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kir4svn · 2 years

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Social Media, Bane or Boon?; a discursive essay

Young people have a tendency to fall prey to trends, adverts and fads, and often thrust their money into chasing new material joys they find off their Instagram “explore” pages. With the rise of Social Media, and the prevalence of young people on it, it has become more than easy for attractive young adults to show off their pricey possessions to teenagers watching from behind small screens. In an age where social media entangles itself in our everyday lives, does it serve as more of a bane or a boon? I personally feel it is a polite mix of both.

Money makes the world go round, and in the world of trade, social media is one of the best marketplaces out there. When the whole of the world pools together to form a segregated online space, it becomes far too easy to find someone who’s interested in something you’re selling. This acts as a massive advantage to businesses, allowing them to market their products free of charge, to people with real interest in buying them. For businesses with heftier budgets, turning to the more influential of the online bunch, whose eager followers are often more than willing to spend, usually promises high returns. So for businesses, Social media is surely a boon.

Everyone wants their 15 minutes of fame. Seeing the lives the rich and famous enjoy, many wish for a chance to live in the spotlight. Social media can bring one to the public eye, but those who reach often lament about the scrutiny they face. When one’s fame is online, it’s often that they will receive bouts of harassment, even if they far from deserve it. Take celebrities like Charli D’Amelio, who rose to fame at the young age of 15, for example. By the time she was 16, she was receiving threats from the online public, claiming she did not deserve her fame, comparing her to her sister, and pointing out the smallest of her shortcomings. A life in the limelight can be thrilling and enticing, but it can also be detrimental to ones mental health. As such, social media can easily bring harm to those who put themselves at the front of it.

That’s not to say that influencers are always right. More often than not, the most well received online personalities plant toxic standards in the minds of viewers and fans. Be it girls with small waists and hourglass figures, or men with broad shoulders and long legs, social media builds an image of the “perfect” body. As time passes, this ideal shape begins to pop up more and more, and evolves into an expectation. This leads to the popularisation of crash diets, bouts of self-hatred, and an increase in eating disorders amongst young people. These unhealthy practices are detrimental to the health of those who fall into their clutches, and affect the growth and development of today’s teens. As such, the unrealistic expectations evolved from social media culture can easily turn social media’s presence into a bane.

Social media allows us to catch up with others, and in some cases, live vicariously through them. It doesn’t matter whether an old friend is an hour or a hundred miles away, social media makes it easy to close the gap. On social media, you can find out what someone has been doing the past month, what someone is looking forward to celebrating in the next few days, or whether someone has just welcomed a child into the family, all in a couple of taps. Along with social media comes the ease of connecting with others, through a platform that requires little to no effort. In this way, social media serves as a boon, giving us the opportunity to come together virtually, no matter how far away we may physically be.

Social Media has clearly proved to be a double edged sword. Despite how it has brought undeniable benefit to our society by shedding light on pressing issues that might not have surfaced otherwise, it has also brought about unrealistic expectations and envy amongst the online community. Many question the ethicality of businesses cashing in on insecurities brought about through social media, and it seems social media is only beneficial to some and greatly detrimental to others. The reality is, nothing can truly be flawless, as consumers of social media, we should be mindful of what we choose to consume. Only then can social media serve as a benefit to us.

#essay #discursive #writing #kira's library

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kir4svn · 2 years

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Dine In or Dine Out? A Short Discursive;

What better to bring people together other than food? In a country filled with food connoisseurs like Singapore, such statements are easy to agree with. One thing Singaporean “foodies” can’t seem to agree on however, is whether food is better when enjoyed in the comfort of one’s own home, or when eaten out. Personally, I’m on the fence with this one.

Eating at home tends to call for home cooked food. Most agree that with the comforting taste of familiar food and the comfortable seats of your very own dining room, sometimes there’s nothing better to make you feel at home than home-cooked food. Due to the hustle and bustle of modern life, many do not get the chance to have truly nutritious meals, and tend to stick with fast food or salt laden convenient meal packages. Home-cooked food is a much healthier alternative to these options, and not to mention, recipes can always be tweaked to match each individual’s unique taste.

Many describe a good family bonding activity as eating together, and advocates for family bonding time advise that having meals at home with family is one of the greater ways to share time together. Having meals at home allows for families, or even friends, to bond. When eating and enjoying the food he or she likes, it’s not uncommon for one to open themselves up to those around them. This in turn allows for smoother communication and better conversations to occur over meals.

On the other hand, those that feel dining out is a better option cite reasons like how restaurants and cafes offer unique dining experiences unavailable at home. Dining establishments often pride themselves on the plating of their food, their decorations or their unique service. HaiDiLao Hotpot for example, prides themselves on their superb service, offering diners birthday songs, table to table noodle spinning, and even free manicures. These are things unseen anywhere else, and make dining out at restaurants worth the sometimes exorbitant food bills.

Dining out also serves as an option for those who may have troubles at home. It would surely be awkward to have to huddle around dishes for a shared meal after a heated argument with ones family or housemates. In such situations, dining out serves as a comfortable solution, allowing one to slip away from tensions at home and enjoy their meal comfortably. For those who live alone, dining out can also allow them to leave the isolation of their own homes and have a meal surrounded by the comings and goings they often lack in their lives.

Conclusively, dining at home and outside of home both carry their individual benefits and drawbacks, and depending on the situation, one option may seem better than the other. Ensuring at least one shared meal at home each week is a wonderful way to maintain strong bonds and forge trust amongst members of your family. Yet again, indulging in a hearty meal from your favourite restaurant may appear much more appealing after a long week.

Perhaps the question we are really asking when bringing up whether dining at home is better than dining out, is whether we are willing to find balance between the two.

#kir4svn #kira's library #articles #discursive #my writing #singapore #sg

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kir4svn · 2 years

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The Red Umbrellas;

Chapter Two: Nothing like the Umbrellas

Words: 627

Dion walks into the medics room as quietly as he could, hoping not to bother Theo in his work, but the sound is still loud enough to incite a glance from the man, who waves Dion over quietly.

“Di, my dear,” Theo smiles, his hands wrapping themselves around Dion’s, who doesn’t look up from the tiled floors.

“It’s not your fault alright, just remember that, please?” Theo tries to comfort the boy, and Dion only shakes his head. As Theo looks at Dion, who has his head still hung low, he can only sigh, turning back to Nico, who he had been busy bandaging.

Despite how his body was bruised, cuts peeking out from under his skin, Nico still slept peacefully on the stretcher, almost as though he was completely fine, and it brought Dion a weird sense of relief to see the younger one not writhing in pain.

Nonetheless, Dion still doesn't speak a word. He simply stands beside the stretcher, looming over Nico’s sleeping form like a cloud of regret, and Theo reaches forward to grab the standing boy’s hand.

Dion doesn’t shift away, or pull his hand from Theo’s warm grasp, instead he chooses to stay, hand resting quietly and motionless against Theo’s calloused skin.

Nico wakes up early the next day, greeted only by the empty med bay, and the distant sound of the umbrellas chatting in the dining room. Quietly the teen steps out of the sheets laid over him, and stumbles his way towards the heavy oak doors.

He places his hands gently on the wood doors, about to push them open, but he’s stopped when a sharp pain courses itself up from the wound on the left of his waist, and he draws his hand back to clasp over the source of the pain.

After a while of pressing over the thick gauze, Nico drops his hand down to his side, and stands before the door, deciding against pushing it open. Instead, he turns away, leaning his back against the door to listen to the sounds of the rest of his family going about their days.

Despite having seen Nico alive and well that same morning, Dion still couldn’t shake off the worry that plagued him from having a good night of sleep. So once again, he makes his way down the same grand stairs, and down to the kitchen for the Xanax once again.

“Oh! Dio, hello again.” Dion hears Jayse’s voice chirp from the dimly lit kitchen island, and he can’t help but jolt at the sudden sound.

“Hello, Jayse.” Dion mumbles, as his eyes travel to the way Jayse was lifting a spoon of cereal with his left hand. Looking at how his hand was shaking, he finds it obvious that the man is far from ambidextrous,

“About… about Nico. I know you’re worried, I've seen you kept up for the last two nights over it, but he’ll be fine, really.” Jayse tries to coax the younger boy, and Dion doesn’t give any response apart from a blank stare.

“All of us have been through it, and we’re all still fine and dandy, I mean, my arm looks like it’ll fall off, but…” the man trails off, and Dion looks down at his feet. The talk reminded him of what Theo had said, but he couldn’t help the doubt that was rising in the back of his head.

“Just trust me, okay. Trust Us,”

Even when Jayse was so sincere.

“But what about those I haven’t met? Those who didn’t make it out fine and dandy.” Dion murmurs.

At the words, Jayse’s expression falls, and he bites his lip.

“Those people, Dion, they’re nothing like us. Nothing like you and me. They are nothing like the umbrellas.”

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#The Red Umbrellas #Kira's Library #kir4svn #my fic #my writing #novel #angst

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kir4svn · 2 years

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You’re here, 36th | n.yt

++ Smoker!Yuta AU

Genre: Fluff(?) | 1.5K Words

ⓒkir4svn, 2022

You lift your hand gently to your lips, taking a long drawl of the cigarette clasped between your fingers, a smile gracing your face as the smoke wisps its way into your lungs.

It was a cold night, but you couldn’t care less, clad only in your sloppy pyjama shorts and a white shirt. The first night you went up there you weren’t sure what had compelled you to leave your fifth floor apartment and take the lift all the way up to the 36th when it would have been much easier to just have gone to the steps outside your apartment block. But you don’t regret it even in the slightest.

Your apartment block was dry to say the least. Filled with exhausted college students, single parents and old couples, you never had any major experiences albeit the occasional disapproving sounds you heard from the senior citizens on your way back in from a smoke.

You wanted a more exciting life. You always tell yourself, but in truth you were more than happy with what you had. Sure, it was boring. Sure, it’d be great to be out in the midst of the city rather than in one of the back alleyways leading out of it, but you were satisfied.

You didn’t expect to want to go after a man who you had met at the same place just nights ago. The man with shaky hands who’d lit your cigarette with his battered metal cased Zippo lighter, and stood with you in a comfortable silence. Much less did you expect to make a routine out of it.

Dragging your feet out of your apartment at 2 in the dead of the night and heading all the way to the 36th floor balcony had become a nightly routine now. You did it to see him, as embarrassing as that was to admit.

To see the way his slightly long hair hung just above his eyes, and the way he always tucked both hands into the pockets of his sweatpants to look for his lighter as if he didn’t know which pocket they were lying in. It was how he was so predictable in all his actions but unpredictable in all his words.

Now, knowing that you’d arrived earlier than he would, you lean forward and tip the ashes from your cigarette off the edge of the railings, waiting for him to arrive the same time he always did.

“Oh, you’re here.” you hear the voice you’d been waiting for call from behind you, and it takes every fibre in you not to break out in a stupid smile.

“tiring day today?” you ask, a question you’d only garnered courage to bring up the second time the two of you had met.

The man only nods, pulling his pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and sticking one in his mouth, fumbling around for his lighter immediately after. As always, the lighter is in his left pocket, and he raises his shaky hands to light the cigarette now clasp between his lips.

Only silence ensues for the next minute or so, but you don’t mind it, rather you appreciate it. It’s time to enjoy his presence as much as it’s time to be alone with your own thoughts.

You smile only slightly to yourself, the ring of his name sharp in your head from when he’d told you what it was just last night.

Yuta. You’d been referring to him as just 36th before then, and you’d simply never needed to know his name.

He gave you his number too, and although you didnt memorise it, you knew it was safely in your contact list, saved for when you finally put up the courage to drop him a text.

You glance back in his direction, only to see him with his head hung, his hair covering his eyes in a somewhat shaggy way, piled clump after clump.

He raises a hand to his lips, clasping the cigarette between his index and middle finger to pull it away, and lets out a deep sigh.

“Nothing quite like fresh air while you’re breathing in smoke into your lungs, right?” he remarks, and you can’t help but laugh at the attempt to crack a joke.

“I suppose so, yes.”

You meet him continuously for weeks, and eventually there comes the day he invites you over to his apartment.

It surprises you, to find that the man didn’t live on the 36th floor, but rather the 18th.

Just like you, he’d taken the lift up to the top of the building, for reasons you’d assumed to be the view, to take his midnight smoke.

He pushes open the apartment door carefully, and you kick off your shoes, stepping into the house and past the teak door frame carefully.

His apartment is small, but just right, not unlike yours. There are subtle differences in the layout, where the toilet is, where the bedroom door is facing, but otherwise the apartment might as well have been yours.

He’s quiet when he shuts the door, and when he goes to grab you a drink in the fridge, you watch as he stands with the light of the machine illuminating his face, scanning over it as if considering what you might prefer better.

Eventually he picks out beer, a can for you, one for him, and walks over to you with a slight hobble in his step.

“Do you drink?” he asks as he offers it to you, and you grunt.

“Of course.”

Yuta sat beside you, leaned back on his couch as he stared at the TV before him, watching some old Japanese game show of some guy eating a leather shoe, an unamused expression burned on his face.

You take a short sip of your Asahi Superdry yet again, and he looks over at you, eyes locking with yours with an intensity that made it difficult to even consider tearing them away.

“Yes?” you whisper, afraid making too loud a noise would scare the man out of his trance, and he smiles, a gentle lopsided grin, before his eyes travel to your lips.

Isn’t this too cliche? You think, berating yourself for the cheesy situation you now found yourself in. As your face heats up, you become painfully aware of how red your face must look to the man before you, but yet you don’t budge, sat still, beer can in your hands.

He leans in towards you, your hands move up onto his shoulders, and you lean in too, slowly, until your faces were barely two inches away, and you repeat yourself.

“Yes?”

He smiles. Now that he was so close to you, you could smell the cigarettes on his breath, and he could smell them on yours. His eyes flick upwards, now locked with yours, and your breath hitches.

He leans in closer, and so do you.

When his lips touch yours, your face heats up yet again, and you once again curse yourself for behaving like a teenager. Kissing you gently, his hands roam near your waist, not making contact in case you didn’t like it, a gentlemanly move you added to his list of charms.

You lean your body closer to him, not pulling your lips away from his in hopes he’d understand your gentle attempt at approval, and he does, hands grasping your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric on your skin.

You could barely remember the last time you were kissed, much less did you remember any details, but you were sure when you said you’d never felt a kiss quite like his before. The way he moved his lips on yours, the way that even if you opened your eyes to take a peek at his face, his eyes were kept closed, brows furrowed in concentration as if kissing you was the most important thing he had to do.

The taste of beer on his tongue should have been revolting, especially mixed with the heavy breath of tar the both of you shared, but you only wanted more. You pull back to catch your breath, and the man before you does so too.

When you look up at him again, his lips are swollen, eyes watery from having squeezed them shut, and his hair was messy from how you unconsciously ran your hands through it. He smiles, reaching a hand forward to brush a stray hair out of your eyes, opening his mouth to finally reply your question.

“Nothing. Just wanted to kiss you.”

“Can i let you in on a secret?” Yuta asks, though he knows you’d say yes. He’d gotten good at predicting your actions, given the number of times you’d come over, and the number of times he’d stopped by at your house after your nightly smokes.

Just as he expected you would, you nod, and the man chuckles, a faint chuckle, as he pulls an unlit cigarette out of its box and hands it to you.

“The first time I came here, I came here because I didn’t know what to do with my life, and I didn’t know what was real anymore. But looking at the distance to the ground, those 180 metres, just made it set in.” he begins, turning to look at you, the whites of his eyes standing out like sparks tangled in between strands of his jet black hair.

“Then I met you.”

As he speaks, Yuta smiles, and at his smile, You unconsciously find yourself smiling back, fiddling with the unlit tab in your hands.

“I never planned to come up here everyday. I wanted to see you, and thought that if I just waited up there, maybe you’d come again. And you did.” A chuckle. “You were there before me.”

“I thought, wow. I needed to do this everyday. I needed to see you every day.” he continues, turning away to look at the skyline as he gulps, looking nervous, an emotion you hardly ever observed on him.

“So, I know this is random.” Yuta let’s out as he digs in his pocket, yet again his left, and pulls out his lighter.

“But will you be my girlfriend?”

You look down at his outstretched hands when he pops the question, and immediately tears begin to well in your eyes.

His shaky hands, the ones you remember, stretching out his beaten up lighter your way.

A/N: I think the ending is so choppy help 💀💀

#kir4svn #kira's library #nct fanfic #nakamoto yuta #nct yuta #nct ff #nct fluff #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct imagines #writers on tumblr

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kir4svn · 2 years

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“Though i tell myself not to take it to heart,

to let his words run past me like a worthless stream,

each word and syllable still forms its own cold pond on my skin,

engraving itself into corners I unlocked in my sleep.

Even if i try to blow the ponds away,

my gusts of breath are nothing against his steady waters,

and instead I crumble into his stagnance,

weak without air to hold in my lungs.”

Ponds, Written July 12

#Poetry #120722 #kir4svn #my writing #poets on tumblr #young poets #kira's library

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kir4svn · 2 years

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Sick of it | jjh

++ tw: divorce | Husband!jaehyun AU

Genre: Angst |

ⓒkir4svn, 2022

“I’m sick of it!” Jaehyun lets out, his fists balling up into tight clenches as he tries to avoid eye contact.

“sick of what?”

You didn’t mean for the comment to come out like a hiss, but with your daughter held in your arms as you tried to soothe her never ending wails, you could barely control your own mind, much less control your tongue.

“I think, i think we should just, End this.”

This wasn’t where you’d expected it to all end up when the two of you had gotten married. When you’d exchanged rings, vows and promises for the future at the altar before what felt like all the people in the world.

Now, holding your crying daughter in your arms, and staring at the hot tears that streamed down the face you had learnt to love, it felt as though that world was now crashing down before you.

“I’m sorry.” he mumbles, his hands dropping to his sides, and he turns away. The wails of your daughter are almost drowned out by your own thoughts, and only when you hear the door open do you realise that your knees had gone weak.

It’s… It’s over. The walls of your apartment were completely fine, yet it felt as though they were crumbling down around you. The world the two of you had built together was now gone, and all you had left to comfort you were the unrelenting wails of your daughter, and the new silence that had begun to take over your thoughts.

#nct #nct fanfic #jjh #jaehyun #angst #jaehyun fic #nct angst #nct x reader #nct ff

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kir4svn · 2 years

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The Red Umbrellas;

Chapter One: Not old enough, to be old enough

Words: 949

Synopsis: The boys try to convince Galen, the head of the house, of two different things. Nico: that he was old enough to be free, and Dion: that Nico wasn't old enough to understand

"Look who's back." Dion winces when he hears the voice. It's spoken softly but yet somehow, it manages to echo through the walls.

"Atticus, you can return to your room now.” The voice repeats, and Dion raises his head to face the source of the noise.

Standing at the top of the stairs, donning a dark red dress shirt, stood Galen. As always his eyes were slightly sullen and surrounded by a small ring of red, like a show of how worried he had been the whole evening.

As Dion kicks off his shoes and places his drenched umbrella on the stand off at the side, he tries to nudge Nico to do the same, only to see him about to doze off.

“Dio, Nic, go take a bath, then come down for dinner. The punishment can wait.” Theo’s voice calls gently from behind Galen, and the taller man turns to glare at its owner.

Theo doesn’t budge however, and simply nods at Dion to proceed.

Gulping, Dion holds Nico gently by his arm, leading him past the spiraling stairway, and down the flight of stairs off at the edge of the room.

The ornate Marble table is empty, spotless rather, except for Dion and Nico’s seats, on which lay steak and potatoes, plated beautifully on a ceramic plate. Cielo’s work, they assumed.

Walking to the dinner table, Dion can’t help but feel anxious, knowing that when Galen sat there just two or three hours ago for the family meal, his anger had brewed each time he glanced at the two empty seats.

There’s only a soft dragging sound as the boys pull out their chairs and take their seats, slight shuffling as they lift the utensils laid beside their plates.

“I think we’re missing an explanation.” Dion is the first to break the silence, popping the question as he presses his fork into his cut of steak, and Nico looks up only after a second.

“They were asking me to hang out, and they said we haven’t hung out in a while, i just- they’re sick of me always bailing on them. I don’t want to lose these friends.”

“You know the rules, Nic. Galen’s trying to protect you. He’s trying to keep you safe.”

“Protect me from what? They’re my friends for fuck’s sake.”

Dion doesn’t give a reply, instead he leans slightly back in his chair, his eye contact with jisung still unrelenting.

“I’m 17, Di. 17. We’re all older, more mature- I’m not the same 11 year old that walked into those doors anymore,” Nico starts to raise his voice as he speaks, and Dion can’t help but raise his voice too.

“We’re a mafia, Nico. People want us fucking dead, matter how old we are. And those friends of yours, they’ll kill you if they see that mark. You know it.” Dion hisses, now picking up a piece of steak on his fork, and popping it into his mouth.

Nico only looks back down at his plate. The fork and knife now gripped tighter in his hands.

The silence held like a blanket over the room was unbearable, especially when Dion could see the way Galen sat with his head held in his hands at the front of the room. He tries his best to ignore it, looking away from the man, and training his sight on his tangled hands, but somehow he still feels the way the older's eyes burn into the top of his head.

"I'll let the both of you explain." Galen starts, lowering his hands so they rest on his lap, and Dion gulps, shifting his hand to nudge at Nico’s thigh.

"My friends got sick of me bailing on them all the time, they asked, and I couldn't say no." Nico speaks up, and Dion doesn't say a word, his bottom lip bit tight between his teeth.

"Your... friends?" Galen hums, in a tone that to the ears of anyone but the umbrellas would have sounded humiliating, or disgusted.

"Yes. My friends, from school." Nico continues, trying to back his point up, but Dion knows that to Galen, his words were nothing but a show of proud defiance.

Dion finally decides to speak up, placing a hand on Nico's thigh to stop him from continuing as he parts his lips.

"It was my fault. I didn't stop him from leaving. I went against your words, Galen and didn't consider that Nico would leave." Dion tries to shift the blame over to himself, hoping that at least Nico could evade the punishment, but Nico raises his voice over Dion's.

"He shouldn't even be watching me, I'm 17. I'm old enough to not have to listen to all of the stupid requirements you keep forcing onto us." Nico snaps, and Galen doesn't budge, choosing to only clench his jaw.

"No, it's my job, I was given the task and I didn't execute it. Nico’s at the age where it's normal for him to rebel, i should have taken that into consideration," Dion rambles off, his hand held tightly on Nico’s arm as if trying to will the younger to just shut up, but he's interrupted when Galen slams his hand on the oakwood desk.

"No, Nico's right. He's seventeen now. You should stop taking the blame for him too. He's old enough to bear the consequences of his own actions." Galen says, and Dion immediately shakes his head in a rush.

"No, no, he's just rambling out of frustration, he's still not mature yet, he doesn't yet understand- i mean," Dion tries to reason, but Galen cuts him off with a raise of his hand.

"You should go to bed, Dion."

Dion can’t seem to fall asleep. Even as he tosses and turns on the soft sheets, opens his eyes and closes them again, he just can’t seem to fall into slumber. He doesn’t know if it’s worry for Nico, or just the feeling of being completely fine after having just left Galen’s office, but something just felt off to him. He gets up in his bed, shuffling his hands around on the soft sheets under the duvet, looking for the coin he always held around with him.

He eventually finds it, and as the cold metal warms itself against his palm, he gets up from his bed, shuffling out of the room, the heavy oak doors closing with a dense thud behind him.

The halls are quiet as Dion walks through them, most of the umbrellas having already fallen asleep, spare some of them who spent their time gaming at their own set ups. His footsteps sound out against the marble floors as he walks towards the stairs that lead down to the ground floor, the coin starting to feel heavy in his palm.

“Di.” a voice calls from behind him, and Dion turns to face it.

It’s Jayse, clad in a grey tee and plaid pants. Looking at him now, Dion finds it hard to believe this was the same man that almost got his own arm cut off just two nights before, but as his eyes travel to the said arm, the sight of the gauze wrapped tightly around it reminds him of the ordeal.

“Jayce, you’re up.”

“I should say the same for you, you’ve had a long day, no?” Jayce’s vague with his words, but Dion knows just what he’s referring to, and nods. He waits as Jayce approaches him and they make their way down the steps, shoulders touching.

They eventually split upon reaching the base of the stairs, Jayce hobbling away to the medic’s office, presumably to get his bandages changed, and Dion walks to the mirror in the washroom beside the pantry in search for a box of Xanax.

Dion drops the coin on the sink counter, freeing his hands to pop a pill out of its blister, then dropping it into his mouth before picking up the coin again.

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#The Red Umbrellas #Kira's Library #Kir4svn #my fic #my writing #novel #angst #mafia

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kir4svn · 2 years

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“Slip through the gap in the door, fall into my arms once again.”

… MASTERLIST: The Catalogue

“Looking for a book? Allow me.”

… SERIES

#— The Red Umbrellas;

^ An angst filled piece of mafia fiction | Crime

… FANFICTION

#— Sick of It;

^ divorce scene w/w husband!jaehyun

#— You’re here, 36th

^ generally fluff one shot w/w smoker!yuta

… POETRY

#— Ponds;

… DISCURSIVE

#— Dine In or Dine Out?

#— Social Media, Bane or Boon?

#masterlist #kir4svn #Kira's Library #my writing #my fic #writers on tumblr #writeblr #novel

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kir4svn · 2 years

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“He’ll be our umbrella, as long as we promise to be his.”

The Red Umbrellas;

Genre: Crime, Mafia

Synopsis: The name “The Red Umbrellas” may turn heads, but disobeying their elites send them rolling.

Dion knows this, being an Umbrella himself, and now that young Nico has finally peeked his head out from under his wing, he knows the teen’s rebellion would end in anything but good.

Prologue | One | Two

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kir4svn · 2 years

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The Red Umbrellas;

Prologue: soothing lullabies, painful reminders

Genre: Thriller, Angst, Crime

Synopsis: our story opens with Dion and Nico on the journey back to the manor, back where the umbrellas belong.

The sound of rain as it falls onto the dense glass of the bus windows sounds like a soothing lullaby to the ears of the drowsy Nico, but to Dion, it's nothing but a reminder that they would have to trudge through newly formed muddy paths to get home.

Dion knows they would be in trouble upon reaching, Nico having run off to meet his friends in the early hours of the evening, and himself having failed to stop him. Now that it was raining so heavily and the two were in lack of umbrellas, he had a feeling that whatever punishment Galen had planned for the two, even Theo wouldn't be able to save them from.

When the bus slows to a stop near the woods, Dion leans over to quietly shake Nico awake.

Nico takes the cue to get up and stumble out of his seat towards the glass doors, and Dion follows right after, both boys stepping out of the comfortable dry air of the bus and onto the wet mud of the street.

"Hey." Dion tenses when he hears a voice call from across the street, but relaxes upon realising it was just Atticus, standing under the shade of a dark red umbrella.

Tugging Nico by the wrist, they both cross the empty streets and towards Atticus, who quietly hands them the umbrellas he'd brought.

"Dinner will get cold." Atticus smiles, turning to walk into the woods leading to the manor.

...AUTHORS NOTE hello dear visitor! Welcome to the prologue of the series The Red Umbrellas! While you're here, let me provide you with some little fun character facts!

Dion is pronounced "Die-On"! So when he's called Di in the story, its also pronounced "Die"

Nico is one of the taller characters, and is a centimeter taller than Dion!

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