diamonds are a girl's best friend

im jinah, 25 tell your husband to stop calling me

[cnjinah-blog]

.ooc 190217

yoooo fam i’m a nosey ass h0 but li st en---

who’s your muse’s prime suspects rn? ( given they’re not the murderer themselves ofc loool ) i feeL like it would help for everyone to know how everyone’s doing in their own plots etc 8^)

for jinah, she rlly did not give a shit abt the murder prob bc she was just like OH YANG IS DEAD GOODBYE and riding on that wave of euphoria, but after seeing hyunwoo w the gun, she’s a lil shookt and hyunwoo is suspect numero uno 8^) wha t about you guys share the deets

gossip girl

xoxo

[afarawaylove-deactivated2017031]

[publiconsumptionboys-deactivate]

Miss Mistakes

[cnjinah-blog]

cneunji:

@cnjinah

It had only been a few hours since Eunji had shattered the priceless, but quite pricey, vase in the hallway when she went into the the gallery to find a familiar back. Beautiful glossy hair and perfect posture as she stood admiring the artwork, she was the same gorgeous woman who had witnessed her mess up. She needed to make amends, and quick. 

Walking over purposefully, she tapped the women on the shoulder lightly before pulling away as if the hot woman could burn her. She squeezed her eyes shut as she began to spill out her apology leaving no room to breathe. “I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m sorry for what you had to see earlier I’m a bit of a klutz and I can’t really help it. But I should have been more careful, I hope you didn’t get a cut from all the tiny peices. If it’s not too much to ask can we keep this between us? Please goddess of beauty, spare me.” She bowed as low as she could when she finished, panting for breath a bit. Eunji now had to wait for the woman’s response. Would she be understanding or cruel? 

if she were honest, jinah doesn’t remember a time when she had felt so free.

it feels like these days, she always belongs to one man or another. she was meant to be yang’s these next few weeks (and if her plan had worked before, the next few years), but his death had come at an unfortunate time and to the surprise of exactly no one, it leaves her feeling rather bittersweet. sure, it is a nick in her plans, but she has always hated the man with a passion—hated the way his gruesome fingers crawled up her naked flesh—and so to have that possibility taken from her forever is plenty refreshing. and if it weren’t for the snowstorm, jinah would’ve waltz out of these doors in a hurry to look for her next owner, but alas, she is trapped in these four walls, and yet she feels like her cage has been momentarily unlocked.

she enjoys the peace and quiet that comes with it. of course, the mansion is crawling with eleven others—most of which she already decided to hate before even meeting them—but the thing about animosity amongst her and the rest is that they tend to leave her out of things out of spite. and fortunately for her, she has never been the type to meddle with the poor, and so she most definitely prefers the solitude over having to socialise with those who only have the potential to demote her social standing.

she is observing an artwork, a satisfied sigh leaving her lips as she has half the mind to snatch it from the wall and destroy it. after all, it is yang’s, and it would give her so much satisfaction to be able to show him such disrespect and have him be unable to do anything about it. but no, jinah is a lady first, spiteful ex-lover second, and so she will do no such thing, even if it is her heart’s utmost desire.

she is stolen from her thoughts at the feel of weight on her shoulders, and because there is no one else in this damn house other than the people she absolutely hates, she turns around with features scrunched in annoyance. (god forbid it be taemin, because she absolutely cannot handle that confrontation at this moment.) jinah is just about ready to rebuke the offender, but she halts her advances upon identifying the person, and an amused smirk graces her lips as the girl proceeds to squeak and smirk. she is a frightened little thing, but oh, her words reveal that she has absolutely no regard for yang, and instead puts jinah on a pedestal, and because of that, she cannot help but feel partial to the young thing. if jinah didn’t know better, she’d think that the girl broke the vase on purpose, perhaps because she hated yang just as much as jinah did: the only difference between the two, she supposes, is that she is a lady whilst the latter is not. but no matter, every queen has a court lady, and as she watches the girl bow, the gold digger cannot help but think that she will do just nicely.

jinah turns to face the latter, and a light chuckle rolls off her pink tongue before she drawls, “it’s our little secret. if you’d like to do it again with this painting, feel free. i absolutely hate it; i’d do it myself, but it’s not very proper to do so.”

she shrugs pitifully, slim fingers reaching up to flip her hair back, and then she appraises the girl silently for what seems to be seconds turned to minutes. and then finally, she speaks again, “what’s your name, honey?”

[hyunwooxcn-blog]

※ smoking kills.

[cnjinah-blog]

hyunwooxcn:

Diamonds are only pretty when someone’s around to admire them. For all anyone knew, they could blend right in with the dirt around them when there was no one to see, when they don’t believe they’re being watched. It’s no different from the saying about a tree falling over in the woods; he takes some amusement in thinking about them all the same, at least.

The only problem here is that he doesn’t think she’s worthy of being called a diamond ─ it’s a title too highly associated with greatness, and on first, second, and third glance, she’s not all that great. Maybe something like silver, he thinks; admirable when clean and presentable and always associated with things of true worth, yet easily tarnished and worn down when it comes to standing the test of time. 

But what matters here is that the silver thinks itself quite high and mighty, right? And if she’s silver, then in her eyes, he must be nothing more than rhinestones that’re easily bought from flea markets and higher end convenience stores. 

He’s used to that, used to the way average quality silver looks down on him ─ hell, he’s lived most of his life thus far surrounded by its cawing. Instead of digging so deeply under his skin as it used to, it serves to be little more than a shaving razor against him. Her words don’t cut; they hardly even sting. 

“Wonder how stressful it’ll be when you’re relying on botox to hide away all the wrinkles you’ll have in a few years,” as he speaks, he thumbs at the lighter in his pocket; biting back at her in off-handed retaliation is something Hyunwoo hadn’t entirely been planning for, but hardly resists as it is. “Don’t think they’d be able to do much for your voice if you lose it, though. Those larynx devices don’t make for a pretty sound.”

It’s none of his business or concern what happens to her or her looks; she’s haughty and high-horsed and if Hyunwoo had any measure of godlike powers, he’d choose to rile up that stallion just to see her unceremoniously bucked off of it. Though her own circumstances don’t seem to have treated her any more favorably; he recalls the chatter of his elder sister’s friends and the here and there media coverage that spoke of the horrible downfall of what’d seemed to be a perfect relationship in prior times, and as he watches her turn away as though he of all people weren’t worth her time, he can’t help but snort in amusement. 

While she’s turned away, he pulls his own box from his jacket pocket, drawing out a stick and holding it lightly between his fingers, allowing it to dangle idly for a moment or few instead of lighting it right away.

“What’s there to even be on top of out here? A cover?” A hinted accusation shouldn’t be tossed so half-heartedly, but of course that doesn’t stop him from doing it. “Or is it just things not going your way?” Those things could be one in the same, couldn’t they? Hell if he knows. “If I were you, I’d be more interested in saving what you already have.”

He doesn’t care, really. None of his words have anything but a snide attribution to them, but hey ─ even though he’d been looking forward to coming out here and basking in the solitude, he can’t help but snip at his unexpected (yet unforced) company.

jinah had truly thought that her biting remarks were enough to send the guy running. after all, a conversation shared between her and someone of a lower status often ends poorly, not that she’s bothered by it in the slightest: after all, their opinions are supposed to matter less to her than an iota of dirt does. she had truly expected him to walk away—had even turned to promptly end the conversation and dismiss him—and so she had not been looking out for the sounds of his retreating footsteps enough to notice that it did not come.

when she hears his voice again, jinah is both taken by a bit by surprise, but mostly, she feels tormented. whatever has she done to deserve this?

(the answer is a lot, apparently.)

her features take on a rather pained expression as she melts just slightly in her stance—not completely, of course, because she is still a lady, and the company she keeps hardly changes that fact—and a deep sigh escapes her lips. she intends to drag the calming cigarette back to her lips when she hears talk of larynx devices—god, are these pests really that crude nowadays?—and as a reflex, drops the hand and clenches both fists and teeth.

(of course, he is raising good points, but she is not an idiot: these are points that have already plagued her; and yet when she is suffering through her withdrawals, they fail to surface. the only sound she can hear during her weaker moments are please, and just one more.)

it angers her to no end that he’s spitting these words like he believes that he is truly smart, when really, he is simply pointing out the obvious. but alas, it would be better if she does not reply to his crass remarks, because it would only guarantee his victory. she is a lady, and as a lady, she should not be affected by the opinions of this idiotic fellow. after all, when one is at the top, there are many who longs to tear her down: and however else can she successfully maintain her position at the top if not for her thick skin?

when he talks again—dear god, does he ever shut up?—jinah does not hear the words as much as she takes note of his muffled tone. it is enough to bring a wrinkle between her eyebrows in curiosity—for a man who seems awfully proud of his laughable knowledge, he does not seem to be the kind who would speak with anything less than a clear tone—and so she angles hear head just enough to catch him in her peripherals. what she sees has her scoffing, rolling her eyes, and finding the confidence to once more drag the cigarette between her cherry lips and take a puff.

hypocrite.

ah, she knows those assholes like the back of her hand. she’s been in relationships with them; has pretended that everything they say is law; has gotten on her knees and prayed at their altar. such are the men jinah has surrounded herself with, but she supposes if there’s anything she’s gained from it, it’s that it makes her deaf to their mindless chatter where others would usually burst out in anger. suddenly, everything he’s ever said about her seems to matter even less than that of the poor.

“you talk too much. out of the both of us, i fear you’d be more affected by the larynx device than i am,” she says with a scoff just as she pivots once again in her spot and fully regards him, “as if your inane mumblings aren’t already hard enough to understand, people would understand you even less. and we can’t have that, can we?”

jinah cocks a perfectly plucked eyebrow as she shoots him a challenging look, an amused expression dawning her pretty features. the cigarette dangles effortlessly between her lips, and though it may be less than ladylike, she cannot bring herself to care for her image particularly in front of scum like this.

“and thankfully, you will never be me, and i will never be you,” she drawls, her sharp gaze briefly appraising his figure before she promptly concludes, “a boy like you would crumble under the pressure of high society. frankly speaking, you wouldn’t be able to last a day. and me? well, it scares me, just thinking what i’d do to myself if i were to ever end up in your pitiful shoes. what is it you do, again?”

it is fine that he thinks her a slut, or equates her to that of trash: because she knows for a fact that what she thinks of him is much, much less.

[jininana]

[cnxtaemin-blog]

‘kitchen nightmares’

[cnjinah-blog]

cnxtaemin:

@cnjinah

it has been a terrible night, no doubt about it. not only has taemin failed in his quest to find comfort in soojung’s bed, but he’s also been accosted by one of the kids in the mansion and no matter how many times he’s showered, he can still smell yang’s dead, rotting flesh, that heartburn after-taste of seeing him lying motionless on the floor. he can still feel the heavy weight of the man as taemin and soojung had lifted him up to take him outside.

his night has been full of nightmares, none of them making any sense or connecting to each other. he keeps waking up in various states of disturbed and each time, he could swear he is being watched by something. never in his entire time here at the mansion has he had such difficulty sleeping, but this sure is one hell of a night.

when morning finally comes, he is already awake, and has been for at least an hour. he groans as he sits up, glaring at the cresting sun, peeking up over the horizon, the smallest glimmer of it seeping through the window curtains. for a moment, everything in his body is so stiff and painful, he doesn’t dare move, worried that the headache will explode and render him bedridden for the rest of the morning, but then he remembers something. the snow, the storm last night.

he forces himself to stand to his feet, his body aching like an old man’s, and walks over to the window, pushing the curtains aside. it’s worse than he could have ever imagined. out here in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by mountains and a naturally frigid lake, they usually see heavy snowfall in the winter (or at least they had last year), but taemin has never seen snow this high, and from the shimmering everywhere, it looks iced over as well. from here, he can even see a few trees that have cracked open from the weight of the snow on their branches and he shivers.

his head hurts now, he’s hungry, and all his hopes are dashed. what is he supposed to do? how is he supposed to send these people home; the boatman won’t cross the river if it’s frozen. he needs to go find out if it is, but for right now, food first. he changes clothes and puts on some house slippers, wandering out of the room and down the empty hallway, making his way across the stairs to the kitchen.

taemin doesn’t love many things. he loves his mother and his sister, and that’s about it for people. he hates almost everything about himself, except for his skills with cooking, and he hates everything about this mansion, except for this one room. it’s sort of become his sanctuary in the past year, a place he can go and burn off his frustrations whenever yang and him have a fight. whenever yang was being an asshole. whenever yang wanted too much from him, and got furious at him for not being able to deliver properly.

taemin is especially protective of his favorite room as well, never ever letting soojung mess around in there. it isn’t only because it’s his space or anything though, but also because she can’t cook worth a damn and he doesn’t want her to burn anything or set the kitchen on fire.

that’s who he initially thinks is in there right now at first, as he nears the room and hears loud clanging and banging and whispered curses. he frowns even harder, huffing, and is about to scold soojung until he steps inside and sees one of the guests– the evil, snobbish lady– trying to make something on his stove. a jolt of surprise, irritation, and fury shoot through him upon recognizing her. ugh, not again.

the scolding he’d had prepared for soojung was something quite a bit lighter than what comes to mind as soon as he sees her in his space, so he can’t help but snarl out, “what in the hell are you doing in my kitchen?!”

the break of dawn marks day three in this god forsaken mansion, and every single person she’s met thus far has successfully managed to evoke her ire. perhaps it is her own fault: she is all snapping teeth and biting snark, especially when it comes to non-members of high society. but she argues that she cannot be fully blamed, because it is their blatant ignorance of their position in the food chain, as well as their disrespect for those that are considerably higher up (see: her) that elevates her anger past the boundaries that she’s set in place. jinah did not climb this far only to have her status be spat on by complete nobodies, and so she curses every single one of them to the ground as she counts the days until she can finally be free from them and this bloody place.

so it is truly no surprise that she’s basically given up on having proper meal times, because that’s the time most of them would be lurking in the dining room as well. it is also perhaps no surprise why she has to saunter down to the kitchen herself to make her own food, because no one else is up to make breakfast for her. and no, she’s not going to step foot in the servant’s quarters just to wake a servant; the thought alone is repulsive, let alone the actual act. the kitchen is as far as she will go.

(perhaps her stubbornness will be the death of her some day. but she certainly hopes it is not these next few days, because it would be tragic to die in the house of a ghastly ex-lover, surrounded by people she cannot stand.)

however, as soon as she steps into the large kitchen, jinah realises that she may have been a little optimistic in her plan. as she stares at the unnecessarily large numbers of cupboards and other items she assumes will aid one in cooking—though at this point, it only seems to add to the confusion—jinah lets out a deep sigh. and as though her stomach senses that she is considering turning back and starving until she is finally free of this mansion—jesus fasted for forty days, perhaps she could too—it emits a low growl that is awfully unladylike, and it brings a slight grimace to her attractive features. fingers clenching the hem of her short nightgown, jinah makes use of the newfound determination and charges forth, searching through one cupboard at a time. for what, exactly, she has yet to decide.

jinah was not born rich, and in her youth, she has cooked some. provided, she has never been interested in trying her hand at making complicated dishes, and so she has always relied on sunny side ups and toast to satiate her hunger pangs. and so that is what she decides on, her eyes carefully scanning each cupboard as she looks for a frying pan.

after what seems to be a whole ten minutes of a wild goose chase, she finally finds the item she’s looking for, and she glares at the offending pan for having put her in so much pain. she washes then slams the item down on the stove and turns the fire on, before fetching the eggs from the fridge.

then comes the oil. thankfully, jinah did not need to spend as much time looking for it, and the twitch of her lips upwards reveals her pride and joy at having her luck turn around for the better. but perhaps she had been celebrating too early, because in her haste, she pours the oil onto the hot, still wet pan, causing the oil to splatter and hit her skin.

“fuck! shit, jesus,” she curses like a sailor, and to add to her bad luck, the snarl that seemingly comes from nowhere causes her to jump in panic, “shit!”

jinah closes her eyes and counts to ten, trying to slow her racing heart that seems to only be good for adding excitement to the eventful morning. when she feels calmer, she aims a deathly glare at who she later notes is the annoying butler and spits, “my bed wasn’t comfortable, so i was hoping to sleep on the kitchen floor— what do you fucking think, you moron? god, stop being so obtuse. and i highly doubt anything in this house belongs to you. not even you belong to you.”

she looks back to the stove in anger, and just in time, her stomach growls loudly. in hindsight, she had been a little too hopeful; right now, she doesn’t even feel like eating eggs, even though it’s all she’s capable of cooking. swallowing her pride, jinah asks all while staring at the pan in defeat, “do you… perhaps… know how to cook?”

her features morph into a pained frown.

“please.”

[cnjinah-blog]

of butlers and their inadequacy: ijn&ltm.

[cnjinah-blog]

cnxtaemin:

maybe a year ago, conversations like this would have been something taemin would have moved mountains to avoid. he’s always been contrary and irritable, acting out and being mean for no reason, but when he’d first come to this mansion, he had really tried his best to be good at this job. he hated it, but he understood that this was a favor being done for him (it was either this or go to jail back in france), so he wanted to deserve the honor. he didn’t want to be useless.

time, however, has long since changed his mind. along with yang’s abuse and asshole-tendencies, he has been kept here in this hell-hole of a house without hardly any outside contact, he hasn’t been able to phone home to talk to his mother or sister in months, and he is forbidden to call for a boat to the city. his hatred of this place has poisoned any goodwill he once held for his situation, and the difficulties of his every day struggle have only served to make him even more disrespectful.

he knows this about himself and is determined to not do anything about it. he’s secure enough both in his position and his lifestyle to know that nothing is going to change, no matter what party yang throws, who comes to visit, what fights he might manage to get into. yang won’t throw him out or fire him– if that was ever even an option, it definitely would have happened by now. there is no love lost between him and yang, but the bonds of whatever vow he gave taemin’s mother are somehow strong enough to imprison taemin here. possibly forever.

confronted with this reality, the fuming frustration of the lady before him, standing just a few steps above him, doesn’t phase him very much. taemin usually wears an indifferent facade on his face on even good days, so today, after everything he’s been working on and how tired his arms are, his facial expression is even less interested in anything she’s spouting.

he does sigh a bit as the driver hops into his car and speeds away, leaving the many suitcases there on the curb, obviously more affected by the woman than taemin is. what a coward, taemin thinks, rolling his eyes a bit. he can’t help it– the power of a tiny girl with an attitude is completely lost on him. he’s over it before it’s even started.

he looks back at little miss dangerous, giving a heavily judgmental side-eye in her direction. “and who are you to be commanding me like this? what riches or title could you possibly have to think that suddenly i work for you?” he smiles sardonically and leans forward a little bit. “don’t worry, that’s called a rhetorical question, you dont need to answer…” he eyes her from head to toe and back up again, unimpressed eyebrows raised, not even bothering to hide his disdain. “… since i already know.”

still though, a fight with yang later is not something he wants either, as funny as it would be to completely infuriate this woman, so he ought to at least make some sort of attempt. she’ll probably bitch and moan to the old man anyway, but at least taemin will be able to say something for himself. “I’ll take… these two bags up to your designated rooms, not to mr yang’s. his are already quite full of his own things, as i’m sure you can imagine.” he picks up two of the large ones, a handle in both grasps, and starts heading up the stairs, in through the large doors.

“if you insist the rest of those bags stay here, then fine,” he calls over his shoulder. “they’ll stay securely right there on the curb.”

the tension is so thick, jinah believes that one would have to swing their blade to slice right through it. perhaps the menacing gaze concealed by his bored expression is one that would draw out a tremble in one’s knees and cause them to falter and kneel, but unfortunately for him, it is her he is dealing with, and so she meets his gaze with equal fervour and contempt.

her ears perk just slightly when she hears the roaring of an engine as the car speeds away, but otherwise, she pays no heed. at least someone values their wellbeing, the thought briefly passes through her mind, but sadly, not this fucker.

words of rebellion spills from his lips, and it stirs something violent in her that jinah is forced to tamp down. and oddly enough, as he continues on his tirade, a faint smirk gently tugs the corner of her rouge lips. but her eyes, though: oh, they hold a fire that is wild beyond one’s imagination.

how cute, he thinks his opinion matters in this household.

“you’re right, i don’t need to answer…” she begins, her pink tongue darting to lick her lips before she continues, “because you’re worth nothing, and last i checked, i didn’t need to explain myself to the dirt when i step on it. but i’m feeling awfully charitable today, so i’ll humour you.”

with slow steps, she begins to close the large gap between her and the inane butler, her eyes never once leaving his arrogant form. how odd, for someone of his calibre to hold such misplaced pride. she halts when she’s so close, she could reach out to touch him, and it is here where she spits, “you may not work for me directly, but you work for mr yang. and as yang’s servant, your task is to make him happy, and what makes him happy is having guests who are happy. well guess what, you idiot, i’m his guest, so making me happy should be your top priority.”

her anger rises uncontrollably, but a voice within her sings and cackles in glee, because it has been far too long since her fire has been kept in check; all it longs for is release.

“too difficult for you to understand? then here’s an alternative explanation: as yang’s girlfriend, that also means you work for me directly, so when I say jump, you fly. perhaps it’d do you good to ask that wench, soojung, what happens to dogs who snap and bark uncontrollably. if she’s still around, of course,” she snarls through gritted teeth, and she quickly stops herself from letting her mind wonder to the whorish maid lest she combusts, “still too difficult? then here’s another alternative: pick up my damn bags and carry it to yang’s room.”

but even then, the man walks past her with only two bags, leaving her numerous others on the floor in front of her. she piercingly glares at the offending luggage, and her locked jaw threatens to snap. it appears yang’s servants are only getting dumber, because they are unable to comprehend even simple commands. fine, she’ll just get someone else to do this. she doesn’t need him, and she most certainly doesn’t need to hear his pathetic rebuttals. besides, she’s far too busy trying to figure out how to get all her bags into yang’s room.

upon calming, jinah pivots in her spot and glares at the man’s back, but she doesn’t beg for him to come back and help. no, she has far too much pride for that. instead, she calls out, “hey! when you’re done with that, pack your bags and leave. you’re fired.”

she fast approaches his direction and slips past the doors, and she halts momentarily beside him, a sarcastic smile gracing her venomous lips, “if you want to cry and beg, take it up with yang. i have no time for you. oh, and while you’re at it, tell him jinah said hi.”

with that, she turns her gaze away from him in dismissal. she walks past him with her head held high, her heels striking loudly against the floor, and off she goes in search for a more obedient, more unfortunate servant to tend to her bags.

[cnjinah-blog]

“be careful, you’re not in wonderland.”

headcanon meme for @cnxtaemin!

she is lying flat on her back on yang’s unnecessarily largebed, her back brushing roughly against the feather-light sheets as taemin rocksbetween her slim thighs. jinah is overcome by delirium, guttural moans escapingher before she’s able to clamp teeth onto swollen bottom lip in an effort to catchthem, and then she belatedly wonders why she ever needed to hold back in thefirst place.

(perhaps because this is not supposed to happen. perhaps becausethis is wrong on so many levels. jinah belongs to high society, mind, body andsoul, and yet here she is, sleeping with the staff. this can’t be happening.)

and yet, his stuttered words confirm that it is. they saythat this is not a dream; it’s real, and it’s now, and she has a choice to make: stay in thedepressing reality that this is all she will ever be, or leave to chase afterher own version of wonderland—her high society—as is the status quo? it wouldbe so easy to push him off and scream, to run away and pretend this neverexisted and if anyone were to catch them, she could just as easily lie and saythat he had forced himself on her. who would believe his rebuttals, when jinahhas been nothing but vocal on her view of servants?

her palms push against his chest, and perhaps in analternate universe, jinah would have raced for the door and cried foul; but rightnow, her bare form moves instead to straddle his hips and as she sinks onto histhick length, a satisfied mewl falls unabashed from her soft lips. right now, shecouldn’t care less about what others would think of her; right now, all shecares about is this: here is a man who pleases her like no other, and here is aman she’s giving herself to with no ulterior motives and no thoughts of highsociety. all of this is for her, and for her only. perhaps she will finallyregain her senses come tomorrow—perhaps in an hour—but she’ll deal with all ofthat later.

for now, she leans forward to sink her teeth into his fulllips, because god, he talks far toomuch.

[cnjinah-blog]

midnight snack: ijn&st.

[cnjinah-blog]

cnxsato:

there doesn’t seem to be anything positive about this business trip; first his favorite carving knife is confiscated on the plane, then the boat ride to the mansion is riddled with snow, then his old acquaintance is found dead, then this evening’s carving is lost, then he’s caught up with misunderstanding after misunderstanding, and now he’s cornered in a supply closet with a bad memory. he wishes a simple streak of bad luck could take the blame for it all, but thinking back, there’s honestly nothing and no one responsible except himself. the endless tremble in his hands is all his fault. what’s rumored to be a murder isn’t his doing, but thanks to his incompetence to explain himself, many of the patrons’ fingers are pointing his way. it wasn’t his intention to meet jinah like this again – he hadn’t avoided her, per say, but he certainly didn’t talk to her given the opportunity to – though just knowing the profile smirking before him must be his fault too. hooking up with his friend’s girl wasn’t one of his better moments.

it’d been an odd hour to be wandering the halls. the figures that crept across the carpets tried to warn that the action would lead to another bad decision in the making, and yet, to no avail. all he wanted to do was find the carving, perhaps try to venture outside again. his hands are trembling again for reasons he doesn’t want to admit, begging to work on something – anything – stimulating his mind into a state where slumber is impossible. nearly bare feet hurry down the corridor towards an unknown destination, oblivious to the predator lurking in shadows.

he’s pulled in without warning. a familiar voice laced with misfortune outlines shrouded features. a dainty finger seals his lips despite its owner’s prey being too distressed to even think of speaking. the words slip through the silence at a pace his ears can understand, but the hand is as quick as before. just like the last time they met she leaves no time for preparation and speaks with no desire for answers. it doesn’t take a genius to know she’s the type of woman who knows exactly what she wants and sees her goals through to the end, but tonight he can’t afford to kneel. when she kisses him his hands jolt from the wall and grip her shoulders, firmly holding her as far away as the tiny space permits when her body presses against his.

“n-no.” a stutter against his will, in a tone that melts into the closet’s humidity. he can feel his body still trembling against the wall, the urge to pry open the cuts lining his fingers rapidly rising, but his hands refuse to let go of her. his eyes have adjusted to the darkness just enough now that he can distinguish some of her features, though just barely. she’s as stunning as he remembers, but this time around his gaze wastes no time lingering, averting immediately to the door handle beside her hip as the word is forced out again.

“no! i can’t. no.” eyes narrowing on the exit, it’s unclear whether or not he’d be able to escape if he tried. physically pushing her aside and sprinting is the only idea currently coming to mind, but the possible repercussions are too risky for him to even consider trading when everyone thinks there’s a murderer among them. if she got hurt somehow, or if there was even evidence that he’d touched her, his current reputation in this house would suffer. he continues speaking slowly, carefully selecting each word that’s uttered, a notch above a murmur in an attempt to mask his uncertainty. “your yang is killed. and you are happy? we, can’t do this. this. is not right.”

her face is the image of perfection, her full lips the forbidden fruit that caused the downfall of man, her body a temple that beckons zealots to fall to their knees in worship. jinah was born a beauty queen and has, since the beginning of time, always been desired by the men and women who has ever had the pleasure of letting their gaze rest on the pretty sight of her, even though it is often so that her dark orbs are void of emotion. and so she is not familiar with having her advances so blatantly rejected when it is usually so well received, regardless of whether or not the object of her desires is otherwise attached.

it is why, when sato’s hand tightens around her shoulders, jinah thinks it’s out of passion. but then he’s pushing her away instead of pulling her closer, and the rejection that falls from his lips draws out a crinkle between her perfectly filled brows.

“…what?”

the nerve of him to deny her. she is the one who picks her beaus, because every fish in the ocean longs to fall in her net. and yet, here is a guy who she’s decided to give a moment of her time, and he doesn’t want it. he is hot and cold, dismissal spilling from his lips and yet his hands hold on to her for dear life. jinah does not know what he wants, and frankly, she’s far too old with too many things to do to be playing child-like games.

“you’re rejecting me?” she questions in disbelief, but he cuts her off with his own slew of excuses, and jinah scoffs in utter shock. how dare he assume that she ever belonged to that ghastly man. her jaw locks in anger, and she snatches her shoulders away from his hands.

“yes, i’m ecstatic that yang is dead,” she spits, her lips pulling into a wicked smirk, “and no one will ever miss that prick, i of all people. his disgusting hands were never worthy enough to touch me, and i for one am glad that they will never get to try again.”

slim fingers comb through her silky hair, and her eyes dart to the side as she takes deep breaths in hopes to calm her racing heart. a momentary slip; there must be something in the air in this house, for jinah finds that she loses herself to her emotions more often in the day she’s spent in this mansion, as compared to the years she’s spent in high society. or perhaps anything relating to yang simply brings out the devil in her. but regardless, it cannot happen again; right now, what she has to do is calm both herself and sato from her minor episode, because despite wanting more than anything to run with her bleeding pride, jinah needs sato. if he leaves her, she will truly have no one, and then how is she going to stay relevant in the inhospitable conditions of high society?

“i— i’m sorry. i didn’t mean that,” she mutters under her breath, and her gaze flicks back to his as her fingers reach to grasp his biceps in support, “i— i don’t belong to yang. he broke up with me and he kicked me out. he has no hold on me anymore.”

if not for her prior outburst, jinah would’ve spit the words out like they were dirt on her tongue. but she knows that she’s used up all her chances to display her attitude, and so the words leave her throat in a soft whisper, one that implies brokenness and shame. and she supposes, to some degree, that is what she truly feels.

“but… that means this isn’t wrong. i don’t belong to anyone, so unless you have a lover that i don’t know about, this is— this is anything but wrong,” she tries to convince him, her fingers reaching up to cup his jaw as she slowly melts into his strong figure, “does this… feel wrong to you? don’t you want me? because i do. i want you so much, i can barely breathe.”

liar. perhaps if she weren’t so keen on making her mark in high society, she’d make for a wonderful actress.

[cnjinah-blog]

hell on heels: ijn&cmk.

[cnjinah-blog]

cnxren:

@cnjinah

Ren obediently follows the staff`s orders to settle in his room for the night, trotting over to one of the massive beds in the room. He`s rather distressed because he wasn`t expecting to be trapped in the mansion over night and so he didn`t think to bring his toothbrush or his stuffed animal anemone. He can`t sleep without brushing his teeth or without his trusty anemone at his side. Ren can already feel the fuzzy feeling on the enamel of his teeth and he can`t imagine the levels of plaque he`s going to develop by morning.

But the discomfort of not brushing his teeth is nothing compared to not having Gukwa with him, especially in a mansion that contains amongst other things, a corpse. Ren tries to tell himself it`s not the end of the world, that many people have survived without toothbrushes and anemones and just because Mr. Yang died without an anemone doesn`t mean that Ren will. Although on some level, Ren would almost prefer it.  He checks his phone and realizes that while he has absolutely no reception, he does have an unfinished assignment waiting for him to be completed in two days.

He is going to be murdered in his sleep with cavities and a failed grade. He looks out the window, watching the snow gracefully drift to the ground. Taking a deep breath, Ren composes himself. At least if he dies tonight, he`ll never have to worry about final exams again and he will have died on a very pretty night.

Clinging desperately to the sliver of comfort in the thought, Ren turns his attention to the bed. He tilts his head, studying it for a while, before he takes a slight running start before leaping onto it, promptly sinking into a mountain of pillows, much to his delight. He pokes at the mattress curiously, then climbs back down. He`s about to do it again when a woman comes into the room.

She reminds him of one of the girls in the geology department, who can make him feel like a peasant with just one look, but he has heard that there are girls like this in other departments too.

He quietly perches on his bed and watches her for a moment, taking in the large amount of bags. There are many questions he wants to ask, but she`s only a stranger, even if they are sharing the room for the night. But finally he musters up the courage to ask her a question. He clears his throat in attempt to catch her attention.

“Um…I`m Ren,” he says, wishing more than ever that he had Gukwa. Gukwa always made friends. “And, um…do you possibly have an extra toothbrush maybe with which I can fight plaque and prevent tooth decay?”

it had perhaps been too naïve of her to think that these commoners would respect her wishes and leave her alone. but she can’t blame them: there was a time when jinah, too, was akin to a commoner, and she had held onto the hem of high society’s magnificent robe, begging till her knees bruised for a slim chance to be embraced. those days are over for her—now, against all odds, she has carved her rightful place in the inhospitable high society—but she supposes for these commoners, their days have only just begun.

it is a pity that it is her they meet, out of all the other members in high society. for jinah can be as ruthless as the crème de la crème.

she tries to ignore the man’s entire existence as she slowly sifts through her belongings in hopes of finding her sheer nightgown and her toiletries, but then the man speaks, and still, jinah pretends he’s not talking to her, even though there are only the two of them in this pathetic room. but the more he talks, the more she cannot ignore him, particularly because there are words he uses—like ‘plague’ and ‘tooth decay’—that makes her wonder if, of all the poor, incessant people trapped in the confines of this mansion, she fears that she has the misfortune to room with the oddest of them all.

what?

she had been squatting when she was going through her luggage, but she is so shocked by what she hears that she practically spins while squatting, to the point of losing her balance and falling to the floor. her palms splay out to brace for impact, and when she finally calms from the event, she turns to him and glares daggers at his form.

“you can’t be serious,” the words are spat from her venomous lips as they curl in condescension, “that’s disgusting.”

of course, plague does not discriminate and will affect every and all individuals, but the fact that he acknowledges such a thing is positively barbaric. she helps herself up and brushes the invisible dirt off her knees, then dismisses him as she pretends to go back to what she had been doing before being rudely interrupted.

but her mind is spinning: if she doesn’t give him a spare toothbrush (which, of course she has, because as a person whose entirely life is built on physical appearance, she needs to be thoroughly prepared for all situations that could make her appear less attractive than she is) and he rooms with her for the next few days, she highly doubts she will be comfortable with this knowledge at hand. what if he breathes on her? these commoners do not have any semblance of respect for personal space. what if she begins to smell like his bad breath?

reluctantly, jinah reaches into her toiletries bag and grabs a new toothbrush, her lips turning up in annoyance before she turns around and hastily passes the item to him.

“this doesn’t make us friends, so don’t start telling me your sob stories or asking me to help paint your nails,” she clarifies, her nose turning up in disgust as the image of those activities passes through her mind, “we’re acquainted because of this unfortunate circumstance, but make no mistake: you and i don’t know each other.”

[cnjinah-blog]

.tracker 270117

owing: cnxren ( hell on heels ), cnxsato ( midnight snack ), cnxtaemin ( of butlers and their inadequacy ), cnxtaemin ( kitchen nightmares ), memes

waiting: cnminho ( stalker alert ), hyunwooxcn ( smoking kills ), cnxjennie ( starter ), cnxbambam ( art of seduction ), soojungxcn ( princess and pauper )

plotting: cneunji

i’d like to sincerely apologise for being the slowest mun in this rp!! i will pick up my activity once i get back to aus, i promise!! also coug h s it’s my bday so happy bday to me yay!! celebrating it in conundrum hoho B^) love yall <3

[bearries-deactivated20240407]

[cnjinah-blog]

“show me the man who is sober and happy, & i’ll show you the crinkled anus of a lying asshole.”

au meme for @cnxbambam!

a tinkling of laughter and misplaced snort spills from jinah’sunsteady figure as the odd sentence is uttered from bambam’s lips, which can onlymean one thing: she is intoxicated once again (from which substance, it is yetto be determined).

in her childhood, she had been naïve enough to believe thatthe rich were always proper and pristine, whether it be their way of dressing,their mannerisms and their use of words; but as she continues to expose herselfto the richer students of her high school, she now realises that they are notat all different than everyone else; the only difference is that they areforced to act a certain way for the public’s entertainment. and the funny thingabout humans is that the more they are caged, the more they wish to rebel, andso these are the vices they take pleasure in; but always, always in secret, because otherwise, it would leave a fracture inthe prim and proper mask they’re forced to don, and then what will truly becomeof them?

(to rebel, but in moderation. a hilarious concept, and jinah’s giggles become that much more pronounced.)

but because they are forced to put on an act in public, theyare cuttingly blunt in private, and this is something she truly enjoys. not thedrugs and alcohol, which she only partakes it because her friends are too, but this: callous words spoken byintoxicated children, which oddly gives insight on the truths of life.

and so she raises her glass in agreement—albeit belatedly—andshe drinks until alcohol runs in her veins in place of blood.

[cnjinah-blog]

princess and pauper: ijn&jsj.

@soojungxcn

an incredible feat, but the only person who jinah could find more repulsive than yang is the insolent trash, soojung.

the housekeeper’s very existence offends jinah, and in a wild paradox, the fact that jinah’s mortal enemy is a maid—someone so beneath her station—offends her even more. the mere sight of soojung has jinah’s nose involuntarily wrinkle in disgust, and it stirs something violent within jinah’s otherwise picture perfect composure.

why is the bitch still here?

jinah has never been one to request much from yang; she counts every single request she’s asked from her ex-lover and notes that there is really only two, both of which have been denied. clear to all, the first request had been marriage, but not many know that in the confines of their bedroom, as jinah lies beside the sweaty, naked and satisfied form of yang, the second request uttered had been to get rid of his poor, unworthy lover who can never do what jinah does with her pretty tongue. she remembers yang’s cackle which she perceived as a taunt, and his ridicule of her suspicions which he assures is not true, which angers her to no end because he gives off the impression that he thinks her a fool.

how fitting, she thinks as she drains his large pockets of his hard-earned money, for an idiot to believe that he is wise.

during her time with yang, jinah remembers sinking her pristine teeth in her red lips as she fails to tolerate the presence of soojung, but now that the bastard is dead and has loosened his hold on her, no one can stop her from glaring daggers at the awful maid.

the room is silent, and they are the only two people present in the drawing room. jinah takes some pleasure in noting the difference between them: there soojung is, her bent figure working tirelessly to clean the fireplace and on the other hand, jinah rests on an expensive couch, sipping expensive wine from an expensive glass that she’s sure soojung has never had the luxury of drinking from.

how pathetic, that it is this whore, out of everyone she knows, that riles her up like no other.

it would do her no good to keep this anger bottled up within her tiny frame, jinah muses. plus, that is what the poor are there for; they are a fodder of entertainment for the rich. she supposes this is why yang kept soojung for as long as he did, even though she is terrible at her job; the fuse that threatens to spark within soojung is awfully fun to watch, and so jinah prods and waits for the maid to ignite.

“oops,” she drawls lazily, hoping the break in silence will grab the maid’s attention, but if that won’t then she supposes the sound of glass hitting the arabian rug might, “i heard red wine is a bitch to get out, but i’m no expert. i’m sure you’d know, though, seeing as this is your entire life.”

a poorly withheld small smirk betrays her countenance, but she crosses her arms nonetheless as she refuses to deviate from giving off the impression of being completely and utterly bored, “be a good girl and fetch me a new glass, will you? oh, but clean your hands before you do. no one likes dirt on their glass.”

[cnjinah-blog]

art of seduction: ijn&kb.

@cnxbambam

there is something about the loud, rhythmic echo of heels slamming against cold tiles that feels so empowering. or perhaps, jinah is just so bored that even this is interesting to her.

but can she be blamed? following mr yang’s death and dr sato’s rejection, jinah cannot help but feel like time is quickly passing her by, and she is helpless to do anything to salvage it. she is a prisoner to these tall, embellished walls just as she was only a few years ago, and if there’s anything jinah has taken away from the repeated history, it is that her distaste from before was wrongfully blamed on what little remains of her past self in this pristine body; that she was not simply a naïve bird wishing to escape a safe home with the illusion that the outside world is much better.

so yang was never the right person for her, and her pursuit of sato’s affection is looking rather glum, which can only mean one thing: it is high time for her to redirect her affections to someone more worthy of her calibre.

she finds that person in the lounge room; a happy coincidence, she thinks, because a) she had been quick to assume that everyone stuck in this damned mansion is below her station, and b) she had entered said room in hopes of finding some entertainment in this dull place, and just her luck, his presence there only proves that he is the rightful cure to her boredom. he is mr yang’s lesser cousin, who jinah still thinks of as a baby, but fortunately though, age has never been a deterrent—one simply needs to look at yang—and so she redirects her forceful steps to close the gap between them.

“thank god you’re here,” the words spill from her curved lips as she aims to draw his attention, “this place was getting awfully dull.”

and although she longs so much to slump into the chair, she holds herself like a lady of class and daintily seats herself on the seat beside his. a pained smile graces her red lips and slim fingers rest on his hand in a comforting touch, “i am so sorry for your loss. yang and i had a brief relationship, and we had our differences, but even i am shaken by his passing. i cannot imagine how much worse it must be for you.”

those words that leave her lips are insincere, and behind the pretty veil lies pure disgust as she all but longs to spit the words from her mouth. but im jinah is a fine actress, and an even better liar, and so she utilises these skills in hopes to achieve her next goal: him.

[jininana]

[cnjinah-blog]

“you’re not anything yet.”

headcanon meme for @hyunwooxcn!

she couldn’t tell you how her scandalous evenings spent inthe greenhouse now includes a certain know-it-all. it is not like she enjoyshis presence enough to wish to include him in her routine evenings, where shefeeds her smoking addiction, but the situation is similar to having a pest thatwill never disappear no matter how much you chase it down and nearly kill it,to the point where you simply lose your will to be rid of it and, conclusively,co-exist out of weariness.

and as a result, she finds herself desensitised to hiscutting remarks, to his characteristic unfun facts that often go through one earand come out the other.

such as this remark, for example. if it were anyone else whohad said it, jinah might’ve bothered to come up with an appropriate response,but whenever she is graced with hyunwoo’s presence, she is often overcome withexhaustion. such is the effect of a smart-ass.

“oh, hyunwoo, you know how much i care about your opinions,”she responds dully before bringing the offending cigarette to her lips, takinga puff, then watching as the smoke slowly leaves her lips, “i don’t.”

(it would be unfortunate if he were to come to the wrongidea—to think that he is doing her a service with his company—and decide tofeed her more of his useless knowledge that seems to be spilling from the smallcapacity of his small frame.)