s, then looked over to you, whose back was facing him, before nodding towards the car. Vernon quickly nodded in understanding and opened the car door to the passenger seat, gesturing for you to get in.

“Thanks, Vernon,” you said kindly, before letting yourself plonk down onto the firm, comfortable seat. Mingyu gets in from the other side, sitting behind the steering wheel.

“No problem,” he responded. “Rest well tonight.”

You giggled, mouthing “I’ll try.”

Vernon smiled his wide smile, greeting Mingyu goodbye before shutting the door on your side.

“Go ahead and sleep,” Mingyu said, fiddling with the joystick between the both of you. “I’ll wake you up when we reach.”

You hummed. “Thank you, Mr. Kim.”

Mingyu smiles as he sees your eyes flutter close, your head leaning onto the window. He grabbed an unused blanket lying on the back seat — it wasn’t thick, but it was still something — and gently put it over you, making sure it was snug under your neck.

“You can call me Mingyu, you know.”

You shifted slightly and smacked your lips quietly, not responding.

You were already asleep, exhausted and, well, sick.

Sunlight shines past the translucent curtains like a ghoul’s grin, yet gives the shutters of the halo of golden rays. From the carousel of random ideas comes in some order — a subtle awareness of who you were under the flow of thoughts with their loose connections to your waking life. After a few moments, you begin to analyze them in a lazy way. The throbbing headache in your temples gradually made itself known. You felt eminently nauseous and liable to throw up at the slightest provocation.

The previous day’s events started to piece themselves together only now, and your eyes opened quickly as if you were awoken from a nightmare. You scanned your surroundings. Everything was unfamiliar, and you caught sight of the mini bucket of water sitting on the nightstand beside the bed, with a face towel dangling on its rim.

The room you were in was huge and especially wide, and there were lots of walking space around the bed you were on. It reminded you of the first time you saw the office building, just that this time it was cleaner and homier.

You slowly pushed yourself up to sitting position — your body wasn’t functioning like how it normally would. Every time you made a swift move, your head would start to spin as if you have totally lost your center of gravity. You were like a robot running low, really low, on battery — your actions were all sluggish and draggy.

You clamped your hand over your mouth as you felt bile rise up your throat. You kept swallowing and your throat kept clenching, but no matter what you did you could not stop the warm feeling rising up your esophagus.

“How was your sleep, Sleeping Beauty?“

You turned to the voice. Mingyu came into the room, donning a plain grey hoodie with black sweatpants, his hair down. It was the first time you were seeing him this casually-dressed, so you couldn’t help but smile slightly at how cute he looked.

“Pretty good,” you told him truthfully. You did sleep through the night, but there were occasional moments where you would wake up feeling dreadful. “The bed’s comfortable.”

Mingyu grins. “Of course.”

“You bluffed,” you suddenly spoke, changing the topic. “You said you’d wake me up when we reached.“

Mingyu shrugged nonchalantly. “You were sleeping so peacefully, I couldn’t bear to.“

You hummed, feeling blood rushing to your face as the image of Mingyu carrying you out of the car and to the room popped up in your head. But then again, he probably has tons of guards and helpers around, so why would he do that himself?

“Anyhow, drink this. It’ll help with the fever.” Mingyu said, extending the mug that he was holding to you. “Careful, it’s a little hot.”

You took the cup by its handle to prevent scalding yourself and brought it to your nose first, sniffing doubtfully at it. “What’s this?”

“Ginger tea,” Mingyu told you, a proud smug playing on his features. “I made it myself.”

You pulled a face at the name itself, and Mingyu laughs.

“It’s not that bad,” he reassures, sitting himself down on the side of the bed. You tried to ignore how the bed dipped down slightly when Mingyu sat down and brought the cup of liquid to your lips, taking a cautious sip. Your face immediately scrunches up at the weird aftertaste that you weren’t used to. It stung your throat a little, too.

“It tastes funny,” you said, sticking your tongue out as if the surrounding air could wash away the flavor in your mouth. “It tastes like…”

“Ginger?” Mingyu finishes for you, and you paused for a moment, recalling the tingling sensation on your tongue previously

“…Yeah.”

Mingyu bursts out laughing. “Of course it does, silly. What else would it taste like?”

You started to chuckle, now finding your statement simply nonsensical. You took another uncertain sip from the mug, and this time it really didn’t taste that bad.

“Thank you,” you muttered softly, and Mingyu smiles at your shyness, leaning his weight on his arm that was pressed down into the soft bed, making him naturally tilt closer to you. His gaze towards you was soft. You placed the mug on the coaster that was on the nightstand to let it cool down a little.

Mingyu suddenly leans even more towards you, his arm going behind you, his face coming dangerously close to yours. You widened your eyes and your heart nearly stops beating. He was so near that you could see the pupils in his irises, and the brown electric-looking waves that made up his eye color.

Mingyu’s eyes glanced down at your lips for a moment before looking back up at your also-brown orbs. A playful smile forms on his lips and he chuckles at your reaction and flustered expression. His arm reaches for the pillow behind you and shifts it so that it’s sitting vertically upright, before he moves back to his original position.

You let out a breath that you didn’t know you had been holding and broke the intense — to you, at least — eye contact with him.

“I was fixing that,” Mingyu pointed out, smiling teasingly as he nodded towards the pillow behind you. “Lean back.”

You did so, pressing your back onto the soft and spongy pillow. You cleared your throat and was almost sure that you were no longer pale; you could feel the heat crawling up your neck.

Mingyu snickers. “What?”

“What?” you echoed. “Nothing.”

“Your face is red.”

You pressed your palms to your cheeks as if that would drain the redness from it, and let your body roll to the side to face the other way, hiding your face.

“Not.”

“I’m the one who’s looking at you right now, Y/N,” Mingyu laughed. For once, you wished that the paleness would return to your face. That would be so much better than looking like a hot tomato.

“By the way,” Mingyu started, shifting himself such that he’s closer to you.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice muffled by the other pillow that you had pulled over your head. Mingyu stifles his laughter and pulls the pillow away from you, causing you to whine as he transfers it to his lap.

You momentarily forgot that you were sick as you sat upright, and you felt your head whirl. You quickly leaned back onto the pillow that Mingyu had shifted and rested your head backwards onto it, making sure that your actions didn’t seem too deliberate so as to prevent Mingyu from questioning.

“Why won’t you call me by my name?” he asked.

“H-huh?” you sputtered, taken aback. Mingyu raised an eyebrow, gesturing that you hear him right. “It’s just… You’re my CEO. It’d be rude to drop the formalities.”

Mingyu frowned, cocking his head to a side. “Why would it be? Vernon calls me Mingyu.”

“That’s different,” you told him, shaking your head. “Vernon has been with you for much longer.”

“But I gave him permission to do that,” Mingyu reasoned. “Now I’m giving you permission too, so it would be in no way rude. Besides, I think we’re past the stage of being just colleagues. We sit in the same office almost every day, and I’ve told you quite a decent amount of stories about myself. You’re the one being withdrawn. And just so you know, you’re in my place now. Are those enough valid reasons?”

You chuckled, nodding nonchalantly. “I guess.”

You ended up complying, but you bargained that you would only do so when no one was around. Mingyu was satisfied with that. For now, at least.

“Oh, I shouldn’t disturb you from sleeping,” Mingyu suddenly says, standing up from the bed. “The doctor said you needed plenty of rest.”

You frowned in confusion. “Doctor?”

Mingyu’s eyes widen slightly in realization. “Oh, right. I haven’t told you,” he said sheepishly, rubbing the nape of his neck as his other hand sat in the pocket of his sweatpants. “I got someone to come over to check on you yesterday night. I was worried it’d be something more serious. High fevers can be a symptom of serious illnesses too, you know.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “I told you I’m fine. Everyone gets sick once in a while.”

Mingyu shrugged. “Drink a little more of that and get some sleep. I’ll wake you up for lunch,” he said, nodding towards the resting cup of ginger tea that was probably less hot now.

You raised a doubtful eyebrow at his familiar words that he had said before, causing him to laugh and wave his hands in defense. “Really! I promise.”

You snickered. “I was just teasing,” you said, taking the cup and drinking from it again, this time not having the need to sip.

Mingyu took the cup from you once you were done, and helped you to lie back down. Which was really unnecessarily sweet.

He pulled the fluffy blankets over you, smiling gently as he ruffled your hair. “Sweet dreams.”

You sank into the comfort of the bedsheets, closing your eyes, hearing Mingyu leave the room.

Sleep didn’t come as quick as it should for a sick person. You exhaled — the rollercoaster is already speeding its way down.

“Is she still asleep?” Mingyu asked one of the maids around the house, who was carrying a tray of a bowl of porridge, presumably to your room.

“Yes, sir,” she replied, bowing slightly so as to not topple the food over.

“Let me,” he said, taking the wooden tray from her hands as he dismissed her to continue with her other chores.

Mingyu made his way over to the room you were in and quietly opened the door with one hand while balancing the food tray in the other, trying to minimize the clicking sound it made when the handle got pressed down. He poked his head through the marginally ajar door, and smiled when he saw you still sound asleep, your chest rising and falling slowly as you inhaled and exhaled.

Mingyu entered and closed the door behind him, soundlessly walking over to the side of your bed. He set the tray down on the nightstand and sat down beside you, at the same spot where he was previously, as he tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ear, chuckling quietly to himself. He then playfully starts gently blowing onto your face until you grumbled, your eyes flickering open.

“Lunch’s ready,” he told you, resulting you in groaning and turning to face the other way again.

“Can’t you knock? It’s weird to have you staring me down the moment I open my eyes,” you whined in a hoarse morning voice (though it was already the afternoon), your mind drifting back to reality.

Mingyu laughed. “Sorry,” he said meekly, making you smile. “How’re you feeling?” He pressed a palm to your forehead again, and this time, you didn’t move away.

“Better, I guess,” you said, struggling slightly to sit up. “The headache is pretty much gone. It’s just the… nausea and dizziness.”

Mingyu nodded. “One of the kitchen helpers made chicken porridge. Have some, then take your medicine. The doctor prescribed some for your fever.”

You looked over to the bowl of porridge beside you which looked fairly plain, except for pieces of shredded chicken and broccoli in it. You were glad that it wasn’t a big bowl; you weren’t really having much of an appetite.

Mingyu stirs the porridge around the bowl for a while, occasionally lightly blowing into it to cool it down before taking it in his hands.

“Mingyu, I still have my arms,” you mused, already knowing what he was going to do. “I can feed myself—”

Mingyu frowns and shakes his head, turning his body along with the bowl away from you when you reached out for it. “No, you’ll probably drop it onto the bed or something.”

You squeezed your hands and gave in, knowing that you were indeed still limp and enervated.

“Here.” Mingyu brings the spoon that was half-full to your lips, and you carefully ate the porridge, wary that it may scald you. But it was no longer hot; Mingyu had already cooled it down before feeding it to you.

“Is it okay?” he checked, and you nodded indefinitely.

Mingyu smiles, filling the spoon again. “That’s good.”

“By the way,” you started as you swallowed the porridge.

“Hmm?” Mingyu hums, his focus constantly switching between you and the porridge.

You hesitated, then shook your head. “It’s nothing,” you said. You wanted to ask why he was doing so much for you, but it didn’t seem appropriate to ask from your own mouth, so you refrained from questioning.

Mingyu chuckled. “Okay then.”

You ended up finishing up the entire bowl of porridge while talking to Mingyu despite not having much craving for food — that simple bowl of porridge was that delicious.

Mingyu called in one of the housemaids after you emptied the bowl, who took the tray away. You thanked her, of course. Mingyu gave you your medication after that; a white-and-blue pill which you easily downed with water.

“Thanks a lot, really,” you told Mingyu, looking down at your hands.

“You’re welcome,” Mingyu responded, chuckling at your shyness again.

“And please, um,” you cleared your throat, avoiding his eyes once again. “Don’t do… that… again.”

Mingyu frowns in confusion for a moment as he recalled all his past actions, then grins when he realized what you were implying.

“Do what?” he asked cheekily, despite already knowing the answer.

“You know, that!” you exclaimed. “Earlier.. um, when you came in…”

“Ah, this?”

Mingyu swiftly closes the gap between the both of you, his face coming alarmingly close, even closer than it was before. You could feel his warm breath bouncing on your skin, but yours hitched. His nose brushed the tip of yours and you were almost sure that you felt his lips graze yours too.

“Mingyu, medication doesn’t cure this kind of dizziness,” you muttered softly, avoiding his gaze. He merely snickered.

Nothing proceeded further than that, fortunately. You didn’t think that your heart would have been able to handle anything more than that. You two ended up talking like how you would whenever you settled in his office every other day at work, except this time you were in Mingyu’s home. You made an extra effort to try to open yourself up more to Mingyu — it was only fair since he had been telling you a considerably large amount of his personal stories.

The chat was littered with smiles and occasional laughs or giggles, the physical closeness between the both of you greatly contributing to the sensitivity of the conversation as compared to when you two were bodily distanced in Mingyu’s office. Beneath the talk was the gentle gaze of the both of your eyes, the relaxed nature of your faces, the unspoken and quaint love that neither of you were aware of. Whatever you two talked about didn’t really matter; only that you were conversing, connected.

You ended up residing in Mingyu’s place for longer than planned, with Mingyu cajoling you to stay “just one more day” every day. You declined at first, but Mingyu jokingly used his position against you one day, saying that ‘you should listen to your CEO’. You couldn’t say no after that; you didn’t have any excuses to escape. Staying with Mingyu strengthened your bond by a whole ton, to the point where you were even questioning who Mingyu was to you.

Mingyu had made you stay home to recuperate for 2 days after you fell sick, saying something like “You haven’t fully recovered yet!” and “What if the fever comes back?”. He wanted you to be on sick leave for three days at first, but you had practically jumped into his car on the third day. You were much better, and staying at the penthouse alone wasn’t very entertaining.

The penthouse that Mingyu dwelled in was humongous for a just single person with helpers. It was majorly colored with blacks, whites and deep blues, the shades suiting Mingyu well. It was evident that the interior had been worked on by a professional designer, all its edges sleek and neat.

On the seventh day of your staying at Mingyu’s place, after work ended at its usual timing of 5pm or so, Mingyu dropped you at his house first.

“I’ve to go somewhere,” he told you gently like he always does, stopping the car outside his penthouse, a doorman opening the car door on your side. “There’s a shareholders’ party, and I can’t not go.”

You nodded in full understanding; Mingyu had been spending quite a lot of time with you the past few days, and you were starting to feel bad for taking up so much of his time. But he constantly indirectly reminded you that he enjoyed being with you, although you never spoke anything about your insecurity. That was something that you deeply appreciated.

“Sure,” you replied, unbuckling your seatbelt. “Have fun!”

Mingyu smiled. “I will. Get back safe.”

You chuckled. “I just have to walk in, Mingyu.”

He laughed sheepishly. “Still.”

You two waved goodbye and he drove off, and you walked into the penthouse, taking the lift up to ‘your’ room. Mingyu had told the helpers to buy clothes for you without your knowledge, since he knew full-well that you would have told him not to. The wardrobe in your bedroom was now partially (since it was pretty damn wide) filled with clothes suitable for both work and home. You didn’t have to travel back and forth between your workplace and your home, and it became a lot more convenient for you. You owed Mingyu so much, honestly.

You placed your laptop onto the bed and took a quick shower, changing into casual wear that was more comfortable. The last time you didn’t have clothes to change into yet, Mingyu lent you his, and the sleeves of his hoodie ended up flowing way past your fingertips — but he had rolled it up till it sat cushy at your wrists. That was just another one of the memories of Mingyu that would make you smile.

You sat down on your white bed, stretching your legs out and putting a cushion on your lap before settling the laptop above it. Mingyu had adviced you against placing the laptop directly onto your lap, saying something about it producing radiation which wasn’t good for your body.

You began working on your unfinished assignments after that. You had lagged behind from your assignments due to your absence from work during the two days, and Mingyu had actually designated part of the work to your other colleagues (mostly to Jihoon, the guy next-door to your office) because he was afraid you would overwork; you were indeed the type to go full-out to catch up on the tasks you were trailing behind in. After you found out that Jihoon had received part of your workload, you immediately took them from him again. You didn’t want others to be doing your work for you. Jihoon was over the moon and practically showered you with praises on how responsible you were, but really, it was just because he was ecstatic at the thought of having lesser work to do.

So, here you were now, typing away at your laptop to complete the work. You knew you wouldn’t be able to finish all of them today, but you would try. You had good focus.

Time began to dissolve into itself, as shapeless as the rain. You barely noticed that the sun had set, dusk taking over.

When you finally decided that it was time to peel your eyes away from the computer screen for a while and take a break, your arms reached upwards and you pointed your toes as you stretched before massaging your shoulders and the base of your neck.

Your eyes traveled over to antique but fancy clock hanging on the wall. 11.46 pm. You frowned, recalling the time when Mingyu had dropped you off — it was at around 5.35pm. Troubled thoughts hovered around your mind briefly, but you shook it off. Parties for people of high statuses usually lasts for a while, right?

You pushed the laptop off your lap, and it bounced gently on the bed as you stood up, stretching again, arching your back this time. You walked out of the room and one of the helpers walking by you immediately stops.

“Is there anything I can help you with, Miss Y/N?” she asked, lowering her head. You quickly shook your head, waving your hands slightly in the air, a bit surprised that she was still here. Most of the housemaids and helpers would have left to their own dormitories by 10pm.

“No, Ma'am, it’s fine. I’m just about to get a glass of water,” you explained. “I can do that myself, don’t worry.”

She smiles and nods, bowing. “I’ll be leaving now, then. See you tomorrow, Miss Y/N,” she said before going her way.

You let out a breath — you’ve been getting this treatment ever since your second day here, but you could never get used to it.

You walked over to the open kitchen and grabbed a cup from the rack of utensils, smiling slightly to yourself when you remembered that this was the cup that Mingyu had used to make you ginger tea. You poured water from the glass jar into the cup and sipped from it while walking back to the room. The house was dimly-lit now — only the warm side-lights were turned on, the main lights were all turned off. It gave a soothing feeling.

You pushed the door close with your free hand, but you didn’t notice that it didn’t close completely; there was still a slight gap between the door and its frame.

You sat back down on the bed, slowly drinking the water as you scrolled through your phone.

Suddenly, the sound of the front door beeping drifted into your room, followed by the sound of it being clicked and pushed open.

You grinned and jumped out of the bed fervently, placing the cup onto the nightstand as you cheerily scurried over to the door of your room.

However, the overlapping noises of unsteady shuffling, groaning and sloppy smooches made you stop dead in your tracks, your hand which was resting on the door handle slowly tearing itself away from the metal.

Mingyu wasn’t alone.

You didn’t dare to move — heck, you didn’t even dare to breathe. You were frozen to the spot; you could feel your heart pounding against your ribcage as more sounds of deep, heavy breaths wafted into your room through that mere gap at the door. The hairs on your arms stand to attention as a militia of chills march down your spine. It couldn’t be.

Your own denial went against you as you heard an unmistakable female moan, followed by more groans with were unambiguously Mingyu’s.

Your breathing became uneven as you clenched your hands into a loose fist, your fingernails digging into your sweaty palms as tears started to pool in your eyes, your vision turning distorted.

You waited till you heard the both of them enter a room, the door clicking open and close — you didn’t know which room; there were so many, and you didn’t really care either — before you quietly and discreetly pulled open your room door. You clutched your cell in your hand and stuffed your laptop into your bag, letting out a shaky breath as you peered outside, making sure that there was indeed no one outside before you briskly walked to the lift situated at a corner which would directly lead to the lobby, jamming the ‘down’ button several times.

The lift arrived at your floor after a few seconds which seemed to take horribly long. You stepped in and closed the lift doors, biting in your lips hard as uncontrollable sobs took over. The desolation was consuming you at an incredibly fast pace. Your mind was becoming a disordered, icy wasteland. You hated yourself for believing that you’d have a chance with Mingyu. You hated yourself for sharing your vulnerabilities with him readily once he ‘took you in’. You hated that you let yourself love him.

When you reached the ground floor, you stuck your hands into your hoodie pocket, glad that you hadn’t worn anything thinner — it was cold out — and just ran into the night without a clue of where you were heading.

The next day, you went to work as per normal, but it wasn’t exactly normal either. You had stayed out all night. The world seemed monotonous, your energy leaving you like an ink stain on blotting paper. You went into the office in your casual wear early in the morning before anyone had started their shifts and headed straight to your own office, pulling your little emergency clothes from the paper box under your desk and heading to the washroom to get changed.

Before you started on your work, you realized that your thumb drive wasn’t in your bag, and that only meant that you had left it at Mingyu’s place. Whatever it is, you had the password to his house. You could just go over during his working hours and grab it. Your mind was too tired to think about anything more.

Even the penthouse helpers started talking about you after you left. they themselves noticed how the house seemed less vibrant, and how Mingyu had become cold. But you don’t know that.

The day carried on smoothly, with you just sitting there and typing away until 2pm in the afternoon, when only then you turned your phone on.

13 missed calls.

You could already guess who it was. You swiped the screen and 9 were from Mingyu, the other 4 from Vernon.

You inhaled deeply and locked your phone, placing it face down on the side of the table as you rubbed your eyes with the pads of your fingers before running them through your hair. The previous day’s events were still vivid in your mind, and tears pricked the back of your eyes the more you thought about it.

Vernon suddenly bursts into your office and you jumped, immediately looking away and blinking back the new tears.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed, walking over to you. “Where were you last night? Mingyu said you weren’t —”

“Not now, Vernon,” you cut him off, turning around so that your back was facing him.

“Y/N…” he trailed off, and you could hear that he was right behind you.

“Will you please… leave the room?” you requested as politely as you could, your voice becoming choked up. “I want to be alone.”

“I can’t…” Vernon started, a deep frown forming on his features. “I mean, can you at least look at me first? Are you okay?”

“Yes.” Physically. “I’m okay.”

Vernon goes quiet for a moment. “Mingyu says he’ll drive you back after work.”

“Tell him I’ll head back to my own house,” you replied, turning around now that you had swallowed back your tears. “I don’t need to stay at his place anymore.”

Vernon’s eyebrows furrows. “Did you two fight?”

“No, Vernon, we didn’t. Now will you please leave? I promise I’m fine.”

Vernon doesn’t believe you, of course. He wasn’t that dense.

“Hey,” he says softly, walking over to you and brushing your loose hair aside. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but please don’t cry. You look horrendous when you do.”

You chuckled, sniffing. “Yeah, I know.”

“Let me know if you need anything, alright?” Vernon coaxed, and you nodded gratefully.

“Thanks, Vernon.”

“Anytime,” he said, smiling. “Coffee break?”

You chuckled, but it didn’t have your usual optimism. “Sure. A quick one, though.”

“Are you sure you didn’t do anything to make her mad?” Vernon asked Mingyu, standing in his office. Formalities were completely out of the window now.

“No, I didn’t! She just disappeared when I came back!” Mingyu insisted.

Vernon raised an eyebrow, his hands crossed over his chest. Mingyu wavers, rolling his eyes.

“Okay, fine. I brought a girl back yesterday. Yoona. That’s all I can think of.”

“Y/N isn’t one to act like that just because she is aware of the presence of another female in the house, Mingyu,” Vernon stated as-a-matter-of-factly.

Mingyu grumbled and relented, annoyed at no one but himself. “I was drunk. I didn’t know that Yoona was going to be at the shareholders’ party.”

“You were drunk,” Vernon repeated, skeptical.

“Yes.”

“Is that an excuse?”

“Vernon!”

Vernon sighed, shaking his head as he let his hands fall to his side. “I don’t know how you’re going to solve this one.”

Mingyu grumbled again, louder this time as he buried his face in his hands.

You entered the penthouse as casually as possible, walking past the guards, internally praying that Mingyu hadn’t told them that ‘you were missing’.

Your prayers weren’t heard.

One of the guards who usually greets you immediately recognizes you. “Miss Y/N!” he exclaims, making you jump. “Mr. Kim was looking for you—”

“Yeah, I know,” you said. “I’ve… told him I’m coming here.” It’s okay to lie just this once, you told yourself. It wasn’t like you were going to do anything bad.

The guard frowns but nods, acknowledging your words and letting you in. You entered the lift calmly, but once the doors close you started spamming the number of the floor that you were supposed to go to.

When the doors opened, you hurriedly scampered out. When you walked past the kitchen, you noticed a cup sitting on the countertop. For some reason, your inquisitiveness made you nonchalantly walk over, peering into the almost empty cup. You easily recognized the orangey liquid, and you saw the pinkish-red lip stain on the rim of the cup.

Ginger tea.

He fucking made ginger tea for that girl.

Seeing that no one was around, you blinked and let a drop of tear free itself from your tired eyes as you walked into the room you used to stay in. You went straight to the nightstand where you thought the thumb drive would be, but the tabletop was completely empty except for the lamp on it.

You lifted the blankets of the made bed, peering under it as you ran your hands on the soft mattress to feel for any hard object on it which might be what you were looking for.

When you couldn’t find it, you quickly made the bed neat again, erasing traces that you were ever here. You had to leave, you couldn’t stay in here for so long.

You nearly screamed after you turned around.

Mingyu was standing there, his hands stuffed into his pockets, looking at you like an interrogator. Your hands immediately flew to your cheek to wipe off the tear streaks that you knew were there. You guessed that one of the guards had tipped him off that you were here.

You blatantly ignored him and attempted to walk right past him, but he doesn’t budge from the exit. Instead, he holds onto your arm and pulls you back.

You tug on your arm. “Let go.”

“Where have you been the whole night?” he asked tenaciously, and you couldn’t tell if it was worry or anger lacing his voice. “The guards said they saw you running out, and you didn’t come back at all. And you didn’t go home.”

Your ears propped up when you realized that Mingyu knew that you had stayed out the entire night.

“It doesn’t matter,” you asserted, brushing him off entirely. “I just came to find my thumbdrive. It’s not here, so let me go.”

Mingyu doesn’t release his grip on your arm, and pulls out the said device from his pocket.

“It’s with me, that’s why it’s not on the nightstand,” Mingyu murmured, sliding it back into his pocket when you tried to take it, making it clear that he had no intentions to let you go until you talked.

“Won’t you tell me what’s wrong? You’ve been ignoring my calls and everything,” Mingyu pressed, and you glared at him through glossy eyes. “Is it because of the girl I brought back yesterday?”

You immediately scoffed. “No, of course not, that’s absolutely fine. Who am I to complain? I’m just one of the people who work for you after all, right?” you said sarcastically. The venomous words coming from your own mouth was hurting yourself.

Mingyu’s expression hardens at your statement as he clenches his fist. He couldn’t accept that you said that, or that you even thought that way.

“I already told you, you’re the one who’s not taking it,” you said firmly. “I said nothing’s wrong. I said it doesn’t matter.”

“It does matter because you’re crying! You were missing for the whole night and it’s irritating the heck out of me because I never knew that you weren’t here till early morning! I couldn’t find you either, I couldn’t reach your phone, I couldn’t do anything. You could’ve been hurt, you could’ve gotten kidnapped, murdered, whatever! How do all these not matter!?” Mingyu blurted, raising his voice as he threw his hands in the air.

You two just stood there in silence as Mingyu breathed heavily, the both of you recovering from whatever just happened.

“I’m sorry for raising my voice,” Mingyu started again.

That wasn’t something you needed him to apologize for.

“We didn’t have sex, Y/N,” Mingyu said, and the topic made the dam behind your eyes break open again.

“Totally. I heard all those and I’m supposed to believe that you two didn’t get intimate,” you sneered, but even through your harsh words, you were crying.

“We did get intimate,” Mingyu admitted. “But we never did that. ”

You scoffed. “Right, sorry for being in the way.”

“That’s not what I’m saying!” Mingyu exclaimed. “Stop over-evaluating my words, will you?”

“Oh, so I’m the one who isn’t understanding? Well, I’m sorry then!”

“You’re not listening!” he cried, his eyes turning red and mimicking a more subtle version of your eyes.

“Hell yes I am! You’re the one who isn’t providing a proper explanation!”

“I was drunk,” Mingyu said, almost as if that was a reasonable alibi for whatever happened. The recollection of Vernon telling him that it wasn’t an excuse appeared in his head, but the intense and angry atmosphere made him push that thought aside.

You didn’t know what to say any further. The frustration inside you was building. You wanted to shout, vent, throw a tantrum and beat your hands on the ground like a toddler. You wanted to scream at Mingyu for how he had given you false hope of love and blame him for everything and cast him out, but you didn’t want to say things that you didn’t mean or be hurtful. It’s just so easy to be cruel in that moment, and then the permanent damage would be done.

You knew he wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his. Nothing between the both of you were ever official, and that meant that you had absolutely no right to demand an apology or explanation from him. But it constantly triggered your emotions because you cared. You cared so much — more than you should have. But it was probably all delusional on your own part.

So you pushed past Mingyu with whatever strength you had, quickening your pace when he called you.

Once, twice.

He called you twice, then let you go.

The action of running out of the penthouse seemed all too familiar to you — this happened yesterday. But for some reason, this time it stung more.

The next few weeks were painfully awkward and negatively emotional. You and Mingyu passed each other a few times in the office building, but you would always lower your head and steer a bit further away from him as if he’d pounce on you if you accidentally got too close. In forced circumstances, you would still speak to him and greet him, so as to not make your colleagues gossip. The task of the delivery of the documents was passed over to Jihoon, who was luckily willing to do you that favor. You were trying to avoid Mingyu at all costs. He had called you once in a while, but the maximum number of calls per day was just one. He’d call once, you won’t pick up, and your phone wouldn’t ring for the rest of the day.

There was that empty void in your heart, making you feel odd every other day, but you got by with it at work. However, at home, it was a different story — you would start crying in the middle of nowhere, and tear up before you sleep, since the night was the quietest time of the day when your unstoppable thoughts would relive themselves. Your mother grew concerned when she noticed how upset you were, but you only cried even harder when she questioned you about it, so she stopped herself from probing.

After a few days of crying, you went numb. No more tears; it was as if you had cried yourself dry.

Vernon kept checking in on your throughout the entire thing, constantly reminding you to let him know if you needed anything and if you needed to release your upsetness. But you would rather keep them to yourself, you didn’t want to put it in words and remind yourself of the heartache you felt.

One day, in the late afternoon, before you were about to pack and end work for the day, Vernon comes into your office.

“Hey, you done with the files?” he asked, and your eyes scanned through your computer screen.

“Kind of.”

Vernon grinned. “Great. Grab your stuff, and let’s go.”

You blinked in confusion, trying to recall if you had planned anything with Vernon for dinner. If your memory didn’t fail you, no, you hadn’t.

“Go where?”

Vernon smiled cheekily. “Just a drive. Come, quick!”

You laughed at his eagerness and quickly packed up, following him down to the lobby as you two entered his car.

“This is sudden,” you muttered as Vernon drove down the road. He pressed his lips into a line.

“You’ll never get angry at me, right?” he asked out of the blue, and you frowned.

“What do you mean? Why would I get angry at you?” you questioned, and crazy guesses of where Vernon was bringing you to starting running through your mind.

Vernon laughs nervously. “Nothing. You’ll see. But promise not to get mad.”

“How can I promise when I don’t even understand what’s going on?” you panned, laughing, but your laugh subsided the moment your memory jolted at the sight of the familiar roadway and the green signs that hung over them.

No way.

“Vernon…”

He made a sheepish sound, confirming your feared guesses.

“Vernon, stop the car, turn around, whatever. Stop driving this way,” you said as calmly as you could, although the desperation in your voice was evident.

“Y/N, just give him another chance,” he said almost pleadingly. You were getting more nervous as the car neared the penthouse.

“Vernon, I’m serious, stop the car.”

“He wants to apologize, Y/N. I’m not going to turn around. I don’t want to see you secretly tearing up by yourself every now and then even after weeks of that incident. This has to be solved sooner or later.”

You swallowed, surprised and unsure of how Vernon knew about you beating yourself up over the matter.

A secretary definitely has his detective-like traits.

“I don’t want to see him,” you said, looking out of the car window. “Not now. I’m not ready.”

“Then when will you be? Vernon said, turning the car into the drop-off porch of Mingyu’s place and stopping there.

"Vernon, I’m gonna—”

The door on your side was pulled open, and you had expected to see one of the doormen standing outside.

Nope. It was Mingyu.

Without saying anything, he extends a hand to you, his eyes soft, and you hesitate. A part of you still bore a grudge against him, but the other part was just screaming at you to let Mingyu make up for it.

You glanced over to Vernon for needed assurance, and he just nods. You bit down on your lip and placed your hand in Mingyu’s, almost cautiously. It made your insides feel weird, having your hand held securely but gently by Mingyu, who lightly helped you out of the car.

He shoots Vernon a thankful glance, before bringing you into the penthouse.

“Mingyu, what are you d—”

“You’ll see,” he replied, his face void of any expression. You were almost afraid that he was going to bring you upstairs just to bring up the past. You didn’t want that — you didn’t want to hear it. But Vernon wouldn’t have brought you here if it was for that. He said Mingyu wants to apologize.

When the lift took you two up to the level of where you had stayed, you widened your eyes in shock.

The table in front had been laid out with plates of food, candlelights in the middle of it, creating a lovely ambience.

“You— I—” you stuttered. Mingyu broke out of his monotonous character, chuckling.

“Surprise,” he said softly, placing a hand on your lower back and gently pushing you forward, at the same time bringing you out of your daze.

“I made these,” he said proudly, his voice echoing the tone of when he had boasted that he had made the ginger tea for you when you were sick. “With some help, of course. I nearly burned down the stove at first.”

You scoffed, laughing as your eyes teared up again. You’ve been tearing and crying too much recently. “That sounds like you.”

Mingyu chuckled, humming as he leads you to one of the two chairs at the table. You sat down, and he sighs before kneeling down beside you so that he wouldn’t be towering over you while speaking.

He took both of your small hands in his bigger ones, his thumb soothingly rubbing circles onto your skin.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he started. “I was stupid. I did something wrong and made it worse by shouting at you. I’m so sorry. I really shouldn’t have done that. I’ve never been good at keeping my emotions in check. No matter what I’m feeling, it always verbally comes out as anger. I’m sorry I even let it out on you.”

You grumbled, looking upwards to contain your tears. Your anger had already dissipated along with time. “Stop it, I’m gonna cry again.”

Mingyu chuckled but went on anyway. “I love you, Y/N. I realized that I never said that in words. I love you. So, so much, you have no idea.”

You looked down at him, and a teardrop flows down your cheek. “I think I do,” you told him, your hand holding onto his. “I love you too, Mingyu. I couldn’t take the fact that you had someone else. I’m pretty damn territorial.”

Mingyu laughed, his canines showing. “I don’t mind. It’s nice.” His canine smile — something you’ve missed so damn much.

Mingyu moved up abruptly, pressing his lips onto yours. You moved back slightly in surprise and unpreparedness, but Mingyu’s arm on your back pulled you closer, and you let your eyes fall close as you melted into the kiss. Your breaths mingled, his head angled slightly to the side as your lips moved in sync, locking both your minds into the present.

You two pulled away after a while, and you couldn’t look straight at him. However, you were all Mingyu wanted to look at. He loved every detail of you — the slight pinkness towards the inner part of your lips, the cute nose you had, the beautiful, sparkling eyes you possessed.

He wrapped you in a warm swaddle of his chest and arms and pulled you close, gently rubbing your arm as you buried your face into the crook of his neck. Your stomach fluttered at the longed feeling of your body being pressed against his, and it soothed you. You sunk into his warmth, the smell of his usual cologne filling your senses and making you feel all so nostalgic.

Just that perfunctory gesture was enough to make you forget everything. The kiss wasn’t just a kiss, the hug wasn’t just a hug — it was like it had told you the deepest unspoken meanings of his apology and regret for hurting you. It was like a new beginning all over again, a promise of much more to come.

#seventeen #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen mingyu #kim mingyu #mingyu scenarios

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negativefate · 4 years

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rambling stream of consciousness essay i wrote to myself dec 29, 2014

listening to harsh noise music while driving down the highway i had just taken off at 630 from my house and before that woken up at 5 to get ready and finish cleaning the last set of things and before that leaving a party at kevins house and not telling anyone that i wasn't going to be there for new years and causing disappointment and before that seeing a show at dead leaf with a great 8bit band at the end and before that walking back and forth to the liquor store to get some beer and before that awkwardly getting dinner after my cousin came to visit when we probably should have gotten dinner with them and then before that i am cleaning up the basement again, organizing stupid cables, making a couple old devices work which is fun, but is it worth the time spent even? if not, then is my time on this planet even fucking worth it or am i just making trash like i believe these actual physical well designed objects that come to my home are so jump to me landing in kansas city and here i put on a tape just to get in the mood again i get there only an hour after landing i clumsily look up directions to get to jacks house on my phone i find there’s a bus that gets me there for fuckin a dollar fifty and i give them 2 and they give me a ticket for 50 cents back i ride the bus and i'm pretty tired for lack of sleep, and we drive through some weird semi industrial areas that are sparsely developed yet there are people getting on and off the bus fairly consistently i almost don't even notice who is getting on and off and at one point i look back to the back of the bus and see that i don't remember hardly any of the people getting on one person is looking back at me with a mousey face i typify some of these midwest people's looks certain women especially have a certain look that just reminds me of various nondescript porn actresses or something i start reading a economics book and it talks about oil prices and how scarcity reflects prices and is a major signal to the economy it is an interesting point of view but i look for holes in the logic because it seems obviously presenting a plain vewpoint it is clear that the US for example doesn't give a fuck about scarcity or perhaps the signalling system is so degraded that there is a runaway development the roads are overbuilt the cars are overrunning the roads if i take the face value economic view that this is a supply and demand problem i see it as a very perverse value system that rewards wasting they clearly even mention that soviet economies have gross inefficiencies and if we reflect on our own inefficiency it's clear to see that we are not perfect i feel that the author should have made this more clear i notice that i passed a street that i saw on my map (wyanadote) and while i didn't think it was "already" time to get off, several people are standing for several city blocks instead of sitting waiting to get off therefore I realize perhaps we're at a central location and certainly we are I stumble a couple blocks from the "main transit center" to another crossing on wyanodote, and i pass several office buildings with retail space that is broken down on the first floors first an eye doctor shop, filled with eye product ads but being torn to pieces otherwise then a sandwich shop, with dark cloudy windows and closed signs and a vibe of a previous generations comfort food when i reach the bustop at the streets that i had spotted on my map i was pleased and the troost bus came almost instantly i didn't understand how to scan my transfer so the lady did it for me, and i was acting bashful she was wondering if i knew it was the troost bus and i said yes i was wondering if that question was loaded i rode the bus in the front and looked at all the people that got on and off as we went towards jacks house we passed a row of two story townhouses that were red and white and repetitive that just looked like a dead end life situation for successful people i remembered my talk with my dad about retirement plans and investing money and about how i was literally thinking of blowing my brains out rather than do that and how i was yet again thinking about suicide in the bus i didn't even take it seriously but the vividness of me blowing my fucking head off was really awful i finally started recognizing some troost landmarks and scrambled off the bus i gave my ticket to a guy that wanted a transfer and he lamented being late for the bus that i just got off i don't know how to respond to this very well but wished him luck i walked up to jacks house and there are birds and squirrels and life just running wild there it is bright and sunny though a bit chilly (maybe 40 deg) and all these animals just were simply flourishing i walk inside through a couple closed doors and find my keys in the decorative chicken ornament i was surprised to also find several condoms inside the chicken, which was really amusing (e.g. the rooster...cock...haha) then i sat for a minute and petted the cat i wondered why the cat wasn't outside killing all the abundant wildlife whatever i was wearing three jackets because i was convinced that frontier would charge me for stuffing my jacket in my backpack and making it oversized in reality they didn't appear to care but they charge 50 dollars for a goddamn carry on that wasn't declared so i didn't risk it so i take off several layers and start my car i find where i left several of the christmas presents that I had meant to bring back home in the trunk and sort of kick myself for it i consider taking my car to a dealership to get it fixed up but have no idea where i also consider getting some food somewhere but decide to just hit the road i'm fairly tired still so i decide the stop off at fast food a couple miles out of town during the ride i am listening to some shitty talk radio about some guys that are talking about their "online trading academy" for stock trading i pull over and get some mountain dew, burrito and gasoline. slurping reality blub sucker is all i am at that moment. i do a couple stretches but it doesn't really feel very good. i am still listening to the radio in the parking lot and i notice that they replay recorded segments of themselves suggesting it is not at all a live show. at that point i decide it's time to blast the "white eye of winter" cassette and just start driving. i decide intentionally to start making stream of consciousness analogies to the noises instead of just letting it wash over me in some nonverbal stupidity i realize music journalists are probably better than me at this but i take some interest in just naming the feelings that i get so I'll repeat that hear a full spectrum white wash starts and then quickly gets crushed into a rumbling full force debase attack that's totally intentional about getting a skull crushing sound "large numbers of priests that were administrating the gulags were arrested and presumed killed" "others were sent to the labor camps...and suffered more slowly...assumed to be part of stalins fringe" a demented drum sound with a short delay time and extremely high feedback pounds and is absorbed by a sea-worthy hiss that fuzzes out and pounds once again to a deep drum a wind swept saturation takes hold and kills everything around it dead leaves litter the ground like there was never life anyways a thin veneer on the surface of our planet oscillations that never even really meant anything the dark fades away...like a comet that is completely grey....without color next a dirty fucking liquid sounds like it's being squeezed through a rubber feeding tube and a vaguely operatic chorus sings in the background, lulliby for a screaming nightmare some full bodied drone hovers over the chorus and takes the 17th century in it's arms and lays it gently to rest, taking each of the sharp moments, the sick deaths, the negative atrocity culture, and bringing it up onto a safer place, one where the only thing that matters is th industrialization of our times the industrialization has replaced any notion that feelings matter, any notion that a fair working environment is something that people deserve we could give retards something to do but it's already done and if you go up the ladder you see more and more things have been automated away you don't think about the roads being built do you? you don't think about the farms that cover 80+ percent of arable land do you? even when you're flying from new york to LA you don't hardly notice that humans have claimed this land for themselves scintillation frequency evokes this convulsive thought control that rises into a nasty chemical haze that demands more resources it's silenced into yet another flailing drippy sound fade out

a electric whip takes the stand fucking whining about the deprivation of resources and stuggles to make some connection fiercely spitting out brief moments of feedback between any number of frequencies that it can communicate on with an aether with non-existant endpoint it takes on more and more endpoint arcing back on itself and driving the frequencies into logical conundrums that antirepel itself and howl into additional painful derivative maneuvers it makes no difference to the machine what the effects of it's energy is being expended on, but only that some noise is being made taken astray leading reclamation of a formerly _done wrong_ system that is now instantaneously trashed and thrown under to make way for something more unplanned more unrelenting in it's consumption of power and antisocial connectivity whining and crying you see tear droplets form in the wave spectrogram taking a full 90 seconds to develop from a mixture of waveforms into a coherent pattern at your notification level notification level that is aloof from what you are supposed to be paying attention to but is instead wired into the inverse avoidance pattern the end the beginning once more gain blasting the appearance of nothing into a oscillation that has wavelengths spanning over years in time \ the bright lightning shatters a dark blank sentimental moment between us vaccum heavy rain sucks the white light from the heavens turning your back onto the keloid frostbite fallow bulbous pulsing face trancerotten yellow drainage trapnell decade trip fucker stumble block meaningless powernazi storm chaser populace chain reveals a mathematical rule. a pseudoconsistent logic to resolve fndamental curry's paradox from thin air what you thought was a clumsy blind behemoth is now an industrialized system that seemingly stands on it's own regardless of what yo even thought your very presence is nothing more than that like a dinosaur a placement that just gives you a central prominence as i start the other side the lull the powerful lull of harmonics drilled deep into the subcortex drilled deep into the somnambulist deity that rocks the beddy-bye to sleep that keeps the sharp reality away for at least some time for that reality of simple nature, the spikes of inedible plant matter, the vast nothingness that humans have somehow decided is rightfully theirs. homesteaded one small plot at a time until the federal government stepped in and purchased the large swaths of land a musical pattern that resembles a shaman opening and closing it's arms above it's head and taken drumming starts thathits something that's the vbrational equivalent of a untuned drum mode across an entire flood basin drumming starts that calls into question or owner ship of that land and the melodic butterfly that was once a welcome sight is now almost gone a tick tock dog growl gargling on some infected bacteria sinus cavity occupies the entire space you can hardly remember what things that you thought reckless distasteful nonsense squanders what was left of your vague fact driven storyline a sigh of relief ahlzagailzeguh stomps something fierce onto the mixing floor and drives metallic shards of broken dreams into the woodwork you don't think about who built your house did you/ why do you think you are worth anything to the other people around you when i say you am i actually referring to myself? i'm just desperately trying to offload my stupidity onto someone else? what is vulnerable to critique? i sit almost braindead when i face some of the most important situations yet when something is inconsequential i can leap into action and hurl retarded insults atpeople who don't deserve it like this girl that played prince at a party for like 4 hours i walked up to her and nearly choked her lights out and when she closed the computer i said no! play something else! i proceed to chose a random song that i thought was good off of youtube and then i proceed to just stand there and drunkenly creep on some peoples conversation wishing i could have just chosen a song that was better it's not my fault right? no, it is... there's a huge societal expectation that can't handle you being this way there's a roaring electric god that isn't going to cradle you in your arms while your social environment sees you as if you were a crying baby on an airplane take just a couple things at a time put them "in their right place" maybe then you won't have a crushing retardation lingering over everything you touch repeat this ad nauseum don't think for a minute that you can "escape" this reality you're "personal experiences" (your vacation, your hanging out with friends) is so far deviated from your systematically disassociated life happenstance that your better off to just give the middle finger to everyone and everything until it's over until it's over and you drop a sharp process into the ground and levitate transgressional power you can physically and mentally fail during this tremble weirdly under the occipital signal tension drab naked torbid flippant crater wield two basic components and when suddenly connected create a huge imbalance that sends flux reeling superintensely into the weak painless skinless meat proper happenstance flayed skinless animal carcass rotting spongiform encephalitis eschera coli sacchromyces schizophrenia pombe river blindness parasite trapped nderneat the helencaste psycholayer obligate individual disease question i never know what to say

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mason-mem · 4 years

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I Never Ast No Favors C. M. Kornbluth I Never Ast No Favors Dear Mr. Marino: I hesitate to take pen in hand and write you because I guess you do not remember me except maybe as a punk kid you did a good turn, and I know you must be a busy man running your undertaking parlor as well as the Third Ward and your barber shop. I never ast no favors of nobody but this is a special case which I hope you will agree when I explain. To refresh your memory as the mouthpiece says in court, my name is Anthony Cornaro only maybe you remember me better as Tough Tony, which is what they call me back home in the Ward. I am not the Tough Tony from Water Street who is about 55 and doing a sixer up the river, I am the Tough Tony who is going on seventeen from Brecker Street and who you got probation for last week after I slash that nosy cop that comes flatfooting into the grocery store where some friends and I are just looking around not knowing it is after hours and that the groceryman has went home. That is the Tough Tony that I am. I guess you remember me now so I can go ahead. With the probation, not that I am complaining, the trouble starts. The mouthpiece says he has known this lad for years and he comes from a very fine churchgoing family and he has been led astray by bad companions. So all right, the judge says three years' probation, but he goes on to say if. If this, if that, environment, bad influences, congested city streets, our vital dairy industry denuded —such a word from a judge!—of labor . . . Before I know what has happened, I am signing a paper, my Mama is putting her mark on it and I am on my way toChiungaCountyto milk cows. I figure the judge does not know I am a personal friend of yours and I do not want to embarrass you by mentioning your name in open court, I figure I will get a chance later to straighten things out. Also, to tell you the truth, I am too struck with horror to talk. Oq the ride upstate I am handcuffed to the juvenile court officer so I cannot make a break for it, but at last I get time to think and I realise that it is not as bad as it looks. I am supposed to work for a dame named Mrs. Parry and get chow, clothes and Prevailering Wages. I figure it takes maybe a month for her to break me in on the cow racket or even longer if I play dumb. During the month I get a few bucks, a set of threads and take it easy and by then I figure you will have everything straightened out and I can get back to my regular occupation, only more careful this time. Experience is the best teacher, Mr. Marino, as I am sure you know. Well, we arrive at this town Chiunga Forks and I swear to God I never saw such a creepy place. You wouldn't believe it. The main drag is all of four blocks long and the stores and houses are from wood. I expect to see Gary Cooper stalking down the street with a scowl on his puss and his hands on his guns looking for the bad guys. Four hours from the Third Ward in a beat-up '48 police department Buick—you wouldn't believe it. We park in front of a hash house, characters in rubber boots gawk at us, the court officer takes off the cuffs and gabs with the driver but does not lose sight of me. While we are waiting for this Mrs. Parry to keep the date I study the bank building across the street and develop some ideas which will interest you, Mr. Marino, but which I will not go into right now. All of a sudden there is a hassle on the sidewalk. A big woman with grey hair and a built like Tony Galento is kicking a little guy who looks like T.B. Louis the Book, who I guess you know, but not so muscular and wearing overalls. She is kicking him right in the keister, five-six times. Each time I shudder, and so maybe does the bank building across the street. "Shoot my, dawg, will you!" she yells at the character. "I said I'd kick your butt from here toScranton when I caught up with you, Dud Wingle!" "Leave me be!" he squawks, trying to pry her hands off his shoulders. "He was chasin' deer! He was chasin' deer!" Thud—thud—thud. "I don't keer if he was chasin' deer, panthers or butterflies." Thud. "He was my dawg and you shot him!" Thud. She was drawing quite a crowd. The characters in rubber boots are forgetting all about us to stare at her and him. Up comes a flatfoot who I later learn is the entire manpower of Chiunga Forks' lousiest; he says to the big woman: "Now, Ella" a few times, and she finally stops booting the little character and lets him go. "What do you want, Henry?" she growls at the flatfoot and he asks weakly: "Silver Bell dropped her calf yet?" The little character is limping away rubbing himself. The big broad watches him regretfully and says to the flatfoot: "Yesterday, Henry. Now if you'll excuse me I have to look for my new hired boy from the city. I guess that's him over there." She strolls over to us and yanks open the Buick's door, almost taking it off the hinges. "I'm Mrs. Ella Parry," she says to me, sticking out her hand. "You must be the Cornaro boy the Probation Association people wired me about." I shake hands and say, "Yes, ma'am." The officer turns me over grinning like a skunk eating beans. I figure Mrs. Parry lives in one of the wood houses in Chiunga Forks, but no. We climb into a this-year Willys truck and take off for the hills. I do not have much to say to this lady wrestler but wish I had somebody smuggle me a rod to kind of even things a little between her and me. With that built she could break me in half by accident. I try to get in good with her by offering to customize her truck. "I could strip off the bumpers and put on a couple of foglights, maybe new fenders with a little trim to them," I say, "and it wouldn't cost you a dime. Even out here there has got to be some parts place where a person can heist what he needs." "Quiet, Bub," she says all of a sudden, and shields her eyes peering down a side road where a car is standing in front of a shack. "I swear," she says, "that looks like Dud Wingle's Ford in front of Mi/' Sigafoos' place." She keeps her neck twisting around to study it until it is out of sight. And she looks worried. I figure it is not a good time to talk and anyway maybe she has notions about customizing and does not approve of it. "What," she says, "would Dud Wingle want with Miz' Sigafoos?" "I don't know, ma'am," I say. "Wasn't he the gentleman you was kicking from here toScranton?" "Shucks, Bub, that was just a figger of speech. If I'd of wanted to kick him from here toScrantonI'd of done it. Dud and Jim and Ab and Sime think they got a right to shoot your dog if he chases the deer. I'm a peaceable woman or I'd have the law on them for shootin' Grip. But maybe I did kind of lose my temper." She looked worrieder yet. "Is something wrong, ma'am?" I ask. You never can tell, but a lot of old dames talk to me like I was their uncle; to tell you the truth this is my biggest problem in a cathouse. It must be because I am a kind of thoughtful guy and it shows. Mrs. Parry is no exception. She says to me: "You don't know the folks up here yet, Bub, so you don't know about Miz' Sigafoos. I'm old English stock so I don't hold with their foolishness, but——" And here she looked real worried. "Miz' Sigafoos is what they call a hex doctor." "What's that, ma'am?" "Just a lot of foolishness. Don't you pay any attention," she says, and then she has to concentrate on the driving. We are turning off the two-lane state highway and going up, up, up into the hills, off a blacktop road, off a gravel road, off a dirt road. No people. No houses. Fences and cows or maybe horses, I can't tell for sure. Finally we are at her place, which is from wood and in two buildings. I start automatically for the building that is clean, new-painted, big and expensive. "Hold on, Bub," she says. "No need to head for the barn first thing. Let's get you settled in the house first and then there'll be a plenty of work for you." I do a double take and see that the big, clean, expensive building is the barn. The little, cheap, rundown place is the house. I say to myself: "Tough Tony, you're gonna pray tonight that Mr. Marino don't forget to tell the judge you're a personal friend of his and get you out of this," But that night I do not pray. I am too tired. After throwing sacks of scratch feed and laying mash around, I run the baling machine and I turn the oats in the loft and I pump water until my back is aching jello and then I go hiking out to the woodlot and chop down trees and cut them up with a chain saw. It is surprising how fast I learn and how willing I am when I remember what Mrs. Parry did to Dud Wingle. I barely get to sleep it seems like when Mrs. Parry is yanking the covers off me laughing and I see through the window that the sky is getting a little light. "Time to rise, Bub," she bawls. "Breakfast on the table." She strides to the window and flexes her muscles, breathing deep. "It's going to be a fine day. I can tell when an animal's sick to death, and I can tell when it's going to be fine all day. Rise and shine, Bub. We have a lot of work ahead. I was kind of easy on you yesterday seeing you was new here, so we got a bit behindhand." I eye the bulging muscles and say "Yes, ma'am." She serves a good breakfast, I have to admit. Usually I just have some coffee around eleven when I wake up and maybe a meatball sandwich around four, but the country air gives you an appetite like I always heard. Maybe I didn't tell you there was just the two of us. Her husband kicked off a couple years ago. She gave one of her boys half the farm because she says she don't believe in letting them hang around without a chance to make some money and get married until you die. The other boy, nineteen, got drafted two months ago and since then she is running the place on her own hook because for some reason or other it is hard to get people to work on a farm. She says she does not understand this and I do not enlighten her. First thing after breakfast she tells me to make four crates from lumber in the toolshed, go to the duckpond and put the fourMuscovyducks in the crates so she can take them to town and sell them. She has been meaning to sell theMuscovyducks for some time since the word has been getting around that she was pro-communist for having such a breed of ducks when there were plenty of good American ducks she could of raised. "Though," she says, "in my opinion the Walterses ought to sell off theirPeking ducks too because the Chinese are just as bad as the Roossians." I make the crates which is easy and I go to the duck-pool. There are four ducks there but they are not swimming; they have sunk. I go and tell Mrs. Parry and she looks at me like I was crazy. "Yeah," I tell her. "Sunk. Down at the bottom of the pond, drownded. I guess maybe during the night they forgot to keep treading water or something." She didn't say a word. She just strides down the path to the duckpond and looks into it and sees the four ducks. They are big, horrible things with kind of red Jimmy Valentine masks over their eyes, and they are lying at the bottom of the pond. She wades in, still without a word, I and fishes them out. She gets a big shiv out of her apron pocket, slits the ducks open, yanks out their lungs and slits them open. Water dribbles out. "Drownded," she mutters. "If there was snapping turtles to drag them under . . . but there ain't." I do not understand what the fuss is about and ast her if she can't sell them anyway. She says no, it wouldn't be honest, and I should get a shovel and bury them. Then there is an awful bellering from the cowbarn. "Agnes of Lincolnshire!" Mrs. Parry squawks and dashes for the barn. "She's dropping her calf ahead of time!" I run along beside her. "Should I call the cops?" I pant. "They always get to the place before the ambulance and you don't have to pay them nothing. My married sister had three kids delivered by the cops—" But it seems it's different with cows and anyway they have a different kind of flatfoot out here that didn't go to Police Academy. Mrs. Parry finally looks up from the calf and says "I think I saved it. I know I saved it. I can tell when an animal's dying. Bub, go to the phone and call Miz' Croley and ask her if she can possibly spare Brenda to come over and do the milkin' tonight and tomorrow morning. I dassn't leave Agnes and the calf; they need nursing." I stagger out of the cowbarn, throw up two-three times and go to the phone in the house. I seen them phones with flywheels in the movies so I know how to work it. Mrs. Croley cusses and moans and then says all right she'll send Brenda over in the Ford and please to tell Mrs. Parry not to keep her no longer than she has to because she has a herd of her own that needs milking. I tell Mrs. Parry in the barn and Mrs. Parry snaps that Mrs. Croley has a living husband and a draft-proof farmhand and she swore she didn't know what things were coming to when a neighbor wouldn't help another neighbor out. I ast casually: "Who is this Brenda, ma'am?" "Miz' Croley's daughter. Good for nothing." I don't ast no more questions but I sure begin to wait with interest for a Ford to round the bend of the road. It does while I am bucking up logs with the chainsaw. Brenda is a blondie about my age, a little too big for her dress—an effect which I always go for, whether in the Third Ward or Chiunga County. I don't have a chance to talk to her until lunch, and then all she does is giggle. But who wants conversation? Then a truck comes snorting up the driveway. Something inside the truck is snorting louder than the truck. Mrs. Parry throws up her hands. "Land, I forgot! Belshazzar the Magnificent for Princess Leilani!" She gulps coffee and dashes out. "Brenda," I said, "what was that all about?" She giggles and this time blushes. I throw down my napkin and go to the window. The truck is being backed to a field with a big board fence around it. Mrs. Parry is going into the barn and is leading a cow into the field. The cow is mighty nervous and I begin to understand why. The truckdriver opens the tailgate and out comes a snorting bull. I think: well, I been to a few stag shows but this I never seen before. Maybe a person can learn something in the country after all. Belshazzar the Magnificent sees Princess Leilani. He snorts like Charles Boyer. Princess Leilani cowers away from him like Bette Davis. Belshazzar the Magnificent paws the ground. Princess Leilani trembles. And then Belshazzar the Magnificent yawns and starts eating grass. Princess Leilani looks up, startled and says: "Huh?" No, on second thought it is not Princess Leilani who says "Huh?" It is Brenda, at the other kitchen window. She sees me watching her, giggles, blushes and goes to the shik and starts doing dishes. I guess this is a good sign, but I don't press my luck. I go outside, where Mrs. Parry is cussing out the truck-driver. "Some bull!" she yells at him. "What am I supposed to do now? How long is Leilani going to stay in season? What if I can't line up another stud for her? Do you realise what it's going to cost me in veal and milk checks—" Yatata, yatata, yatata, while the truckdriver keeps trying to butt hi with excuses and Belshazzar the Magnificent eats grass and sometimes gives Princess Lei-lani a brotherly lick on the nose, for by that time Princess Leilani has dropped the nervous act and edged over mooing plaintively. Mrs. Parry yells: "See that? I don't hold with artificial insemination but you dang stockbreeders are driving us dairy farmers to it! Get your—your steer off my property before I throw him off! I got work to do even if he hasn't! Belshazzar the Magnificent—hah\" She turns on me. "Don't just stand around gawking, Bub. When you get the stovewood split you can stack it in the woodshed." I scurry off and resume Operation Woodlot, but I take it a little easy which I can do because Mrs. Parry is in the cowbarn nursing Agnes of Lincolnshire and the preemie calf. The next morning at breakfast I am in a bad temper, Brenda has got the giggles and Mrs. Parry is stiff and tired from sleeping hi the barn. We are a gruesome threesome, and then a car drives up and a kid of maybe thirty comes bursting into the kitchen. He has been crying. His eyes are red and there are clean places on his face where the tears ran down. "Ma!" he whimpers at Mrs. Parry. "I got to talk to you! You got to talk to Bonita, she says I don't love her no more and she's going to leave me!" "Hush up^ George," she snaps at him. "Come into the parlor." They go into the parlor and Brenda whistles: "Whoo-ee! Wait'111 tell Maw about this!" "Who is he?" "Miz' Parry's boy George. She gave him the south half of the farm and built him a house on it. Bonita's his wife. She's a stuck-up girl from Ware County and she wears falsies and dyes her hair and—" Brenda looks around, lowers her voice and whispers "—and she sends her worshing to the laundry in town." "God in Heaven," I say. "Have the cops heard about this?" "Oh, it's legal, but you just shouldn't do it." "I see. I misunderstood, I guess. Back in the Third Ward it's a worse rap than mopery with intent to gawk. The judges are ruthless with it." Her eyes go round. "Is that a fact?" "Sure. Tell your mother about it." Mrs. Parry came back hi with her son and said to us: "Clear out, you kids. I want to make a phone call." "I'll start the milkin'," Brenda said. "And I'll framble the portistan while it's still cool and barkney," I say. "Sure," Mrs. Parry says, cranking the phone. "Go and do that, Bub." She is preoccupied. I go through the kitchen door, take one sidestep, flatten against the house and listen. Reception is pretty good. "Bonita?" Mrs. Parry says into the phone. "Is that you, Bonita? Listen, Bonita, George is here and he asked me to call you and tell you he's sorry. I ain't exactly going to say that. I'm going to say that you're acting like a blame fool . . ." She chuckles away from the phone and says: "She wants to talk to you, George/Don't be too eager, boy." I slink away from the kitchen door, thinking: "Ah-hah!" I am thinking so hard that Mrs. Parry bungles into me when she walks out of the kitchen sooner than I expect. She grabs me with one of those pipe-vise hands and snaps: "You young devil, were you listening to me on the phone?" Usually, it is the smart thing to deny everything and ast for your mouthpiece, but up here they got no mouthpieces. For once I tell the truth and cop a plea. "Yes, Mrs. Parry. I'm so ashamed of myself you can't imagine. I always been like that. It's a psy-cho-logical twist I got for listening. I can't seem to control it. Maybe I read too many bad comic books. But honest, I won't breathe a word." Here I have the sense to shut up. She shakes her head. "What about the ducks that sank and Agnes dropping her calf before her time? What about Belshazzar?" She begins to breathe through her nostrils. "It's hexin', that's what it is!" "What's hexin', ma'am?" "Heathen doings by that old Miz' Sigafoos. She's been warned and warned plenty to stick to her doctoring. I hold nothing against her for curing the croup or maybe selling a young man love potion if he's goin' down to Scranton to sell his crop and play around a little. But she's not satisfied with that, I guess. Dud Wingle must of gone to her with a twenty-dollar bill to witch my farm!" I do not know what to make of this. My mama, of course, has told me about la vecchia religione, but I never know they believe in stuff like that over here. "Can you go to the cops, ma'am?" I ast. She snorts like Belshazzar the Magnificent. "Cops! A fat lot old Henry Bricker would know about witchin'. No, Bub, I guess I'll handle this myself. I ain't the five-times-great-granddaughter of Pru Posthlewaite for nothin'!" "Who was Pru— what you said?" "Hanged in Salem, Massachusettes, in 1680 for witchcraft. Her coven name was Little Gadfly, but I guess she wasn't so little. The first two ropes broke—but we got no time to stand around talkin'. I got to find my Ma's truck in the attic. You go get the black rooster from the chicken run. I wonder where there's some chalk?" And she walks off to the house, mumbling. I walk to the chicken run thinking she has flipped. The black rooster is a tricky character, very fast on his feet and also I am new at the chicken racket. It takes me half an hour to stalk him down, during which time incidentally the Ford leaves with Brenda in it and George drives away in his car. See you later, Brenda, I think to myself. I go to the kitchen door with the rooster screaming in my arms and Mrs. Parry says: "Come on in with him and set him anywhere." I do, Mrs. Parry scatters some cornflakes on the floor and the rooster calms down right away and stalks around picking it up. Mrs. Parry is sweaty and dust-covered and there are some dirty old papers rolled up on the kitchen table. She starts fooling around on the floor with one of the papers and a hunk of carpenter's chalk, and just to be doing something I look at the rest of them. Honest to God, you never saw such lousy spelling and handwriting. Tayke the Duste off one Olde Ymmage Quhich Ye Myn-gel—like that. I shake my head and think: it's the cow racket. No normal human being can take this life. She has flipped and I don't blame her, but it will be a horrible thing if it becomes homicidal. I look around for a poker or something and start to edge away. I am thinking of a dash from the door to the Willys and then scorching into town to come back with the men in the little white coats. She looks up at me and says: "Don't go away, Bub. This is woman's work, but I need somebody to hold the sword and palm and you're the onliest one around." She grins. "I guess you never saw anything like this in the city, hey?" "No, ma'am," I say, and notice that my voice is very faint. "Well, don't let it skeer you. There's some people it'd skeer, but the Probation Association people say they call you Tough Tony, so I guess you won't take fright." "No, ma'am." "Now what do we do for a sword? I guess this bread knife'U—no; the ham slicer. It looks more like a sword. Hold it in your left hand and get a couple of them gilded bulrushes from the vase in the parlor. Mind you wipe your feet before you tread on the carpet! And then come back. Make it fast." She starts to copy some stuff that looks like Yiddish writing onto the floor and I go into the parlor. I am about to tiptoe to the front door when she yells: "Bub! That you?" Maybe I could beat her in a race for the car, maybe not. I shrug. At least I have a knife—and know how to use it. I bring her the gilded things from the vase. Ugh! While I am out she has cut the head off the rooster and is sprinkling its blood over a big chalk star and the writing on the floor. But the knife makes me feel more confident even though I begin to worry about how it will look if I have to do anything with it. I am figuring that maybe I can hamstring her if she takes off after me, and meanwhile I should humor her because maybe she will snap out of it. "Bub," she says, "hold the sword and palms in front of you pointing up and don't step inside the chalk lines. Now, will you promise me not to tell anybody about the words I speak? The rest of this stuff don't matter; it's down in all the books and people have their minds made up that it don't work. But about the words, do you promise?" "Yes, ma'am. Anything you say, ma'am." So she starts talking and the promise was not necessary because it's in some foreign language and I don't talk foreign languages except sometimes a little Italian to my mama. I am beginning to yawn when I notice that we have company. He is eight feet tall, he is green, he has teeth like Red Riding Hood's grandma. I dive through the window, screaming. When Mrs. Parry comes out she finds me in a pile of broken glass, on my knees, praying. She clamps two fingers on my ear and hoists me to my feet. "Stop that praying," she says. "He's complaining about it. Says it makes him itch. And you said you wouldn't be skeered! Now come inside where I can keep an eye on you and behave yourself. The idea! The very idea!" To tell you the truth, I don't remember what happens after this so good. There is some talk between the green character and Mrs. Parry about her five-times-great-grandmother who, it seems, is doing nicely in a warm climate. There is an argument in which the green character gets shifty and says he doesn't know who is working for Miz' Sigafoos these days. Miz' Parry threatens to let me pray again and the green character gets sulky and says all right he'll send for him and rassle with him but he is sure he can lick him. The next thing I recall is a grunt-and-groan exhibition between the green character and a smaller purple character who must of arrived when I was blacked out or something. This at least I know something about because I am a television fan. It is a very slow match, because when one of the characters, for instance, bends the other character's arm it just bends and does not break. But a good big character can lick a good little character every time and finally greenface has got his opponent tied into a bow-knot. "Be gone," Mrs. Parry says to the purple character, "and never more molest me or mine. Be gone, be gone, be gone." He is gone, and I never do find out if he gets unknotted. "Now fetch me Miz' Sigafoos." Blip! An ugly little old woman is sharing the ring with the winner and new champeen. She spits at Mrs. Parry: "So you it was dot mine Teufel haff ge-schtolen!" Her English is terrible. A greenhorn. "This ain't a social call, Miz' Sigafoos," Mrs. Parry says coldly. "I just want you to unwitch my farm and kinfolks. And if you're an honest woman you'll return his money to that sneakin', dog-murderin' shiftless squirt, Dud Wingle." "Yah," the old woman mumbles. She reaches up and feels the biceps of the green character. "Yah, I guess maybe dot I besser do. Who der Yunger iss?" She is looking at me. "For why the teeth on his mouth go clop-clop-clop? Und so white the face on his head iss! You besser should feed him, Ella." "Missus Parry to you, Miz' Sigafoos, if you don't mind. Now the both of you be gone, be gone, be gone." At last we are alone. "Now," Mrs. Parry grunts, "maybe we can get back to farmin'. Such foolishness and me a busy woman." She looks at me closely and says: "I do believe the old fool was right. You're as white as a sheet." She feels my fore- head. "Oh, shoot! You have a temperature. You better get to bed. If you ain't better in the morning I'll call Doc Mines." So I am in the bedroom writing this letter, Mr. Marino, and I hope you will help me out. Like I said, I never ast no favors but this is special. Mr. Marino, will you please go to the judge and tell him I have a change of heart and don't want no probation? Tell him I want to pay my debt to society. Tell him I want to go to jail for three years, and for them to come and get me right away. Sincerely, ANTHONY (Tough Tony) CORNARO. P.S.—On my way to get a stamp for this I notice that I have some grey hairs, which is very unusual for a person going on seventeen. Please tell the judge I wouldn't mind if they give me solitary confinement and that maybe it would help me pay my debt to society. In haste, T.T.

#Kornbluth #MinorWriters #Labour #SolitaryUltraPostsecularConfinement

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reactingtosomething · 7 years

Text

Reacting to Grey’s Anatomy (Part 1 of ?)

“Why Do We _____, Dr. ____?”

The Setup: Kris’s writing teacher doesn’t watch more than one season of most TV shows in real-time, so that she can keep up with the big picture of the industry, but she does stay current on Grey’s Anatomy. She was annoyed with the structure of the season 13 finale, so it was homework for Kris’s class. Marchae and Miri have wanted Kris to react to Grey’s for a long time -- this was actually, indirectly, part of the origin story for Reacting to Something -- and Kris didn’t want to jump in TOTALLY blind so he figured he could just watch a handful of earlier episodes to ease in. Silly boy.

KRIS: So I have now seen the nine episodes of season 1, plus episodes 1-5 and the “code black” two-parter of season 2

And the most recent season finale, because [Writing Teacher] told us to watch it

MARCHAE: You nailed the rewatch!

KRIS: And in freshman year of college I saw a few scattered episodes of whatever season fall 2005 was

or maybe sophomore year?

MARCHAE: And to be transparent I am two-ish seasons behind

KRIS: Did you watch the last finale?

MARCHAE: No but I knew most of the players in this episode

Of the recent season I watched more episode from where I was in season 12

But am committed to finishing and being caught up after this season

KRIS: OK I guess we shouldn’t talk about that one then

But I do have some Opinions about the earlier stuff I’ve watched

MARCHAE: Oh I will watch as we text!!

So I do want to know what you think of the show in general

I've wanted your opinion for a long time now

KRIS: It’s hard for me not to compare it to early ER, which was one of my first major TV obsessions (I watched those seasons in syndication when I was in high school)

I low-key refused to watch House or Grey’s when I first learned about them after moving back to the US after high school in Europe, because I was like “why do these need to exist if ER is still on the air?”

(And if anyone does want to seek out those early ER seasons I think they probably hold up surprisingly well)

It has Young George Clooney!

And when I did eventually watch House I loved the first 3 - 5ish seasons

MIRI: Moment to remind us all that Lin-Manuel Miranda had a significant arc on a late season of House. I have nothing substantial to say about it right now, but I think we all collectively forget about that fact most of the time and we should be reminded.

MARCHAE: Yeah I think she talks about ER in one the master class episodes

She=Shonda Rhimes, whose online Master Class Marchae is taking

And house is awesome

KRIS: But all that said, I do like what I’ve seen and will probably very slowly make my way through 12 more years worth of it

MIRI: VICTORY!!!!

MARCHAE: Yessss

KRIS: VERY slowly

Like that’s a lot of TV

MARCHAE: Ohhhhhh come onnnn

It's only taken me four years to get where I am you can do it!!!

KRIS: I feel like it might be a little hard for me to binge because there are some stylistic things that annoy me

MARCHAE: Tell me!!!!

KRIS: Four needle drops an episode

is a lot

I’m also not sure the voiceover is really doing enough to justify itself?

MARCHAE: That's often my critique is how are these people doctors

KRIS: I feel like you can have all those needle drops OR you can have heavy-handed VO but both is too much

Do we need to define needle drop for our readers, you think?

MARCHAE: Perhaps I was looking for a good link

That explains to put here but can't find one

KRIS: So a needle drop is when a show plays non-diegetic (usually) pop music that they have to license, as opposed to an instrumental score composed for the show

And diegetic means sound that comes from the action that’s happening onscreen, or off-screen but still in the world of the scene/story--dialogue, sounds from the environment, anything that the characters are hearing too.

And it’s not an unusual thing at all

But I feel like Grey’s does SO MANY songs

And I’m vaguely aware that a fair number of singer-songwriter type artists were first “discovered” by a lot of fans through Grey’s, like maybe Ingrid Michaelson

MARCHAE: They do and they even have an album, I think there have even been interviews with Shonda Rhimes (SR)

She says she wanted music to be just as much a character as the people

Which I find interesting thematically

KRIS: I get that theoretically, but it’s one of those things that’s the hard opposite of Show, Don’t Tell

when it’s lyrics

And especially for a show with bookend voiceover to tell you exactly What An Episode Is About, it’s just... it’s a lot

MIRI: I CANNOT WAIT for Kris to get to the musical episode, which is both amazing and so on the nose it hurts at multiple points.

MARCHAE: That's so interesting considering your like of shows like CEG which is quite musical

KRIS: I actually do like voiceover when it’s used well throughout a thing (thinking Burn Notice, or Dead Like Me)

MARCHAE: Did you watch sex and the city

KRIS: But in Crazy Ex the music is dialogue, it’s written by the writers and it’s spoken by the characters, it’s not a third party thing

I’ve seen a little

I guess I’m also just curious about the choice only to use voiceover at the beginning and end

although I think maybe it was there throughout the pilot episode

MARCHAE: Yeah I was about to say there may have been a few where it's through out

KRIS: In the pilot there was this conceit that at least some of the VO was addressed to Meredith’s mom

But other times (most times?) Meredith is clearly addressing the viewer

MARCHAE: I think it's to keep reminding us that this is Merediths world

KRIS: Meredith is interesting

Which I realize is super vague

MARCHAE: That's my theory or has been at least since the beginning

KRIS: But I’m having trouble landing on really clear descriptors for her

I like her

I think Ellen Pompeo is good

MARCHAE: I have a few but I'll wait

KRIS: But she’s harder for me to pin down than Izzy or Cristina or George

MARCHAE: Ellen Pompeo is AMAZING

KRIS: And I think maybe this is deliberate?

But again the VO would make that a strange choice

MARCHAE: I Honestly think she's supposed to be

KRIS: But I do sort of like the idea that she keeps a lot to herself

I think she’s a pretty good example of a lead who has to ground the more eccentric performances of the rest of the ensemble

MARCHAE: She does-ish it's weird I love and hate her simultaneously and that's what I love about her

KRIS: At least in these earlier seasons

MARCHAE: I think she does also as the show progresses you're right on

KRIS: Then again I did just watch the Pick Me Choose Me Love Me speech

Which is as demonstrative as anything the others do

But still there’s a restraint in how she generally presents herself to the rest of the world that I identify with

I guess what I’m having trouble figuring out with her is what her fundamental drive is

MIRI: I would argue that this is because Meredith’s fundamental drive is a quest to understand and accept herself, which is a tough main character to pull off and it works better in some stretches than others. But overall I am really pleased with Grey’s willingness to let her flounder and be wrong sometimes.

Also I would not have called Kris identifying with Mer but it makes SO MUCH SENSE.

MARCHAE: That is really eloquently stated

She has a tremendous amount to prove

And she has a tremendous amount of hurt and she is guarded because of those things - I think as the show progresses (I'm trying not to spoil too much for you)

But we learn it's a lot more than mom and dad

It's Webber and her own crap too

Meredith's drive is summed up in that choose me, pick me statement

And it gets the best of her often

KRIS: (Of the few original characters still around in season 13 I’m most surprised Webber is still there)

MARCHAE: (Really!!!!! I'm surprised by Alex)

KRIS: I guess just because it seems like he would’ve retired

MARCHAE: Ha!

I suppose that makes sense

KRIS: Do you think Meredith is a little bit of a cipher at first because she’s supposed to be sort of an audience surrogate? Or is it just that she’s stuffing a lot down where no one can get to it yet?

I guess I could look at the bible to figure this out

MIRI: The show bible, not the Christian one. A show bible is a big ass document explaining the world of the show--a deep dive on who the characters are, the setting, the vibe, etc. It also usually contains some episode and season plots.

MARCHAE: I can send it to you (maybe I already did)

KRIS: You did

MARCHAE: I think it could be a by of both to answer your question

Bit*

I think we learn the most about her as the show progresses that justifies somemof the things I find most annoying about her

However, she is kind of our guide into this world

I read the Bible and it's a bit different than what's on screen not much

I'm most impressed by how developed she is and and that SRs intention is that her characters (when she writes) have no end they are infinite in terms of story because they have to be (except in the case of scandal which had an end from the beginning)

KRIS: Sure, and that also makes sense for a setting that has continuing education built into the characters’ lives

MARCHAE: Which is kind of brilliant on her part

KRIS: It was part of why I liked ER

MARCHAE: I know you said you liked Bailey but I was curious about why and also your thoughts on Christina Yang

KRIS: Which was specifically at a teaching hospital

MARCHAE: (Did you ever watch St. Elsewere)

KRIS: no

Part of why I like Bailey is that in these earlier episodes when I haven’t really found my way into all of the central intern characters yet is just that she thoroughly has her shit together

MARCHAE: (Such an amazing show- set in the 80s)

YESssss

KRIS: As someone who has never disagreed with a character yelling at George, I just appreciate that there’s a blunt authority figure with a really dry sense of humor

MARCHAE: (Oh Kris promise you'll keep watching!!!!!!!)

KRIS: And that she also has basically that same comportment toward the attendings

MARCHAE: Ummm excuse me!!!! George is awesome and it infuriates me he gets yelled at!

KRIS: I will, I think it’s one of those things that’ll be easy to return to between other shorter things

Oh man

I mean I don’t dislike George

If I’m being honest there’s more of George in me than I’d like

Which is on some level probably a reason I like when people take him to task

MIRI: Wait guys this is actually enormous progress for Kris to “not dislike” a character he thinks he partially embodies.

MARCHAE: He just so freaking kind that I feel like they poo on him because they can

MIRI: Just because he’s kind doesn’t mean he’s without flaws. Also he is not always kind! Which is good because no one is, but let’s not pretend he’s a saint.

KRIS: I have trouble with Designated Kind Characters though

MARCHAE: And that bothered me a tremendous amount as a person who rarely yells at people even when I'm mad

Kris what is happening

KRIS: Because those characters are also often very squishy

And I’m impatient

MARCHAE: So you weren't an Izz fan either?

Squishy

KRIS: And I think you can have Very Kind characters who aren’t pushovers

Hmm

I like Izzie fine

K: I didn’t want to do much annotation here, but on this point I want to be clearer. Obviously George has stories and an arc about becoming a stronger, more assertive person. What bothers me not necessarily about George specifically, but about how Nice characters are often written, is a conflation of kindness with weakness or timidity, and this seems to me how we’re supposed to read George’s default setting, or at least his starting point. Not that kind characters should never be weak or timid! To address Marchae’s question a little further, I think there’s an interesting distinction between how Izzie’s kindness or “softness” makes her seem less of a doctor (to someone like Cristina) and how George’s seems to be more a reflection of his overall character.

MARCHAE: *insert Marchae DYING GIF*

MIRI: Marchae has what has been described as an “unhealthy attachment to Katherine Heigl”

KRIS: So okay, yes, if I had to pick an intern I most identify with it’s Cristina

There are just a lot of feelings flying all over the place

MARCHAE: I KNEW IT!!!!

KRIS: And Cristina has no time for that

And Cristina doesn’t like babies

MARCHAE: She is my favorite!!!

(She does....ish)

These people are incredibly emotional which sometimes makes me uncomfortable so she is often the voice of reaso

Reason*

KRIS: Right, me too

And I realize there’s some masculinity/patriarchy baggage here too that I’m always in the process of dealing with myself

But yeah, I feel like a lot of the characters are not just emotional but very NEEDY

Which brings me to Shepherd

MARCHAE: I will also give you that

They are needy

KRIS: That man is super needy, specifically in how he wants to be liked

MARCHAE: I often feel like they don't listen very well to one another

KRIS: Oh for sure

Which is also often used effectively for laughs

Like in the episode I just watched, Izzie has just gotten home from her first date with Alex and Meredith has just dumped Derek

and they go into George’s room and are just having their own “Seriously?” monologues

MIRI: This kind of moment on Grey’s is usually done SO well and I really want to go watch some season 2 Grey’s right now and avoid all of my responsibilities, ok? Ok.

What did you think of Derek’s initial courtship of Meredith?

MARCHAE: I don't love it to be honest

KRIS: Even setting aside the professional inappropriateness, which I think we can just grant a TV drama

I don’t either

MARCHAE: I couldn't understand why she was smitten with him to begin with to be honest

MIRI: It does work better for me once they’re established and have a weight of history to cite re: their mutual obsession and problems. I think that’s the dynamic SR was always interested in for them.

It reminded me of a more

Or I guess less childish Carrie and Big relationship

KRIS: I didn’t find the Can’t Take No for an Answer thing charming, and I feel like the show really wants us to find him Needy-BUT-Charming

MARCHAE: I don't find him likable in later seasons

KRIS: I’ll grant that the performance is less grating than the equivalent character in a lot of rom-coms

Patrick Dempsey does Quiet Charm and Quiet Intensity really well

oh interesting

MARCHAE: He forgets Merediths needs often

KRIS: I’ll keep that in mind

In the code black/bomb squad two-parter, that runner where he keeps nagging Burke about why they can’t use first names for each other eventually pays off, but in the first couple scenes of it I was like “Ugh, classic Derek”

MARCHAE: LOL

KRIS: I actually really like Burke, most of the time

MIRI: Ugh, you would

MARCHAE: Derek, I will say this, has a long stretch where I don't mind him

Burke I forget about him sometimes

I like him as he relates to Christina

KRIS: Isaiah Washington was written out for unpleasant interpersonal reasons, right?

MARCHAE: Yes he was!

He and yang have an interesting dynamic and she owes her success (in small- very small-part) to him

But he also softens her a bit but not in an icky way

MIRI: Um I would say some of it is very icky, when he is steam rolling over what she actually wants because he’s too busy seeing the version of her he wants. I’m glad for her to have the chance to grow personally, but not for her to be forced to do so in any particular direction.

In a way I think that gives her a bit more depth

KRIS: I really liked the B-story where they tried to go on a date and it was just super awkward until someone else at the restaurant collapsed

MARCHAE: Because it's them LOL

KRIS: What I like about Burke is that his vibe is what I guess we would stereotypically call “Zen”

I always like the Zen guy

And one of the things I generally really like about the show is how it portrays teaching and mentorship

MARCHAE: I never thought about that really until you just said it

Hmmmm

It is kind of interesting

I always appreciate the friendship aspect- I think that's what I note

Like how much these people love each other so so much

And would do anything

MIRI: Any time they dance it out is an amazing time

But that teacher /mentor relationship is also a really neat dynamic

Thanks

KRIS: I mean the teaching is often couched in very technical things (“Why do we _____, Dr. ____?”), partly for audience benefit, but they also use those moments to show how that bonding happens

MARCHAE: Yes!!

KRIS: And I think Burke’s personality lends itself particularly well to those beats, but I like it with everyone

It’s when they show that they can put aside all their relationship stuff and be professionals, and I think that’s really important for a show like this

MARCHAE: YES! Again while you don't love the music I don't love how unprofessional they are sometimes

KRIS: Like in front of patients, or just how they fight a lot?

MARCHAE: The patients, each other, all of it

Discussing other patients with patients

I'm like REALLY GET IT TOGETHER -FICTIONAL LIVES ARE COUNTING ON YOU

it's my biggest critique

MIRI: Marchae really does not approve of her fictional hero people being people--see our Captain America: Civil War reactions.

Though I guess I would be watching some other show if it was all about being professional and not the bonus stuff

KRIS: Yeah, I guess I just assume a certain amount of Hot Mess in almost any TV, but especially network

(I guess NCIS is a show with less of that, I don’t really know it)

MARCHAE: Criminal minds too

Any cbs show really

MIRI: Hard disagree--those people are all Hot Messes. Gibbs does nothing but Emote Grumpily and have discolored flashbacks of his dead wife and daughter, and the whole Criminal Minds team is full of emotions and PTSD.

KRIS: I guess most crime procedurals will tend to be more [self-]serious

But ER definitely had lots of friendship and romance stuff

Oh, there is one little thing where I compare Grey’s unfavorably to ER

And it’s that even though there are nurses we see fairly often, no one ever addresses nurses by name

And look, I STILL remember the names of some of those early ER nurses

Haleh

Chuny

Malik

Lydia

MARCHAE: Now that is impressive

Derek dates one nurse

KRIS: Olivia got to be a person for a bit because of the syphillis thing

But just like, give them names

MIRI: Bokhee and Daniel Sunjata have names. I’m not sure about anyone else, and Daniel Sunjata isn’t for a few seasons.

MARCHAE: Yeah

Ha!

You could start a campaign

Lolol

KRIS: I feel like it’s also a thing that could be used to show character

Cristina and Burke might not bother to learn names

But Meredith would

MARCHAE: So would Izzie and George

KRIS: George and Izzie definitely would

MARCHAE: Alex not so much

KRIS: Derek would

Yeah not Alex, unless he was trying to hook up with them

MARCHAE: Derek might I think unless he's flustered

KRIS: Webber would have at least absorbed everyone’s names through osmosis at this point

MARCHAE: HAHAHAHAHAHHAAH

LOL

KRIS: Okay I can end this rant

MARCHAE: That is hilarious

So were you completely lost with the finale you watched

KRIS: Not as much as I was worried I’d be

But for sure the character turnover was like, oh, maybe I should’ve just jumped right into this season

MARCHAE: Yeah she kills or lets go of lots of people (it's usually where I have to take a break out of frustration with the show)

KRIS: I mean I totally get it, it’s a long time to be on the air

MARCHAE: I don't they should do this for the rest of their lives

Long live #teamgeoizzie

MIRI: ANY PORTMANTEAU THAT INCLUDES “JIZZ” IS NOT OK, MARCHAE. WE’VE HAD THIS CONVERSATION

KRIS: Marchae

MARCHAE: *sorry*

MIRI: SHE’S NOT SORRY. SHE’S LYING, READERS.

KRIS: You know Miri will have to annotate that

MARCHAE: I know but I feel like since we're here and it came up-she'll be fine

KRIS: Do you know if those four leads who are still around have done much other high profile stuff while it’s been on the air?

Even Noah Wyle was in and out of ER for the last few seasons

MARCHAE: Ummmm hmmm I know that Owen was involved in an indie film

But he's the only one I know of

KRIS: But like Meredith, Alex, Bailey, and Webber

MARCHAE: I forget he came later my bad

KRIS: Oh wow, looking at Ellen Pompeo’s IMDB page, not a lot at all besides Grey’s post-2005

MARCHAE: No I just check Chandra Wilson because I thought she'd done broadway

But nope

KRIS: Pompeo’s in a Taylor Swift video and she did a little bit of voice work for a cartoon

and that’s it

I wonder what that’s like

MARCHAE: Oh yeah she was in bad blood for six seconds

KRIS: You become an actor to be different people and then you end up just being this one other person

MARCHAE: You know Sandra Oh said she went to therapy when she decided to leave

KRIS: I believe it

MARCHAE: I have thought about that too

It becomes legitimately a different part of you I'd suspect

Because it's been forever for some of these people

KRIS: Yeah. I wonder if it’s just too exhausting to like go do a feature or something in between seasons when you’re the lead on a 22-24 episode show

MARCHAE: That does seem like a lot

KRIS: Although I would also believe if Ellen Pompeo has trouble getting cast just being a woman over 40

MARCHAE: Which is mind boggling - because she's dynamic

KRIS: She is great, but again it’s not a very showy part

Most of the time

(I mean I don’t want to speculate, I obviously don’t know her life)

MARCHAE: Yeah

So you mentioned that your instructor had some things about the finale

KRIS: Yes

MARCHAE: I'm curious what they were

(By things I mean opinions)

KRIS: She said that the thing the episode is supposed to be about doesn’t really get the act breaks

And that the story that does get the act breaks isn’t really substantial enough to justify it

The most obvious candidate for what the episode is About is Meredith’s VO thing about your world “exploding”

But Stephanie also has a little speech about clenching your fist through necessary pain that seems like it could be a thematic statement

I agree with her that most of the act breaks are not very strong

There’s not much real suspense in whether Stephanie and Erin are going to get through the fire or whatever

And most of those beats just come back right where we left off, and the beat gets resolved without any twist or new information

MARCHAE: I could see that

KRIS: Just, yep, Stephanie made it into the stairwell

Yep, Stephanie got her keycard

MARCHAE: I think my notes even say this isn't their strongest finale

KRIS: Not knowing most of these new characters, it seems like it would have been stronger for Nathan and Owen to get the act breaks?

MARCHAE: I thought there was tension because she's notorious for killing people in the end - so I didn't know if she was going to die

KRIS: But I’m not sure what those would have been either, because they’re mostly just reacting to information they can’t do much with

I thought it was possible Erin would die on the roof

But not before

MARCHAE: But she couldn't die At all because she was keeping Stephanie alive

And Stephanie had to have a reason to live thus leave

So ultimately I can agree with your teacher on all accounts my note says the episode seems weird

I think you may have articulated what I couldn't put my finger on

KRIS: Yeah, and I do think that from what I’ve seen Grey’s is usually really good about tying its storylines together with the theme of the episode

MARCHAE: (I also thought the dialogue was odd - stating something we'd already seen)

KRIS: Heavy-handed but effective

And here there was no real emotional link between the fire story and the Megan story

K: Now that my class has met I do want to clarify what Writing Teacher meant. Writing Teacher is usually a big proponent of Grey’s; along with The West Wing and Friends it’s one of her most frequent touchstones for story structure and theme, and how those things work best when they’re in concert. She talks about having a “tree” when you write anything, the thematic and emotional core that can and must stay intact no matter what else you change in the course of writing and rewriting. And the tree here was, or should have been, that story about Megan and how her homecoming affects the relationships of Meredith, Owen, et al. To her guess, the problems of poor/no suspense were not the real problem, but symptoms of “draft drift” as the writers lost sight of the Megan tree and tried to manufacture artificial drama out of a Finale! gimmick that was doomed to fail precisely because they didn’t relate it to the theme they started with. (Except literally, I guess, in terms of your world exploding.)

MARCHAE: I may have to watch the episode before to see what was happening

KRIS: And whatever was going on with Jackson trying to be a hero

MARCHAE: I thought it was a call back to an episode before he saved a kid from a bus and scared Kepp to death

(Also the perpetual beeping almost made me shut the episode off)

(Complete aside)

KRIS: This isn’t totally related but it’s a great piece about writing suspense/action that everyone should read

By one of my favorite showrunners

The gist of it is that you need to have multiple live possibilities for how an action scene should end if it’s not going to just be taking up time

“Don't write action sequences. Write suspense sequences that require action to resolve. ... every action sequence has its own internal three act structure. Objective, complication, resolution. And not only that, but the complication needs to be something which forces a choice on the character, not just a complication in physical circumstances.”

And this was generally not the case in those Stephanie scenes

MARCHAE: Ahhhhh

So my argument for her is that we just needed an event/thing to get her off

KRIS: You could sort of see how it could’ve been, with the stuff you said about Erin keeping her alive

MARCHAE: The show and make her realize she needs to be away from the hospital

KRIS: But it didn’t feel like the emphasis

What’s her story?

MARCHAE: Stephanie? She comes as an intern in season 9

Her group loses several interns by way of death

KRIS: Geez

MARCHAE: She and Avery were kind of a thing

I never thought it was as serious as she did

KRIS: HA

MARCHAE: But he breaks up with her after at Kepps wedding

When He decides hey I want Kepp

Embarrassing her and making her feel like an idiot

She's not, in my opinion, liked much by all of her peers at first but they end up getting to be better friends

I stopped there because I'm in the middle of that season

(And yang leaves and I'm not ready for that nonsense)

I like her but from 9-11 I don't feel like she's terribly well developed and the relationship with Avery isn't either

KRIS: It seems like the cast also just got a lot bigger

It didn’t seem like all the regulars were even in this

MARCHAE: They revolve really we lose interns and doctors go

KRIS: But also it felt like there were characters currently there and in the credits who weren’t part of the story. I think Alex is only in that one scene where Meredith tells him to help look for Erin?

MARCHAE: I think in this episode you saw most everyone except a few

Yeah jo also wasn't there

She's in Stephanie's class

KRIS: And Jo is one of the few people whose (actor) names I recognized so I was weirdly disappointed

MARCHAE: I need to watch the episode before the finale I bet they were in that one

KRIS: I do like Kevin McKidd; Rome on HBO was great

I don’t think I have any other season 1-2 notes, but I can take questions

Man we didn’t even cover Ellis, but I feel like there’s more stuff Meredith is about to learn in season 2

MARCHAE: So much

And Merediths half sister and her other half sister

KRIS: Right, Miri wants to do one of these after I meet Lexie

MARCHAE: YES!!!!

MIRI: For the first few episodes of Supergirl I called Alex ALexie because I couldn’t let go of my Chyler Leigh associations, despite how different the roles are. And I’m excited for Kris to see those differences! But also come on--both are the sister of the blonde lead/title character, both named some variant on Alexandra/ria. It’s a lot.

KRIS: Oh I do like Joe the bartender and Joe’s the bar

MARCHAE: Oh kris

KRIS: But I feel like they probably should’ve introduced Joe before the episode where he was a patient

MARCHAE: You get to know him I think

KRIS: You know, before watching for this reaction I’d probably seen at least as much of Private Practice as I had of Grey’s

Which is to say five or six episodes

Private Practice had more actors I already recognized

MARCHAE: Oh that's another good one I didn't finish it though

MIRI: I did finish it, because my loyalty to Addison Montgomery runs DEEP

KRIS: Like, almost everyone, really

Tim Daly voiced Superman in the 90s animated series

MARCHAE: I LOVE HIMMMMM

he's on madam secretary

It's good

KRIS: Amy Brenneman, obviously

MARCHAE: I agree watch more and I want another reaction!!! Stat<---see what I did there

Yeah taye diggs I think is also in that show

KRIS: Yeah, I knew him from something

Oh I guess that’s it actually

Okay so like half the cast

OK I’ll keep watching Grey’s

And I’ll pick up Private Practice when Addison gets spun off

MARCHAE: YES

YESsssss

I wanna react to that with you also!

KRIS: I do like Kate Walsh

I feel like that’s actually not a super popular opinion but I’m not sure

MARCHAE: She just had an article out a couple of days ago about watching herself on tv

I like her a lot

KRIS: I don’t have much interest in 13 Reasons Why but I know she’s in that

MIRI: She is???

I thought the pilot of Bad Judge was fun but didn’t see more of it

MIRI: I loved it SO much

MARCHAE: I haven't seen 13 reason the book was traumatic but I'm confident she's stunning in it

So let's say we check back in on august for reaction part two!!!!

KRIS: We’ll see

Maybe if I’ve gotten to season 4 we bring the others into this

MARCHAE: I was just throwing it out there

🤓🤓

KRIS: But if we do a Grey’s check-in we also need to do either a Crazy Ex check-in with you or an Orphan Black check-in with Lemon

And OBVIOUSLY our Sweet/Vicious check-in

MARCHAE: That's very fair!

I also started the Tina Fey show

KRIS: I’m not even going to identify it here, that deserves an annotation

MIRI: Does she mean 30 Rock??

K: She 1000 percent means 30 Rock

I feel like we have a lot that’s sort of vaguely on the docket but not a lot of For Sure We’re Going to Talk About This Next

Lemon mentioned something yesterday or the day before

Oh, Hello--2 man Broadway show now on Netflix

Miss Sloane, The Leftovers, possibly Cable Girls

...

Spider-Man

MIRI: YES!!!

MARCHAE: I can't react to spider man so I'll leave you and Miri for that

And atomic blonde

MIRI: YES!!!!! Y’all, the first trailer for Atomic Blonde is still my favorite movie of the year. I’ve watched it 16 times. One of those times was right now, because I had to pull it up to do the link and then obviously I couldn’t not watch it. I would do a whole reaction on just that first trailer.

KRIS: YES

Okay dear readers

I’m personally a big fan of The AV Club and Vulture and Vox Culture

but if those aren’t your thing

we hope you’ll Pick Us, Choose Us, Love Us for your pop culture reaction needs

(too much?)

(I’ll show myself out)

MARCHAE: YESssssss

MIRI: Amazing

Not enough Kris, not enough!

#Grey's Anatomy #Shondaland #Shonda Rhimes #Meredith Grey #Ellen Pompeo #Marchae #Kris #TV #pilot #Miri after the fact #reaction

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