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kiachiako · 2 years

Text

hold fast | l.jn

pairing | jeno x female!reader

synopsis | After finding hand scribbled messages in a novel of the quaint bookshop you work at, you start a paper dependent back-and-forth with an anonymous penman; a small part of you, however, hopes that your brother’s cold best friend may have a hand in their mysterious appearances.

content | brother!jaemin, brother!jaehyun, au, fluff, language warning

wc | 11.1k

song | all the stars — kendrick lamar, sza

a/n | my first longer fic, hope u enjoy it! leave any and all feedback, i’d love to hear ur thoughts :))

…

Maybe it was the caffeine rushing through your veins at the ripe hour of 3 am, a seemingly perfect time to sneak out of your parents' house. Or maybe it was the desperation to get away from your textbooks haunting you out of sleep, leading to an all-nighter in which you almost caved into the temptation to burn your hellish flashcards. When the devil couldn't reach you, he sent not only a brother to torment your every waking moment but a Satan reincarnate called physics summer homework. Who assigns homework during the summer anyway?

Wanting to get away from the stress of life for a while, you had planned to walk out your front door unbothered. But of course, nothing goes without the notice of your twin brother.

Neon lights highlighting the sharp angles on his face, Jaemin's eyes trailed your walking form as you attempted to sneak out through the living room an hour earlier. With his gaming set-up littered with empty wrappers and neglected work, you returned his stare with disgust as he reclined on the couch without a care in the world.

Fortunately, Jaemin cared more about the game he was winning than you traipsing out in the dark alone; judging by the screaming that was blaring through his headphones, he'll be up playing with his closest friends into the late morning.

They're all like him: infuriatingly annoying and always too loud. So loud that you purposely make plans to go out whenever you see his friends pull up to the Na household. You're sure that at least some of them are kinder than your brother, but you've never stuck around long enough to find out.

Although it might not appear so to others, you and Jaemin's relationship is anything but bad; he cares for you in the most tsundere of ways, and his constant teasing is simply the nature of his own personality. You know that he will call you in a good two hours to make sure you're alive (although he'll probably argue that the call is not out of love, but because his hoodie has mysteriously disappeared which you or may not have "borrowed" a week earlier).

Your relationship is complimentary like that, unspoken care for each other masked under the daily mocking and ignoring each other at school. Now that your eldest brother, Jaehyun, is away at university, it's just the two of you. You cover for each other when you want to skip out on a few classes or when Jaemin has a girl over that your parents didn't know about, and that works perfectly fine for you. Tonight is no exception.

After unlocking your bike from a nearby pole and walking it down the empty suburban street, it only took a quick ride to reach your final destination.

And that brings you to your current position; staring at the bookstore window with a set of keys dangling precariously from your fingers. Technically this wouldn't be breaking in, right?

At an hour in which the late party-goers have finally stumbled home and the early risers have not yet awoken, there is no one around to see you enter the quaint storefront at said ungodly hour. And so, against your better judgement, you quickly unlock the door and slip into the darkness.

You had chosen the bookstore job over the summer for a reason; it provided not only a quiet place to get away from when the chaos got too much at home, but you were surrounded by endless entertainment. People-watching from behind the counter with a pile of to-be-read books and a glass of iced tea had been your expected routine for the past few months, and it has been more than fulfilled as summer break reaches its end.

The store owner is a kind old woman who insisted on raising your pay within the first week, but she's rarely in town to care for the shop. That leaves you to yourself with a variety of intriguing customers, a plethora of mystery novels, and air conditioning (thank god) to escape to during sticky august heat waves.

And that is also why your soul absolutely leaves your body in shock when you whirl around to face Mrs. Lee — your boss who, by the way, said she wouldn't be back for another month. A surprised noise leaves the back of your throat, awkwardly bowing to her as she stares at you in amusement.

"Mrs. Lee, funny to run into you at this hour. You're back earlier than I expected," you say, wracking your brain for a plausible excuse to why you'd be at the shop six hours before opening time.

"Yes, honey," she replies, turning to the side to put her bag down, "I wanted to come back a little earlier so you wouldn't have to take care of the shop on your own when school starts."

You nod and move a little farther into the shop. "Sorry for coming so early. I just needed somewhere to go for a little bit." The old woman turns to you, her eyes crinkling as she smiles kindly at you.

"Never apologize, Y/N. I understand that we all have our own struggles, hmm?" and with another mysterious smile, she turns her back to you and disappears into the back room.

Still left a bit confused, you shrug, make your way around the counter, and settle into the plush cashier's chair.

With the dim moonlight filtering through azure-tinted display windows and a stinging smell of citrus keeping you company, you find your eyes growing heavier and heavier as the night ticks away.

…

You think you've made it to heaven when you wake up to a halo of sunlight blinding your eyes into oblivion.

And, of course, the blaring ringing of your phone buzzing incessantly on the counter in front of you.

Still in a bit of a haze, you reach for your phone, only to answer to a—

"Jesus fucking christ, Y/N, do you know how long I've been calling you? And," you move the device away from your ear as Jaemin's screeching voice carries over into the previously peaceful bookshop, "where the hell is my black hoodie? I don't care if you're passed out in a ditch somewhere, just get me my hoodie back before school starts tomorrow."

"Shit," you mutter under your breath as you look down at your clothes sheepishly, realizing that the soft fabric you were sleeping on is actually your brother's favorite piece of clothing. Pulling out the remnants of a used blunt from the front pocket, you roll your eyes. Yup, definitely Jaemin's.

Reluctantly dragging yourself from your cozy sleeping spot, you mumble, "okay okay, Jaem. Chill out for a sec, hmm? I'm alive." You make your way over to the door. "But I won't be soon if you keep shouting in my ear like that. You're about to give me a permanent migraine."

Jaemin scoffs before you hear three beeps marking the end of your lovely conversation. Of course he would hang up on you.

After a quick bike ride back to your house to freshen up — in which you thankfully did not run into your brother — you stop by a coffee shop for an americano and make your way back to the bookshop to open up.

Mrs. Lee waves at you with her oversized sunhat and myriad of trinkets in tow, before leaving the shop all to you for the day.

A few uni students and an old man come in throughout the quiet august afternoon, looking for the average last minute history textbooks and poetry collections. You smile at every customer and drink your much-needed caffeine before resuming to the task of cataloging new shipments, a very null job for such a warm day.

And you're still in that state of mind when he walks in. Like a fever dream, if you have to call it something. His pale hair reflects in golden sunlight as it falls comfortably against the nape of his neck, a small pack of cigarettes poking out of his back pocket. Delicate silver chains fall right down the center of his chest, and you can't help but wonder where you have seen a person this stunning. He strikes such a familiar chord in the back of your head, but you just can't pinpoint it.

He carries an untouchable aura, glancing at you before passing to reach the books that reside in the depth of the shop.

So, with your legs comfortably curled up beneath you, you squint at him for a second before deciding that figuring out how you might know him is a waste of brain power.

After he walks away, you try to re-immerse yourself in your novel multiple times, but you can't help but glance up at whatever he's doing. Head tilted, your eyes follow him in curiosity as he confidently makes his way into the romance section. It’s a complete contradiction too, the dark clothing and motorcycle helmet tucked under his arm being the last thing one would expect on an avid romance reader. You like that, no shame.

He disappears out of view, the scent of lime and cedar cologne lingering after him. You grow more confused as he stays in that aisle for ten, twenty, thirty minutes (not that you're counting or anything).

He finally walks out with a non-readable look on his face and his hands empty, devoid of any books. His eyes shine as if he knows something you don't while walking casually past your spot behind the counter.

"Uh, have a good afternoon...?" you call after him as he shoots you a small smile before pushing his way into the summer heat, leaving nothing behind but the pungent smell of citrus and an air of mysteriousness.

"I- everybody is so weird today," you mumble to yourself, shaking your head and leaning back into your chair.

You make a mental note to check out that romance corner later. What could possibly be in the romance section that could keep him in there for over thirty minutes?

You've never had a thing for romantic novels or romance in general, especially after seeing your parent's marriage hit its rough patches and your heartbreaker of a brother in action. Jaemin has an allure about him that makes girls fall right into his trap, and you've watched too many of his flings run out of his room sobbing.

Your mom and dad describe him as "charming." You don't see it.

…

"See what, Jaemin?" You stare at him incredulously. "You're imagining things, there is no damn stain on your clothes." Shoving past your brother with a mouthful of cereal, you call out "we're literally late, hurry up!"

Jaemin shoots you a dirty look, chucking his student ID at you. "I swear to god Y/N— if I see a drop of coffee on my hoodie today, you better sleep with one eye open."

You ignore him and make your way out the front door, taking a deep breath of crisp morning air before you feel a hand knock into the back of your head. Hard. Your brother sticks his tongue out at you cheekily before making his way over to a sleek, black motorcycle. Something he bought to fit the "badboy" agenda he and his friends are so intent on fulfilling.

Swinging your leg over the vehicle behind him, a loud rev fills your neighborhood before you're shooting through the suburban streets that lead to your school.

Two blocks before you reach the entrance, Jaemin stops to let you off. It's always been your tradition; ignore each other's presence at school and no drama will ensue. You know just how much some of his secret admirers would probably go insane if he was seen riding to school with a girl behind him.

"I hope you have a shitty first day," your brother says, still convinced that you spilled your drink onto his sweatshirt this morning. Giving him an irritated look, you wish him the same and turn to walk towards the entrance separately.

Slipping into your assigned homeroom five minutes later, you're met with a girl throwing her arms around you in a bone-crushing hug, her pretty face framed by freshly bleached, blonde hair.

"Sol, you're going to annihilate my lungs if you don't let go of me," you say, pretending to struggle to breathe. The girl behind you giggles, wrapping her arms tighter around you.

"I haven't seen you in a whole month and this is how you treat your best friend? Damn Y/N, I'm hurt."

You and Sol nudge each other playfully, setting your bags down and catching up on each other's summers. The daughter of wealthy business owners, she spends her summer break at her grandparents' estate in Jeju, preventing you from meeting each other.

"God, it's been so long," Sol looks at you with a smile, hopping up to seat herself on the empty teacher's desk. The bell hasn't rung yet, resulting in a half empty classroom and the noise of chatter flooding in from the hall and the open windows. She taps at your school uniform's short skirt teasingly. "We look hot, ready for the first day of hell or what?"

You grin, seated on a student's desk with your feet propped up on a chair.

"I wouldn't be here if I wasn't, now would I?"

…

Only half way through the day and you're ready to go home and drop dead on your mattress. You forgot how tiring school is both physically and mentally, especially with the thought of all the homework assignments you've collected today already.

You collapse against the lockers next to Sol's in the back of the classroom, her eyes scanning your tired face for a few seconds before turning to her handheld mirror.

"Is it just me or do you want to die," you say, turning your head to watch Sol touch up her lip tint.

"Not just you girl," she replies, grabbing the sleeve of your uniform and dragging you down the hall. "Now let's go eat. Food heals the soul." Your eyes light up at the mention of lunch, pace quickening through the crowded halls.

Entering the school cafeteria is like watching a drama unfold before your eyes. You either belong to a group or you don't, the sound of laughing and chatting echoing off of your academy's high ceilings.

Right away, your eyes are drawn to the right after hearing an especially familiar laugh.

With a groan, you nudge Sol's arm.

"Fuck my life, truly." She looks in the direction your eyes are so conveniently averted from and laughs like she's never heard a funnier joke in her life. "I can't believe I didn't think to ask him what lunch he has this semester..." you trail off, Sol still laughing next to you — she's one of the only people who know about the interesting brother-sister relationship you two have, or even the mere fact that the infamous Na Jaemin has a twin sister in the first place. She knows you would die in annoyance to even be mentioned in the same sentence as him, especially with the stupid persona he holds up to his classmates.

And then there's Jaemin, sitting with his group of friends in all his glory. You look around, spotting a few girls at surrounding tables nudging each other and giggling about how attractive they are (something that you could definitely go without hearing about).

You tap Sol, nodding to your own group of friends across the cafeteria.

The moment you turn away just happens to be the moment your brother catches sight of you, his smile wiping right off his face. He glances down at the silver bento box you're holding, mouthing something incomprehensible to you with an annoyed expression on his face.

You pause and look down at the box, letting out a groan when you realize that you must have taken Jaemin's lunch instead of yours this morning. You would honestly rather buy lunch from school, but your parents insist on taking leftovers from dinner instead.

Sol glances at all the girls staring at your brother's table, looks at you, and breaks out in a man-eating grin. "Good luck with that," she whispers to you, referring to the first time you're going to be interacting with your idiot of a sibling at school. "I'll be over," she points, "there!" And with that, she leaves you alone to fend for yourself while your friends get free entertainment.

You sigh before begrudgingly making your way over to Jaemin. You can feel the eyes on you, but frankly, you can't bring yourself to care anymore. Jaemin has caused you this much trouble throughout your life already by making you walk to class when he could simply drop you off at the entrance. A little interaction won't hurt.

"—and I know right, she's not even all that. I swear, the nerve of girls these days..." a boy with striking features and blonde streaks through his hair trails off mid sentence, his eyes glancing up and down your figure as you stroll up to your brother.

You stare at Jaemin for a second before tossing him his lunch, the box hitting the table much harder than you intend it to.

"Hey hey, woah there," Jaemin raises his eyebrow at you, "no need to be so aggressive with me."

You frown, gesturing to your lunch in his hands. "Can I have mine now—"

You're interrupted by a hand on your arm. "Who's this Jaemin, a new thing of yours or what?"

You and Jaemin almost gag at the same time. He turns to his friend, incredulous.

"Didn't I tell you that I have a sister? I could've sworn that I've mentioned it before," Jaemin says pointedly at the boy next to him.

"Shush Jaem, I would've remembered if the Na boys had a sister with those genes," he's fast to reply, shooting a grin at you.

"Shut up, Hyuck."

"Her name—"

"Shut up."

"My Kakao—"

"You can shut up now. Before I hit you for real," your brother threatens, raising a fist playfully for added effect.

Mark butts in with a helpful, "Jaem boxes now too."

Your sight unfocuses as Jaemin and his friends continue to add on and bicker among themselves, your eyes wandering to the end of their table.

That's when you catch sight of a familiar mess of white hair, his soft gaze trained on his laughing friends as he fiddles with his silver rings. His uniform jacket is thrown casually over his shoulders, your school's emblemed tie dangling loosely around his collar.

Your eyes widen. The boy from the book shop yesterday. He's my brother's friend?

It's as if you get caught in a trance while staring at him, like you wouldn't be able to physically look away even if you wanted to. He looks simply unreal from where you're standing, the afternoon sun painting shades of gold onto his face as a halo of light seeps through his hair.

You flinch in surprise when his gaze flicks over to you, looking up through his lashes with a hard, unwavering gaze.

Before you can look away, your brother pushes you at the hip and stares up at you with an expression you know all too well: can you leave me the fuck alone now.

You sneak one last glance at the white-haired boy — who’s staring back now — before snatching your lunch from Jaemin’s hands and rushing to your own table. With a groan, you drop your head onto the table as your friends rub your back soothingly.

“Shh, Y/N, I know that must’ve drained you. It’s okay-” Sol laughs, patting your head.

She stops mid sentence when you lift your head up with the most dazed expression she’s ever seen on your face, eyes glazed over and hand trying to hide a smile.

“What happened for you to have a look like that on your face,” Chaeyoung questions, squishing your face between your fingers as you pout at the table.

“Guys,” you start, before letting your head drop down to the table once more. “I think I’m in love.”

…

“What am I even doing,” you mumble to yourself, unlocking the front door with your fingerprint before slipping inside.

You never come home right after school, usually going to the convenience store with your friends or straight to the bookstore to work the evening shift. But, of course, stupid hope has left you with the possibility that he might be at your house today.

Why? Well, your brother may have specifically told you not to come home because he was having friends over for the night. ‘Friends’ means him, and you don’t even know his name yet. You pray that whoever’s-up-there will grant you this in the least.

It had been a pain to get out of the grasp of your prying friends right after school ended, their bombarding questions of, “oh my god, who,” “you better show him to me tomorrow,” and “is he cute,” being too much for you to handle.

It was a blessing that Mrs. Lee had let you off for the day, half of your friends had cram school to occupy them, and the other half had classroom duties as punishment for getting caught drinking at the karaoke bar by the academy director (“I’m just sorry we got caught,” Miyeon had huffed, after trying to convince you that the cheap soju was worth it).

Now you can stay in your room and eavesdrop freely on your brother’s friends as much as you please, and you plan on doing just that.

Touching up your makeup as you lay on your bed, you wait patiently for the familiar rev of a motorcycle entering your house’s gate.

A ding interrupts your train of thought, your phone lighting up beside you.

[My Sol-bear 🫶🫶, 4:39PM] is he here yet

[You, 4:39PM] BRUH WHAT

[You, 4:39PM] HOW DIDYUO EVEN KNOW U PSYCHO

[My Sol-bear 🫶🫶, 4:39PM] ik everything bbg

[My Sol-bear 🫶🫶, 4:40PM] why else would the i-hate-being-at-home Na girly be at home huh

[You, 4:40PM] fuck u bro

[My Sol-bear 🫶🫶, 4:40PM] fuck me yourself

[You, 4:40PM] um bet

[My Sol-bear 🫶🫶, 4:42PM] no bc u better introduce urself to him or i will come over myself and MAKE YOU

[You, 4:42PM] that’s hot

[My Sol-bear 🫶🫶, 4:42PM] Y/N.

[My Sol-bear 🫶🫶, 4:43PM] i’m expecting a marriage date at approximately 8 pm so u better not let me down

Just when you’re about to type out a reply, you hear the familiar whirring of the gate opening before a small click of the front door. Sudden muffled chatter fills the house as you hear your brother enter with his posse in tow, their loud voices and continuous laughter ruining the silence that you had had the pleasure of keeping for exactly ten minutes. You’re pretty sure someone just got shoved against the wall too.

It’s only when they settle in the living room after a while that you decide to make your move, descending slowly down the staircase so as to not make any noise.

You decide to make your grand entrance when Jaemin conveniently gets up from the couch as he talks, heading to the open kitchen to get junk from the fridge. You’re surprised at the number of friends he has over, at least six pairs of eyes following his movements from the living room as he puts drink after drink onto the countertop.

You adjust your sweatpants to sit lower on your waist and fiddle with your top (and yes, you did wear it for your brother’s friend, it took everything to ignore the feminist in you to say you didn’t dress for that man) before moving nonchalantly into everyone’s view, an empty glass in hand that you most definitely did not prepare before-hand.

Jaemin looks up in confusion when his friends go silent, his eyes finally following their gazes to you. You?

“You,” your brother stares at you pointedly, “why are you here.”

You stare at him back.

“Um, why would I not be here? This is my house too, Jaemin. Remember? My name is Y/N. I have the same address as you. I’m your s-i-s-t-e-r,” you roll your eyes, moving to stand beside him at the fridge. He only ignores you in response, shoving you lightly and mumbling a ”move over, will you.”

“God Jaem, you didn’t tell me your sister was here. I would’ve brought flowers and shit,” Donghyuck flirts, moving away from the couch and towards the two of you. You give him a small smile before scanning the couch behind him, face dropping in disappointment when you don’t see your mystery boy.

Where is he?

Jaemin’s other friends, however, are looking at you in curiosity.

“So this is the hot sister,” one boy speaks up first as if coming to a revelation, “I’ve seen you around at school for sure.”

“What the fuck,” Jaemin hisses. “Never say that in front of me again.”

“Wait,” Renjun, who you know from your classes, his eyes perking up as he observes you. “You guys kinda do look alike, Jaem. I can’t believe I never noticed that the only other Na in our class looks like a carbon copy of you.”

You and your brother squint at each other.

“...I don’t see it,” Jaemin speaks up first, shrugging. “Anyway, we’re gonna game for a bit and then order chicken takeout. You want your usual, right?”

You nod and thank your brother before waving goodbye to the boys in your living room, their enthusiastic greetings and waves making your eyes crinkle.

However, just as you turn to go back up the stairs, you run face to face into the same hoodie-clad figure that walked into your shift just a few days ago. His eyes flick down to you as move back a bit, surprised by his sudden proximity. The two of you are so close that you can even smell his cologne, the citrus-y, cedar scent clouding your head.

“Oh Jeno, there you are,” Jaemin barely looks up as he walks over. “Was starting to think you got lost or something. Wouldn’t be surprised,” he mumbles the last part, smirking when Jeno shoots him a glare.

Jeno. I finally have a name to the face.

“Jenoo!” Donghyuck shouts, rushing over to where you stand in front of the said boy.

“You almost missed meeting Jaemin’s sister,” he says enthusiastically, linking his arm with yours before making you wave at Jeno. “The one he was so intent on hiding from us!”

Jeno looks away from his friend to meet your eyes once again, staring at you for what seems like minutes. It’s only after you glance away awkwardly that he mumbles a small “hmm” before making his way to where his friends are engaged in a (very) pointless argument about League. Your gaze follows him as he relaxes into the seat beside Renjun, arm thrown over the back of the couch like he’s in some sort of editorial magazine.

You almost die on the spot.

You also almost forget that Donghyuck is standing oh-so-conveniently next to you, and just happened to see that whole interaction play out. It’s only when you feel a nudge from the boy next to you that you snap out of your daze, just in time to catch Donghyuck’s knowing grin.

“So it’s loverboy, huh?” he teases as you elbow him back. He laughs before leaning down to whisper in your ear.

“Good luck with that one, Na.”

…

You groan into your hands as Sol outright laughs at your misfortune, her head shaking as if she’s just heard the funniest joke of the century.

“He just said ‘hmm’? Jesus Y/N, what did you do to this man,” she asks as you pout at her, the empty bookstore’s AC hum the only sound filling the silence.

You just shrug in response, upset with the fact that Jeno doesn’t have any interest in you in the first place. You could’ve liked any other one of Jaemin’s friends — who, by the way, were all very good-looking and much kinder than you expected for any relation to your brother — but no. You just had to choose the one whose first word to you wasn’t even a word.

You’re still in a mood about the whole thing when Sol gets up to leave for her evening job at a cat café, the dark rain clouds outside and humid air seeping into the shop doing nothing to help you.

After sulking a bit more, you decide to organize the shelves in the back of the store. It’s comfortable; the smell of wood and paper never fails to ease your constantly running thoughts, the soft glow from stained-glass lamps illuminating Mrs. Lee’s timely, leather love-seats situated between each mahogany shelf.

You go down each aisle, pushing spines back into their places and reordering by author name, slowly making your way into the dreaded romance section.

You start at the bottom, blowing dust away from the old books that struggle to be sold to everyday customers. As you make your way up, you notice a splotch of white at the very top shelf in the corner of the store. The darkness that surrounds the space makes the white gleam even brighter, a closer look revealing that it’s the pages of a book that are turned outward, not its spine.

“Wha-” you mumble as you squint at the book whose spine is turned inward. “What kind of idiot…” You trail off, slowly coming to the silent realization that there could only be one person who had wandered off into the shelves of romance this week (and reach that high up).

Jeno.

With a new determination, you grab the shop’s rolling ladder and slowly make your way up to the fabled book. You reach your arm out and snatch it from its place, blowing a thin layer of dust off its cover.

Your eyes scan over its cover: Pride and Prejudice. Pride and Prejudice?

You flip through the book in confusion, pondering why this novel specifically would be so important to him. You almost skip over the tiny splotch of writing on the inner cover, it’s messy handwriting easy to miss as you bring the book up to your face to read it.

[personal copy]

“Is not general incivility the very essence of love.”

Return to same place when done.

You turn the book around in your hands, confused at the words and wondering if it really is Jeno.

Making your way back to your place at the front of the store, you settle down and decide to read it anyway besides your hatred for the genre. With a warm mug of tea and small box of Pepero to keep you company, you find yourself drowning in the world of Jane Austin as the seconds turn to hours.

One exception can’t hurt.

…

You see Jeno in the cafeteria a week after you find the first book, the copy tucked neatly under your arm as you walk with Chaeyoung and Miyeon to your table. You can hear snippets of their conversation as you pass them, your friends giving you a look when they catch sight of Jeno (it was an unfortunate case of, “Y/N, if you don’t tell me which of these boys has you rushing home at the bell everyday I will pour bleach in your koi’s tank and won’t feel sorry about it,” that led to your entire friend group’s incessant teasing whenever Jeno simply breathed in your proximity).

You snap your head around when you hear Donghyuck’s voice above the others, his laugh bringing everyone’s attention to their table.

“Oh my god, Jeno’s reading a fucking romance book right now,” Donghyuck’s mouth drops open, genuinely concerned about the fact that his friend isn’t even the slightest embarrassed to be flipping through the pages of the thin novel. Jeno doesn’t even look up when your brother jokes that he didn’t know his best friend was “this soft.”

You clutch Pride and Prejudice a bit tighter in your arms as you move away from them, mind whirling as the possibility of the book in your hands being Jeno’s increases by the second. You’ve even been seeing him a lot more often at your house and on the weekends, even though he rarely leaves your brother’s gaming setup in the basement; but hey, the fact that he’s even there makes your heart want to drop out of your chest.

…

It’s a cool September afternoon when the next book comes to you, and its random appearance questions everything that you think you’ve figured out so far.

Mrs. Lee has left the bookstore to you once again, refusing to hire any other help for some odd reason; Jeno hasn’t come into the shop since the first time you saw him, so there’s no way he could’ve gotten it into the shop without you noticing — you swear that you have a sixth sense reserved solely for him.

So then how come there’s a book flipped inward smack dab in the middle of the romance section this time, its frayed pages standing out as you stand frozen in front of it?

You can’t help the nerves that bubble up in you as you pull it from off the shelf.

Its velvet cover is a mix of nectar and ambrosia, the sweet smell of sugar wafting across the shop as you bring the thick book to your spot at the front counter. Flipping the cover open, you’re surprised to see a familiar title: Norwegian Wood.

Humming in anticipation, you search through the text to find a certain hand-written message that could possibly serve as an explanation. It’s situated on the last page of the novel this time, the black ink bleeding delicately onto its yellowed page.

[personal copy]

“‘Letters are just pieces of paper,’ I said. ‘Burn them, and what stays in your heart will stay; keep them, and what vanishes will vanish.’”

Burn this book when you’re done with it, or return it here if you don’t; your decision would still speak ten-thousandfold to me.

You gape at the messy hangul’s intent, reading it over and over again before pulling out your own pen and making the split-second decision to write a little message back.

I disagree. Don’t you think you’re taking Murakami’s words a bit too literally here? Sure, sentimental value might always stay with the art’s viewer, but being able to keep personally meaningful pieces will forever be more valuable as a takeaway.

You cap your pen with a huff before slotting the novel back where you found it, its spine turned outwards for your own petty reasoning.

He doesn’t know what he’s talking about, you think to yourself.

…If it’s even Jeno… you add on, disappointed at your new development.

Now that he hasn’t even returned to the shop, could you have gotten the person’s identity wrong this whole time?

…

“Sol! That hurts ass,” you complain, tapping the girl’s thigh in succession as she attempts to curl your hair.

“Shush, babe. Beauty is pain,” she retorts, meeting your eyes through the mirror as she kneels behind you. Your room looks like a teen movie set, makeup sprawled across the floor around your criss-crossed figure as you hold up jewelry to your neck to choose from. “Chae, Miyeon, and Yuna are coming in ten mins to pick us up so if you mess up my masterpiece, I will actually end you.”

You get up from the floor slowly, changing into your going out fit before joining Sol at the floor length mirror.

“Oooh Y/N, we actually look so hot right now,” she exclaims, posing with you for fun before frowning. “Jungwoo better ask me out today at Johnny’s party.”

“He will, he will,” you reassure her, gathering up your purse. “He’s 100% in love with you, and even Jaemin can see it. He literally asked me if you two were a thing.”

Sol looks at you with wide eyes, the sheer excitement in them making you happy too. At least one of you is having luck in their love life.

“Wait, imma run to the bathroom real quick and then we can leave, okay? Can you tell them to wait out front?” Sol nods at you before returning to her phone as you slip into the dark hallway of your quiet house.

After washing your hands quickly, you open the door to a body running right into you, causing you to lose your balance and stumble into the wall.

“Shit,” a voice sounds out, two hands steadying you as you regain reality before your vision finally focuses on the boy in front of you, “you okay? You didn’t hit anything, right?”

You can only stare at Jeno, his concerned tone catching you off guard.

This is the first time he’s actually speaking to me.

“I- yeah. Yeah, I’m good. Are,” you stumble over your words, becoming acutely aware of the fact that his hands are still on your arm and waist, “are you hurt anywhere?”

He shakes his head before mumbling another apology, his deep voice being the only thing you can focus on.

“Jaem’s downstairs and we’re doing some project,” he rambles a bit, taking his hand off your arm to brush his hair back. You can’t help but feel disappointed at the lack of touch, but the shyness he’s displaying completely catches you off guard.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me, Jeno. You practically live in our basement,” you reply, lips pulling up into a small smile. For the very first time, he smiles back at you.

“I’m sorry if I scared you, Y/N.”

And with a dozen more awkward apologies, you rush out to Yuna’s car five minutes late with a warm blush on your cheeks that hadn’t been there before.

…

By the time the third book appears, you’ve already anticipated it enough to clear your schedule for the afternoon. Determined to finish it as fast as possible, you bring the copy of 엄마를 부탁해 (Please Look After Mom) home with you to read on the comfort of your own house.

There’s a long letter written out in the front cover of the novel, it’s now familiar handwriting making you focus on their words and opinions that seem to know exactly how you think. You smile down at the phrases they use, the little references from the previous book appearing every so often.

Hours pass by as you emerge yourself in the world of So-Nyo, your pen scratching out every thought you have and every question that flickers through your mind. Your reply to their last message takes up both covers this time, your lips pursed as you focus intently on your writing.

With your headphones fit snugly around your head, you startle when Jaemin appears four inches from your face.

“Jesus Christ Jaem- what was the reason,” you push his face away, your line of sight just missing the fact that his best friend has just taken the seat next to you on the living room couch.

You startle a second time when a hand taps your shoulder, your eyes widening when you see Jeno offering you a glass of water from your side.

“You haven’t got up in a while,” he says softly, wrapping your fingers around the glass.

You’re surprised he’s even noticed, the sweet gesture catching Jaemin by surprise as well. Your brother looks between the two of you suspiciously, narrowing his eyes when he zeros in on Jeno staring at the book in your hands.

“That’s not weird at all…” he says, still put off by the foreign look on his best friend's face. “Anyway, you going to our party today? Sol told me that you guys were coming.”

You almost choke on your water, looking up at your brother in confusion.

“Me? She said that we- what?” You stumble over your words, surprised — you really shouldn’t be at this point — that she was going to yet another party for the second night in a row.

Your brother holds back laughter at your reaction, knowing Sol and her tendencies all too well by now.

“Uh huh, it’s at Jeno’s house this time,” he adds on as you turn your head to give a questioning look to said boy. He just shrugs, face nonchalant while Jaemin is visibly elated. “His parents literally left like six cases of beer in their cellar. What do you expect us to do, not make use of it?”

The look you give your brother has him sticking his tongue out at you, leaning over to tap your forehead.

Before you can reciprocate, Jeno hands you a thin pen, its silver plating glittering in the light. You look up at him in confusion.

“Yours is running out of ink,” he points out to you, referring to the pen laying in your open book. The last parts of your writing have faded, your mouth open in an “oh” as you realize that he’s right.

You think about your next action carefully.

“Jeno,” you say, leaning a little closer. He tenses at your voice saying his name, something he hopes you don’t process. “Thank you for noticing.”

That one line seems so much deeper than it does at surface level, the two of you sharing a moment of mutual understanding. You feel like you haven’t even had a proper conversation with this man, yet there’s definitely some sort of tension here that wasn’t there before.

Jeno gives you a small grin before getting up to follow Jaemin to the basement, his leather bomber on his shoulders and backpack in tow as he spends another one of his evenings in the Na household.

…

“No. Way,” you exclaim, dropping your bag and books on the ground of your foyer, Jaemin next to you doing the same as you both gape at the figure in front of you.

You rush forward as he opens his arms, your “Jaehyun!” ringing through the house as he pulls you into his chest. His familiar warmth relaxes you immediately, your arms still latched around his as Jaemin comes over to greet your older brother.

“Hyung! Why didn’t you tell us you were coming back from uni already,” Jaemin frowns, walking into the kitchen where your parents sit and watch their childrens’ reunion with adoration.

“Don’t be upset, Jaem,” Jaehyun ruffles his younger brother’s hair, “Yonsei had an early break so I wanted to surprise you guys before I go back to Seoul.”

Your twin lights up at the word Yonsei, his dream school triggering an immediate response as he begs Jaehyun for more details about his life at university. The conversation continues until dinner, the two of you elated to have him back home for even a little bit.

Jaehyun’s dimples make an appearance as you and Jaemin argue over who gets to sit with who for dinner, the latter huffing when you refuse to let go of Jaehyun’s arm.

Your older brother was like a lifeline when you were younger, always acting as a peacemaker whenever you fought with Jaemin or over-stressed yourself from school. Both of you look up to him so much, his kind nature and ability to get along with anybody acting as a guide for how to survive high school. The age gap of four years was never an issue for the three of you, and you got along as any normal siblings would with your own ups and downs.

You lean your head on Jaehyun’s shoulder after dinner, his presence alone comforting you greatly as Jaemin leaves to attend to the front door. You don’t even look up when you hear two new voices in the house, their footsteps getting louder as they reach where you and your older brother are.

Jaemin observes closely as Jeno and Donghyuck enter his living room, the former’s expression twitching in the slightest that he almost misses it completely.

It’s only when Jaehyun mumbles a confused, “why is he glaring at me,” that you accidentally meet the dark eyes of Jeno, who’s staring intently at your brother with a look you’ve never seen on him before.

Jaemin shakes his head with a smile, nudging Jeno in the process.

“Chill bro, that’s my older brother-”

“That’s Jaehyun? The Jaehyun?” Donghyuck interrupts with a sense of awe, situating himself next to your amused older brother before bombarding him with questions (you pretend you don’t hear the “how the hell did you hack the administrative office’s computer system? And find a way to get edibles through room check? You’re a fucking legend at school, you know,” from Donghyuck).

Jeno’s face visibly relaxes when he hears the name Jaehyun, tossing his bag next to his friends’ before making his way to the rest of you.

Was he… jealous?

You shake the thought from your head. No way.

Yet you can feel Jeno’s eyes on you as Donghyuck talks your brother’s ear off, while you refuse to meet his stare. You think you might combust, and your possible delusions certainly do nothing to help you.

A ding from your phone comes at the perfect time, the “We’ll break down your door if you don’t open it in five, four, three…” text from Chaeyoung giving you the excuse to jump up and drag your friends inside the house.

After your friends introduce themselves to Jaehyun — and raise their eyebrows at you after seeing the infamous Jeno on your living room couch — they take over your bedroom upstairs and trifle through your closet. You just let them, throwing your exhausted self onto your bed.

“We’re heading over to Jeno’s first, ‘kay?” Jaemin yells up the stairs. You shout an incoherent sound back, closing your eyes immediately after.

After an hour of fighting sleep while your friends get ready, they force you into a tight-fitting top and skirt and fuss over how many guys will definitely obsess over you tonight. You’re frankly after only one person, and his recent actions confuse you to the point that your brain hurts every time you think about him.

...

When you arrive at Jeno’s estate, the party’s already in full swing. You can see people stumble around in the front lawn, the heavy bass of music filling the entire block as Yuna links her arm with yours to pull you along to the entrance.

It’s crowded and hot as you enter, Sol being stolen along the way by her new boyfriend. The sound is deafening, with Johnny controlling the music in the corner and people all over each other, their figures spread throughout the Lee property. You don’t even see any of Jaemin’s friends, their tall statures no match for the sheer number of people there are.

“Holy shit,” you hear Miyeon say. “Did they invite the entirety of Korea or what?”

You finally get an answer after at least ten minutes of mingling around, when you finally see a truly familiar face. Donghyuck’s signature smirk appears in front of you and Yuna as you head towards the kitchen for drinks.

“Crazy right?” He laughs, the brown liquid in his solo cup sloshing around as he drags the two of you to the counter. “We weren’t expecting this many, but Jaehyun said that we should throw a big one if we’re gonna throw one at all.” You roll your eyes at your older brother’s classic antics; you can even imagine the exact tone of his voice as he relayed that to Donghyuck earlier in the day.

“Just big?” Yuna’s eyes go comically wide, turning around to survey the number of bodies in the kitchen alone. “Nah, this is like fucking Project X, Hyuck.”

His proud grin alone tells you everything you need to know.

You lose Donghyuck a few minutes later, his dark red hair hard to catch as he weaves between guests to seemingly greet them all. Yuna pours you her own concoction, your eyes following her movements with worry as she pours three times more parts soju to cider, the alcohol content making you dizzy already.

“I’m a lightweightt, Yuna,” you remind her.

“Y/N, just let loose tonight, hm? You never drink more than a few shots and this party is way too hype for you to not be drunk for it,” she sing-songs, pushing the drink towards you. “Bottoms up.”

With a weary look, you down the sweet mixture in one go and cringe as it leaves a bitter aftertaste.

Without even a moment to pause, you let your friend pull you towards another group of people from your school in the next room. The alcohol reaches your head fast, your face warming as you’re handed another shot from a classmate. Time goes by too fast for you to keep track, your motions blurry and eyes hazy as you get pulled along to new locations every few minutes.

The clock reads 1am, and two rounds of truth or dare, one game of paranoia, and another tense match of beer pong later is when you’re finally able to get away from all the activities. You take a seat by yourself on the staircase, leaning your head against the wood railing to stop it from pounding so much. Focusing on your breathing, you pray that the hangover that will greet you tomorrow morning will be a tame one.

“Need some company?” a sudden voice offers in front of you. You will your eyes to focus in the dim lights on the person’s face, but all you can hear is his heavy breathing as he leans closer to you. The smell of marijuana on his breath makes you lean back, uncomfortable at his advances.

“No, thank you,” you turn your head away, trying to show your disinterest as he places his hand on the stair next to you. The smoke from his breath rises in rings in front of him, fogging up your vision even more.

“Come on pretty, we’ll have fun,” he promises, moving too close as your personal bubble decreases by the second. He grabs your arm and tightens his grip around your wrist. “I know you want it-”

“Lay off, man,” a voice sounds out from behind you, a dark figure coming down the stairs to move between you and the stranger protectively. “She already said no.”

Jeno.

You don’t know what expression he’s given the man, but it sure is enough to make him back away. He gives Jeno a glare before reluctantly letting go of your arm.

Offering a hand out to you, you let Jeno support your weight as the two of you make your way up to the quiet third floor, the party still at its high downstairs. He helps you into a room at the end of the hall, and that’s when you realize it’s his room.

He seats the two of you on his bed before returning with a glass of water.

“Drink,” he orders softly, wanting you to sober up a bit before attempting to talk at all.

You sit in silence with him for a while, your quiet breaths and low hum of a record player spinning in the background being the only noise to fill the space as he watches you.

“I’m drunk,” you say to no one in particular after a long stretch of silence, your little frown making Jeno look at you in amusement.

“I’m glad you’re aware,” he deadpans. “Have more of this.”

You just look at the water in his hands, a weird sense of déja vu overcoming you as you recall a memory of this same exchange happening just a few weeks ago.

“Okay, dad,” you grumble, the sudden surge of liquid confidence showing that you already know you’ll regret in the morning. “You’re not my real dad.”

“At least you’re coherent enough to recognize that,” Jeno snorts, lifting an eyebrow as you finish the water anyway.

“I didn’t know you could use big words like that,” you mutter, getting distracted by drawing little designs on his bed comforter. “You only ever say like ten words max to me.”

Jeno’s eyes soften at your words, not even being able to reply before you change the subject.

“Why aren’t you down there with everyone else,” you ask, watching his freshly washed hair drop little rivulets of water onto his hoodie. They dampen the fabric, the little cross around his neck just barely visible underneath. “It’s your house.”

“Not really my thing,” he mumbles, relaxing on the bed next to you and leaning his head against the wall. You nod in understanding, mirroring his position before falling into a stagnant silence once again. Your eyes close on their own, a sudden fatigue overtaking your body. “You- you can rest here for a while, if you want. I’m just finishing a paper for class anyway,” he offers suddenly, turning to look at you.

“For real? One of Jaemin’s friends doing homework on a Friday night? I’m impressed, Jeno,” You yawn, tilting your head at him.

“For real.” His shy smile and averted gaze going unnoticed by you. “I’ll get a more comfy shirt for you from my mom’s closet,” he adds, making sure you’re okay by yourself before leaving you alone.

You take this chance to look around, your tired eyes scanning his room. His decor is unexpected, the dark and chic aura he usually carries not reflected at all in his personal space. The room is neat, a plethora of old film posters and polaroids lining the wall with his guitar hanging proudly next to his bed. Little letter blocks spell out the characters in Jeno’s name on his desk, the rest of the space being taken up by stationary and picture frames of his friends and family. There’s a record player a few feet away from you, the library of vinyls taking up the whole bottom shelf of his bookcase.

You gasp. The bookcase.

Your mouth opens in awe as your eyes scan the plethora of titles, with genres ranging from decade-old biographies to the fabled romance novels that your brother constantly teases him about. Model cars sit in a glass case at the top, right next to a stack of books that take up the width of the shelf.

Wait.

You squint your eyes to read the spines of those in the stack, your brain sobering up in seconds as you register what’s in front of you.

Pride and Prejudice. Norwegian Wood.엄마를 부탁해 (Please Look After Mom).

“No way,” you breathe out, leaning off the bed so you can make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you.

“I’m back,” Jeno comes in suddenly, closing the door behind him. “my mom didn’t really have any shirts I thought you would like, so here’s mine instead. It was just washed like-”

He pauses, knowing something’s wrong when you don’t answer him. Looking up, he follows your gaze to the top of his bookshelf.

“You’re,” you swallow, getting up, “the one who- it was you?”

Jeno stops in his tracks, the forgotten shirt hanging limply from his arm as you make eye contact with each other.

He wants to deny it, say it wasn’t him who left little notes for you in the bookshop whenever he saw you feeling down, but he just can’t. He can’t do that to you.

With a sigh, he seats himself on the hardwood floor and just stares at the books in a contemplative silence.

“I think I knew who you were long before you ever noticed me,” Jeno finally confesses after a few minutes, the usually confident boy glancing out the window with a new sense of bashfulness.

Your heart beats faster at his words: Lee Jeno? Knew… me?

“I’d figured out that you were Jaemin’s sister long before he told us. He’d accidentally left his phone unlocked when I was over one afternoon last year; you and him are his lockscreen, you know,” he flicks his eyes over at you as you sink down to sit on the floor across from him, this new wave of information taking time to process in your brain. “To be honest, I started to notice you everywhere; at school, at the noraebang, even getting off of Jaem’s motorcycle one morning like a block away from the academy.”

You roll your eyes at the last part, Jeno’s added commentary of “why does he even do that,” causing you to nod your head fast in agreement.

“You gotta tell Jaemin that that whole ploy was completely pointless,” you say, shaking your head at just one example of your brother’s incredibly stupid ideas. Jeno laughs at your indignant expression, obviously familiar with said stupid ideas.

“And then,” Jeno continues, resting his arm just behind you against the bed frame, “you got that job at the bookstore downtown during the summer,” You smile subconsciously, just the thought of your second home filling you with warmth. “Mrs. Lee is my grandmother, you know.”

You turn to him incredulously, mouth open in shock.

“You’re kidding, Jeno,” you say, eyes wide as you stare at him. The gears in your head working at 100 kilos an hour, you finally understand the one thing that’s been living in the corner of your mind for the past few weeks. “So it was you who put the books there for me to find. You have the keys to the shop too, don’t you?”

Your questioning draws a sheepish grin out of the boy, and that’s when you realize that your conclusion is spot on.

“I couldn’t help it,” he continues, leaning closer to you. “I just couldn’t introduce myself to you in person when it actually came to doing it. And, on top of that, Jaemin would absolutely murder me. You’ve seen his reaction to Donghyuck’s flirting, and he’s not even serious half the time.”

He sighs, looking at his lap.

“Grandma says you’re the only reason why her shop is still open, and I just wanted to be able to communicate with you in the one way I know I can.”

You nod slowly, understanding Jeno more and more as he talks. Literature. He knows his way around literature.

“And then we actually met, and I really froze up that time,” he sighs, putting his fingers up to his temple in frustration. “I couldn’t even say anything to you.”

“Oh my god, Jeno,” you say, “was that what the ‘hmm’ was about when I first ran into you in our kitchen?” He nods, cheeks dusted with a faint blush. “That was truly a humbling experience, I literally told Sol about it and she laughed at me.”

Jeno groans in embarrassment as he throws his head against the bed, arm covering his face so he doesn’t have to relive that moment.

“You looked really pretty that night though, you know,” he mumbles through his arm, laughing when you bring your hands up to your face in mortification. He reaches out to gently take your hands away, his fingers circling lightly around your wrists. “It’s true.”

Jeno pauses just a few inches away from you, his gaze locked on yours as you both still in tandem. You could lean forward just a little and your noses would be touching. Before either one of you can move, however, the blaring sound of your phone’s screeching ringer goes off.

You can hear the huff of disappointment from Jeno as you pick up the call, putting the phone up to your ear.

“Y/N, where the fuck are you,” Sol’s voice shouts into the speaker. You can hear the bass of the party’s music blast through her side of the call, stifling her voice as she strains to listen for a response from your side. “Jungwoo’s gonna drive us home ‘cuz he’s a freak and somehow still sober.” You hear a faint “shut up, you know you love me,” in response.

“Give me two minutes and I’ll be down.”

You hang up the call quickly before turning your attention back to Jeno, who’s no longer beside you.

He stands in front of his bookshelf with his back facing you, thumbing through the novels on his shelf until he finds the one he’s looking for. He holds out the book for you to take, a bright expression on his face as he waits for your reaction.

“What’s this?” you ask, taking the novel between your hands and reading the cover.

Jeno makes you keep his copy of Agamemnon, your questioning eyes left unanswered as he pushes you out of his room with a smile.

“Tell me about it on Monday, yeah? Wanna hear your thoughts.”

…

Weirdly enough, it didn’t stop at just Agamemnon. Jeno started bringing you a book from his personal bookshelf every week, his excuses running along the lines of “I thought that you might like this” to a blatant “I wanted to see you.” Your heart still fluttered whenever you opened the front cover to a small, hand-written message from the boy, his intellectual fountain never running dry when it came to discussing his opinions with you.

Even Jaemin started noticing the shift in your relationship, smacking Jeno on the arm when he would accidentally die in their game from staring at your figure on the couch. He would make sure to visit your room before leaving for the evening, stopping for ten, twenty, thirty minutes more than expected.

And with time, it turned out that Jeno and you had more in common than you originally thought. Your love for music had you listening to his playlists later in the night than you’d like to admit, a playlist of yours dedicated specifically to his recommendations called J<3. You’d rather drop dead than let him see the sappy name though.

Your friends had noticed the change too, your occasional visits to your brother’s table in the cafeteria resulting in incessant teasing from your friends.

“100,000 won he’ll ask her out tomorrow,” Miyeon exclaims, putting her hand down on the caf table with determination.

“Nah girl, you’ve got it all wrong. 100,000 he’ll do it today,” Sol counters, a knowing look on her face as you hide behind your backpack in embarrassment. She may or may not have also run into Jeno buying a bouquet of flowers on the way to school, the said boy silencing her from blabbing with a tteokbokki bribe.

You secretly hope they’re onto something, the possibility consuming your thoughts as you push your way into the Lee bookshop for the afternoon.

What you didn’t expect to see was an untitled book sitting in the middle of your work space, its crimson binding setting apart from any other you’ve seen before. Before you can flip through it in curiosity, however, you notice a small catalog number pasted on its spine.

“Huh,” you mutter, “B612… B612…” you make your way down the shelves until you get to the B600s, placing you coincidently in the romance section of the store. “B610… here!”

You can feel the excitement bubbling up in you as you notice the slot where the book should be is already filled, an unfamiliar title greeting you. Pulling it from its place, you flip it open.

Giving a new meaning to romance.

— J.

A small tap on your shoulder causes you to turn around in surprise, the familiar eye-smile of Lee Jeno meeting you face to face.

“Hey,” he whispers, taking the book from your hands. You let him move in closer, your back hitting the wall before he reaches up to tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Hi,” you smile up at him, the cold jewelry adorning his fingers clinking slightly as he rests a hand beside your waist.

“I was wondering if you’d like to go stargazing with me tonight,” he proposes, eyes flickering between yours as he awaits a response.

“I’d love to, Jeno,” you answer. “Definitely not the same stargazing where you have a bouquet of my favorite flowers ready, right?” you add on, a teasing lilt in your voice as Jeno’s face morphs into one of betrayal.

“Sol is pure evil,” he utters, eyes lost as you giggle at his expression.

He focuses back on you as the sound of your voice rings in his ears, the sight of your happy face leading his line of vision to your lips. You barely notice until he’s already a hair away, his warm breath shocking you back into reality. Jeno’s eyes meet yours, as if asking for silent permission.

You don’t know who leans in first, but it doesn’t matter when you feel his hands slip behind your waist and pull your body into his, slotting your lips together with a gentleness that takes you by surprise. Your arms come up to rest behind his neck as his mouth moves in sync with yours. You feel like you’ve been waiting for this moment for forever, the satisfaction of it finally happening driving your eagerness as you move impossibly closer to him.

Jeno tastes like candied citrus, sugar-tainted coffee and everything in between — he follows your movements easily, reciprocating with equal and innocent desire. His lips chase yours as you tilt your head for him, not stopping until you force yourself to take a breath.

He leans his forehead against yours, his touch soft as his hand brushes against your cheek lovingly. Pressing one last sweet kiss against your mouth, he reaches around you to grab the unnamed book that had led you here in the first place.

“For our story,” Jeno smiles, fitting the leather-bound into your arms.

Ours.

…

xoxo

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yocioon · 11 months

Text

⠀ “i wanna feel every inch, baby.”

𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐀𝐒𝐒 𝐔𝐏 . . . he’s had an eye for you ever since he attended one of your dance competitions. they were low key. grounded. something only few people in town knew about, let alone even attended. yeah, sure, it was a coverup for.. other activities, but the main eye candy was you. also, your team, of course. but you were front and center for all performances, so everyone’s attention revolved around how smoothly your body moved.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the sweat beads that tainted your perfectly silky skin were incomparable to the absolute raw adrenaline rush that surged your body the moment you stepped onto that prattled and dented flooring. it wasn’t ideal, but you had to work with what you got. tossing and turning on the floor caused bruising, sure, but you made up for it by complimenting your aggression with an equally fierce look spread across your face.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he loved every part of you. your expressions. your sharpness. your body language. your outfits. everything.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he especially loved a specific move you did in all of your performances where you’d slowly maneuver your chest to the ground with your legs spread out on either side. then, you’d retract with your ass perked up perfectly, moving it up and down according to the beat of the song playing.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it entranced everyone. including himself. and when he had alas got you to invite him over for a “few drinks” he was able to slip in a request he’d been dying to ask you. well, not so much as ask, per se. but with how much he had to drink, he thought he was asking you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “ass up, just like your little trick” a simple phrase that caught you off guard, yet the alluding slurring of words that weaved its way into his speech danced around your head and caused you to listen oh so obediently.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the next few actions were a complete and utter blur. except for when his girthy erection slipped through your drenched folds with ease, a squealed moan trickling from your lips as your eyes rolled back completely. your face was slump into the pillow below you, his hand firmly engraving into the dip between your shoulder blades as he aligned his opposite hand with your waist.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀he seemed so nice when you first approached him. so gentle. so.. caring. yet, the way he was handling your body was the absolute opposite. it was rough. nasty. vile, even. though it had you creaming all over his dick like a damn popsicle. with each ass slap and feral rut he gave you, you couldn’t help but respond with a complimentary soft moan that had him going ballistic.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the way you squeezed around him so deliciously, and your sounds that send chills down his spine, had turned him into a mad man. your cunt sucked him in with pure ease, your juices entwining with one another and decorating his lower abdomen and upper thighs with crystalline liquids. the sounds of his hips bucking at yours filled the room entirely, overlapping with your cries of ecstasy.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the bruises that already littered your skin were now covered in love bites from the man, his hands grasping at your breasts so much that prints were left on them when the two of you were done. when he told you he wanted every inch of you, he sure as hell meant every damn word. you weren’t complaining, other than the fact you wouldn’t be able to move for a few days to come and your team was going to undeniably kill you for such.

⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“you take me so well, precious, just like that.”

⠀⠀⠀ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

KIM NAMJOON. JUNG HOSEOK. MIN YOONGI. kim jinseok (matthew). CHOI SAN. song mingi. jeon jungkook. LEE CHAN (DINO). kim mingyu. lee hoseok (wonho). sim jake. PARK SUNGHOON. park jay. kang taehyun. yoon keeho. HWANG INTAK.

𐙚 ⠀ ˖⠀⠀ ۫ 𝓷𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐬 : take this and eat it. i thought of only jhope when writing it but since i didn’t specify, i leave it up to you guys to interpret. 😋🤞 nighty night

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katblu42 · 7 months

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Symphony

Been thinking about this one a bit over the last few days, so I thought I'd give it a bit of a re-run.

It's just a bit of fluffy, music-related Earth and Sky.

Scott tore his eyes away from the unread emails, stretched his arms above his head, let out a long breath and turned the chair away from the desk to face Virgil at the piano.

“I like this one. What’s it called?”

“It doesn’t really have a name.”

“I’ve heard you play it before, though. Did you write it?”

There was the slightest hint of hesitation in Virgil’s response, although the music never wavered.

“I guess you could say that. I haven’t ever really thought about notating it.”

“Aren’t you concerned you might forget it?”

A wry smile crept across the musician’s features, but he said nothing.

“You should write it down. And come up with a name for it.”

Virgil tilted his head a little by way of considering the notion, then asked “Why do you like it? What does it make you think of?”

Scott stood, stretching more muscles, letting the music carry his thoughts away from TI paperwork as his gaze drifted upwards.

“Well, I like the way the melody climbs and swirls. It kind of reminds me of flying. And there’s a feeling of constant motion, fast, easy – sort of free.” He closed his eyes for a moment before returning his gaze to his brother. “In some ways it kinda reminds me of Dad.”

Virgil’s response began with the quirk of an eyebrow and the hint of a smile.

“Funny you should say that . . .”

“Why? Is it about Dad?”

Virgil finished the last phrase, letting the final chord hang in the air before taking a slow breath and looking up at his big brother.

“No. It’s you.”

“Me?” Sapphire eyes widened with surprise bordering on shock, and his forehead creased in puzzlement. “You wrote a song about me?”

Virgil looked back at the piano.

“Not exactly. It’s more like . . .” His gaze drifted upward. “It’s hard to explain. It’s sort of how I hear your presence, or your essence or something . . . I don’t know.” His voice trailed off into mumbles and a shrug.

Scott was left speechless, staring at his brother’s awkward uncertainty, as the significance of his own interpretation of the music and what it represented really hit home. It took him a moment, and he had to work to bring moisture back into his mouth before he finally found his voice again.

“Do . . . do you have something like this for all of us?”

Virgil felt the heat of a blush rising in his cheeks, and he didn’t look up from the piano.

“Uh, yeah. I sort of do.” His hands drifted back to the keys and a new piece of music began, one with a complimentary theme to Scott’s. It was in the same key, had the same tempo, and still embodied that sense of soaring movement, but this one felt somehow bigger, more far-reaching – almost heroic.

Scott let out a gasp. “Is that . . .? This one is . . . It’s Dad, isn’t it?”

Virgil gave a single nod.

“It fits with yours. Like the second theme in a sonata-allegro.” Virgil glanced over at his brother, taking in the blank look at the musical term. “That’s the usual form for the opening movement of a symphony.” His eyes drifted closed as he played, and he sighed. “I can hear them both in counterpoint, but I can’t play both at the same time and do them justice. I’d need an orchestra for that.”

Dumbfounded at this revelation, Scott could only marvel at his brother’s musicality. Here he was listening to these amazing musical creations that rendered larger than life, full-colour images in his mind, and Virgil was complaining that what he could do with the piano alone was not enough. He didn’t think he could even imagine what this music must sound like inside Virgil’s head.

The music came to a stop and Virgil turned again to look up at Scott.

“The variations on these two themes would encompass something like what I hear for Grandma and Kayo, a little of Brains, some of Grandpa . . .” he turned away again, “then everything would come back to you and Dad.”

For a moment silence hung between them. Virgil’s fingers flexed, as though the music within him was searching for a way out as they reached once again for the piano keys. A new piece of music began. This one slower, gentler, quieter in terms of movement if not exactly in terms of volume. Scott felt this one was more thoughtful and emotional. It brought to mind light and colour and had a sense of space, but it also somehow felt warm.

“Mom?” The smallest possible upward inflection made it a question, which was answered with another nod and the soft smile that made his little brother look so much like her.

The melody moved and changed, built, swelled, adding a complexity in the musical patterns reminiscent of a conversation, an exchanging of information. The lightness now sparked imagery of stars. The feeling of space changed from that of a breeze in an open field to the vastness beyond Earth’s atmosphere. The gentleness was now reinforced with a sense of almost hidden strength – Scott thought that might’ve come from a stronger bass line, but he wasn’t sure.

“Is this . . . John?”

Virgil’s smile brightened. “You’re good at this.”

“No, the music speaks for itself. You’re the one painting these images of our family with notes and chords.”

The smile faltered as Virgil held the last chord, then he let his shoulders sink a little. Scott silently cursed himself for bringing back that awkward self-consciousness in his brilliant brother, but before he could say anything Virgil spoke again.

“I guess they would be the second movement if this were a symphony.” There was a brief pause, then he straightened back into his playing posture. “No prizes for guessing who the third movement is.”

This piece of music was a jaunty, up-beat number that seemed designed to make people move – to dance, to tap their feet or clap along. It definitely felt like a dance of some sort, and it contained hints of sea shanties, or maybe a sailor’s hornpipe. It was the musical equivalent of laughter, sunshine, pure happiness, and it had a lilt that moved like the sea.

“Gordon!” Scott exclaimed with a laugh.

The comparatively brief third movement came to its conclusion, but Virgil barely paused before beginning what Scott guessed to be the fourth.

“And that leaves . . .” Virgil spoke softly as he began the final theme.

This one was in march tempo, strong, bright, driving forward with a sense of heroic purpose, and bringing back some of that swirling, soaring movement from earlier. Scott could pick out hints of his own theme, and a faster version of parts of John’s, but the piece definitely had its own identity. There was a sense of urgency to it, as though the melody was trying to push the tempo into moving faster.

“Wow. Alan would love this,” Scott found himself thinking aloud.

Virgil stopped playing after the end of the next phrase.

“There would be more. If this was a symphony, I mean. The fourth movement would bring in some more of the other main themes, tie everything together, finish with a bit of fanfare.” Virgil was once again looking up at Scott, a mixture of curiosity and self-consciousness etched into his features. “You really think Alan would like it?”

“Virgil,” Scott answered with a sigh and a shake of his head as he took the few strides over towards the piano stool, “it’s amazing. All of it. The whole symphony.”

Virgil gave a shrug and his brow creased a little.

“There’s a lot more to it in my mind. Only so much can be translated through the piano.”

“Then orchestrate it.”

A sigh, a shake of the head and a hint of a smile was the only response. Scott firmly planted a hand on his brother’s shoulder and piercing blue eyes locked gaze with warm brown ones.

“I mean it, Virgil. Write your symphony. Give it the life it deserves.”

Scott could see the struggle to find the right words as Virgil’s eyes struggled to hold with his.

“I . . . It’s not mine, Scott, it’s . . .” Virgil lost the battle to keep looking at the determined pride in his big brother’s blue eyes. His gaze lowered and he focused on his hands. “I mean . . . it’s all of you. It’s not music I’ve created, it’s the music that you are.” Then, almost too quiet to hear, “At least to me.”

“So, you don’t want to share it?”

“I don’t know.”

“You said this symphony isn’t yours. I think you’re wrong. It’s very much yours. Something that you maybe want to hang onto, keeping it all for yourself. And that’s okay.” Scott shifted his grip, pulling his brother close. “After all, this is family – The Tracy Family Symphony. And if I’m the only one who ever gets to hear even this glimpse of what you carry in your heart, then I consider myself privileged.”

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds fandom #thunderbirds fanfiction #virgil tracy #scott tracy #fic reblog #i think he should orchestrate it #and share it with the world #and i think there should be a companion piece that's all Virgil #that maybe is built on something that's barely noticeable #and yet a fundamental part of each movement #like a heartbeat

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freddiemercurylegendabovelegends · 7 months

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Today - March 5th, 1976

Eddie Howell "The Man From Manhattan" 7" single released

Freddie Mercury: producer/piano/bvs

Brian May: guitar

Excerpts from an interview

Jacky Gunn-Smith - Official International Queen Fan Club

Eddie Howell’s ‘Man From Manhattan‘ is one of the best known and best loved of all Queen’s collaborations.

Recorded in mid January 1976 at Sarm East Studios in London, the song was produced by Freddie Mercury, who also played piano and sang backing vocals on the track and featured Brian May on guitar. The record is so reminiscent of “A Night At The Opera” in both instrumentation and mood, that many fans regard it as virtually an “Opera” out-take. When it was launched as a single on Warner Bros records in 1976, it became a turntable hit in the UK and looked set to chart until music industry bureaucracy halted it in it’s tracks.

Birmingham born Eddie Howell began his professional career in the late 60’s, when Chrysalis music picked up on his songwriting demos and introduced him to an independent record producer, who in turn licensed his first single “Easy Street”, as a one-off deal to Parlophone in 1969.

Working as a songwriter throughout the early 70’s, Eddie’s next venture into recording came in 1975 when he signed to Warner Bros records as an artist. thursdaysHe released two singles, “Long Story” and “Can’t get over you”, and his debut LP “The Eddie Howell Gramophone Record”, which featured members of “Brand X” and guitarist Gary Moore.

The album was launched at a promotional gig at Thursday’s club in Kensington. Eddie’s band included Phil Collins on congas, Jack Lancaster on saxophone and Robin Lumley on keyboards. Explains Eddie, ”In the audience that night was Freddie Mercury who had been brought along to the gig by my manager David Minns. It was there that he first heard “Man From Manhattan”, which was a newly written song included in the set. After the gig we met and he was very complimentary about the song and offered to produce it. I remember we all went down to ‘The Elephant on the River’ to celebrate”.

Enthused by the prospect of his first foray into production, Freddie wasted little time in getting started. ”I gave him a two track guitar/vocal demo of the song” recalls Eddie, ”and a couple of days later he called and said let’s get going. Studio time was booked at Sarm East Studios and true to form, Freddie quickly took control of the sessions; ”He did lots of pre-production work on the song’s structure and the harmony arrangements”, reveals Ed. ” He had a mini cassette recorder loaded with ideas for the track, backing vocals and answering phrases”.

”We took a week to record the song”, remembers Eddie, ”which was a long time in those days, but because of Freddie’s involvement, Warners gave us a blank cheque. The sessions were quite intense, there was never a lull. Brian came in to play hismikestone2 guitar parts and the musical rapport between him and Freddie was plain to see, they were on the same page. One day, a hand-held spinning bell-cymbal in the key of ‘D’ was required by Freddie for one ping at the end of the track and the studio didn’t have one, so a runner was dispatched to scour the streets of London in search of one. The session was adjourned for half a day while we waited down at the Shazam Indian restaurant in Brick Lane for the bell to arrive. It eventually arrived and took about a minute to record, it must have been the most expensive ping ever recorded”.

On the final day of recording, a trio of Warner Bros top brass flew in from California and made a beeline for Sarm East studios to meet Freddie. Recalls Eddie, ”They probably thought the red carpet would be rolled out as they were paying for the recording sessions, but instead they were kept waiting in reception for about four hours. When they were eventually granted an audience, the charm offensive was full onlongstory3 and it was all smiles and bonhomie. At the end of the session, after the final playback, Freddie turned to me and said, ‘If this isn’t a hit, sue Warner Bros ‘ ”.

The finished article obviously had a heavy Queen influence with the presence of Freddie and Brian on the track, but ”Man from Manhattan” was far from a tribute to Queen. ”I wrote the song after my first trip to Manhattan in late 74”, reveals Eddie, ”I was reading ‘The Godfather Papers’ by Mario Puzo and the song was about those mafia characters who lead a double life. Musically, I had ‘Dead End Street’, by the Kinks in mind, complete with trombones and a walking double-bass”.

Prior to the ban, ”Manhattan” made top 50 in the UK, top 20 in Australia, Belgium and South Africa and top 5 in Holland, but sadly, as a consequence of the ban, it was never released in America or many of the world’s other major territories.

When it was issued as a single in 1976, Warner’s publicity department played up the Queen connection as much as they could, and “Manhattan” rapidly became a turntable hit in the UK. The record received heavy rotation on the airwaves – particularly in Europe where it became a big hit. Then, just when it looked set to climb the charts in the UK, the Musicians Union mysteriously discovered that Jerome Rimson, the American bassist hired by Freddie for the sessions, had been working in Britain without a permit. This obliged them to place a ban on any and all further UK media exposure due to his ‘Illegally’ recorded playing. A decision which effectively killed off the record.

Having recently regained the rights to his back catalogue recorded during his time with the label, Eddie is now releasing the tracks digitally. ”Man from Manhattan” is first up, more to follow…

(source: https://manfrommanhattan.wordpress.com/)

📸 Pic: Freddie Mercury and Eddie Howell in control room

#man fron manhattan #eddie howell #1975 #zanzibar #legend #queen #brian may #john deacon #freddiebulsara #london #queen band #freddie mercury #roger taylor

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emyluwinter · 10 months

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Yesterday I watched "Wish" - a new feature film from Disney. I swear, if at least someone didn't tell me that it was true from Disney, I thought that a small studio was engaged in the project, which is just trying its hand. Or even a game, it would look much more interesting if it were finalized. But….

Seriously?

They just stuffed "references" from Snow White, Cinderella and Pinocchio with a taste of Frozen Heart??? And made the main villain a slave in the mirror?

From the very first minutes, the thought did not leave me that the color palette looks like this…insipid. And not accented. If you look at the colors of the previous cartoons, you will notice that a certain color composition, (I forgot what it's called, the key colors in the scenes?) it can perfectly convey the atmosphere and mood in the scene.

The main character just gets lost on different backgrounds because there are too many of the same blue colors. The emphasis on the yellow star? Yeah, great. But otherwise, if it had been placed somewhere in the crowd and the saturation with brightness had been slightly twisted, no one would have noticed it.

And where the hell are the complimentary colors (opposite in color scheme) that work so well in the very first works? The same Alice in Wonderland. Alice - delicate blue and light shades, lightness and lightness. The Queen of Hearts- is black and red, looks heavy and domineering. Here's a sharp contrast for you visually.

What about Atlantis or the Treasure Planet? Good down-to-earth colors, overlaid with darker ones. The color scheme is more suited to the concept that we are used to in reality. Here you cannot predict who will be the villain. There are no very pronounced accents throughout the cartoon, only in a couple of cases perfectly suitable for narration. The colors are played superbly. They can still be disassembled as a study for artists. Light and shadows, tone perfectly harmonize with each other.

But here everything went to the trash can.

If this pretentious and polished male magician in a cape is a villain, then do the balancing of the colors damn it. Give him a little background, not a couple of cheap songs written by AI. Show the more repulsive side that he is duplicitous, that he has the brains to hold power for so many years. That he is obsessed with his beauty and surrounds himself with mirrors to encourage his exorbitant ego.

The simplest solution is to take the main character and make an inventive/negative of colors! If the heroine has soft pastel lavender colors. Add a couple of color accents for the Villain in the form of yellow or green flowers. Goddesses for the sake of not so pastel and faded! If you don't have everything in the same watercolor light colors! You're not shooting Winnie the Pooh!! Or show his luxury in power, richer ones. Make silver shades colder, sharper, making feel prickly and heavy.

Sorry, I got carried away with the visual component.

But I absolutely did not like this cartoon. No visual, no narration, no songs.

#san talk #I miss the good old 2d animation so much #Klaus looks more luxurious at times than this next marketing spit from a mouse

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sanstropfremir · 5 months

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best choreos of 2023!

not gonna lie, this year was a rough one for choreos. like with the actual music itself, this year was profoundly complacent and very few choreographies were truly inspired and willing to do something original. i was actually afraid for a bit that i was not even gonna be able to fill out a top ten list, much less having any runners' up. so here's a list of runners' up:

new dayz - trendz

spotlight - yunho

wormhole - n.ssign

neverland - nine.i

baggy jeans - nct u

koong - xikers

vuja de - yunho

bouncy - ateez

journey - woodz

and my favourites:

circle - onew

youtube

i have a bit of a love hate relationship with the circle choreo bc on one hand i LOVE it, the imagery and idea is beautiful i think it's one of the few choreos this year that actually embodies what the song and the cb were trying to say. but on the other hand, as a contemporary dance enjoyer it is.........let down by the fact that kpop is a predominantly hiphop based genre and the backup dancers are not up to snuff for this type of choreo. kaspar did a pretty good job choreographing it but hiphop and contemp/modern are notoriously hard styles to slide between for dancers, and i really think they should have actually got a modern choreographer and a modern troupe. it would have significantly upped the quality and given the stages that extra gut punch.

grl gvng - xg

youtube

honestly you really could sub in any xg choreo from this year here bc they were all stellar, but the commitment of grl gvng clinched it for me. the costuming, the makeup, the style of movement all tell such a clear story that i would have included it on my list regardless of what the album was, but the transition from hesonoo to xgene to grl gvng is fucking UNREAL. it's so refreshing to see a gg actually commit to a concept that isn't pretty bubbly straightness and to not compromise on it regardless of how much people bitch, right down to the choreo. there's something immensely satisfying about seeing a choreo about how these girls are alien cyborgs and have it actually LOOK like they are alien cyborgs, the intentional clunkiness and 'offputting' movements and all. i've been begging for an actual real concept like this for years and finally. finally it has been delivered.

chrome arts - onlyoneof

youtube

its not a choreo list by me if there isn't an ooo one, and once again they came right out of the gate at the beginning of the year with something batshit insane. the knee walk move is crazy. i love it 10/10.

killer - key

youtube

unlike a lot of the other entries on this list, i don't think killer has as concise of a concept other than "the 80s", but the great thing about it is that you absolutely can successfully pull off a more abstract concept if you do it well. this is such a strong choreo with good images and composition, plus a lot of 80s references in the moves themselves, and sometimes that's all you need if you put the right care into it. this is actually one of the few choreos that i've seen that correctly capture the feel of an mj choreo from the 80s, which seems to be a real challenge for a lot of idols. i will say that i think it would have made more sense to me if this had been a repack to bad love, bc it has the same vein of nostalgia vibes and a very similar feel in the shapes of the choreo, but really they're all part of his retro series so it's not a substantive complaint.

the rizzness - taemin

youtube

don't speak to me don't look at me i'm literally never recovering from this in my entire life. i cannot fucking believe he made me say with full conviction that ""the rizzness"" is one of the best taemin bsides but also of fucking course he did. this is black rose but eviler (complimentary). it's so interesting to see how versatile taemin's style is and where his true strengths lie. obviously his title track choreos are perfectly tailored to his body and his abilities and they are all unreal choreos on their own. but there's something about the way that he carries himself when he does more hiphop based choreo that has such a natural power to it. it's so clear that this is the style that he started learning dance in and especially now that he's become much more settled in his body since he got back from the military, it's so obvious how much love he has for this song and this way of movement that i don't think any of his title tracks will stack up in the same to it in my eyes.

don't call me - dkz nine to six

youtube

insane. insane insane insane. i love everything about this. it's weird its creative it had very clear imagery that supports the song, it says fuck capitalism, what more could you possibly want. honestly one of the best choreos of the last couple years. i'm also gonna include nod here too bc it was the bside they promoted and it has crazy choreo also, and highly recommend ppl listen to digital love, the other bside. very strong release from dkz this year despite all the shit they went through.

here's hoping 2024 is better!

#kpop dance #end of year posts #best of 2023 #i will be thinking about the baggy jeans dance practice on the stadium stage for the rest of my goddamn LIFE thats a LEGACY!!!#i feel kind of conflicted putting both journey and circle on here bc they are very similar in a lot of ways #i actually think journey is a better choreo in terms of meshing with the dancers strengths #but i admire the ideas of the circle choreo more #text #spoiler alert: 2024 has not been better thus far😔

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immoralimmortals · 17 days

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A Song With Ten Names

Chapter 33: Yes, to Err is Human, So Don't Be One (4)

Chapter 1 ☆ Next chapter ☆ AO3 ☆ Featured song playlist

Summary of chapter: Neither the girl nor the Akatsuki would call themselves gamblers…yet here they are. Half of Zetsu’s been playing the long con all his life, and the other’s just here for the ride and the thrill of it. What sort of combination does that make when you shuffle the cards and put chips on the table?

Author's Note: The song for the title and breaks is Yes, to Err is Human, So Don't Be One by Will Wood. The song sung within the chapter is Black Mambo by Glass Animals.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

We only ever notice what's in front of us

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

There’s a slight twinge as the rag doll’s stitches resettle with the changing position, this shifting of the skin that encases thinly-threaded metal and his menagerie of human organs. The weather is surprisingly pleasant, enough so that he tugs at his headpiece till it pulls off, hair allowed be combed by the breeze. The ghost of her fingers is in the wind; it only happened the one time, but he can still feel her there, on his lap, like it was yesterday. Gemstone eyes close, concentrating on the sensation, wondering if to indulge is without sin—

“Oh. Huh.”

…Eyes open. Hidan stands over him, holding two plates, one in either hand. The dying maples arrange a red behind his shoulders from this angle, complimentary to the lining of his cloak that gets to show off, unlike how Kakuzu tightly closes his own collar to hide as much of him as possible. The older man must appear annoyed, as Hidan ends up excusing his own stare.

“Didn’t expect ya with yer hair down,” he says, twinge of caution in the back of his throat. “Usually save that for the inns or somethin’.” The threaded man just shrugs, reaching up to take his lunch from the reaper who so generously walked the five feet inside and back to deliver it to him. Hidan blinks at his quiet, awfully curious of this strange mood. “Just...felt like it?”

Plate balanced on his lap and mask unceremoniously pulled down, a “yeah” is mumbled before chopsticks bring a slice of ankimo between his teeth to chew. He, however, shortly adds a questioning hum even with his mouth still full, once the younger man’s dish gets level with his gaze. “The hell is that…?”

Now lowered to sit upon the restaurant’s porch, too, the skeleton reaper gives an angry, accused grunt. “What!” Violet-pink eyes shift back and forth with several self-conscious blinks. “Wanted to...try something new.”

How hypocritical, then, to judge the rag doll for the same. Kakuzu ogles the tuna sashimi. “...You hate fish,” he states confidently.

“Yeah? And?”

Kakuzu lets his silence speak for him. Pink tinges Hidan’s cheeks, fluttering lids continuing to attempt to brush off his partner’s scrutiny, though now at least attempting confidence by locking pupils onto red and green.

“...I guess I just. Wanted to see why she likes it.” And the silence continues. What else is there for Hidan to do besides get guarded? “What, you don’t have room in all those hearts for someone else? Bitch?”

…Kakuzu begins to grin.

“What?”

Then Kakuzu begins to chuckle.

“What?!” The chuckling continues, unexplained. Hidan’s face heats. “What?!”

The unmasked man takes a gamble. “You’re awfully cute when you get red like that.”

“KAKUZU!” A few crimson leaves fall a couple hours sooner than planned, rattled with the volume of a man doubly embarrassed.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Read over my shoulder, breathing down my neck

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

How far the woman has come in a matter of days. The keys of the piano not only ring out so much more easily under her touch, but she— using a skill impossible prior— can now watch and instruct someone else on how to follow her lead. Deidara sits next to her, spot where Sasori was before, drinking in her advice on how to arch his wrists and what notes sound best when played together. It’s so adorable how his tongue sticks out, just a little bit like when he’s working on his clay.

His visible eye glances back to her not once but twice, and she realizes she herself has a big, dumb smile on her face. The glance is mirrored, her looking away and looking back, smile shrinking a bit.

“Caught you looking at me instead of the keys, un.”

And now she’s bright pink to match the new broach at her neck.

“Sorry. I just...noticed that thing you do.” She interrupts herself, but the mistake has already been made; Deidara hums at her questioningly. “With...your tongue?”

“What thing?”

Oh god, he doesn't know, does he...? You gotta be kidding. “You stick it out when you’re concentrating.”

Now he’s rosy too. “I do not!” He absolutely does and he knows it.

“I—” Well...facts are facts, but to insult with telling the truth ain't fun, either... “—Sorry.”

“No, no" the blonde interrupts, removing his hands from the keys; they seem to grin with either anxiety, tension, or excitement. "Don’t back up! We’re arguing now, Takara-chan,” he says deviously, and it reminds her of when he asked her to pinpoint exactly why she likes stories about alienation. Deidara glances to make sure his fingers are poised above the correct notes, waiting to turn his glance back onto her accusingly before pressing a particularly dramatic chord. Drama queen. “What do you mean I stick my tongue out when I’m concentrating?”

Taken aback, all his tutor can do is blink and stutter. “That...you...do?” The chord is pressed again, twice as if trying to provide a sense of menace.

“Is that all you got?”

“I— yes!" the woman counters, and though her brow curls, she is most certainly grinning just like the mouths centering his palms. "Deidara…there isn’t really more I can say! I just see you do it!” A pause...oh. Maybe...she misunderstood his tone. Apologetically, her next words come much softer. “I...don’t mean to embarrass you.”

“You’re not,” he answers reflexively, though most certainly he is. Gosh...it's like she can't so much as be excited without feeling bad. Good thing he's here to train her out of it. “But the consideration is...appreciated. Now..." The man reposes, wrists lifted and ready to continue to something that makes her a bit more happy. "...Where were we?”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Are we on the same page yet? I'm getting old here

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“So...what then?”

The rain is heavy as usual, steeping the most mysterious hidden village of all in swathing cold and humidity. It’s a dreary, uncomfortable combination, but it is a necessary one. To cease the rain is to lower Amegakure’s guard, and it needs it now more than ever. The sky is blue-grey and dark, lanterns like round phantoms, floating in the darkness to guide the way of the God's chosen people. The leader of the Akatsuki stands at the mouth of his visage, a statue with a long, slender tongue with a lamp at the end, just out of touch of actual drops so he is instead misted by the minuscule particles that come from impact upon stone and brick. His orange hair is quite a contrast to the gloom, almost like a candle to light up the dark. Uchiha Madara is seated, this persona lacking any of the whimsy or bounce that his newly beloved Takara is so accustomed to. It's quite a pair, him and Nagato, who appears so much more meek if you get around his real body.

“I’ll repeat myself,” the masked man says in a much deeper voice. This conversation has gone in circles, and everyone here knows it. “You live with us.”

A blue-haired woman narrows her gaze, glancing over her shoulder as she too faces the village she protects. The way the holy people refuse to even turn their chests away from the entrance...it really has been an uphill battle convincing them to let go. “We still fail to see the benefit of this.” But to that, the true leader cocks his head coyly, confident enough to let a bit of the playfulness seep back through.

“But don’t you?”

Drip.

The rain collects on the edge of the cave's mouth, splashing just next to shinobi sandals. Pain frowns just a little bit harder, those eyes of his with rings within somehow piercing even with no pupil to keep a focus. Ah yes, he does, the Uchiha notes. Finally starting to crack. The man with fiery hair has one last line of defense, one who uses her calm voice to insist one more time:

“If we change residency...what would that accomplish?" Konan requires upfront. "This is our village. We are needed here.”

...A black glove is brought to press where his heart should be, feigning hurt. “I thought you were dedicated as I am to getting to the bottom of this,” “Madara” returns; the hand lowers to join the other, both now steepling his fingers at the tips. “Leave one of your paths here, increase surveillance.” As if that’s even possible. “Come back with me. We’ll make a solved puzzle of her yet.” Another pin is plunged in to seal the deal. "Besides...it's looking more and more like your diplomacy skills are needed for our little...problem."

The sound of rainfall hushes any further argument from the godly man. His angel glances to him, evaluating with irises that although are really orange, too, now glisten closer to gold in this bluish hue, paled with the eternal twilight her village lives within. She sees the way his heart is being tugged; she sees it because she feels the same curiosity within herself. But her friend...is a god. Will he decide if to follow this request is the necessary thing to do, or will it merely be an indulgence to avoid...?

Drip.

“Well?” the spiral prods.

…

The purple all-seeing orbits are shut, the Deva Path choosing to close his eyes to create agreement rather than admit his true subordination. “...We’ll arrange for our arrival.”

And to Obito’s satisfaction, he’ll make a dollhouse for his dear performer yet, every human being at his disposal a toy for her to play around and feel special, replicate the perfect life he wants for everyone— that he will make into reality someday. The woman draws in flawed creatures like the moon does moths at night. It is destiny that a girl from outer space is here to match his plan to save the world. He will get to learn, at least a little bit more, what it really means to make a universe worthy for others to live in.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Come on, don't you get it? What the heck?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

A few minutes later and he's across the continent, silly voice returned and his arms swinging wildly with the unexpected gift he's come back to. What a wonderful thing to return to, it nearly makes him like being alive. “W-w-w-WOW!” He double takes with a twist of his neck sharp enough to break a spine, and as Tobi dips down to so very visibly trace his stare from her feet to her face, he revels in how flustered the fellow performer gets. With an emphasized giggle, gloved hands pick up the ends of her cape. “You look so CUTE, Takara-chan!” More than cute, but he’s Tobi now, and Tobi doesn’t know how to say things like “marvelous” and “regal” and “magnificent.” So cute it is. It makes her fumble and blush regardless.

“You...you really think so?” She twists just a little bit, side to side with her hands folded in front of her lap and a shy gaze looking away though a smile is plastered underneath it. Tobi, her fool, nods in enthusiasm.

“Uhuh!" The masked man looks up at her from his hunched position, having gripped edges of the moody black fabric so it looks like a bonnet around his head. "Did Sasori-senpai make it for you?”

She blinks with her eyes so beautifully, so wide like the stars could fit inside. “How’d you know…?”

“Becauuuuse!” he draws out. Because he knows everything. “I told you he likes dolls! And I told you he likes it when things are pretty! And now you are too!”

...

Her silence puts a pit in his chest. Oh, dammit. He’s implied that she wasn’t before. Too late to backtrack, though; the imperfections of Tobi are a necessity to maintain, however rude and guileless. And so he must watch her growing disappointment, the way the edges of her lips— wait. No. She isn’t...sad about that? She's starting to smile! He tilts his head, a bit more sincerely this time, but no different angles will change what’s in front of him. She is, in fact, happy to have become pretty. A sweet voice rings for Obito to hear:

“Awfully nice of him,” she understates, worried about making such a potentially dangerous man jealous. Tobi and Sasori alike...she has no idea what boundaries there are to step around, what Tobi meant by “protect” before and what the puppeteer intends by beautifying her. Relax your praise, lest the masked man think something is wrong. But she has no reason to worry... Her joy is Obito’s joy, now. And he tells her so:

“You’re worth it!”

A boop of her nose and Tobi runs away, lest his metaphorical heart explode in his chest, leaving a confused, naive woman to flutter her lashes and wonder what that means, too.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh, I could drink your blood

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The setting sun warms the dark cloaks, the clouds upon them now appropriately themed for the ones in the heavens above. Hidan exhales, tugging the ends up his collar in a flick. Getting fuckin' cold... But even so, usually the reaper doesn't fidget so much; it's the third time he's done that since the home base got in sight. Kakuzu furrows his brow.

“...It isn’t like you to be nervous.” A pause...and then some doubt. Kakuzu tilts his head more into Hidan's space as they stand on the front porch of the house, trying to gauge him more accurately past the gleaming red light. “Right?”

The skeleton spits to the side; this empathy his partner has shown the past few days has been...bizarre. Out of place enough to make him uncomfortable. He won't admit it, but Hidan's still a bit tender from that period of time...the one where he found out in the desert what Kakuzu did to her, the way the rag doll couldn't so much as communicate, save them some fucking stress. Anything approaching emotionality with Kakuzu makes Hidan antsy now. “Why would you care?”

Well. Damn. There goes Kakuzu thinking just because he can get along with one person that he can with another. Fuck him, I guess. His eyes narrow and he tilts his head further down. This, of course, just confuses Hidan even more.

“Why are you so fucking weird today!” he demands.

...And then it hits the old man. His green irises roll down to stare at the bottom crack of the front door. Perhaps he has felt a bit...light. A bit more...vocal. He has good reason, of course, but... ah hell. How do you tell someone as thick-skulled as Hidan that you just had your first kiss in decades? Whatsmore...won’t it just piss him off to know? Clearly he has ideas of his own. Didn’t take too kindly to being called “cute” too, so it’s probably not like they can share… He just shouldn’t have said anything, taken his own advice that keeping your mouth shut when you aren’t sure— that is the best thing you can do.

Hidan raises one brow with an upturning, impatient hum, observing his fellow immortal become silent with rage— wait. Blink, blink. No. The anger he’s so familiar with is absent. It’s something more pensive… Yeah. Pensive... His mouth opens to ask, perhaps in a tone more kind, but his head darts back to the door—

Creaaaak.

And just like that, Hidan is abruptly confronted with the fear that Kakuzu so keenly spotted:

There she is, fingers curled around the edge, big, big eyes he could get lost in. It's all he can see, unable to read body language, even see if she smiles. He swallows. Tentatively, slowly, his arms come forward, hers to do with as she wishes, just in case walking into him is all the lady can muster. “Heyyy. Takara.” he greets awkwardly. The corner of his mouth pulls up but shrinks as soon as he doesn’t give it conscious attention. Will she? Won’t she? Will it be like their first reunion— so warm and welcome— or their last? Will she ever hug him once again?

…

Oh, silly Hidan; he had no reason to worry. The door pulls open and just as he stutters— witnessing her new attire— his words are cut off with a small “oof” from his own throat. Her arms are thrown around him. And just like the first time they said goodbye, when this building was so much worse, he doesn’t know what to do. He freezes. And then...slowly...one Jashinist melts into another. The man's head turns down and his nose finds home in her hair. She smells like...— He doesn’t fucking know. Something nice. It’s more likely he’s gonna find smells that remind him of her than the other way around. Everything reminds him of her, after all.

She drifts away and he watches something incredible: she goes to hug Kakuzu and he...lets her. And...holy shit. Hidan's eyes widen as his partner hugs her back.

Abruptly, something in Hidan feels a bit more full. A second later, the woman's stepped back, big grin on her face and Kakuzu's hands still in hers, a slight swing in her arms with residual delight. Is she even the same person they saw a few days ago...?

“You guys came just in time!” She winks. Indeed, her voice didn't even stutter. “I taught Deidara a song!”

Okay, now that's just too many fucking things at once. Hidan holds his palms up for a pause, pursing his lips and narrowing his stare. “Hold up— first off—” He points, index finger gesturing up and down. “What is this?!”

“I— oh!” She’s beaming; still quiet, but she kind of always was before. What matters is that she looks...happy. “I got a new dress!”

He tsks. “Obviously! I mean—” ...No, that’s kind of all there is too it; she got a new dress. ...Let’s move on to the second thing: “Okay. Song. Song?" Hidan asks skeptically, folding his arms. "You taught him a song?! What, ya making a band?”

“Nooo!” God, she’s sounding more and more like Tobi, trailing her words like that. For the love of Jashin, angel, don't go learning anything from fucking Tobi! Oblivious to psychic pleas, the performer's hands let go and hide behind her back. The way she rocks back and forth is bordering on too cutesy. “Just...he got interested in trying a new art.” Ah, that puts a click in Hidan's brain; his mental tone for the situation is suddenly more like hers, having something to be proud of.

“Well, well! It’s about time someone recognized this girly had some talent.” He claps her back, causing her to give her own small "oof", though smile does not waiver. Briefly both eyes are closed...but she cracks one open at her friends.

“There's...something you should know, though.”

“Yeah?”

And now it is clear that the wink has returned, distinctly devilish. “He doesn’t know he’ll have an audience.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

If you let me, baby

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“W— Takara-chan?!” The blonde flusters, watching as both the named woman and the one and only Tobi have finished dragging in Sasori and the zombies. What the shit is happening?! “You didn’t tell me this would be a recital, un!” God... he can feel the way Sasori stares at him, judging already like his posture at the piano alone is worth killing him for. He asked for lessons to impress, dammit, not to be a laughing stock! But the lady looks so happy, her smile so wide...what, is she really evil? Maybe he WAS right, she’s not all sugar and sweets after all, subjecting him to this. Hidan smirks in a way only he can as he finishes following his fellow immortal in— so very, very callous.

“What, you gonna pussy out of this?”

Deidara's response is all instinct: “What?! NO! It’s just…” His brow furrows; logical, be more logical, save at least a bit of face. “I only started learning today… I figure it’ll be a frankly boring performance." He turns to his tormentor, looking her up and down for any sign of mercy or lack thereof. "Wouldn’t it be, Takara-chan?”

But she shakes her head, looking so delighted with her eyes closed, perhaps to hide her true, devious expression. “No..." she sing-songs, "I think you’re ready.” Eyes open; they look sincere, at least… “Just...trust me?”

And despite how his visible, blue stare narrows, Deidara hunched over the piano must at least attempt to maintain his cool, lest he look like even more of an idiot than he already is does. “Alright." The facade drops, mono-e-mono spoken from one artist to another: "You got one shot, siren.”

...

She doesn't flinch, not a fucking bit. Just keeps that smile, so persistent it either means something wonderful or that she's hung a sword right above his head, waiting to fall.

...The pianist wannabe sighs. There's no choice, is there? And though verbally or otherwise each other man present questions what that nickname is, Deidara himself can only take a breath and press the keys as red dusk glimmers through window glass and over nervous hands.

...Dum. Dum-dum-dum. Ding. Dum. Dum-dum-dum. Din. Dum—

It really is a rather simple tune, a thruplet of beats with two notes in between that alternate pitch. It’s nice yeah...but childish. Childish on its own. He doesn’t notice the siren approach until she starts using the top of the piano as an impromptu drum. Her lips part, smooth and soft and so very, very cool:

"What’ll it be now, Mr. Mole?"

Whispers Sloth in curls of smoke

His instinct is to jolt up— and he almost does— but he catches himself in time to stop his body...though not his twitchy glance. Her eyes are hooded, in this new dress of hers, she looks...frankly, seductive. The smile on her face remains, though its meaning is yet again questioned. Deidara blinks up at her, persistent to keep tempo despite a distracted mind.

"Take a back seat, or play pharaoh

Dance with me and shake your bones"

Her eyes close and with a rhythm in her shoulders, she drifts from drumming (Tobi has inexplicably taken over the role; bastards fucking planned this—?!), and she reaches her hand forward to no one like she’s on stage. Fingers curl like whiffs of incense, gradual and sensual. Kakuzu notes that back when she performed for cash, her arms were always full; the grace she displays is rather...admirable. The broach is unbuttoned and the cape is allowed to fall down her shoulders, draping more like a boa down her arms with spare length of the fabric dangling down towards the floor. It swishes with every...single...movement, no matter how small— especially with how small. Masterful...precise...—

Shame her manager didn’t know how to play the piano himself, back when she had a larger audience. She drifts now, slowly swinging her hips and raising her arms over her head. Was she always this lost in her own universe, each time she sang before with a guitar? Was the barstool and an instrument all that was trapping the woman from being like this...?

Slow down, it’s a science

He’s been waiting to bring you down

Snake eyed with a sly smile

—A thumb and index finger mime stretching the corners of her mouth across her face—

He can hold you and shake you, child

She’s come a long way in just a couple of days. In her head alone she hears an interlude coming, and so she swings around to Deidara’s side, raising a palm to ask him to pause. He does, allowing her to lean onto the piano and reach over to enter the nine-note in-between of the chorus and verse two, repeated a few times before the metronome inside her is satisfied. She nods at him in thanks, wavering her hands with the palms facing down to indicate shyly he can keep going as before. The switch is back on for the show to continue, and the woman then stands tall again, chin raised as she tells a story of sorts. The sky is a beautiful shade of crimson behind her as she stands in front of the window, looking either like an angel or an omen. She looks so lovely all the same.

The title of the song is snuck in and the chorus begins anew. Once finished, she uses the instrumental, this time, to so eagerly explain her thoughts:

“It’s about gambling,” she elaborates, opening her eyes and glancing over her shoulder at them; it really is like a turn of a dime she goes from someone so confident to...well...herself. As such, she can't resist telling them exactly what is so neat about this song. “A mole trying to win against a sloth, but he’s on the sloth’s territory. He’s teasing the mole about how he can’t win. ...Wait. Listen— listen to this next part—” And just like that, she reenters the zone, a roll in her shoulders and tangling her cape around her wrists in such a way that Sasori is more than pleased that his effort is paying dividends.

"Wanna play cheat now?" says the sloth

A domino flush to his nose

Tickle that cheek and take your throne

Pump your veins with gushing gold

She has forgotten so soon she’s made a few dangerous bets of her own. It has started to become dark outside, and she doesn't see what's been waiting out there, just for her. Who has seen her dance...just for him.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Drain you of your love

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Everyone, bar Kisame and Itachi, spends the evening with her.

The performer finishes a giggle before putting the piping hot cup of tea to her lips, herself seated on the floor. The new clothing is so elegant that even in such a graceless position, it puddles around her like it was made to be bundled in such a way, crinkle in a circle like the wrappings of a floral bouquet. Sasori mentally notes how he has, indeed, perfected yet another form of art, holding his own cup as he sits on the arm of the couch. He won’t drink it, no...but there’s a sort of ritual in seeing the steam rise up.

“So...Takara-chan,” Deidara prods, feeling a bit more confident himself after seeing how the level in her cup has, indeed, become lower. “Tell me again about the kind of stories you like.” He asks again now because of the audience, of course; if she subjects him to public opinion, so must he do to her. If she has opinions, they're worth having in front of others. It's not like she's stupid, after all, and maybe he and her and Sasori can actually teach the zombies a thing or two about the more refined things in life. And besides...he actually has been meaning to ask for a while, and it’s only just now she’s really found her tongue again.

Though perhaps she is even better at talking than before.

She hums, thinking with a finger to tap her cheek as a Hidan in the background crosses one leg over the other and props his chin up with his palm, lips pursing. She’s still smiling, the reaper notes, but she’s dodging the question; he can see it in her eyes before her voice confirms. “I...I don’t think you guys would like the kind of stories I like...”

“Why?” the scorpion pokes before anyone else can; coming from him, you know he genuinely is curious if he’ll ask you to elaborate. But ignoring the oh-so-rare blessing, she just flutters her lashes.

“I— Well—” The smile is gone. Let's get that back, thinks the next man to talk:

“I bet it’s mushy gushy!” Tobi butts in, playing into the situation with a flippant wave of his hand. “Takara-chan likes cute things! Sooo, she must think we don’t like cute stories!” ...Damn. He’s got a point there, so others begin to guess:

“What?" Hidan blinks, cocking his head so he looks through the corner of his eye. "You think it’s too sappy?”

A chuckle. “Too romantic?” Deidara teases.

And an ever so slight smirk. “Perhaps there’s an unearned happy ending…” Sasori suggests.

Kakuzu...has a decent idea, and they’re all absolutely dead wrong. She does, after all, like nonfiction so very much...and what does nonfiction tend to have so much of? Her smile is so sweet, even as she’s about to say the truth.

“No… It’s...the ones that don’t have happy endings at all," the performer confesses, so quiet like she's admitting sin; she shrinks into her shoulders, holding the cup of tea to her chest and letting its warm swathe her, like it can make the shame go away. They're her friends...she has to trust they'll understand, right? "...People don’t like to hear about those.” At least not in her prior experience.

And everyone besides the rag doll blinks in surprise. Seconds pas...and she begins to shy away now not in a literal sense but in a way he has seen her do before at the bar: she covers up her embarrassment with a persona who grins like nothing hurts. Gathering all her strength, the woman begins to look up again, deciding to focus on the blank, black darkness outside with so many faces to choose from.

“Think about the song I told you guys. I’ll explain it from the top."

One by one, the men present begin to settle into what's to come. Deidara does his signature grunt; Sasori blinks his dull brown eyes; Hidan shifts once again in his seat and purses his lips even more; Kakuzu feels a corner of his mouth stretch. And Tobi sits so very patiently, gripping his feet with his hands as he sits in the corner.

"One character is a mole, and it comes down into the lair of a sloth," she narrates, making sure to take her time in order to lead where their imagination should follow, "Deep deep in the jungle to play a game of dominoes.” Do they have dominoes…? They don’t ask in time for her to explain, which is probably for the best. “The sloth is a kingpin, encasing the mole and him in this grand, intimate throne room where no one can hear you scream. Leopards laze everywhere, appearing asleep but paws twitching as if they’re ready to slice the mole open any second...at any suggestion, valid or not. The sloth smiles and accuses the mole of cheating...”

She lets the situation sink in before asking the big question:

“So...is there a way out?" Turns out to be more of a metaphorical proposal, a puzzle to solve, rather than having a clear cut answer. "Either the mole will lose or he’ll get too excitable: either argue too much about the accusation and give the leopards an excuse to attack...or he will win. Calmly. But what...then? What stops the sloth from just...killing him?”

An inhale sinks through her nose and down her chest, and she closes her eyes and hears the animals outside; it’s no jungle, per say, but the forest around her new home is stories and stories deep with life, waiting to eat or be eaten. She sings under her breath, once again, the final lines of the song. It's much more poignant now that it's only words to hear, no luscious, enrapturing tune:

We can hold you

There’s something funny about this, innocent little civilian surrounded by the most deadly creatures on the planet; sort of matches the lyrics, really. The point is sufficiently proven: there is no happy ending for the mole. But that doesn’t really answer the question...

“So..." someone asks after indulging the sound of crickets for too long, "Why indulge in these kinds of stories...un?”

A quiet. It’s such a thick, velvety night outside, the kind where if you were out there and stretched your arm out, you couldn't see your fingertips. She looks out the window of the piano room but the stars are again covered up, the only shapes seen ones of nature— branches and leaves and the rolling wind. There is no answer in there, but she still stares as if it’ll walk right up and explain for her.

...And for one last time this evening, this woman closes her eyes and sighs. What a strange, wistful girl. Oh well.

“Sometimes it’s not about the ending, but the journey to get there.”

And though this sounds so typically dreamy and vague to everyone else... Kakuzu, unfortunately and once again, knows better. It makes his five hearts ache, if she’s told him the truth that time at the end of summer, laying under the stars he taught her to read, smell of lakewater stagnating his lungs. Her story didn't have a happy ending, after all.

…

He’s wrong, though, that no one else here to witness tonight knows this about her, too. Tobi stares into the darkness thicker than smoke, giving a questioning hum to himself.

A moment later, the back door is opened and the masked man walks right up to the one in the shadows. His visage of a playful, grown man yet child is still put on, but Zetsu knows who Tobi really is, can read between the lines of saccharine words and double entendre.

“Whatcha hidin’?”

The half of Zetsu’s face with visible features purses his lip. They’ve witnessed the entire day, every single person...and somehow...it all comes back to her. It’s a talent, really. But something...feels off. He’s in mind only accused her in the past of playing some sort of game...but doesn’t Tobi, too? And he sees nothing wrong with that.

So why, in their combined mind and heart and soul...does something seem wrong? Wrong as they saw Hidan blush, wrong as Deidara looked up at her guiding hand, wrong even...as “Madara” set his trump card on the table, to bring every Akatsuki into one, big, strange family?

The frogs and the bugs and everything low to the earth know the lyrics to her song, though you only hear if your ears are already so used to being alone in the dark. Alone, that is, besides the two of him.

“...Explain to me again why you’re keeping her,” Black Zetsu asks. Tobi tilts his head, absolutely unwilling to answer that question so blatantly while others— however unlikely— may be within earshot.

“Huh?”

But Zetsu does not elaborate. She’s smiling, the image of her through the window so bright, a laugh audible but muted through the glowing glass. A second later and arms dressed in white and black raise with a yawn, and a cloaked arm moves over from out of sight and pulls the blinds shut. The view of her is gone, the light she emits taken off of his face with no notice whatsoever. Something inside Zetsu stirs...

Maybe he needs to make use of his leverage over the ghost after all.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Until you hate me

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

#zetsu x reader #obito x reader #akatsuki x reader #hidan x reader #kakuzu x reader #deidara x reader #sasori x reader #theres so many in this chapter yall...#aswtn fic #songfic

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marciabrady · 1 year

Note

did you see that jodi benson is applauding the lyric and story changes to the remake? does that make you feel like the energy is of the film is the same as the original?

I'm going to preface this by saying that I haven't been a fan of any of the live action remakes and that, while I do admire Jodi, I can be objective about what's going on.

Before I state my opinion, let me start with just listing some facts: Jodi is currently a Disney employee and relies primarily on her Disney salary for her income and livelihood. Jodi has become very deferential to Disney and has contradicted herself and changed her opinion many times in the past, vacillating between what was arguably her authentic opinion and a PR answer (for instance, she was pretty vocal about having a lot of difficulties with the creative team of the third movie and disliking it, before changing her tune entirely and giving seemingly rehearsed soundbites; she also did this when asked about the character of Ariel. Anytime she would give her take on how strong Ariel was or if the character was a good role model before 2019, she would always defend Ariel, but after 2019...well, we'll get into that later). Jodi has been vocal about getting in trouble with Disney in the past and having to adjust accordingly. Jodi is doing everything she can to maintain her relationship with the company and is trying to have her daughter hired into the company and possibly her son. Now, take all of those things into consideration, alongside the fact that anyone who's said anything against the live action remake has been essentially labeled as a bigot or problematic, etc, so it's impossible to really have any discourse about the film in a way that's earnest or isn't overly flowery and complimentary, which is what Jodi is doing.

I think art ceases to be art and becomes completely commercial the minute every person has the exact same take on the film, and this has been the case with this project since before even a single frame of it was shot. And, honestly, that kind of encapsulates why I don't think this film will be anything like the original? Well, it won't retain its energy, at least. Obviously they're ripping off the songs and the characters for their own gain.

It's hard to overstate how dire the conditions were that the original creative team was working under and how much was riding on this project- how inventive it was, how fresh a concept, how much it married a traditional reverence to the classic Disney films while marking a stamp all of its own to it. Time and time again, the success and novelty of this film has been accredited to one man- Howard Ashman. Howard Ashman did so much for the original production- he wrote some dialogue, he wrote the music, he performed key numbers for the talent to the point where they just copied whatever he did- he even invested his own money into the film. The fact that this was the first time an openly gay man had so much creative control over a project at Disney is something that, sadly to this day, is an outlier that has never happened again. This, married with some of the other gay talent working on the film- like Andreas Deja- infused a necessary element of queerness into the energy of production. Even the fact that Ursula was based on drag queen Divine, or the animator working on the scene where Ariel's grotto was destructed drew parallels of his father kicking him out when he came out...this is the definitive queer-coded fairytale for the gay community, going back to the original author and his artistic intent, and that's why I'm so happy that so many LGBTQIA+ people were able to contribute to the film in the 80s. When you mix that with how down animation was at the time and how animation would've ceased to exist at Disney, had this film not been successful, how the animators were pushed off the lot to working in trailers for the first time in the company's history...I think all of that contributed to lending an authentic energy of repression and being underground, etc, all things super necessary to illustrating the gay experience and having all of that ring through on screen. All of the people involved had something of being an outsider in society, too, which I think is perfect for the story of Ariel. Did you know about Jodi Benson before The Little Mermaid? No, of course you didn't, because she had virtually no fame and had auditioned for Ariel as a pity gift from Howard after the show she had been performing in had flopped, according to Jodi. Whenever she told her family and friends about the project, they laughed at her and told her the only people that do animation are ones whose careers are downhill and were so discouraging, until she finally stopped saying anything to them about it at all until the premiere where the success shocked everyone. Even Pat Carroll was a third choice- they wanted a different actress, and once they didn't get her and hired another one, she didn't work out either which is why they finally called Pat in. This film was solely riding on the creative energy and passion and love the creative team had for it and so many bets and stakes were on its back. The success of it came as a surprise to everyone, and it arguably reinvented animation and brought forth the animation period known as the Disney Renaissance.

Compare that to the 2023 film...literally nothing about it is inventive or edgy. It's the 100th live action film that is anything but the reimagining it's remarked as- it literally tries to be the same film as the animated which has already found success, down to naming the mermaid Ariel, giving her red hair, a green fin, a fish friend named Flounder and a crab named Sebastian, and other inventions that were created specifically for the 1989 film as opposed to going back to the original story and trying to be its own thing (every single live action Disney film does this which I think is so stupid honestly; like people being surprised that Sebastian and Flounder look like that...of course they do, because they were created for the medium of animation, not whatever this movie is try to be; how much better would Emma Watson's performance have seemed if she didn't have to live up to the animated Belle's songs or the iconic gold dress?). It rips off the same songs, which have since become Americana and already proven to be successful. In the age where so many critiques have come up regarding the original film, this movie softens both the characters of Ariel and Ursula to appeal to as wide a demographic as possible further illustrating that while the emphasis on the first film was to bring forth a reality to the characters of Ariel and King Triton, this movie just wants to be liked by everyone and has nothing to say.

While many people have stated that Halle's casting was progressive, every other principle character is portrayed by a white actor- Ursula, Eric, Ariel's Father, Vanessa, etc. The man that has taken over Howard Ashman's seat is painfully straight (sorry Lin Manuel, but I can't get on board) and has already written songs for huge Disney productions in the past (ever heard of Moana?) and is currently very popular (ever heard of Hamilton?). Besides, a Disney Princess being racebent isn't a new concept- as we saw with Brandi's Cinderella in the 1990s- and it isn't even new to this property, as we saw the voice actress of Moana playing Ariel in a live action version back in 2019. Remember when I mentioned how the original cast hadn't been super well known prior to the film's release? Halle was literally recognized by Beyonce and had already been in an established singing group with her sister and news of her casting was announced four years prior to the release of the film and super publicized- which, by the way, the marketing budget for this film is nearly double than the production budget for the original, so just think about that...Melissa McCarthy and Javier Bardem literally admitted to texting the director begging for a part, which they got since they were already bigshots in Hollywood. Speaking of Melissa, if Disney really wanted to be progressive or inclusive or be any of the things they're touting to be, I feel they should've hired a drag queen to portray Ursula. Instead, they gave us a white straight married woman from Illinois who's never sang a note in her life. I'm sorry but there's no way she was the best possible choice for the role. Also, outside of not hiring any substantial amount of queer talent or talent of color in front of or behind the camera, Disney has intentionally tried to distance themselves from the community and the subtext of the original movie's queerness. I already mentioned how Ursula was based on a drag queen, and it was Howard's invention that she had a fling with Triton in the past, which you can hear Pat confirming in this interview. This 2023 film makes them siblings...also, I'm sorry, I'll never get over the fact that the original author of the fairytale was part of the community, Howard was, and then they give us...Lin Manuel? There's so many things about the production of this film that make me so uncomfortable and it's all rooted back to the erasure. Which reminds me- Disney announced that they were taking a documentary based on Howard Ashman, his creative achievements and his struggle with AIDs, off of the Disney+ platform the same day they were going to release TLM 2023, before they later repented due to complaints. Aside from the erasure, it's also unsettling to me, as I mentioned before, that there's such a lack of diversity in the cast and it's nearly all white principals when this movie LITERALLY has advertised how "diverse" it is above all else.

In 2019 they announced they were going to set the film in the Caribbean, which I thought was new to this retelling and I was excited to see what it would've looked like and what the new music would've been etc...but this was back when they were planning on casting Harry Styles, a white British man, as Eric. I think having a white British man as the ruler of the Caribbeans is horrible optics, and when he backed out, they hired another white British man...it honestly doesn't sit well with me, especially when other young actors of color were auditioning and were allegedly encountering racism (just saying allegedly because I'm not trying to get sued lol). Also take into account that women of color that have actual talent when it comes to singing were auditioning to be Ursula, even women with pull and influence in the industry, before it was given to director friend Melissa McCarthy who begged for the role via text. Unfortunately, none of these topics are being addressed because Disney very smartly tied audience approval to this film on whether or not they agree with Halle's casting so people are treating it as above reproach and don't really want to speak out or discuss these really problematic elements of production for fear that they might come across as not being in support of Halle having gotten the role and, by extension, making it appear as though they don't support any leads of color.

Finally, where the original was a labor of love with barely any money going into it, fueled purely by a spirit of creativity and love and art, such is not the case with the remake. The remake doesn't offer anything new in the endless strings of live actions, which are doing the same thing with each film- down to how they're marketing the female talent (a strong woman who don't need no man!!). The director has even shown that he doesn't understand the character of Ariel multiple times and fed right into criticism that the talent from the original, like Jodi, used to speak out about before she was ironically silenced. Because she doesn't anymore...because Disney won't let her, allegedly. Jodi allegedly works with a speechwriter and you can kind of tell. I've met her and I've seen almost every panel she's been a part of, and when you ask her about an experience or a memory or her opinion, her stories change a lot. There are still the same truths to them, but she'll reveal different details in each, just the way you would when you're telling the same story to different people because anything that's natural isn't something that will be duplicated too much and there are going to be changes and shifts depending on when you tell it, who you tell it to, etc. Starting in 2019, Jodi stopped defending Ariel and began reciting a speech which she's repeated ad nauseam over how Ariel was appropriate for when she was made but, by virtue of how much "stronger" female characters are now, she'll pale in comparison to someone like Merida or Mulan. She claims you can't hold a 1989 portrayal up against a 2019 or 2023 one, because of course it would have aged...which is the opposite of what she used to say. I've heard her parrot this speech time and time again- and even in person. And that goes back to your original question...I wouldn't place my bets on the remake offering anything authentic or new if Jodi's saying it. Even aside from this, the BATB original cast have all said disparaging things about the remake, aside from Paige O'hara, who's continuously sung its and Emma Watson's praises (and what a coincidence that she's been invited to the premiere and gets more attention from Disney)...until you catch her on an off day or at a convention and she starts complaining about the darker tone, or the gun inclusion, or how Emma couldn't really sing but it was fine because she could act, or how she didn't approve of elements of the costuming...at the end of the day, these people are celebrities in their own right and have to do and say things that are canned tbh just to keep their likability up and remain palatable to the masses and hirable to Disney and Jodi's unfortunately sold out, in my opinion, in that way.

#ask #anonymous

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