𝐋𝒊ly 𝐋𝒊𝛎ere𝛅

[lili3z]

why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  WHY WHY  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  WHY WHY  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  why  WHY WHY  why  WHY 

 <<     #LILI3Z     >>      an  independent  &  mutuals - only  portrayal  of  squid  game's    PARK  MIN-SU.     A  study  of  cowardice,  cynicism  and     always  asking  why  yet  never  looking  for  an  answer.    harassed  by  Gray  ( he/him.19+. )      Follows  back  from    @hkmpf1ve.   

CARRD.      MEMES.       HCS.       PLOTTING   CALL.      BLOGROLL. 

drafts: 00.   queue: 00.  timezone: gmt+4.  activity: sporadic. 

[388s]

SO HE’S COMING OVER,　THEN.　the query was brief,　something abrupt,　cutting through conversation of its own unpleasant nature.　dae-ho thereby thinks little of it,　carries baseless assumption that min-su summons himself to the breadth of apartment’s doorframe as a marker of consistency　//　that he is here for a greater purpose,　perhaps,　and seeks to provide modicum of comfort through a crossed threshold of physical closeness.　toolbox turning his grip white says otherwise,　incredulity laid thick atop dae-ho’s countenance until a few moments passed of slow blinking resets.　maybe not,　then,　and the thought nearly beckons sweat to bead at the back of his neck.　just hanging out.　is he capable of such a thing?

❛❛　hi,　❜❜　he offers in return,　an equivalent exchange to the best of his abilities.　hair hangs loose at his neck,　freshly washed,　and dae-ho steps back from how his physique swallows up the doorway.　❛❛　i didn’t realize you were…　serious,　i guess.　❜❜　though the remark carries no intention of dissent so much as mindless observation,　and his expression manually adjusts accordingly.　a smile,　or something akin to it,　at least.　

there is an affirmative squeeze of his shoulder　—　how strange it is,　to reach out and touch smaller man unfettered　—　before he sets off towards the bookshelf on the room’s opposite side.　garish orange and wobbly,　stocked full with handbooks,　manuals,　reference guides,　thick marines hardcovers,　and an array of knickknacks littered across the topmost shelf.　❛❛　painted it with my sisters.　i could probably just get a better one,　but…　dunno,　it’s special to me.　⸺ah!　do you want to watch something?　the remote’s just on the low table.　you can put whatever on,　i don’t mind.　❜❜　then,　an undue pause　—　the man who talks,　and talks,　and talks,　what a loud noise he makes,　obsession with the sensation of his lips blathering on.　❛❛　…i’ll cook for you,　then.　you want me to?　❜❜

[lili3z]

THERE  IS  A  THICK  LUMP  OF  DREAD     and  exhaustion  boiling  at  the  quiet  rise  of  his  chest.    He  hadn't  the  means  to  commute.     Walked,  the  burden  now  thrust  upon  measly  hands  to  force  the  toolbox  up  –      it  has  to  stay  up.     It  mustn't  disappoint  its  owner.  He  is  on  the  verge,  always,  of  something.  It  is  almost  magnificent  how  he  manages  to  hear  Dae-ho  beneath  the  screeching  of  tendons  in  strain,     or  to  look  up  at  him  with  anticipation  unlike  former  escapades.     The  sullen  child  he  was    wonders  if  he  deserves  to  be  cooked  for.

"  ...  would  you?"    There  is  something  genuine  to  how    the  syllables  wobble  beneath  the  weight  of  his  wonder,     which  in  its  own  right  is  leveled  by  nerves.    "...  the  –   well,  while  you      ...      do  I  fix  it  after  or  before?  ...  or  are  we  not  going  be  there  when  –   ??"    Can  he  start  over?   That's  not  something  a  grown  man  asks.    Neither  is  it  something  Min-su  stands  to  hear  an  answer  to.    The  yes  and  the  no  both  an  enduring  challenge  of  its  kind.     No,  no,  does  he  just  continue?     If  he  does  not,  curious  man  will  simply  make  it  so.    And  then  will  he  have  continued  of  his  own  accord,  or  by  instruction?     Too  dire.    

"  ...    can  we     ...     talk  while  you  cook?"    He  hates  how  his  head  dips  when  he  says  it,  how  eyes  waver  so  frankly  before  friendly  gaze.       "Can  I  see?"       A  request  that  begs.     Can  I  see  you  give  shape  to  harmless  thing?  Can  I  see  it  happen  the  way  I  never  truly  could?  Can  I  see  what  I  lack  and  be  okay?     Can  I  see?

How  silly  is  it?  How  childish  is  it?     The  simplicity  of  his  yearning  for  common  home  task.    He  despises  himself  for  not  knowing  what  it  is  to  be  home.  So  much,  he  forgets  to  fight  the  ache  in  his  hands.  It  beats  him  -  what  else  would  it  do?  -  and  he  betrays  sheer  agony  with  wince  and  force  of  shoulder  to  twitch.  It  doesn't  fall.  He  is  still  holding  it  ...  but  it  hurts.  It  hurts  so  much.  Just  a  toolbox  hurts.  Maybe  he  should  go  away  and  die.

[lili3z]

AND  SO  HE  IS  HERE  AGAIN.     Twist  and  turn  may  the  cruel  world,  there  is  something  bittersweet  to  the  intent  of  his  presence.  Pavlovian  must be  the  way    he  can  feel  the  air  of  what  has  been  done  here  before,     almost  instinctually  desire  it  though  he  knows  his  surroundings  to  be  the  trigger.    And  yet  what  is  Min-su  good  for,     the  runt,  if  not  self-control?     To  hold  things  within  -  that  is  what  he  does.  It  is  easy,  almost.

Easier  yet  when  jittered  self  makes  eye-contact  with  wall-ish  @388s.  Predator  still,  yet  why  is  prey  here  to  comfort?    Terrible  or  magnificent.  Whatever  has  flipped  the  scales  is  simply  crazy.     Fucked  up.       

"  ...  hi."     He  says,  little  nod  of  head,  permission  not  yet  granted  to  further  enter  leaving  him  standing  standing  still.     "  ...  um."     It's  easier,  he  realizes,  to  type  words  than  it  was  to  say  them.  Strange  he  had  not  done  it  earlier.  Though  he  knows  he  had  no  one  to  type  to.    "  ...  Hi."        Fantastic.    “  I  —   brought  ...  ”       My  tools,     say  his  hands  extending  forward  something  heavier  than  his  entire  head.  It  smells  of  rust,     something  depressive  about  the  exterior  -    the  shards  of  red  overtaken  by  the  peeling,     entire  box  left  in  withered  black. 

[388sarc]

MIN-SU IS GOING TO DIE.　perhaps he has already died,　and dae-ho is left helpless in trying to discern the difference　//　left scrambling in a pathetic attempt to pick up all the little pieces of min-su that scattered across the floor upon his skull’s collision with the wall behind.　why must the man before him be so pitiful,　so tiny,　so inferior in every way the world commands?　he nearly wants to shake him,　rouse him from the commanding hold life has on him.　stand on your own two feet,　min-su.　this is ridiculous,　min-su.　concern offers itself to him,　too,　vibrant chromaticity in its own form.　how is your head,　min-su?　are you okay,　min-su?　dae-ho is uncertain which is the right effort to extend towards him before him now.　he,　min-su,　who is not merely surrogate jun-hee or whatever other projected fantasy to be laid atop shameful countenance,　but his own person,　too.

[　NEVER MIND THE IMPLICATIONS THAT COME WITH WHAT HE HAS DONE.　he is a man,　kissing min-su,　who is another man,　even if the universe does not always oscillate that way.　does he swing that way?　he cannot pretend that min-su is but an outlet for overwhelming urge forever.　plush of his lips against min-su’s is objective　//　did he like it?　has he thought about it that hard?　he knows his father would not approve.　his father did not approve of many things,　a vast litany of ideologies drilled into him in pursuit of making him the perfect combatant.　masculinity thrives with an feminine other to reign supreme over.　isn’t it funny?　that as a body,　as a soldier,　your body is a construction of masculine sexuality?　that you are deployed with sexualized tasks and skills?　isn’t it funny that a victory in battle is likened to a sexual climax?　his father would frown upon this,　certainly,　and especially the way dae-ho does not find himself repulsed with the action nor with min-su in its wake.　he does not know what it means,　and maybe this fact makes dae-ho angry.　]

❛❛　fuck,　can you say something,　at least?　❜❜　he shouldn’t be getting frustrated.　he has no right to,　and this much he knows.　BUT IT CANNOT BE HELPED.　like many things:　his nature,　the rigidity of his thew,　the compulsions that impel him forward until he is but a brash bolt of lightning,　going wherever impulsivity leads.　❛❛　you’re starting to freak me out.　❜❜　does he deserve that feeling?　getting freaked out as though he were not the one to spring sudden queerness onto little min-su?

[lili3z]

HE  CANNOT  PERMIT  WHAT  HE  WISHES  TO  SAY.    Shut  the  fuck  up,  Dae-ho.  Are  you  gay,  Dae-ho?  What  are  you  doing,  bastard?     Words  do  not  quite  fail,  here,  they  simply  float.  Suspended  between  mind  and  lips  by  the  spite  in  eyes.  It  looks  pained,  that  spite,     for  it  claws  at  its  enclosure  without  hope.     It's  useless.  It  might  even  be  as  useless  as  Dae-ho  is,  at  the  moment.  Whatever  problem  he  has,  Min-su  cannot  help  but  see  as  inconvenience.

People  are  always  mad  at  him  in  some  way.  Because  he  is  small  and  frustrating  and  the  fragility  of  his  spine  inspires  the  desire  to  force  it  straight  and  steady.  Like  screaming  at  your  novel  for  its  protagonist's  misgivings.  They  are  often  mad  at  something  else.  Something  that  does  not  concern  him,  but  strikes  his  abdomen  regardless.     He  wants  to  throw  up  on  Dae-ho  just  to  see  him  further  inflamed. 

Still,  he  must  speak.    Not  his  mind,  though  perhaps  some  part  of  it  that  does  not  get  him  harmed.    If  Dae-ho  is  upset  with  Min-su  and  with  himself  and  with  the  marines  and  with  the  sky  and  the  walls,  then  damned  shall  be  the  man  who  does  not  obey  his  command.  Though  his  head  aches,  throbs,  pulsates  and  travels  elsewhere  beneath  this  hell,     he  does.     He  must.  He  should.  He  has  to.  He  was  told  to.  He  does  not  want  to  die.

"You  ...  freaked  me  out."     Too  loud  –   marginally  lower  than  speaking  voice  by  any  measure,  imperceptible  to  the  untrained  eye    (     ear,  that  is,     )     but  it  sends  a  shudder  down  Min-su's  spine,  and  he  recedes.  He  lets  his  hand  find  Dae-ho  to  display  weakness  that  may  feed  him  with  lies  of  manhood  and  what  it  means  to  be  predator  'choosing'     (    for  now.  for  now.  for  now.     )     not  to  eat  prey.     “my  head  hurts  …”      Dip  your  head  and  let  your  fingers  find  his  shoulder,  with  delicacy  that  though  true  to  you,  is  exaggerated,  almost.    "sorry.  I'm  sorry.  I'm sorry, Dae-ho. I  don't  know  ...  I  don't  know  what  you  want."

[iprotect]

his eyes are so sad.　she wants to feel bad for him,　wants to spare a sympathy he does not deserve.　this,　herein,　is not born of malice,　but instead rejection of supposed pitiful nature.　se-mi looks to min-su and sees light;　there is darkness in this world,　swallowing and unsavory and a stygian search to consume all it may,　and man crosswise continues on in spite of it.　light that exists because it must,　sapphire-basked moonlight that exists as its own beacon.

[　she sees the way he is treated,　turns up her nose and viciously intervenes where she may,　but harassers weasel their way in through lapse where she cannot be permanently affixed as sentinel.　SHE IS A SPLINT,　PERHAPS.　promoting healing and reducing pain.　break these bones ‘til they’re better.　]

❛❛　yeah.　❜❜　simple,　blunt.　how she does it best,　same laconic quality to her speech for those undeserving of warmth.　warm,　cold;　do battle with extant sides of herself.　❛❛　that’s why i offered.　❜❜　SHE DOESN’T DO THE PITY.　isn’t it obvious enough?　that she may,　albeit heavily lessened,　extend the same brusqueness that would be force-fed to nam-gyu or others of his ilk?　

he does not act,　still,　and she wonders if taking things into her own hands is necessary.　how could it be?　grown man stripped of autonomy like pregnant woman,　where decisions are made about you rather than with you.　perhaps he could still act,　if given time.　PATIENCE.　PATIENCE,　PATIENCE,　PATIENCE.　what better is there to do with her time?　they are prisoners,　no matter delusive pipe-dream of infinite riches planted at the end of pink-and-green technicolor rainbow.　is this jailhouse game,　then,　stealing kisses from the soft-eyed with nowhere to put apparent affection?

[　he stares,　and she will never comment on this fact.　staring and continuing to stare.　she doesn’t mind it.　]　

se-mi shifts in her seat　—　thin cushioning of shitty mattress no substitute for a friend’s battered chaise-lounge　—　and flashes him a provoking raise of her brow.　she does not want to act on his behalf,　she’s decided.　besides,　isn’t there something exhilarating for wallflower coming to act on his own?　not dragged and tugged along by spindly fingers and vicious bob drenched in grease.　SELF-DETERMINE,　MIN-SU.　girl toying anxiously with her chokers demands it so.　then again,　maybe she doesn’t,　and maybe she fidgets out of juvenile anticipation for an act that hasn’t carried weight in years.

[lili3z]

THAT'S  WHY  SHE  OFFERED?    The  one  reason,  no  more?  No  hidden  agenda  to  flip  open  and  crumble  at     the  paper  cuts  and  the  blood  pooling  thereafter?     It's  difficult  to  believe,  even  with  her.  That  only  desire  may  influence  benevolence.    Pity  always  comes  with  that,  Min-su  knows.     Poor  him.  Always  poor  him.  Perhaps  if  he  weren't  himself,     he  would  have  pitied  what  he  is,  too.    As  it  stands,  all  he  does  is  loathe  it.  It  doesn't  help,  then,  the  jitters  that  come.  The  swallow  of  muck  stuck  to  throat,  only  made  inaudible  by  the  measly  quality  of  what  he  is.

He  wants  to  kiss  her.     That  is  a  clear  thing  in  his  mind,  despite  the  static  desperately  trying  to  shadow  it.    A  buzzing  and  a  grumble  jousting  in  the  pit  of  his  stomach,  so  very  alike  to  the  sound  of  sirens  passing  him  by    as  he  calls  for  help.     It  never  comes.  Nothing  ever  does.  He  is  not  loud  enough.  He  is  not  strong  enough.

                                            HE  IS  NOT  ENOUGH.

 But  Se-mi,  she  is  more  than  one  measured  by  "enough"  or  otherwise  -  sufficient  in  that  she  is  she,  nothing  to  be  subtracted  or  added  because  Min-su  is  not  a  perfectionist  by  any  standard.    He  sees  her  and  decides,  by  himself,  for  himself,  that  she  is  Se-mi  and  that  is  incredible.  A  kiss  with  her  must  be  the  same.  Incredible,  despite  him.  In  his  insignificance,  perhaps  he  may  help  her  with  something  unknown.  Perhaps  she  needs  the  concept  itself  --  a  kiss,  just  that,  with  the  void.  Someone,  anyone,    and  he  is  a  fill-in  just  as  any,  because  he  is  not  allowed  such  a  thing  as  presence.

"  ...  then  –  "    He  finds  himself  leaning  forward,  though  it  is  subtle.    He  sees  how  she  fiddles  with  her  chokers.    He  sees  some  part  of  what  he  feels  in  the  motion  of  her  fingertips,    though  he  daren't  ponder  her  point  of  ignition.

He  will  take  the  kindness  if  it  is  from  her.  She  will  not  harm  him,  he  must  believe,  though  she  is  capable,  he  must  know.

"Do  I  ...?  Do  you?"    Start,     in  its  simplicity,  is  a  word  he  cannot  find.  Slips  past  his  radars  and  leaves  him  once  again  to  his  perpetual  loss.    Loss  of  all,  gain  of  kiss,  maybe,  maybe,  maybe,  if  she  lets  him.    If  she  does  not,  at  the  very  last  second,  remember  what  he  is  and  turn  her  head  away.    Her  head,  propped  with  lips  he  wonders,  now,  with  a  wavering  gaze,  about.

[lili3z]

@plyr256     :     Gyeong-Su  couldn't  help  but  grab  Min-Su's  arm,  gently  tugging  it  with  a  grin  on  his  face. "Hey,  Mr  Min-Su!  Boy  I  just  know  you're  deep  into  that  Drama  rabbit  hole!  I  bet  you've  watched  all  the  tear  jerking  stuff!"  Gyeong-Su  gave  a  second  to  pause,  soon  moving  to  gently  hug  Min-Su  -  oddly.  Like  how  your  awkward  classmates  do  when  you're  crying.  He  looked  so  apologetic  -  like,  he  only  just  realized  the  words  pouring  from  his  mouth. "N-  Not  that  it's  bad!  I've  cried  a  lot  to  dramas  myself!  'Uncontrollably  Fond'  killed.  Me."

ONCE  AGAIN,     Min-su  finds  himself  handled  in  like  to  shipments  marked   FRAGILE,  DO  NOT  SHAKE.     The  warning  is  completely  disregarded,    that  exterior  designed  to  inspire  care  swept  aside  for  the  convenience  of  its  handler.    Handle  like  an  empty  pack  of  cigarettes,  then.  He  can  tell  it's  gentle,  the  way  his  arm  is  taken,     but  it  does  not  deter  the  spite  at  the  act.

He  has  never  once  shown  sign  of  enjoying  the  touch,     nor  would  he  consider  himself  a  friend  of  Gyeong-su's  at  any  capacity.  Yet  here  they  are.    Here  is  Geong-su  spitting  nothing  at  him     and  here  is  Min-su  unable  to  prevent  himself  from  nodding  along,  as  though  in  worry  the  man  would  spin  right  around  and     flip  him  upside  down.

He  doesn't  know  what  the  hell    Uncontrollably  Fond     is.    He  would  cry,  yes,  he  knows  he  would,     but  that  is  precisely  why  he  sees  no  point.  There  is  plenty  in  this  world  to  dread.  He  needn't  more  to  mull  over.  He  needn't  better  people  than  him  pretending  to  be  other  people    to  be  fawned  over  by  millions  of  misty,  prying  eyes.

It  is  translated,  that  sentiment,    into  the  weakness  of  his  voice.     It  shatters  the  moment  he  begins  to  utilize  it,    like  all  of  himself  and  the  fragile  package  at  the  hands  of  its  courier.       "I  don't  —      I  haven't  seen  anything."    Don't  hit  me  over  it,  please.  Do  not  let  that  exterior  of  yours  break  and  break  me  with  it.        "...  Sorry."

[388sarc]

he wants to think less. needs to think less, really, if the constant pound of his heart against his ribcage is anything to go by: he who is too familiar with allowing his emotions and wants and whims to fall to the wayside. abnegation for its own sake, foolish and pitiful enough to believe he could go on this way. but what about when he wants ? when his chest aches with the thought of it, to see someone only a few inches shy of him and yet so far out of reach ? and then, still then, she is not a target, an attainable prize to be won with enough feats of heroism and protection. there is guilt, sticky and tar-black, pooling in the bottom of his stomach. he should be better than this, not think of her this way. but what about when he is left with nothing but his stupid emotions ? his stupid, pointless emotions, only serving to drive a deeper fracture in his already weakening connections with others ? there must be another way.

min-su can play the part. he, too, is small, something pathetic, a bounty placed atop his head of protection beguiling some makeshift score to be settled / sufficient in his injured baby animal aura to get the job done. so he crosses the threshold, brings himself close enough to target of his touch-compulsion. breadth of his palm comes to cradle min-su’s jaw, strikingly tender despite consternation stitched into his expression. he can do gentle, especially when the man before him is little beyond surrogate pregnant, surrogate petite, surrogate girl. dae-ho does not think of the implications, not how kissing a man is kissing a man regardless, not how something, anything feels right, spinning what once was spinning loose into place within his chest.

he pulls back, feeling somehow satisfied with himself — the feeling vanishes just as quickly as he can comprehend min-su’s confusion. and… impending concussion, if he were to judge the strike of his head against barricading wall behind him. eyes soften, grimace pulling his lips back to expose grit teeth / ministrations of predator animal, when all is said and done, but that is not dae-ho. ❛❛ fuck, shit, are you okay ? i didn’t — i wasn’t trying to scare you, dude. ❜❜ he isn’t sure what, exactly, he was trying to accomplish. the feelings for a girl that is not his ( a girl that belongs to no one except the doting future of motherhood ) have not departed, only made space for internal crisis alongside them. ❛❛ seriously, how's your head ? do you need to hold onto me ? ❜❜

[lili3z]

FUCK  FUCK  FUCK  FUCK  FUCK  FUCK  FUCK  FUCK  FUCK.     And  another,  gentler  fuck  for  good  measure.  If  Min-su  were  to  be  precise  in  describing  where  his  pain  travels,  he  would  pinpoint  its  roots  to  the  center  of  his  skull,  out  back,     and  follow  them  round  to  the  pit  of  his  stomach,    where  loathing  acid  seeks  exit  upon  Dae-ho's  face.    Perhaps  the  worst  of  it  is  that  he  is  not  repulsed.     Terrified,  absolutely,  for  he  hasn't  a  clue  what  kind  of  degenerate  strategy  this  may  be  to  humiliate  him,  but.   he  finds  little  within  himself  that  turns  inward  at  the  prospect  of  this  kiss.

"Do  I  —     ?     …    a??"     NEED  TO  HOLD  ONTO  HIM?     Never  in  his  however-many  years     –   he  stopped  counting  up,  at  one  point,  reversed  to  down  so  he  may  look  forward  to  something     –      has  Min-su  ever  been  so  perturbed.  No,  it's  true.  When  a  man  feels  him  up  and  offers  such  demeaning  aid,    he  can  often  tell  what  he  wants.     It  has  always  been  an  insult.  It  has  always  been     look,  look  how  small  he  is.     Why,  he  could  almost  be  a  woman.     As  though  women  around  him  have  not  been  stronger  and  better.    As  though  women  around  him  cannot  defend  themselves.  If  anything  they  are  the  ones  pointed  to  insult,  the  women.    Yet  he  still  takes  it  to  heart.    He  takes  the  weakness  implied,  however  shallow  and  untrue  in  its  comparison,  and  knows  himself  to  hold  it  with  such  pathetic  stammer.  He  is  nothing  and  no  one,  and  he  does  need  Dae-ho's  shoulders  to  support  him.    Boulders  for  his  little  self,  his  meaningless  form.

Or  perhaps  it  is  not  a  matter  of  needing.     He  doesn't  want  to  think  about  it.    Not  really.    Which  is  possibly  why  he  thinks  about  it  harder  and  harder,     that  complexion  of  his  settling  in  its  miserable  distress  with  a  frown  between  pain  and  intrigue.  Dae-ho's  question,  he  decides,  is  not  one.    A  demand  sounds  closer.     A  tactic,  it  may  be,  to  prove  his  superiority  to  little  Min-su,  who  stares  at  it  and  shrieks  at  what  it  means.  He  had  bared  his  teeth  and  they  are  fit  to  bite.     Min-su  cannot  stand  being  bitten.    By  cats  and  dogs  and  men  alike.  He  tells  himself,  in  some  mysterious  blend  of  denial  and  want,  that  it  is  such.  That  by  caving  into  the  weakness  of  his  form  and    letting  tips  of  fingers  fall  upon  the  terrible  fabric  binding  them  all  to  hell  in  numbers  like  cattle,     he  is  protecting  himself  from  the  bite.     Fucking  Dae-ho  and  his  stupid  fucking  Marines.    No,  really,  what  do  they  do  over  there.

He  looks  him  in  the  eye,  though  his  own  waters    ...     and  then  he  does  not  yell  his    WHY     and  his    HOW     and  his    LEAVE  ME  ALONE.     Nor  does  he  bother  saying  hey,  hey,  that  was  rushed  and    felt  like  nothing,     do  we  once  more  try?

[iprotect]

it's nothing to be ashamed of. query is posited to begin with not in search of evidence to mock him, but instead the bridge of connection se-mi seeks, gently, with those who are worthy. there is nothing to gain from directing similar questions towards the likes of thanos or nam-gyu, expecting nothing beyond that of ribaldry desecrating such a simple ask to begin with. she asks because she wants to understand, simple desire of taking min-su deeper into her psyche. just he, wholly, for who he is / absent in the compulsion to forge him in someone else's image. if his delineation reads cowardly and meek, so be it — it's him.

❛❛ hey, that's alright. ❜❜ and just as she had suspected. as kindly as she can manage in glass-shard edges of her cognizance, min-su does not seem the type. perhaps unwillingly, falling victim to some cruel prank played by a classmate extricating amusement from those unwilling to speak up for themselves, but said thought process was rapidly abandoned for the sake of its innate unpleasantry. no, se-mi thought as much only from due abnegation: there is little of this place besides the self and the body as two separate entities. the self is nothing without the body — necessary capacity through which to defend your stake in the games — but what about when there is body with no self ?

❛❛ i mean, a few people, but it's not... all of that stuff stops mattering once you're not a kid anymore. ❜❜ intimacy for intimacy's sake, to feel the hold of another person simply because it insists upon itself / had she been greedy once, before the world hardened her ? the past is the past, and what matters now is the present and the future they may not taste. lithe fingers card through her hair once, twice, gaze gentle in the once-over it directs towards min-su. the lights have long since darkened, with only the rotund piggy bank to illuminate the dormitory in illusory, aureate light. ❛❛ ...do you want to, then ? god forbid that asshole ever teased you about it. ❜❜ nam-gyu, she means, though intent is likely obvious with venom embellishing her inflection. then, because it seems a necessary addendum, ❛❛ only if you want to, though. ❜❜

[lili3z]

HE  COULD  NOT  HAVE  ALLOWED  HIMSELF    to  anticipate  her  query.  He  sits  there,  flower  that  he  is,    curled  over  himself  in  the  slow  wilt  of  one  gentle  light.  Watches  her.  Stares,  frankly,  as  fingers  pass  through  hair.  Her  gaze  meets  his  when  it  reaches,    deliberation  nowhere  present  in  what  returns  to  her  from  disheartened  eyes.    He  cannot  help  how  they  look.  The  sadness  in  him  is  for  all  to  see,  but  only  if  they  wish  to.     Unimposing  until  gazes  meet    and  the  depth  of  it  scratches  the  side  of  your  cheek.

He  has  to  blink,  stare  again     –      or  keep  at  it  ...  did  he  ever  stop?     Why  and  how?  Who,  him?  He,  Min-su,     who  just  admitted  no  experience    in  the  realm  of  whatever  happens  when  mouths  meet  and  tongues  peek  at  one  another?    What  does  she  want  with  that?     Is  it  anything?  Is  it  worth  the  try?  He  knows  he  will  not  be  so  good.  He  will  not  be  good  at  all,  in  fact,  and  he  blames  it  on  the  boy  -  the  girl?    The  boy?  The  girl?    The  someone,  whatever,  whoever  -  that  never  looked  his  way.

Is  he  the  girl?

It's  a  stupid  question.    He  knows  that.  He  acknowledges  that.  He  holds  onto  it.    But  it  is  there,  in  the  open,  hovering  over  the  protector  that  she  is.     Does  he  exude  that,  in  some  way?  The  girl,  the  one  fainting  -    kidnapped,  saved,  carried,  kissed.   -  is  that  him,  now,  today?    Is  that  what  she  wants  to  know?

He  doesn't  want  to  be  the  girl.

Remarkable,  that  desire,    because  he  wants  to  kiss  her  still.     In  spite  of  it,  somehow,    or  perhaps  without  view  of  it  at  all.

He  wants  to  inch  closer,     though  he  does  not  translate  the  act  into  neuron  firing,  let  alone  motion.  Simply  sits.     Mumbles  for  a  second,     possibly  about  his  standing  as  girl  and  boy  and  whatever  else,  whatever  else,  whatever  else.  Then  he  nods.     "If  ..."     If  ?  If?  Just  say  it.     IT'S  SE-MI.    He  can  say  things  to  her  and  the  worst  she  will  do  is  say  no.  She  won't  spit  in  his  eye.  Right?     He  has  to  believe  she  won't,     in  spite  of  whatever  else,  again,  in  his  head.  Say  it.  Say  it,  even  if  weakly.    Even  if  your  spine  slips  through  the  hole  in  your  back     as  the  single  syllable  falls  fragile  and  breaks  against  the  cold  floor.    "Yes."     Done.     He  did  it.  He  said  it.     He  doesn't  celebrate,  but  perhaps  it  hurts  to  know  he  would  like  to.    "…  If  you  want  to,  too."

[lili3z]

@388s     :    ahhhhh  what's  that  moving  in  !!  it's  a  bird,  it's  a  plane,  it's…  ahh  fuck,  it's  big  marine  guy  coming  to  inadvertently  corner  min-su  !!!  “listen,  listen,  i…  i  need  your  help.”  and  rather  than  explain  further,  in  he  goes  for  a  (bad)  kiss  !!!  cupping  his  face  and  everything,  that's  crazy.

HE'S  GOING  TO  DIE.     The  further  Dae-ho  approaches  the  more  he  is  certain  his  time  has  run  out.    This  is  it.     He  will  pummel  Min-su  to  the  floor  and  wrap  abysmal  arms  around  his  throat  until  it  collapses.     He  looks  upon  him  in  like  to  some  tamed  weasel.    Measly  and  domesticated  though  it  should  not  be.  Unobtrusive  gaze  threatening  at  any  moment     to  redden  with  the  push  of  tears  and  shortness  of  breath.

Even  Min-su  could  not  predict  that  they  would  widen  instead.     Deer  in  headlights,  only  wounded  already  by  a  truck  of  some  kind.     The  man  in  the  baseball  hat  brakes,     clicks  his  door  open  to  step  out  in  front  of  it.  He  says  he  needs  its  help.  For  what?    What  on  earth  could  Min-su  ever  be  helpful  for?    Sack  of  rice  that  he  is,  he  could  only  imagine  saving  a  mobile  phone.  Absorb,  absorb,  do  nothing  else  with  your  life.  Take  it  as  it  is.  Take  ...  huh?     HUH?     WHAT?            WHAT?          

Why  is  he  closer,  now?   Why  is  he  so  close?  Why  is  he  taking  his  face  the  way  he  does  now.    Some  kind  of  tactic?    Distraction  so  he  may  stab  him  nicely?  Dae-ho  does  not  strike  him  as  the  stabbing  type.  He  has  those  arms.  He  does.    They  are  better  equipped  for  brute  force,     if  he  could  trust  his  assessment  of  them.  At  this  proximity  he  can  be  nothing  but  terrified,  right?    That  allure  of  understanding  their  definition   and  traveling  along  their  length  is     ...      that's  fear,  too,  yes?     It  cannot  be  otherwise.  It  cannot  be  the  reason  he  is  still  as  stone  when  lips  strive  to  meet  his.    It  cannot  be  why  he  does  not  scurry  away  in  defense  of  himself.    And  yet.

There's  a  clasp,  though  quite  insignificant  like  all  of  Min-su.     He  lets  their  lips  meet  without  a  clue  of  how  to  work  with  his.  How  to  move  them,  where  to  put  himself  or  how  his  back  should  come  to  shape  at  a  ...  kiss?    THAT'S  A  KISS???    His  fingers  curl  with  such  nothing  around  the  fabric  of  Dae-ho's  shirt.  Some  material  thing  to  hold.     A  real  thing,  because  he  isn't  sure  the  kiss  is.

It  dawns,  then,  with  his  open  eyes,    that  Dae-ho  is  a  man.    A  man  who  is  kissing  a  man  who  is  also  kissing  him,  now.  He  cannot  even  assess  how  the  contact  feels  because  he  doesn't  know  what  that  part  means.  The  marines,  he  kept  mentioning.  Do  they  do  that  sort  of  thing?     "M-"     instinct  manages  him  backward,  just  enough,  though  his  head  bucks  to  strike  the  wall.  Ouch.  Ow.  It  hurts.  It  hurts  a  lot.  Is  that  what  a  concussion  feels  like  or  is  Dae-ho  so  strong  that  his  kiss  is  an  ailment?  "  ...  I  don't  un–     Dae-ho --------    Eh???"

[lili3z]

@iprotect    :    ❛❛  hey,  min-su,  have  you  ever  kissed  anyone  before  ?  ❜❜  from  semi  teehee

COMING  FROM  ANYONE  ELSE     Min-su  would  have  thought  it  an  attempt  to  berate  him.  A  question  like  that  to  a  grown  man  is  ...    a  sting     of  sorts,  in  that  it  draws  his  shortcomings  out  into  the  open.  He  doesn't  know,  fully,  if  he  ever  has.    Perhaps  in  kindergarten  by  some  playful  mimicry  of  television.    Nothing  of  substance.  No  real  kiss  to  remember.

Se-mi  is  different.  Where  others  find  his  chest  with  their  soles,    she  resides  benign  and  comforting.    A  friend,  maybe,  if  she  could  allow  such  a  thing  with  him.  He  cannot  tell.  He's  never  had  one  quite  like  her.  Quite  like  anyone,  really.  Exploitation  comes  to  mind  at  the  call  of  friendship ...     but  never  with  her.  He  feels  as  though  she  may  never  do  such  a  thing  to  him.  As  though  maybe,     if  he  were  to  allow  himself  some  sick  delusion,   SHE  LIKES  HIM.     He  can  never  be  certain,  not  Min-su,  but  it  is  as  close  as  it  gets.  Enough  to  warrant  his  ability  to  speak  to  her.    To  admit  things  out  of  his  own  volition,    little  duress  intact.

"Um  - "     A  gentle  shake  of  head,  something    bashful     in  the  dip  of  it  to  meet  her  with  wider  eyes.    "Not  really."       A  slump  is  already  forming  in  his  throat,     but  the  effort  to  swallow  it  proves  unfruitful.  It  stunts  it  further,  produces  a  crack.     "  ...  I'm  not  –   I  haven't  done  anything  interesting  like  that."       He  fears  his  own  wondering,  then.     The  question  coining  itself  in  the  back  of  his  mind.  She  looks  like  she  would  have.  She's  one  of  those  people.  You  see  them  and  you  think  -    wow,  who  wouldn't?  Larger  than  life,  but  part  of  it.    "...  Have  you?"

[lili3z]

logging in to say you should roundhouse kick min-su sometime

[388sarc]

is he sure ? of course he's sure. he takes it as any person would; tinier man overwrought with perturbation. dae-ho wishes to expend the generous hand, affirm to him that yes, you too are worthy of protecting, and you do not need to sink your teeth in as penance. as if it can offer min-su any reasonable assurance — it cannot, surely it cannot — dae-ho flashes a grin he intends to have read as charismatic. it should, just as all other facets of his externalized behavior do, read as exceedingly fake. artificial and overly flattering, intended to butter up unspecified target to view him as the good one. see, jung-bae? see how i am much more mature than the delinquents who punch and slap and choke to get their way? see, gi-hun? see how i revere your innate heroism? can't you do the selfless thing and allow me to walk among your ranks? and now he passes the proverbial torch to little doe-eyed min-su. you can be strong through our support. denigrate yourself to the level of warranting safeguarding. you are not enough to look after yourself on your own.

❛❛ pfft, think i'll be fine. you face a lot worse when you serve with the marines. ❜❜ why won't he acknowledge it ? dae-ho is only as much as his muscles and his tattoo and the lie he has built skyward. there is so much to elaborate on in the realm of his fabrication, and all he needs is for min-su to take the bait. ❛❛ shit, they probably would've benefited from the marines. not that they'd ever last, but, y'know. they teach you how to behave — how to be a real man. ❜❜ what is a real man ? is it he who shamelessly lies through the porcelain barricade of his teeth ? or is it the mollified he who simply allows the world to run its course without intervention ? is there even hegemonic masculinity to be found within the games, or is it merely compounded societal expectations weighing everyone down and breaking bone after bone after bone ?

❛❛ wait, you know my name ? ❜❜ no matter how audaciously he projects himself, people do not seem to listen; the loudest voice in the room does not equate to its value. he introduces himself twice over to gi-hun's group to feebly cling to the falsehood of belonging. no matter how jun-hee warmly glances to him or how jung-bae tenderly squeezes his shoulders, there is not belonging to be found. min-su listens ? finds it relevant information to recall ? ❛❛ ahh, we're friends now, so i should know yours too. don't you think ? ❜❜

[lili3z]

HE  REALLY  IS  SOME  KIND  OF  PATHETIC  KNUCKLEHEAD.    What  is  this,  the  third  mention  of  the  Marines  now?  How  badly  does  he  wish  to  cling  to  some  gone  heyday?  They  are  not  there,  he  wants  to  almost  spit.  Right  into  his  face.  His  eye,  even,  where  it  would  damage.  It  doesn't  matter  anymore,  Dae-ho.  Where  you  were.  What  you  were.     It  never  does,  when  you're  someone  else's  fish  to  fry.

Though  what  separates  Dae-ho  from  Min-su  appears  to  be  the  fact     only  one  of  them  knows  what  other  fish  swims  about.    By  name  and  face  and,  for  himself,  level  of  threat.  Ferocity.    Who  is  predator  and  who  is  prey.     Min-su  is  prey.  Dae-ho  wants  so  badly  to  be  a  predator,  he  decides  to  believe.  By  virtue  of  how  he  looks  -  how  he  speaks,     perhaps  he  might  achieve  it.     Perhaps  he  might  strangle  Min-su  if  a  'game'  that  is    Not  A  Game     allows.

At  it,  there's  a  bout  in  him,  something  bitter  that  becomes  a  quiet,  almost  polite  observation  in  how  it  leaves  him.  Cracked  and  spread  upon  the  floor  as  an  uttering  that,  yes,  is  audible,  but  ever-so-gentle.  Almost  sad.     "...  everyone's  names  were  said  ...  yours  more  than  once."    he  voices,  barely,  looks  to  the  floor  to  gather  his  saliva  where  it  should  go  -  back  down  his  own  throat  -  and  then  returns  his  gaze  to  meet  Dae-ho.     He  is  aware,  so  keenly,  of  how  his  own  eyes  must  be.     The  tar  in  them  disguised,  not  by  his  will,  but  by  some  sickly  force  that  encapsulates  his  entire  self.     The  same  force  which  allows  Dae-ho  to  berate  him  with  simply  what  he  must  think.     What  he  must  believe  Min-su  to  be,  the  poor  little  man  who  cannot  stand  up  for  himself.  Yes,  yes,  he's  heard  it  all  before,  spoken  and  unspoken.     "Min-su."    As  if  you  will  remember  beyond  this.  As  if  it  might  even  matter,  when  you  kill  me.

"...  eum  -  we  -  we're  friends?"     You've  decided  it  for  me?  Thank  you,  o'  benevolent  one.    He  struggles  to  think  of  what  need  he  may  fulfill  in  Dae-ho,  to  begin  with.     Because  that  is  the  only  way  he  can  be  a  friend.  A  euphemism,  friendship  is,    for  some  buffer  to  one's  self.    Look  how  I  stand  so  tall  beside  my  friend:    the  cheap  bit  of  dust  on  my  shoulder.

Min-su  hates  it.  Hates  that  he  knows  he  is  said  dust  ...     and  that  he  has  never  once  done  anything  about  it.

[388sarc]

oblivious. oblivious to the resentment broiling beneath min-su's acquiescent demeanor, oblivious to how insistence upon the crimson vote causes him to resemble those who he denigrates more than anyone else. or maybe he isn't — maybe his refined moral compass leads him to believe he is vindicated by the use of brawn's intimidatory capacity for the greater good.

countenance shifts first into a look of consternation, then concern; his intentions were never to make vile assumptions. ( min-su does not resemble them enough to seamlessly blend amidst their melange of toxicity, anyways. he sticks out like a sore thumb / like the fawn at the roadside with a broken leg / like the in-between of ideological opposites, tugged betwixt guilty parties until limbs rip from their sockets. ) besides, dae-ho was forever in search of justification for his ire; perpetual in his posturing, appealing to some higher power that had long since turned its back on him. everyone yearns for a father, even when the sky is empty.

❛❛ ah ? sorry, sorry — have they really been giving you a hard time ? ❜❜ better him than a woman, he thinks, but the doleful eyes of the underdog beguile his protective urges regardless. ❛❛ you should have said something. ❜❜ why are you a willing victim ? stand up. ❛❛ listen, listen, i won't let them bug you anymore. they should know better than to fuck with an ex-marine, and if they don't, well... i'll — i'll teach them a lesson. how about it ? ❜❜ he could make a good guard dog. loyal and fearless and strong; calculating and vigilant. ascend to that instrumentality his body provides.

[lili3z]

YOU  SHOULD  HAVE.    Yeah,  that's  always  it.  You  should.    What  Min-su  wants  never  truly  matters,  does  it?     The  very  notion  of  perhaps  having  ASSESSED  the  situation  and  realized  the  futility  of  showing  further  weakness  to  the  mounds  of  dolphin-shark-whatevers   encircling  him  here  by  asking  for  help  --  THAT  doesn't  matter  to  Dae-ho,  who  is  one  of  them.  As  far  as  Min-su  can  surmise,  that  is  the  truth.  Though  he  has  been  known  to  fumble  his  perception,  and  thus  takes  even  himself  with  that  grain  of  terrible  salt.

It's  kind  of  funny.    In  a  way  that  is  absolutely  miserable,    it  is  hilarious  how  Dae-ho  thinks  there  are  lessons  to  be  learned  in  this  place  besides  what  is  already  intrinsic.    All  he  would  be  doing  is  FUELING  the  trashfire  of  the  collective  group.  Volatile,  twisted  idiots  who  look  at  Min-su  like  he  is  a  tuna  fish  sandwich  free  for  the  taking.  No,  no,  Dae-ho,  all  you  will  be  doing  is  much  of  the  same.

"...  Are  you  sure?"    Useless  question,  only  serves  to  further  press  upon  the  MIGHTY  MIGHTY  end  of  the  ordeal.  Are  you  prepared  for  greatness-or-whatever?  If  you  are  smart,  you  will  say  no.

Min-su  has  always  managed  to  find  the  shorter  end  of  the  stick.  The  spoiled,  rotten  parasitic  end  that  clings  to  him  like  wildfire  to  wood.     He  feels  a  twinge  of  guilt.   ...  even  a  regression    in  his  earnest  desire  to  SEE  whether  Dae-ho  or  Nam-gyu  will  prevail  the  worst.   and  thus  the  greatest  animal  ...  but  what  is  there  to  do?  He  will  suffer  regardless.  It's  okay,  then,  if  macho  man  wants  to  do  the  same.  "  ...  dae-ho,"    name.  I  know  you.  I  remember  things.  Did  you  expect  that?  I  doubt  it.  Doubt  it.  No  one  expects  anything  from  Min-su  and  they  are  absolutely  right  not  to.  "if  -  um  -  thank  you,  but  ...  don't  get  yourself  in  trouble."     Yeah,  that  should  do  it.

[388sarc]

the behavior isn't natural. and then it is — riding the high of empowerment driven by numbers, you are as much of a man as you are able to stand alongside your brothers. a newfound swagger to dae-ho's step ever since giving yeong-sam a verbal lashing, forever of the opinion that he walked away from that altercation the better man. every facet of his posturing manifests as evidence; excessive volume to the resonance of his voice, jovial physicality always verging on an extreme.

bright and beaming, dae-ho does not look to intimidate: to be around min-su already supports his unstable self-image, layouts out new foundations for how he looks better and stronger by comparison. capable and competent, the worthiest of knights. never guided by some illusory gossamer of selflessness contrasted to his dutiful service towards women / knowing in his heart that min-su should stand up for himself, knowing in his heart that resentment blooms for how the apparent trepidation may freely bloom. not everyone has that option. ( what he wants is to ensure the votes stay in rubied favor, and by god was dae-ho not going to stand idly by while that bastard nam-gyu weaseled his way in, plotting and scheming. he can be better, imposing through good intentions and not through venomous intimidation. )

a large hand claps at min-su's back, rubs circles in place. touch as a tether. look at my hands that will not harm you. ❛❛ it's up to us x voters to look out for each other, isn't it ? ❜❜ the crowd thins, and it becomes more and more crucial to ensure their votes stay as they are. and, more poignantly, that the x voters are protected. ❛❛ listen, listen. i've seen how you've been hanging out with, uh, those guys. don't you think they're kind of a bad crowd ? roughing around player 333 like that ... ❜❜

[lili3z]

US  X  VOTERS.  US.  US.  US.  WHO  THE  HELL  IS  US?     It's  such  a  bone-grinding  collision,  that  declaration  of  camaraderie;    some  decadent    LIE     laced  in  sweet  macho  nothing  and  shoved  like  two  fingers  down  his  throat.     What  can  he  do  in  return,  then,  but  puke?  Feel  the  back  of  his  throat  tighten  and  lurch  until  the  only  thing  he  can  possibly  respond  with    is  the  further  strain  of  obedient  eyes.    They're  the  ones  vomiting,  yes,  sorrily  vomiting  saltwater  through  their  beds.

IS  HE  SERIOUS?     No,  no,  really.  Tell  Min-su,    because  he  doesn't  understand  what  kind  of  sick  iteration  of  self-upheaval  this  is.    The  HAND.  Huge.  Heavy.    Tracing  circles  like  some  rope-tight  suffocation  is  sooner  due.    His  back  is  his  throat  and  his  throat  is  on  fire.    The  sun  has  touched  him  and  up  its  blazes  burst  to  intrude.     He  cannot  shove  it  away  -  that  criminal  hold.  That  simple  one-sided  prison  he  is  now  confined  to.

"Are  you  ..."    fucking  stupid?  dense?  an  idiot?  actually  bona  fide  insane?    "I ...  a - um.  I'm  not.   ...  I'm  not  hanging  out  with  them."    You  worry  about  player  333     -    whose  name  is  Myung-gi,  did  you  know?     -     but  accuse  me  of  their  perversion  in  some  underhanded  way?  What  makes  it  so  I  look  like  them?  Or  is  it  simply  that  I  am  tossaway,  then,  asshole?     Is  it  because  he's  taller?

And  what  is  this  situation,  now?    What  is  he  to  do  with.   two  hot  pans  banging  at  the  sides  of  his  head?    NAM-GYU  wants  him  to  vote  o,  or  else.  Now    DAE-HO.   wants  him  to  vote  x,     or  else.  If  there  is  no  winning  in  this  world  then  why  bother  at  all?  What  happens  when  one  of  them  stabs  the  other  and  it  becomes  he,  then,  whichever  sun,  that  lords  over  Min-su  after  a  FUMBLE  made  in  choice?  No,  really,  there's  no  fucking  winning.                     ...                  unless  the  curbing  happens  earlier,  no?  If  the  vote  is  cast  beyond  confirmation  of    just  who  stands  to  harm  Min-su  more,    perhaps  there  is  some  merit  to  exploiting  big  strong  Dae-ho's  bravado.    "  ...  they  won't  leave  me  alone."

[lili3z]

@plyr124    :    "Oi  Min-Su-"  And  with  enough  grace  of  a  reversing  garbage  truck  and  the  elegance  of  a  Donkey,  Nam-Gyu  pulled  on  Min-Su's  hair.  Because  of  course,  any  chance  to  assert  himself  over  Min-Su  is  a  good  chance.  Because  he's  better. "-Who  fucking  cut  your  hair?"  He  snorted,  "I  hope  you  got  refunded  for  this  shit.  You  look  like  you're  wearing  a  mop  for  hair."

(    LEAVE  ME  ALONE.    )    No  peace,  no  respite  -  no  moment  left  for  him  and  his  mind  to  make  amends.  Every  second,  there  is  another  load,  shoved  and  stuffed  and  mangled  into  him  against  the  very  feeble  concept  of  HIS  WILL.  They  say  lightning  does  not  recur  in  one  sole  spot:  Nam-Gyu's  has  evaded  that  memo,  per  his  luck.  

None  of  your  fucking  business  who  fucking  cut  my  hair,  junkie.    Never  said,  barely  thought  -  hard  to  register  in  the  writhe  of  skin  against  muscle  and  bone.  His  blood  is  all  in  place     so  why  does  it  feel  like  it's  spilling  out?   why  does  it  feel  like  has  no  way  to  salvage  this?  Why  doesn't  he  try?

He  is  here  surrendered  before  all  to  the    PULLING  PULLING  PULLING,    one  eye  squinting  with  the    OW,  OW,  OW    he  cannot  even  verbalize.     "  ...  I  don't  remember.  I  don't  remember,  okay?  ...  "    The  truth  is  he  cut  it  himself.  No  barber  affordable  under  the  very  circumstance  which  shoved  him  right  into  Nam-Gyu's  morbid  self-actualizing  hold.  It's  sad,  but  it's  not.    Because  it's  happening  to  him.     Of  course  he  would  take  his  own  burden  and  throw  it  to  Min-su  -  Park Min-su  is  a  trash  bag,  is  he  not?    The  dumpster  itself,  made  for  knocking  off.     Fuck  this  guy.  Fuck  his  problems.  Fuck  how  sad  he  is.  Fuck  him,  really,  really,  even  though  Min-su  cannot  for  the  life  of  him  PUKE  the  thought  OUT.

[lili3z]

@388s    :    you're  okay,  all  right?  you're  safe.

SAFE?  HIM?  SAFE?  EO?     In  what  world  -  through  what  possible  fucking  path  in  this  mess  -  has  safety  weaseled  its  way  in?     The  man  with  arms  at  least  twice  the  size  of  what  Min-su  can  surmise  his  own  to  be.    Of  course  he  would  say  that.  He  can't  help  it.  His  mettle  is beyond  him.  True  iron,  whereas  Min-su  is  painted  plastic  chaffing  at  the  ends.  Perhaps  that  is  why  he  is  able  to  say  this  with  such  abandon.  Perhaps  that  is  why  the  dampened  gaze  of  the  sorry  cloud  is  able  to  hold  him  in  front  of  it  and,  for  some  horrible  fleeting  moment,    CLING     to  the  respite  of  his  seething  lie.

In  the  foolish  helplessness  that  drowns  him, he  presses  his  palm  to  the  life-boat  in  the  form  of  twitching  nod.  He  can  feel  his  sweat  meet  his  neck  faster  at  the  movement,    fingertips  tremouring  with  the  desire  to  wipe,     and  yet  ...  he  does  not  move.  He  is  looking  up  at  the  blazing  sun  before  him  in  all  of  its  overwhelm,  swallowing  thickly  the  bitter  taste  of  saliva  welling  with  the  warning  of  reflux.

Maybe  he  is  okay  if  Dae-Ho  says  so.     People  seem  to  always  know  better  -  maybe  everyone  else  gets  to  decide  whether  Min-su  is  okay  or  not.  Despite  every  inch  of  him  burning  under  the  unforgiving  intensity  of  the  contrary.    "I  -  Th ...  -  Alright.  Yeah  ...  I  am  now.  Thank  you."     The  words  taste  wrong.    Worse  than  reflux.  But  that's  what  you  say,  right?  That's  what  you  have  to  say,  when  big  strong  men  tell  you  how  you're  feeling.  Especially  when  they  have  not  yet  reached  the  point  of  supernova.    When  they  are  but  tame,  broiling  suns.     AND  YET     why  is  this  sun  even  here?     "  ...  you  don't  have  to  help  me.  Why  --  ?"     Why  bother?    What  do  you  want?     Do  you  want  what  Thanos  has?  Does  it  look  fun  to  you?  Do  you  want  me  to  turn  around  so  you  can    kick  where  it  aches  ?

[amourmemes]

❥     𝐕𝐈𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓  𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐄   𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍   𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐏𝐓𝐒   .

another meme inspired by devotedecay’s format !     tw  for  violence, blood, mature themes. send  in  one  of  these  for  my  muse’s  reaction  to  … (  add  ❝  reverse  ❞   if  you’d  like  to  see  how  my  muse  would  preform  the  action  !  )

[ deck ]   your muse decking mine in the face.

[ punch ]   your muse punching mine anywhere / or specify.

[ pin ]   your muse forcibly pinning my muse beneath them.

[ straddle ]   your muse forcing mine to the ground and straddling them.

[ scratch ]   your muse raking mine with their nails / claws.

[ bite ]   your muse biting mine.

[ turn ]   your muse rolling from beneath to atop my muse.

[ wall ]   your muse pinning mine against a wall.

[ snarl ]   your muse snarling / growling at mine.

[ curse ]   your muse cursing at / cursing mine out.

[ tug ]   your muse gripping mine’s hair.

[ kick ]   your muse kicking mine anywhere / or specify.

[ point + gun ]   your muse holding mine at gun point.

[ point + knife ]   your muse holding mine at knife point.

[ mock ]   your muse mocking mine.

[ sweep ]   your muse knocking mine off their feet.

[ grab ]   your muse grabbing mine forcibly.

[ shoot ]   your muse shooting my muse anywhere / or specify.

[ stab ]   your muse stabbing my muse anywhere / or specify.

[ break ]   your muse breaking any of mine’s bones / or specify.

[ strangle ]   your muse choking mine out.

[ shove ]   your muse shoving mine forcibly.

[ bruise ]   your muse making mine bruise.

[ under ]   your muse shoving mine underwater.

[ attempt ]   your muse attempting to kill mine.

[ bare ]   your muse baring their teeth at mine.

[ threaten ]   your muse threatening mine.

[ spit ]   your muse making mine spit blood.

[ bleed ]   your muse making mine bleed.

[ burn ]   your muse burning mine.

[ corner ]   your muse cornering mine.

[ throat ]   your muse wrapping a hand around mine’s throat.

[ challenge ]   your muse challenging mine.

[ cut ]   your muse cutting mine.