[kaikainterlude]

“ I SEE THIS... THIS SPARK IN YOU. IT’S AMAZING, IT’S WHY I PUSH YOU ”

“ BUT IT’S YOURS AND WHATEVER YOU CHOOSE TO DO WITH IT, YOU’LL BE GREAT ”

SIDEBLOG. SHE/HER. #TWENTEA ☕🫖 i can't follow from here so hu my main fr @kaikaikoi🙏🙂‍↕️ i luuvv musiccc & im a sensitive chud man 🙏 ︵⁠ 🪽‧₊˚. for fic reccs music talk & me geeking out for personal fic resources

[kaikainterlude]

but now I'm starting to notice a pattern— the absolute misogyny, objectification and performativity directed towards every artist and some genuine listeners of this genre; and music as a whole.

im tired of all the stupid performative shit that comes with music. ( a rant, maybe a lecture. topics about ; misogyny & performative behavior. my thoughts on the recent martin situation with matt proxy. discussing about black influence in kpop. music and why its art, why it matters. )

most people don't listen to music with their ears at all.

I've been really into underground lately and been really addicted to the whole "electronic" music that's been putting out lately and I've always been a fan.

it reminds me of the earlier variation we had in lockdown when everyone was listening to #brooklynbloodpop and I genuinely believe that what carried and transformed into what kind of electronic music we have these days. artists like slayr, tiffany day, fakemink, feng, echstacy, effie (to name a few that I actively keep up w) are refreshing and have a great talent when it comes to their art.

lately I've noticed how much misogyny and negativity is integrated into just being an independent artist trying to push your music out into the world.

THE MISOGYNY

I had been gatekeeping this duo I adored, and lately martin posted a song of theirs too. they're called “ear” and they're a boy-girl duo. I joke a lot about how much music matters to me and this post was initially written to discuss music itself right after martin posted their song.

as a woman and as someone who wants to make music one day, it moves me to my core when I discover there's a woman's touch behind the music I'm listening to. it's a genuine moment where I pause and reevaluate my initial approach because it's one thing to find a song you like, its another to find someone like you made it. a woman in a space making music you enjoy.

but now I'm starting to notice a pattern— the absolute misogyny, objectification and performativity directed towards every artist and some genuine listeners of this genre; and music as a whole.

music has always stood as a symbol of art, one of the purest forms of communication and expression we as people consume and create. overtime, it's become something so meaningful that we base judgement of other people off their tastes alone.

but it's getting to a point where it's almost frustrating to witness how objectifying it becomes to just make and enjoy music. if you listen to something not well known— you're a "poser,” and if you listen to something popular— you're “basic.” if you're listening to sabrina carpenter, you're “just a girl listening to girl music” if you listen to opium artists, you're not a real “fan” because a man listening to the same thing is just going to be called “different” “hard” “niche” “good taste” “knows real music”

it's gotten to the point that artists as women cannot exist in the same space as men anymore without there being a sexual undertone to their work. are the duo of "ear" in a relationship? are they not? does it matter?

why should it matter? existing and enjoying music has always been something we've done for generations; music is culture, it's a language, it is intimacy and it is love.

as I grow, I realize how many people are genuinely desperate for something to make themselves seem “interesting” or “unique” solely for the title of being. and these very people are polluting the smaller spaces like this— clinging to the very artists they consume. one can begin to think— “is there genuine enjoyment to the music they're consuming; or, is the music being consumed because it's just not popular right now?”

more on this later ^

there's a dehumanizing lens women are viewed with when it comes to enjoying music these days. it makes me want to ask the questions, why can't a woman be as successful as a man without assuming that she's sleeping her way through the industry? why can't an aspiring artist bloom like they should in an industry where experimenting should be rewarded?

ear has been one of my favorite artists for a bit. they're engaging people and they are just artists in a sea of others. they have a rawness to their craft you can gauge by watching the people behind the album covers. their music moves me to tears; but there is no space welcome for me as a woman. as a girl. people first assume my gender and sexual habits before they even take a glance at my art— what I'm here to do. it must be exhausting to be seen for what relationships I'm building when I'm in a creative space trying to share my art.

if people even gave ear a chance, they'd recognize why there's so much genuinity around their work's sound.

I don't know. this kind of shit spoils your day and your space. i hope there's a genuine change when it comes to a community like this. there's insecurity lurking in the cracks, every joke is in bad taste because it's about a woman in the industry just doing what she can. and others point and laugh because it's okay to make a joke like that when there's not a woman around.

but there are women around. there always will be, their influence is undeniable. where does so much malice come from? I don't understand. im tired of everyone craving so much "originality" they forget the entire point of creating music is recycling what was already created and making something new out of it.

this is a genuine problem in the industry and it's fanbase. we see it all the time; the primest example being performative “males” with their matcha, wired headphones and a book they don't seem interested in, just to seem appealing. poeple listening to music they don't genuinely enjoy to just seem more dynamic, or consuming media they don't really enjoy just to belong in a space.

i believe a large majority of the artists' fanbase carry this lack of personality into the space all the time. oddly enough, as discussed with misogyny, it's clear that this kind of demeaning behavior directed towards women is definitely not to find community with women— but instead with other men present.

misogynists clearly prioritize presenting an image that harms women while trying to seem accepted by other men in the community. it's a performance, in a way, to fit into a certain group and feel a sense of validation. performance takes many faces, and misogyny is only one of them.

most people don't listen to music with their ears at all.

THEREFORE; THE “PERFORMATIVE” BEHAVIOR

this part of the discussion is specific to the recent martin situation with matt proxy. to explain briefly, martin reccommended a song “knots” by proxy on weverse, which proxy didn't take too well to and started hating on cortis. I recently just said:

one can begin to think— “is there genuine enjoyment to the music they're consuming; or, is the music being consumed because it's just not popular right now?”

a common behavior many people, who aren't all the way genuine, is that they tend to engage with the content that makes them seem more interesting. but when it gauges some sort of interest or popularity, suddenly it's tainted, almost as if it's ruined. people claim it was "never good at all" that the clout was "just nostalgia bait" and it's just “old shit” rebranded. it feels like the initial liking itself was a performance to maintain until the content became mainstream, and suddenly it wasn't interesting enough to make you seem unique.

but the entire point of music is that there can only be so much uniqueness until some stuff starts repeating. that's why everyone can build their own unique sound, everyone can take what was present and create something new out of it. you can't be completely original, but you can be organic.

continuing off of this— the kpop industry was never built to be completely original, and there's no denying the amount of black influence on its growth. it exists, it is the reason the industry has excelled til this degree. there is culture woven into the very tracks that the korean entertainment industry circulates.

there have been countless moments where the industry and it's artists disrespect the exact people it takes influence from to build rap, dance and music as a whole from. blackface, misuse of AAVE, having a "hip hop" concept which doesn't pay proper tribute to the roots it's inspired from— all exist and continue to exist as kpop moves on.

it's okay to admit this. it's okay to admit that kpop is heavily influenced by black art. a lot of the times, I've noticed, when this conversation is brought up, is that a lot of people act like it's original and there's no inspiration; or that being influenced in itself is a bad thing because the influence in question it's not directly from the culture that's native to your own.

matt proxy posted these on his insta story. I agree with the message he pushes about black artists' influence on music and kpop as a whole. I just discussed this.

but from what I've noticed is that cortis has never denied any of this influence. they have been in the studio with black artists, creators and people who have inspired their voice and sound in countless ways. they have black role models, black artists who spoke for them and said they saw a talent in them. without their touch, cortis wouldn't be where and who they are. the documentary serves as a constant reminder of how much western and black influence has integrated within their art.

for proxy to claim “artists go through gruel expectations they cannot keep up with” in context of the kpop industry being exploitative, and then turn and show no empathy to the exact artists he references is downright hypocritical behavior.

as I mentioned earlier, women in spaces cannot be because everyone is too busy objectifying their existence. they do their best to make art in a space that clearly doesn't reward them as the artists they are— the need for autonomy as an artist/person lives within them and their work.

but of similar nature, i view young creators in the industry through a similar lens. they (cortis) are not women, so it's not ever going to be comparable— but I draw resemblance because of how much animosity comes from just trying to be in this space. whether as a woman or as a young artist (anyone, for that matter) trying to make it, there are so many people performing for an audience that they overlook that they were the one being supported.

martin recommended a song because it was noticable to him. it wasn't meant to be something grand, or heartfelt, or vulnerable— just “i fw this. u shd too.” that's it. the outburst from proxy, to me, seems to be a performance to fit closer into a different community he seems to be catering to, which is just plain....sad. because he got recognized for his art by another young creator in the industry doing what he is. whether martin had "75 people in a room" making music or just himself— doesn't take away from the fact that his sound was born out of some place that was honest.

no one is as unaccepting to something new as someone who has constantly curated what they deem is “suitable” for their image. that sense of control is dear when you care so much about how you're perceived. proxy doesn't care about cortis and he reacted the way he did, outwardly on his story, because it is what brings a sense of different validation— through performance.

he made good points about black influence, the kpop industry's methods of music production and artist mismanagement/mistreatment— but it all felt flat when he couldn't offer empathy to the very exact people he was sympathizing with earlier.

music is subjective and not everyone will click, so I'm not even upset proxy didn't fw cortis. but if it truly matters to you that your art reaches people and moves them, then you'd realize anyone can feel seen by your art. that includes creators doing the best they can in the industry they are already in.

quoting myself from this other rant I made here while answering an ask.

as I admire idols, I catch myself before I can let the comparison consume me. I hope that everyone can walk away from the trap that is comparison and always admire the idols for who they are— just kids in a system trying to be themselves. they're just artists trying to find what art means to them. they're not special or someone to idolize. they're people who's choices are as fragile as yours and mine. they have regrets, they have fears, they have morally grey things about them that they hide. they may not be who you think they are. to me, admiring someone is accepting all this yet still understanding why their work matters to you.

I hope people can see idols with the same grace they carry for themselves. the urge to defend yourself when you're being wronged, it's not something foreign to us. then why do we struggle to see idols as human? as people capable of the same emotions were often experiencing?

i feel for martin because this isn't the first time this has happened with him, but it comes from a place of genuinely sharing what matters to you, and I'd never encourage him to stop. it's not his fault, and he shouldn't "stop recommending songs". a lot of people joked about this after the situation, and I giggled too, I'd admit, but as I write this out, I realize why I don't truly stand with it.

funnily enough, it was martin who posted he tuned into "ear" in the SAME EXACT POST he recommended proxy in; he recced ear's recent track too. and because ear matters to me— I feel seen by that. I'll always feel seen by people trying to do what feels honest to them. even if they get hurt during it.

music is soul, it connects, it always has. there's organic people out there trying to create sound out of their ordinary lives, and I'm glad martin seems like that, I'm glad ear seems like that. it's a shame proxy didn't turn to be that way, but that's why it's important to recognize this other face performance can take. catering to an audience, talking as the hypocrisy consumes. but, just for a moment,

can we just stop performing and just listen to the fucking music?

[kaikainterlude]

15-love by h2h is literally nct dream hello 😭😭😭😭😭✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️✌️ fawwkkk neo I can't escape you

[kaikaikoi]

hi ^_^

i watched a video of this dude diving deeper into cortis' redred, especially the mv and i really wanted to share this with someone. i love cortis even more now that i understand the redred concept better 🥹 i sooo recommend u to watch it if you have time!

https://youtu.be/Qo7hvmMCXVA?si=NVriI8RzS2M0P7nL

u can skip the part where he speaks about bang si hyuk. just ignore my ask if u don't wanna watch the vid!

hi baby I totally didn't get time to watch the video but I LOOOOVE music analysis videos so I'm answering as a reminder to myself to watch it ^•^ I'll also reblog this on my sideblog which is more personal to me where I talk about music and interests, so trust I'll come w a reply to this real soon 🥹 thank you for being real patient with me and trust I haven't forgotten 🥹💞

[kaikainterlude]

falling down a spiderman rabbit hole and now I have spiderman 2 and ultimate spider-man on my ps2 YIPPEEEE I hope these run 🤣🤣🤣 I had to delete silent hill 3

[reinxoxz]

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.I WISH YOU ROSES - Martin Edwards smau 💐💗

Synopsis ➛⋆˚࿔ - Martin keeps going back to the same flower shop to buy his girl flowers, what are the chances of the kind old man who’s selling him those pretty flowers for a suspiciously cheap price being the father of the love of his life 🤫💐💌

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ a/n ╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ established relationship, martin and y/n being lovey dovey the whole fic, martin being the best bf ever 💌, idiots in love, sean and kono appearing then never coming back, dividers by @/strangergraphics

#🐈 : small one shot Ive had on mind for a while and finally mastered the courage to ditch secondhand and write something else 🙂‍↕️ (sorry people🙏)

[kaikainterlude]

SHE HAD NO IDEA THEY WERE GONNA PLAY IN HER FACE 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣 me and my dad would troll the hell out of mars if this happened to me I'm actually gigglinggggg

😭😭😭😭😹😹😹😹😹 I'm actually giggling the hell out this stubborn guy 😹😹😹

and what's the deal w guys' loyalty to their barbers 💀💀 omfg i once fw a dude who's barber left his usual place without telling him and he found him on Facebook and tracked him down and found the new place he worked at dead fucking ass they don't play AND FOR WHAT 😭😭😭😭😭😭

one of my favs everrr im actually geeked out omfg this concept ATEEEEE REIN UR SO SMART AND FUNNY HAHAHAHAHAHA what the hell you genius.......fawwwk.....why didn't iii think of that.....

[hyuneskkami]

:ঌ FATE ⭑ K.JH ㅗ ໒:

📬 ❤︎ juhoon 𝔁 f!reader ─── ৻ꪆ a girl tracing forgotten constellations across her skin, a boy who had spent an entire lifetime learning the map of them by heart, and a quiet, patient fate that brings them together in every lifetime.

❤︎ warnings+tags ─── ৻ꪆ non-idol au · kisses · past life kisses turn into present life moles theory · hinting at soulmatism

💌 ❤︎ notes ─── ৻ꪆ dedicated to my lovely @jjuhyeons (congratulations on your job ml <33) and @kaikaikoi (congratulations for surviving all your exams <33) for no specific reason i love you both and you’re my fav jju girlies 🩷 · i love soulmatism theories sm give me more ideas to write for the other members too plsplspls

❤︎ wc ─── ৻ꪆ 2.4k

𝄞 𓏸 my cortispilledmasterlist »﹙合﹚

❝ tracklist ❞  ─── fate—enhypen ❦ light—wave to earth ❦ k.—cas ❦ may you never forget me—temachii ❦ glue song—beabadoobee ❦ love, older you—illit

everyone knew the story—one of those ancient, enduring legends passed down in half-whispered conversations between grandparents and grandchildren, scribbled into the margins of notebooks, or shared between friends during sleepless nights when the world felt a little softer than usual. 

your moles, they said, mark all the places your lover kissed you in your past life. 

most people laughed it off, some secretly checked, while others spent an embarrassing amount of time standing in front of mirrors, trying to convince themselves that a tiny mark on their wrist or shoulder meant something profound.

you had never really believed it, mostly because if the legend were true, then your past lover had apparently been completely, utterly obsessed with you. there was simply no other explanation; you had moles everywhere—one near your collarbone, three scattered across your neck, one hidden behind your left ear, and another buried right beneath your hairline. there were several across your hands, one on your ankle, two on your feet, one tucked beneath your jaw, and another near your shoulder blade, with new ones seeming to bloom like constellations across your skin every time you actually looked closely enough.

it was ridiculous, absolutely ridiculous, especially considering the fact that in this life, you were currently painfully, catastrophically, embarrassingly single. 

but on the worst nights, when the quiet of your bedroom felt entirely too vast, you would trace those tiny dark spots with a fingertip, wondering how a love so fierce it had literally stained your skin could leave you feeling this hollow, like a ghost ship still searching for a shore that no longer existed. you would press your thumb against the mark on your wrist, aching for the echo of a warmth you could no longer remember, trapped in the agonizing space between a past you couldn’t reach and a present where you were entirely alone.

“there’s no way,” your friend had once said whilst counting them, her finger tapping a slow rhythm against your skin. “either the legend is fake or somebody in your past life genuinely couldn’t keep their hands off you.”

you had nearly choked on your drink, coughing out a frantic, “please never say that sentence to me again,” but the words had already taken root, burying themselves deep beneath your collarbone where they refused to quiet down.

yet sometimes, usually late at night when the house was quiet and the world felt suspended between dreams and reality, you found yourself tracing those tiny marks with a slow, deliberate touch. you would wonder—who could have loved someone so completely, wondering if they had existed at all, or if they were just a cruel myth left behind to mock your empty hands. you wondered if, somewhere across lifetimes and centuries and endless stretches of time, someone had once looked at you as though you were the most precious thing they had ever known, leaving you now like an anchorless boat drifting in an ocean of silence, desperately reaching for the ghost of a pull you could no longer see.

☆

a very long time ago, in a life neither of you remembered anymore, there had been a boy named juhoon, and he had loved you with a tenderness that made entire lifetimes feel entirely too short. it was never loud, never dramatic, never the sort of love that demanded an audience.

it lived in the quietest, smallest things—in the way he always reached for your hand first, in the way he remembered every minor detail you forgot, and in the way his eyes softened whenever they landed on you, as though seeing you alone was enough to make his day better. and perhaps that was why he kissed you so often, because every time he looked at you, affection seemed to overflow from him like a river bursting its banks until it simply had nowhere else to go.

“you know,” he mumbled one evening as you sat together beneath the golden glow of lantern light, your head resting comfortably against his shoulder, “i don’t think i’ll ever stop being amazed that you’re real.”

you laughed softly, shifting against him. “i’m sitting right here.”

“exactly.” his smile appeared against your temple before he pressed the gentlest kiss there, just beneath your hairline, lingering for a moment longer than necessary. “see?” 

“that proves nothing.” 

“it proves everything.” 

you rolled your eyes, though your cheeks warmed all the same, and juhoon seemed utterly delighted by this—he always was. 

he tilted his head slightly before pressing another kiss behind your ear. “there.” 

“juhoon.” 

“just appreciating my favourite person.” 

“you say that every day.” 

“because it’s true every day.”

his voice held such effortless certainty that it made your chest ache, as though loving you was the easiest thing he had ever done, as though it had never once occurred to him to do anything else. it was a love so heavy it was like a physical weight, anchoring you both to a moment that felt entirely disconnected from the rest of the world.

there were countless moments like that, lazy mornings when sunlight spilled through open windows like melted honey and he would take your hand simply because he wanted to, lifting your fingers to his lips to press absent-minded kisses against your knuckles whilst listening to you talk about absolutely nothing important.

“what are you doing?” you would ask, your voice heavy with sleep. 

“thinking,” he would murmur against your skin. 

“about?” 

“how nice it is that i get to hold your hand.” 

“that’s not thinking.” 

“it is for me.” another kiss, another smile, another tiny moment that seemed completely insignificant at the time, yet somehow lasted forever, weaving itself so deeply into the fabric of your soul that even the passage of centuries couldn’t entirely wash the ink of him away.

sometimes he would find you reading, curled up somewhere comfortable and entirely absorbed in another world, and rather than interrupting, he would simply settle beside you close enough that your shoulders touched—close enough that he could quietly admire you while pretending not to. 

eventually you would notice, pulling your eyes from the page to catch him in the act. “why are you staring?” you’d ask, trying to sound annoyed. 

“i wasn’t.” 

“you absolutely were.” 

“can you prove it?” 

“...no.” 

“then i’m innocent.”

before you could argue further, he would lean forward and kiss your cheek—soft, warm, unhurried, the sort of kiss that existed purely because he had wanted to give it, like a habit he had no desire to break. it was a quiet devotion that asked for nothing in return, settling over you like a familiar blanket, leaving you completely defenceless against the steady, rhythmic pull of his warmth.

once, during a long evening, your feet had begun to ache from sitting in an uncomfortable position for far too long while you watched television together. you had complained exactly once—a tiny, half-muttered sigh between scenes of whatever predictable rom-com was playing on the screen, but that was all it took.

juhoon immediately insisted on shifting, pulling your legs across his lap despite your protests, and despite your insistence that you were perfectly fine. he knelt over them slightly anyway, his fingers carefully kneading the tension from your arches whilst you tried to focus on the dialogue. 

“you’re impossible,” you informed him, staring down at him in the dim, flickering light of the tv. 

“and yet you adore me.” 

“unfortunately.” 

“there it is.” he grinned, then, after making certain you were looking right at him, he leaned down and pressed a tiny, deliberate kiss against the side of your foot, just enough to make you stare at him in absolute disbelief. 

“juhoon.” 

“what?” 

“that was ridiculous.” 

“you smiled.” 

you hated that he was right, the warmth spreading through your chest like wildfire, making it completely impossible to care about the movie anymore.

years passed, seasons changed, and the world continued its endless, indifferent turning, yet some things never altered. 

juhoon still reached for your hand first, still looked for you before anyone else in crowded rooms, and still smiled the exact same way whenever he heard your voice across a hallway. he still kissed your forehead when you were tired, your shoulder when you were sad, your hands when you were nervous, and the side of your neck when he thought you were beautiful—which, unfortunately for your dignity, seemed to be quite often.

“you know,” he whispered one evening as you rested together beneath a sky overflowing with stars, the darkness stretching out around you like a velvet canvas, “if there are other lives after this one, i hope i find you again.” 

your fingers tightened around his, a sudden, sharp ache blooming in your chest. “and if you don’t?” 

his expression softened, softer than moonlight, softer than anything you had ever known before. “then i'll spend every lifetime looking.” he leaned forward, pressing one final kiss against the place beneath your jaw—gentle, careful, full of every ounce of love he possessed, as though he wanted the feeling to remain there forever, as though some part of him knew it would, tattooing his devotion directly into your skin.

☆

centuries later, in another life entirely, you stood in front of your mirror, your fingertips brushing absent-mindedly over a mole near your neck, then one behind your ear, then another on your hand—small marks scattered across your skin like forgotten memories. you still didn’t believe the legend, not really, and yet for the briefest moment, an unfamiliar warmth settled in your chest, like the echo of a voice you couldn’t quite remember, like a promise spoken beneath starlight, or like someone, somewhere, loving you so fiercely that even time itself had failed to erase the evidence. and though neither of you remembered it now, there had once been a boy who had spent an entire lifetime proving exactly that.

the thing about fate, if it existed at all, was that it had an irritating sense of humour, because if soulmates were real, if past lives were real, if all those ridiculous stories about destined lovers and threads of fate and eternal connections were real, then surely the universe would arrange something a little more cinematic than this. surely there would be rain, or dramatic music, or a sudden rush of recognition, or at the very least some sort of celestial sign that screamed, pay attention, this is important. instead, you were carrying three iced coffees and a paper bag of pastries whilst attempting to answer a text message at the same time, which was exactly why you walked directly into somebody.

“oh my god,” the words escaped you immediately as coffee sloshed dangerously, the other person stumbling backwards as you nearly dropped everything. for one horrifying second, it seemed as though all three drinks were about to launch themselves directly onto the pavement, but somehow, miraculously, they survived. you looked up, the stranger staring at you with the same expression of startled panic.

“i’m so sorry,” he said immediately, “that was entirely my fault.”

“no, it wasn’t—”

“it definitely was.”

“i was looking at my phone.”

“and i was looking over my shoulder.”

you paused, and did he, before a soft laugh escaped him—unexpectedly bright, unexpectedly warm, and for some reason, the sound settled somewhere strange inside your chest like a coin dropping into a deep, forgotten well. 

“then perhaps we’re both idiots,” you muttered.

“that seems fair.” he grinned.

“good, i’m glad we've reached a mutual agreement,” you nodded, but for some reason, neither of you immediately left. it was odd, considering normally these sorts of interactions ended after thirty seconds of an apology and a polite smile before everyone moved on, yet here you both remained, standing in the middle of a crowded pavement having apparently forgotten how normal social interactions worked.

“did any of the drinks survive?” he asked eventually, and you glanced down at the completely intact cups.

“a miracle.”

“thank god.”

“seriously, if i’d lost these, my friends would’ve killed me.”

“that sounds slightly threatening.”

“you haven’t met them.” 

his laughter appeared again, and there it was—that strange feeling, like something deep inside you quietly straightening itself, like a puzzle piece shifting, or like recognising a melody without knowing where you’d heard it before. you ignored it, mostly because it was ridiculous; the man in front of you was a complete stranger—a very attractive stranger, unfortunately, but still a stranger.

“well,” you said, adjusting the paper bag beneath your arm, “i should probably let you continue whatever important business led to this near-fatal coffee incident.” 

“probably,” he replied, yet neither of you moved. you tried not to notice, and he seemed to be trying not to notice too, which somehow made it worse. 

“right.” 

“right.” 

silence stretched between you, a fragile thing.

“actually,” the word left his mouth at exactly the same moment you said “well—”. you both stopped, then laughed again.

“you first,” he said.

you shook your head, “no, you.” 

“i insist.” 

you rolled your eyes, “fine, i was going to say that since neither of us died, we should probably know the name of the person responsible.”

his smile widened, and for some reason, seeing it felt strangely familiar, like coming home after a very long trip. “that’s reasonable,” he said, offering his hand. you looked down at it, then back up at him, before taking it—warm fingers, a steady grip, and something about it made your heart skip just once, just enough to notice.

“i’m yn.”

for the briefest second, something flickered across his face—gone almost immediately, too quick to identify or understand—and then he smiled again, gentler this time, softer, like hearing a favourite song unexpectedly. 

“juhoon.”

the world did not stop turning, the sky did not split open, and nothing dramatic happened; people continued walking past, cars continued driving, and somewhere nearby, somebody dropped a shopping bag. everything remained exactly the same, except for the strange feeling that settled quietly between your ribs, except for the way his name seemed to linger in your mind like a line of poetry, and except for the way he looked at you for a second too long.

“well,” you said eventually. 

“well,” he echoed, and neither of you let go of the handshake immediately, which was probably normal—or maybe it wasn’t, but you honestly couldn’t tell anymore.

somewhere above you, hidden behind clouds and years and forgotten memories, fate smiled to itself, because after spending lifetimes searching through the dark, juhoon had finally found you again; he just didn’t know it yet, and neither did you.

© hyuneskkami ❦

[kaikainterlude]

how bro was moving

wait 😹😹😹😹😹😹 why am I crying 😹😹😹😹😹😹🤣🤣🤣🤣 omfg emotional chud kaikai back at it again

i just hibernated for 7 hours after my exam and one of the only people who took care of me during exam szn was this girl 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 always checked on me regularly and wished me good luck omfg I'm so emotional

thank u for dedicating this to me 😭😭😭😭 my baby skye thank you so much 😭😭😭😭 it was so so lovely and so well articulated, the way you write is like no other

the pacing was just perfect the way you describe soft love is so so endearing 😭😭 I've stood in front of mirrors too, staring at myself and wondering why there were so many moles in oddly kissable places I'm frieddddd 🤣🤣 I loved it so so much and so dearly I'm obsessed, especially by the way the writing took you on a trip across centuries of love— was so well done and so coherent

your writing is beautiful Skye 🥹 missing juhoon rn so bad

[speedst3rrz]

I’m not getting distracted this is just a sidequest

[kaikainterlude]

what if I do a meovv review.... and a kiiikiii......

[bananagirl222]

♯Fan-maxing╋━

✚ Rapper!Martin x fan!Reader ⋮ oneshot ⋮ bananagirl masterlist

desc - you’ve been a fan of martins music since before he was on all streaming platforms, since before he was doing live performances and headlining for famous artists. And one day he suddenly deleted your favorite niche song of his off all platforms and you thought the best thing to do is to DM him about it, even though you knew he would never see it in the floods of all his DMs.

note - listen I know I said I was going on hiatus but I got really bored and js wanted to post smth so I made this BUT AS SOON AS I POST THIS I WILL OFFICIALLY BE ON HIATUS I NEED TO GET OFF TUMBLR HOLY SHIT ITS AN ADDICTION 😭😭🙏🙏

perm taglist .☘︎ ݁- @miseulsoup @coconhovr @marsgirltyshi @rickyshensgirlfriend @ykvdani @umizoomiz @saffy26jade @r0ckst4rjk @donttapdatglass @pbananalover @zzzeeetttaaa @hyeonverse @beatbymarzz @nolongeryoungbutbeautiful @im2swagalicious @ratyrozz @inadazeee @taelvvrzz

[kaikainterlude]

it's so peak 😭😭😭😭😭 banana bread back @ it again 😜😜😜 lowkenuinely I'd smack his ass for sampling my voice tho ok give me 10% of everything that song makes come on now this is a collaborative effort

[pikapipipu]

my whole life 😏😏

[pikapipipu]

i get cuteness aggression whenever I look at martin

[kaikainterlude]

what's ur fav lil peep song

[kaikainterlude]

today I did something that changed the canon, maybe not drastically or even at all tho....so idk...............well......... i hope no one heard that ^•^

[kaikainterlude]

not rlly satisfied w the theme lol I'll fix it soon

[kaikainterlude]

idk if I want this to be graffiti themed or cortis nostalgia themed

[kaikainterlude]

wow so I did neither and somehow did both

[kaikainterlude]

not rlly satisfied w the theme lol I'll fix it soon

[kaikainterlude]

idk if I want this to be graffiti themed or cortis nostalgia themed

[cranialberry]

don't delete the kisses - m.edwards

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ coughing up a love that tastes like spring, green and starved of oxygen

𑣲⋆ tags: ex! martin x reader | letter fic | idol! Martin | y/n implied to have been manipulative | estranged exes | mentions of past relationships | mentions of kissing and skinship | unresolved feelings | hurt/comfort | (w.c. 1.4k)

𑣲⋆ in which martin’s been feeling a little sentimental lately, and in some late hour of the night, sends you an email

mari here! martin is me guys :(( he's for the overly ambitious girlies <33 also im not implying y/n is YOU i js needed to do it for the plot... ts was so last minute but its v self indulgent idk if its relatable but i feel so many things all the time guys :')

Sender: [email protected]

╰┈> Receiver: y/n.l/[email protected]

── ─ Subject: (not spam) closure.exe

I’m really hoping this email is still in use. I’m also hoping you’d have gotten this in the middle of the night because I’m not ready for a reply so soon (lmao how brave). God knows where you are in the world, or where I am, or where we even are to each other, if that makes sense? Where are you, really? Hopefully not stuck in that tiny town anymore. Everyone knew you and I both wanted to make it out of there so bad.

Y’know, I think about you a lot. Actually, do you remember that night I answered three phone calls during dinner because the producer kept changing the arrangement? Little old me being teased by little old you for apologizing to everyone except myself. But the truth is I was happy. Exhausted down to the marrow and still I was so happy. I think that should’ve told you everything. 

There’s just that look you’d give me, you feel? Could be anywhere, my bed, my old junky studio, on my lap where you’d tell me to get my mind off it, all of it. Everywhere I talked about my plans, or muttered some lyrics under my breath instead of, I don’t know, sleeping. You’d look at me like I was something tragic. But I was alive. I felt that I was. You’d tell me once a day, “you’d work yourself to death if someone let you.” And maybe the scary thing about that is I understood exactly what you meant, and still, I would think of what I could make before then. 

There is just so much hunger in me, Y/n, and I always want to obey it. I have begun to wonder whether this was a flaw or some form of faith. I don’t know if it’s a good thing or a bad thing, only that it’s mine. This relentlessness. It’s kinda funny isn’t it, that of all the things I could’ve spent my life worshipping, it was always the future. I was obsessed with it. You had called me wild with determination once, but have you thought that through enough? I’ve never believed a wild creature was meant to bow its head in regret for wanting too much. 

Would you have given up your own ambitions to cross a thousand miles and be with me? Tire with me? Alright. I’ll say it now, and perhaps you might understand where I’m coming from. 

Leave behind that student organization, the Saturday classes and that shitty after-school tutor I know you still go to, all that hard work in the past, and feel this with me again. 

Would you have done it if I told you? I wouldn’t.

Often, I think this makes me selfish. Other times, I think I’m just as honest as can be. Is it greater a love to cross oceans for someone and measure how thoroughly I can abandon myself for that, or admitting there are some distances I’d rather not run in the name of it? I don’t love lightly, you know that. But God do I not dream lightly either. And when something in me reaches for the horizon, I can’t always be easily persuaded to turn around. Not even you, or those asking eyes I would call home,  have ever fully convinced me to go back. I’d choose you, yes, but I’d choose me too. And right now, those may be two truths but they are strangers to each other. 

I want to be one of the remarkables one day. Maybe I am selfish, Y/n. Is that so bad? 

Think of all the people out there who much prefer peace more than a little purpose. I don’t envy them a bit, as comforting as a peaceful life may sound. Imagine loving a life that doesn’t consume you whole. Imagine not needing to become more tomorrow than you were today. 

I don’t wanna toot my own horn, but I think I might be different from everyone else. People like to speak of dreams as though they’re luxuries and optional things. A lot of people around me and this business like to say that, actually. Fuck, I think it’s stupid. A dream may as well be the spine of a life. It holds you so upright that to wake up is to collapse. I am my dreams or I am nothing at all. 

Can’t help it that I miss you, though. Of course I miss you. I miss you terribly, and I’m sorry it took me months of waiting to tell you. I miss the feeling of having you close, of doing all your homework when you fell asleep on your desk or on the floor. I miss the sight of you tangled up in my own smelly sheets, and remembering how you used to call me pretty, touch my hair, tell me you loved me and that it was enough. 

And as contradictory as this sounds, I miss how greedy you were with me. When you’d stop me at the door and kiss me onto the couch, and I’d miss a whole day of practice altogether. Or whenever you’d purposefully SOS my phone during production hours, and I’d run back panicking only for you to tell me the emergency was that you missed me. The crazier thing is that you did this so many times, and I had done the same thing in each one. I was so pathetic then. 

And did you know? I still love you, haha (did I say that too much?). For even just once in my life, I’m glad that I'm able to say that I’ve experienced the most terrifying phenomenon in every person’s existence that is falling in love. It’s a feeling that lives so close to the bone, and the body will keep what mine cannot afford to forget. Thank you for this. For you. I’ll have to write a song about it before I can make peace with that feeling. I hope you won’t mind. 

But right now, I have a stage for tomorrow, a recording set for later, and every hour there is a song in production just waiting to be finished. I have a team to lead as much as they are friends to grow with, and sometimes they’ll ask more of me than what I think I can give. You can say I’m being worn thin by the things I love most, but what I used to call exhaustion I now realize is just my devotion, except I often push it to its edge, so it may look a little different at times. These pieces of myself that I give are being spent on this thing I love enough to keep feeding, and I don’t think its hunger is something I ever want to sate. 

I don’t think my thoughts come from a lack of love. I’ll always love you, especially now that my head's a little clearer and I’ve finally found my way toward things. But I would’ve resented you for the life I never got to live, even if giving it up would’ve been my choice and mine alone. 

So, from all the things I’ve said now, I don’t want to apologize for any of it. Wanting you was never the problem but abandoning myself would’ve been. And to be honest, I don’t think I could’ve made myself betray every chance at a future I got just to prove that. Maybe that sounds cold, or maybe it’s only the truth: that a dream, once you’ve fully imagined it, becomes another kind of body inside you. And asking someone to give it up isn’t always love, you know.

Wherever you are in the world, and wherever you’ll end up in a month or a year, I hope you’ll do the same for yourself, even if it means doing it far away from me. Now you can curse me out or diss me online or ring up my parents and tell them what a bad ex-boyfriend I am for this, but I love you now, I love you tomorrow, and I’ll love you in the next week or two. I’m young so I still don’t know how to move people along the line, and I don’t think I have to worry about that for a long while. But I would’ve still kept walking. I really would’ve.

See you around,

tin

(p.s. if you ever end up in my city, i hope it's for something good)

[kaikainterlude]

wow I opened my blog to reblog something and realized my theme unfinished y'all don't mind that

there is so much I want to say here. I really didn't want to read anything lately, I've been upset, depressed, tired; oh so tired— but I feel alive with my routine. I opened this fic thinking "haha, this is probably gonna hurt a little," but I didn't gauge the intensity of it.

the opening of it sounded like someone I used to know, sending me a message in his unstructured and almost performative narrative (that I recognize too well). I giggled, thinking back on him, who he meant to me, and how I realized I did miss him too.

but then, somewhere it transformed to me talking to him. how I chose myself. how I wouldn't want to go back.

and then, came the worst of all the realizations— a message to myself. from me. to someone drowning in afterschool study sessions with tutors on saturdays and choosing everything but themselves over and over and over. and still choosing the love for the sake of it, but never truly loving. but...loving in the only way she knew how.

I loved her, I did. I loved the predictably her life brought, the endless road of knowing where to go, know what happens next, know that if I fail, I'll just have to try again until it hits. but I never really loved it. my life. i was just waiting for the next best thing to fix stuff all together.

that's when he (the performative dreamer I mentioned) came back in. I didn't want him to, but he did. he told me useless things at first, how he wanted to write, learnt to box, got active. then, he told me he switched majors. he asked me if I was leaving our small town to study, I told him I didn't have the money. he told me he managed to leave, its been going well. I told him I didn't know what to do with my life, if my road was for me— told him I was hurting. he told me, "you'll always figure it. you always have, you've always been good at that kind of stuff." I didn't believe him at first.

and then, the door was in front. and the lock on it reassured me— that I didn't have to maybe....try. that was my first wake up call, but the comfort of that goddamn lock told me it wasn't my decision.

but that lock didn't exist, I wonder if I wished it had.

it was an open door. creaked open, just by an edge. needing a push. and the heat of it all caught up to me, and overwhelmed me with every emotion but love. there was no love. where did the love go? the love of it all, the love of my daily life, the love of my routine, the love for him, the love for me?

Think of all the people out there who much prefer peace more than a little purpose. I don’t envy them a bit, as comforting as a peaceful life may sound. Imagine loving a life that doesn’t consume you whole. Imagine not needing to become more tomorrow than you were today. 

I walked away. I didn't walk through that door. I haven't ever wondered since "I wished I had." I didn't look back— I chose myself. he said I've always been good at that kind of stuff, and I told him I didn't believe him. I wish he was still here to celebrate his hunch, maybe get cocky, rub it in my face. tell me I need to get stronger with myself, and then tell me that he's kinda proud of me.

I don’t wanna toot my own horn, but I think I might be different from everyone else. People like to speak of dreams as though they’re luxuries and optional things. A lot of people around me and this business like to say that, actually. Fuck, I think it’s stupid. A dream may as well be the spine of a life. It holds you so upright that to wake up is to collapse. I am my dreams or I am nothing at all. 

I think having the privilege to write this has been something I've been needing to recognize for a while. to have the breathing room to grow, to artistically be who I am in a way that the old me was forgetting how. I missed this hunger, this anger, this drive. to wake up everyday knowing my dreams are something in my head because something in me knows I can achieve it.

I missed being angrily and most authentically me. most genuinely me. I missed dreaming even when I'm running on low sleep. I missed clawing at the future in assurance of myself.

would I continue to be me, or will I always revert back to who I am when the weight of a non-flexible route lands on my shoulders?

I don’t think my thoughts come from a lack of love. I’ll always love you, especially now that my head's a little clearer and I’ve finally found my way toward things. But I would’ve resented you for the life I never got to live, even if giving it up would’ve been my choice and mine alone. 

I would continue to dream. I want to continue to dream. the feeling of being at a door with nothing but paralysis surging through my veins— I'd never want to ever be there... ever again. I don't think I'd ever forgive myself for not choosing me.

he chose himself, too, didn't he? where is he, after he said he'd believe?

And did you know? I still love you, haha (did I say that too much?). For even just once in my life, I’m glad that I'm able to say that I’ve experienced the most terrifying phenomenon in every person’s existence that is falling in love. It’s a feeling that lives so close to the bone, and the body will keep what mine cannot afford to forget. Thank you for this. For you. I’ll have to write a song about it before I can make peace with that feeling. I hope you won’t mind. 

i hope you know that I still love you. maybe I'll send you an email, I don't want to text you. texting you, knowing you're just a notification away... you're too close to me. you scare me, I miss you. maybe you'll say something that feels like you touched my soul once more. or maybe you'll never reply. maybe you won't even notice; fuck, who even checks emails these days?

But I would’ve resented you for the life I never got to live, even if giving it up would’ve been my choice and mine alone. 

you're more me than I realize. and sometimes I wish you weren't. I know you have people in your life that make you feel more like yourself. more than I ever did.

how would you feel if I told you I did what you said I would? how would you feel to know I'm making myself something you never even dreamed of?

you'd be proud of me, and I hate that.

I miss the old me, but I wouldn't go back to her. would I go back to you? I don't know.

i wish I got to hear more about your dreams one last time before I became who I am.