LEAN INTO MY SIDE

—— NEVER FELT ALIVE. 18+/mirrored legacy

[dichotvmy]

provlematic‌:

noeul keeps his character strong (both personality and looks,) and honestly? he takes pride in it. the freedom of self expression and identification, let us rejoice. so when roeun, out of all wardrobes and styles to choose from, picks out the most threadbare excuse of a sweater– he has all the reason to make a long face. actually, throw in the extra furrow of his brows as well as the ‘why-the-hell-did-you-have-to-drag-me-here’ cross of his arms, and it pretty much speaks for his entire say-so. huffy, almost like a middle schooler who’s crabbed about his mom (girlfriend) changing him out of his cool skater-dude outfit for church-sunday.

not bad of an analogy. aggravatingly on point, actually.

“this is not what i meant by ‘spending more time together,’ and you know it.” she knows, he knows, and he also knows that his futile talk-backs won’t do shit. not if her dad is coming over and he has to stage the good church boy put-on, but he still tries. he eyes the boring-colored sweater in her hands, tapping it with the back of his hands in distaste. “a kid i beat up in highschool wore something like that.” as in, i’m not wearing that shit.

“c’mon, roeun. my clothes are fine the way they are. you see this? it’s versace. s/s ‘19 collection. if anything, it’s better than anything in this goddamn shop.” throwing a hand in the air, he points at the needlessly spiffy print on his dress shirt with the other hand. baroque-inspired, or whatever. more like ‘i-pimp-out-girls-for-a-living’ with the over-fit of it and all. all this to no avail. even his guts tell him that this stupid beige knit is going to end up through his head one way or the other, especially with the way roeun’s looking at him, buying zero ounce of his hard sell.

she doesn’t like this just as much. roeun wonders if he knows (since it’s so obviously written on her face) or cares (since he seems so obviously invested in his own turmoil). it is just as much as a bother. though noeul doesn’t seem to care to make it any easier with the way he acts. face pulled into such distaste she almost wants to slap off him. (but temper, roeun. temper. he isn’t going to do anything without proper coaxing.)

“what did you mean then?” play innocent. at least till he tests the last of her patience. either way he’s going to have to do it. it’s just whether or not he’ll do it while she’s still nice or otherwise. “so?” her brow arches, gaze meeting him steadily with the gesture. a kid she knows now is about to get beat up with it. “it’s simple and cute.”

“and? what’s your point? who cares if it’s versace when it makes you look like a pimp or some shady ass dealer? because that’ll go over so well with my pastor of a dad right?” she tries her best not to spat, though it comes off as dry and testy enough as it is. as if she has time to argue with him on this. she reaches out to slap down his hand, thinking better of it last minute and grasps it instead, tugging. “come on, we’re trying it on.” it isn’t like he has an option anyway.

[rottenfrvit]

ESSENTIALLY.

[dichotvmy]

rottenfrvit‌:

okay, don’t panic. swallow your cake, lin — don’t fucking choke here.

her frown disappears, momentarily replaced by a flustered expression that betrays the state of incomprehensible feelings that little compliment sent her to. once again, she has been caught off guard by jin, leading to red cheeks and an almost petulant scowl in attempt to cover it up. it doesn’t work.

“it’s just yubaba’s magic.” she mutters instead of accepting the compliment like a complete fool, terribly unaware of how she’s doing zilch in terms of developing their friendship into something more. for once, she doesn’t have much faith in herself concerning that department. 

doesn’t stop her from sitting down beside him though.

she licks the sugar off her fingers, then reaches for blades of grass that she slowly plucks out one at a time. the gardeners would have her head for committing the barbaric sin of mutilating the poor garden every time she finds herself here ( often in jin’s company. there’s gotta be a correlation in there somewhere. ) if they could catch her, but they can’t. they’ve tried. 

“didn’t know you were back from the palace already.” lin dons a lighthearted smile now, next words slipping past her nonexistent filter before she can stop them. “did you miss me that much?” 

he’s oblivious. disarming smile set in place while he watches her. wholly unbothered by the possible side-effects of his words. or if there was even any impact. it’s not the point, anyway, he just wanted to tell her.

and even now, the flush that colored her cheeks—made her even prettier.

“yubaba’s magic made you pretty? i don’t think so...” he rubs his chin in contemplation, hardly convinced. if she could, wouldn’t she be making herself pretty? or well, jin wouldn’t know. a woman (witch)’s heart works in ways he has yet to understand. he’s seen lin for every day of his visits now and he’s barely understood.

nevertheless, his nerves has him on edge. unsure of what the spirit had in mind. if she was still angry. whether or not earlier’s comment will be taken in jest or has even eased her temper in the slightest. and so, he can’t help but stiffen for a handful of seconds when she settles beside him, breath held.

and yet. nothing. whew. safe.

“yeah, the lady on the moon wanted to come back as well,” jin peers over carefully, fingers stroking over the petals of the sunflower in his hands carefully. “yeah.” of course he did. “i missed you.” he confesses genuinely, eyes curling with his grin, holding out the flower in his hand. 

“here, for you.”

[dichotvmy]

bitchstal‌:

she’s quick to respond, and he scoffs out of amusement. “just call me a dumb ass while you’re at it.” she’s right, and that’s his way of admitting she’s right. the way she’s so nonchalant and casual and how she doesn’t seem to mind what had happened a few minutes prior is appreciated. as much as he’s pissed at sowon for always trailing behind gijoon, at least kyungho doesn’t have to deal with her constant scolding on how he never considers gijoon’s opinions or feelings. it’s obvious to him who she prefers. “nah, i don’t think you’re their type.” he quips. of course she has to mention that son of a bitch – kyungho’s expression shifts and he rolls his eyes. “gijoon isn’t scary, he’s a fucking prick.” he sits, grumbling under his breath, “not my fault you’re short.” 

“you said it, not me.” she speaks idly, eyes catching his with a playful quirk of her lips. there’s no reason to dwell on the fight, it wasn’t as if kyungho would ever come to her with any type of need to share his feelings anyway. at the least, the best she could do now is to move the topic along, the quicker the better to improve his mood. “meaning what? i’d taste funky?” her nose crinkles, pausing with the look at his face. damn. misstep there.”you’re scary, the scariest—happy?” she follows, squatting between his legs while her fingers busy with opening the kit. “hey—” yebin huffs, swatting at his knee lightly. “i’m at a perfectly average height for korean women my age.” she grumbles, pressing a cotton ball against the cut on his jaw (admittedly a bit aggressively). “not my fault you’re at a freak height.” 

[dichotvmy]

if she had a choice, she wouldn’t have asked. but the keyword is if. if it was up to her, he wouldn’t even be here. she wouldn’t be here. and more importantly, dad would’ve stayed home instead of visiting the city for god knows why. (she knows. he called explaining, roeun had just stopped listening after “mom and i are coming over”.) and yet. it’s not. nowhere near being her choice or her intention. because if it was, han noeul would’ve been the last person she’d introduce to her dad. 

but, what choice did she have? ask someone else? roeun can’t even begin to imagine the possible backlash if he found out.

“how long are you going to fucking pout?” still, it doesn’t make the grueling process of de-bastard of a club owner-ing him any easier. “you’re always complaining about not spending enough time together, what do you think we’re doing now?” combing through rack after rack of season appropriate drab ass sweaters.

“hey,” she pulls out something beige by random, pressing it against his frame. “how’s this?” her eyes flick over his, sporting as convincing of a grin as it could get in the face of utter displeasure on noeul’s face. 

“i think it’ll look cute.” correction. (because it’s often needed in brat taming ego stroking) “you’ll look cute.”

                                                                                                     for @provlematic

[rottenfrvit]

ESSENTIALLY.

she looks for him after the performance is over, slipping past spirits and stealing a honey cake from a snack tray reserved solely for the guest spirits. it’s the least she deserves for the embarrassment she just went through. they won’t notice a missing cake.

cheeks still tinged pink from earlier, she petulantly takes another bite out of the honey cake as she heads out of the bathhouse and into the gardens. she didn’t expect to see him of all spirits in the crowd below the stage, so yes, the chagrin still lingers since he’s never seen her in the ‘zone’. it’s been an unspoken rule of sorts — on her end at least. she’s a terribly different spirit on stage. for all she knows, this isn’t his first time but she’s only noticed now.

oh god.

naturally, she finds him by the peonies as always. the flowers almost feel like they’re shrinking back away from her as she approaches him from behind. fair enough, really.

“hey, you made me miss a beat back there, y’know?”

@dichotvmy !

[dichotvmy]

he’s not sure how to process. at least, not in the very moment. though the rabbit spirit figures—that’s just him being him. it wasn’t as if it was anything unnatural, anyway. nothing surprising. he’s seen her in passing many times by now. but in the end, maybe it is a little different to watch full on, 100% of his focus. as if he could ever look away from lin to begin with. 

and the realization? things like she’s pretty, she’s talented—well, it wasn’t as if it was anything he hadn’t already known to begin with.

but he’s on the move before the performance ends, realizing with sudden urgency what’s to come. how quickly lin would hunt him down otherwise. it’s better to get a head start, isn’t it? more time to process, more time to figure out how to weasel his way out of it. 

his feet brings him to the field, figures. but jin has always had one weakness or another for the bathhouse’s lush garden. a direct opposite to the palace of the moon, which only grew lotuses and jasmines in varying shades of pink and white. and these flowers, full of energy and sweet scent, seemed to adore him otherwise. 

as expected, lin finds him a handful of minutes later, sat comfortably on the lush green. the vexation in her tone doesn’t go unnoticed and by now—jin knows to face it head on more than anything. instead he opts to lean backward, head tilting to catch her eyes, usual smile in place.

“sorry.” and it’s genuine, at least. if he inconvenienced her, he’s truly apologetic about. “you looked really pretty though.”

[dichotvmy]

bitchstal‌:

she tries not to play favourites, she tries her best to be the mediator, but she knows she tends to favour gijoon over kyungho. thank god she’s good at hiding it. she’s more trained when it comes to suppressing emotions and feelings to be considerate of those around her and as much as she wants to yell at the both of them, she knows it won’t do anything but harm their dynamic and it scares her. “i’m not covering for him, you always think that.” does he not notice how she followed him and not kyungho? does he not realize she covers for him too? “you really think i’m going to let you out of my sight when you just got into a fist fight?” irrelevant, she would have gone with him anyway. “come on–” grabbing his arm to lead the way.

does he know? to a degree, gijoon supposes he does. or doesn’t. he’s not sure. often times it’s hard to stay sure of one thing when any other million little things pricks at him easy. that’s the thing with having to be pitted (of course, no one’s really doing the pitting beyond each other) against your best friend (?) for the affections of another. they’re both far too competitive and it shows. “am i wrong? think about how you’re coming off then.” his eyes roll, but he doesn’t continue further. there’s no point in arguing when gijoon can already see the outcome. last thing he wants right now is for sowon to get upset. “why? do you think i’m going to go running after him or something?” gijoon scoffs, moving with her lead regardless. “you’re bossy today.” still, if it’s like this, with her, it’s not that bad.

[dichotvmy]

bitchstal‌:

patience, an obvious weakness of his. his impatience is what caused them to have an altercation to begin with. his hands in his pocket, following her lead, walking cautiously in case he finds something useful. his mind goes back to gijoon and how irritating he is and how irritating it is that sowon follows him every time. he closes his eyes, half-listening to what yebin is saying. “wouldn’t most of the good stuff be behind the counter anyway?” he looks at the crushed bottles of advil and trampled on boxes of condoms on the ground, a short laugh escapes his lips as he kicks the scraps away. he rolls his eyes with a smile, “congratulations, you’re quite the scavenger, aren’t you?” he teases. “i would tell you i’m fine and that i don’t need first aid, but the last thing i need is for someone else to be mad at me so i’m only listening to you this one time.”

she knows him enough. or so she likes to think. truthfully, yebin can’t recall a time where they’ve hung out together for longer than two hours (and even that is done in wait for the rest of them to show). so for her to develop such thoughts for someone she barely knew is so—uncharacteristic. so unlike her. her gaze lingers for a beat too long when he speaks. so uncharacteristic. “yeah, wow, do you think you’re the first one to think that?” she retorts without missing a beat, tone bordering teasing. “i try, i need to give you a reason to keep me instead of using me as a meat shield after all.” yebin grins. yup, definitely watching too much of those zombie apocalypse films. “yeah, i’m scarier than gijoon when i’m mad too—i wouldn’t risk it.” she laughs, gesturing to the edge of the metal shelves. “actually just sit here.” she huffs. “you’re too tall—” she can’t reach. 

[dichotvmy]

bitchstal‌:

she recognizes that look in his eyes and it frightens her that maybe one day her pleads and persistence won’t be enough for them. that it’ll be way past reconciliation. it’s always been the three of them, she doesn’t want that to go away. she has depended on their friendship to be the only consistent and stable thing in her life. “i’m not hurt.” holding his wrist, forcing his hand away from her face. “he didn’t hit me, okay? it’s not like he meant to hit me – if he did.” shut up, sowon, you’re not helping. “because he wants to make sure we’ve made it far enough away from that shithole of a town we escaped.” she nods, “i’m okay,” reassuring him one last time. “i swear to god if you ask me if i’m okay one more time, i’ll leave your ass in the forest to rot.” 

he’s not unaware. knows fully well what stands to be at risk if they were to get into it now. possibly endearing the entire group aside, there’s a lot more at stake than gijoon is willing to admit. even if kyungho has grown unbearable within the years. has he not stuck through it the whole time for sowon? and, as much as he doesn’t like to admit it—hasn’t kyungho done the same? admit it, they’ve imprinted far too much on each other’s lives to let go now. “okay. sure.” his eyes sweep over her face, dropping his grip with her prompting. “i’m just asking, since i know how you like to cover for him.” it’s like he can’t keep his own mouth shut. where is he even getting this from? “if you’re good, then i’m going to find something to rinse out my mouth with.” he rubs the back of his neck idly, ridden with ache with the way he stretches the muscles. “do you want to wait here? or come with?” he’d opt for the latter, but the discomfort in his chest is hard to fathom at the moment. 

[dichotvmy]

bitchstal‌:

there’s a multitude of reasons for his anger – gijoon being at the centre of it. he knows how to rile kyungho up and despite being his best friend, he also hates the guy. their friendship is being tested and he knows they should come to a compromise for the sake of the group, but something about him annoys the shit out of him and he refuses to let his pride down. tonight took a turn for the worse. another physical altercation, but this time, he nearly hurt sowon. it would have been purely accidental, but he would have never been able to forgive himself if something did happen. he hears yebin calling out to him, but he doesn’t stop. he wants to be left alone and unbothered. reluctantly, he turns around once yebin catches up to him. he’s too tired to reject or start an argument with someone else, so he goes with her. “this aisle is fucked, how are we supposed to find anything…” kicking a broken pieces of plastic.

she operates in the blind. in the handles of someone who witnessed a part of their history, but not enough. she wasn’t sowon, after all, and didn’t know either of them nearly as long. but yebin figures by now she’s got a good enough handle on the two and the girl they keep between them. a good grasp on the affection they share and how she stands—from an outsider’s standpoint. “you just have to be patient,” she speaks easily enough, taking time in looking over every shelf, using her foot to clear aside bits of debris. “most people panic in situations like this, they don’t act smart—so they end up rushing, and then they miss things...” yebin rambles on, taking a moment to jump forward, extending her arm over the top of the shelf to grab onto the first thing she touches—and sure emough, touches ground with a basic first aid kit in hand, smile bright. “see?” she wiggles it for emphasis, smile growing. “let’s sit somewhere, you could use a bandaid or two...”

[maidavikaz]

“i’m fine–” she insists, trying her best to ease his anger. she doesn’t need another reason for them to fight again. they can’t afford to have anymore setbacks or conflicts. they’re all here for the same reasons, but the ones in charge can’t seem to have a difference of opinion. too much testosterone for anyone to handle in one night. “why can’t you two just agree to disagree? you both need to sort out whatever animosity and differences you have before you start infecting everyone else with your constant bickering.” — @dichotvmy

[dichotvmy]

“no, you’re not.” or he’s not. through gritted teeth and throbbing red, it’s hard to tell. hard to think past the adrenaline pumping through his veins, devil on his shoulder screaming to hunt down that crazy bastard and finish up on where they left off. it isn’t the first they’ve seen eye to eye‚ but to go this far—it’s aggravating as it is frustrating. disheartening, to say the least. to fight with someone he’s known all his life. “no.” he scoffs, hands lifting with considerable ease despite the grit of his words, cupping her face to check for any marks. or reason in general for him to hunt kyungho down. “why can’t he think rationally? we’re not out here to vacation—of course the first thing we should do is find a place before it gets dark,” gijoon sighs around his frustration, opting to focus a little more on the girl before him, worry seeping through his tone. “are you sure you’re okay?” 

[dichotvmy]

she can only follow aimlessly. footsteps carrying an air of urgency in her attempts to tail, noting only absently that they stray further away from their group. but, it’s fine. the retail chain is huge and some distance would do them some good as well. still, it wasn’t going to do them any good to just continue on like this. “h-hey—wait up...!” reaches out once she spills something in passing, fingers curling into the fabric of the taller’s shirt to pull him back. “let’s go down there—” medicine aisle. though it looks as if a hurricane went through it. still, there should be something right? “maybe we can find a first aid kit for the future... and you know...” gestures vaguely to his face, eyes fixed square on his forehead. “come on!” she tugs, lips pulled into a small frown. “let’s go.”  

for @bitchstal

[dichotvmy]

bitchstal‌:

there she is – he feels his heart racing, and he welcomes it. he quickly wipes his hands at the sides of his pants, fixating on organizing the cups, trying not to look too eager for her to approach him. he looks up, and she’s already standing in front of the counter. she looks so pretty – his first thought. and she smells nice – not creepy, right? she has the prettiest smile and he can’t help, but smile in return. and this time, it won’t be as awkward or weird – maybe now the barista will understand. “hi, taeri.” he’s trying to be more friendly and less formal. “you look nice.” he compliments with a bright smile. his voice is soft and quiet. he presents her with a cup full of coffee he had been waiting to give to her. “for you.” sliding it toward her. 

there’s a familiar sensation that bubbles forth, travels from the crux of her chest to the ends of her fingers, twitching and toes, curling. taeri isn’t dumb, knows it exactly to be what it is. the makings of a crush. territoriy untraveled since maybe high school? she can’t remember. can’t be bothered to think back to any other boys before right here, right now. “hi,” you already said hi. her smile widens, parts sheepish. “thanks—you look—.” the word pools at the base of her tongue, well aware of the curious eyes (and ears) boring into the back of her head. so instead, she mouths it, slow and clear. hand. some. “oh,” her eyes lower to the cup, fingers brushing his when she reaches out, sliding her fingers around the coaster. sweet. he’s always been sweet, though. she’s never too sure why no one else sees it. “thanks!” taeri looks up with a smile, head tilting slightly. “i guess i’ll have to treat you to drinks or something after work now... to make up for it.” 

[dichotvmy]

provlematic‌:

summer, 2019 with cee. | @dichotvmy

monotonous snips, spaced-out chatters and fallen strands of hair beneath his feet fill the standard 8 out of 24 hours before time clocks him out. god-fucking-finally. he holds his job high, he swears, it just happens to be one of those days. see ya guys later, he mutters as he makes his way out the salon, slipping into the bustling crowd by the 9th exit station.

question: how many problems (girls) do you need before you stumble over ‘em and sink? ian’s answer: too many.

“hey,” he calls after a five second once-over at the girl behind the second work station. his tattoo artist is searching high heavens through the tray, groaning a ‘where the hell did i put the artwork?’ ian pays no mind, with his mind already at leisure on a friday night. time’s there to spare, waste– whatever.

“aren’t you that girl that i met at dabin’s place? by the pool.” he raises a brow with his chin in palm, eyes locked on her long lock and slim frame. his fingertips drum gently atop of the armrest, his usual ploy getting a head-start with the whole repeated-encounter situation. he recalls the way his little cousin would look at her, honey-eyed and always reluctant. he hasn’t paid much mind about the whole spiel with the two, but something about her that was beyond-reach by a second figure puts a match to his interest. attraction? nothing new, nothing moral.

does he care? not really. not at all.

“cecila– right?”

she’s not good with names. has a better knack to matching faces to small details, uneven eyes, mole beneath the lobe or something like that. here, situated comfortably before a thick appointment book, she’s far more preoccupied with rearranging saturday’s appointments to focus on anything else. in fact, almost misses the call her way.

“mm?” her eyes flick over absently to the voice, pen cap pressed between rows of ivory and brow arched in curiosity. the male in question is familiar and sure enough, drops enough mentions for the memory itself to become increasingly clear. dabin’s cousin—yes. she remembers, vaguely.

“yeah, yeah—cee is fine.” only her grandmother calls her cecila. “uh, you’re dabin’s cousin—right?” her mind stalls, twirling the pen absently to try and fill in the blanks. match a name to the face. a name. a name. why is it that she can’t remember anything beyond the tattoo on his shoulder?

oh. right. by the pool. she would’ve had well along the lines of buzzed by then. 

her lips curve, hopefully masking the fact that she had forgotten his name—fingers plucking the pen cap from her mouth. her pen presses into the pages absently, scrawling brief words for later. shoulder tatt. name. underline. underline. 

“so, what are you getting today?”

[dichotvmy]

bone tongue

                                                                                                            i used to live on crumbs                                                                               / but i too am a wants-to-be-touched thing                                                                                                                           — @rottenfrvit

                                                                          x

    blood. however thick. however controversial. it clings to skin, garments, weapons, hair and all. an unforgiving stain, putrid in the way her stomach clenches around the metallic stench. it normally doesn’t bother her. normally. but things could be considered differently when the source is from someone she’s previously lain with. in multitudes. when she could distinctly remember the slice of her skin, light fading from her eyes. roar of the crowd (or was it the monster wearing her skin) behind the lifeless corpse of one, formerly enthralling, sappho.

    it’s strange. the peculiarities of emotions that dwindled in with every step away from the arena, into its connecting corridor and through to the waiting room. every step being the slightest bit more that viper would let slip through. relief. rage. regret (there will be no regret. there is nothing to regret when it is your life on the line). but more importantly, and this viper feels in rolling crashes against her battered body the moment her eyes lock with buttercup’s, sympathy.

    it is her lover. it was her lover so you owe her something. the voice (let’s call it the remnants of a conscience) in her head chides, dauntingly plucks at her heartstrings. as if viper hasn’t reached in and wrung dry parts of herself for less. “buttercup.” her name escapes in a purr, head tilting to the side slightly in expectation.

    it takes every fiber of her being not to move. not to suddenly react, self-conscious, to the blood splattered on her skin, caked in her hair, stains in her clothing. cuts and bruises that she hadn’t even bothered to tend to just yet—nothing quite matters just yet. nothing beyond the woman before her.

    still, brazen, viper manages a ghost of a smile.

    “you don’t look too happy to see me.” her brow arches. almost defiantly. self-destructively. mockingly.“expecting someone else?”

[maidavikaz]

starter for @dichotvmy

would she notice he styled his hair differently?? or maybe she’ll notice the delightful laundry scent coming from his uniform ( which would soon be masked by the strong smells from the coffee anyway ). each time the door opens, his head turns. hoping to catch a glimpse of her walking in. he’s nervous, not in the bad way, but in the good way for once. maybe once they’re both clocked out they can have dinner again. he shines each glass to perfection, slightly smiling to himself. the barista stares a bit in wonder and fright. they lock eyes and immediately, they both awkwardly look away. his cheeks turn pink and he masks his smile. if he smiles so publicly and often, it would give them something else to talk about it. so he forces it down, waiting for her arrival. 

[dichotvmy]

steps taken to work these days are noticeably light. near floating, carries with it a sense of spring—you know, flowers and hearts and the works. yeah, work’s been great lately. broad shoulders, bashful gazes, quiet responses (and a decidedly cute smile), with chansung around one can say work has been doing better than great. though she’s sure the rest of the employees have something else to say about it. whatever, she can’t be bothered care anymore. (she claims) can’t possibly fixate too much on the words of others when there’s so much more to focus on. say: the pairs of eyes that turn to her when she slips in. watches as she beelines, steps neat over drying floorboards, to come to a stop before the man behind the counter, fingers combing through her hair to tuck behind her ears, smile in place. “hey,” moment pause, lips coy, taeri impulsively dips into new territory. after all, they did have dinner together. “chansung oppa.”