#GOD and the symbolism of fucking on his grave lol

[what-is-it-to-be-pk-esque]

Can we talk about how cute the graveyard scene is!?!? Oh my goddddddddddd this is never leaving my fucking brain

Like I cannot get over how beautiful and sweet and unexpected the entire Astarion romance arc is!? For what was nearly an enemies to lovers situation (depending on how you played)?? What the actual fuck, I didn't see a ton of spoilers but I had seen some by accident I think, and yet it still absolutely surprised me in all the best ways. So so adorable, romancing him forever. jesus

[thegnomelord]

plap plap plap plap get pregnant get pregnant get pregnant. me getting these damn military boys pregnant

im still on da cruise UGHHH

johnny really likes chocolate. its bad. he constantly craves it—you cant even hide it from him, sniffs it out like a fucking dog. soo…those aphrodisiac chocolates in the fridge? oh, he doesn’t read the packaging. god forbid he has any inhibitions after that.

uhh graves has like seven cats. he loves cats. theyre easy to care for, plus he can leave them alone for a week or so while he’s working. so…when he visits a particular petshop during his mission—underground shit going on here, some fucked up experiments on demihumans or other. he finds a scared little catboy just about to be messed with before his team bursts in. well…there’s no rules against taking this one home right?

UGH VOMITS EVERYWHERE I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT VALERIA BUT IDK IF YOU WRITE FOR HER SO….probably not sigh

anyways i think gaz with the fattest tcock is like canon ngl hes so proud of it. no shame at all. and gaz is NASTY like that you know he doesnt care if they look at him weird in the lockers (i wish sigh)

-the flower you know who i am i cant find the silly symbol ugh

-❀

What do people even do on a cruise? Like I get traveling to different countries by boat but there's a big stretch of time where you're just on the sea with fuck all to look at.

Also damn dude r you reading mine and Embry's thoughts? Cause legit yesterday we were simpin over preggo Simon lol. Imagine his belly would be soooooo fucking huge and he'd grumble all the time lol.

Also yeah, I'm gay as fuck and only like men, you can go to embry so you two bi disasters can simp over valeria.

Also I'm kinda laughing at the idea of Graves 'adopting' the demihuman reader who's being trafficked or some shit, and just assumes you're the common house cat variety cause you're small from being starved n shit. Only to figure out you're actually a mountain lion or a black jaguar demihuman when you grow fucking massive after a few months under his care. 👀

Also you are so right, Gaz has a massive tcock and he's so smug about it.

[little-peril-stories]

OC Name Meanings

Rules: Put down an OC or more and tell what their name means.

Thanks for the tag, Anna! 💜 @starlit-hopes-and-dreams

you know what time it is. time for an open tag.

When I was a kid, my parents had these physical books of baby names and their meanings. I've always liked to write and create characters, so you know I was obsessed with those books. There was one in particular I more or less just kept (at that point it was clear they were done having kids, lol). I mean, that thing was tattered. The cover came clean off. Sometimes I was using it for the stories I was writing; sometimes, I was literally just reading it like a book.

So, as you might expect, I always take great care when naming my characters. I like to choose names with deep symbolic meanings that fit their characterization.

Nope lol I literally just pick names that sound cool or that come into my head at that moment.

Let's see how I did with the crew from The Prince of Thieves / The Queen of Lies.

Sources: Baby Names | Baby Center | Nameberry, aka the first three websites that came up in my search

Breanna: noble | strong, hill | virtuous, honourable

I wanted to make her full name her something else that looks similar, but when I searched up the pronunciation, it wouldn't abbreviate to Bree, which I had very randomly decided on, so she became Breanna instead. Someone should tell TQOL Breanna that her name means "strong" — I'm sure she'll be astonished.

From TPOT: Bree saw hope and fucking grabbed it. She heard Gysborne tell her she was going to her death, and she hurled herself toward her chance at life. Bree Cooper is still clinging to that hope, and it is beautiful.

This is probably NOT going to be in the final draft of TQOL so have it here: ...but she had a voice, and she could kick her legs, and being quiet and demure and the good wife had served her well for so long, and it had worked, more or less, but today, this was a different beast, a different foe, and if she didn’t fight, then there was no one else to fight for her, was there?

William: will, desire, helmet, protection | resolute protection

Honestly, he was invented on the spot and I probably named him after Will Turner, because pirates will never not be sexy? Anyway. Can't believe one of these names is actually spot on. Yay!

No, I vow. I have already decided, long known, in fact, that I will not betray the others. Baden Hatchett will never hear the names James Wardrew, Colette Haris, or Geoffrey Marks. I will take their names and the location to whatever unmarked grave they dig for me. I will take my own name into death with me if it means it will protect the others.

James: supplanter | heel

Another generic dude name I sort of picked out of nowhere... or, more likely, I probably saw one of the countless Outlander gifs that go around and stole Jamie Fraser's name. Jamie W. does act like a heel sometimes so that works. Jk Jamie we love you!

If you want IA, then you want me. If the man you arrested goes free, unharmed, I will turn myself in, and Iustitia aecum will be no more.

Colette: victory of the people | people of victory

Her name just happened! No rhyme or reason. Glad this is what it means though, who knows what would've happened to IA if it meant the opposite.

"And then Spider… She… When the chance to do something good for people who had nothing, when that opportunity finally presented itself… That little wooden coin… It changed my life.”

Geoffrey: God peace | peace, territory, pledge | pledge of peace

No idea why I picked this name—or why, around the same time, I also had a character called Jeff (Jeffersen) in Fen & Freddie. But hey! Geoff doesn't talk much, so the whole "peace" thing kind of tracks.

Geoff wraps his arms around me, presses his face against my neck, the unkempt, wiry hairs of his beard digging into my skin, a sublime sort of torment, innocent yet lethal. “Jamie. You are my family."

Allan: little rock | handsome | cheerful

He gets the honour of being the only character to have the same name as someone from the Robin Hood stories. (Will doesn't count.) He isn't particularly cheerful and I suspect he doesn't believe he's that handsome, but at least I got to name him Allan-a-Dale.

I scrabble on the muddy ground, finding a rock the size of my fist. Although my grip is weak from the cold, I hold it up.  ... I hurl it at him, trying to hit his head and falling embarrassingly short. “You’re one of them.” I feel around for another stone, find a smaller one, throw that, too.

Baden: bather | son of bade [other websites also gave me "battle" and "humble, confident"... idk 🤔]

Honestly? “Baden Hatchett” sounded really cool and villainous. I burst into laughter when I saw that the one site said "bather." This guy…he wants to cleanse the world of crime. 😂 But really, I just named him after the place in Germany (it’s also a small community in Ontario) for no other reason than that it sounds cool.

The delinquent rat before me, though, will never wash away the stain of his crimes—the years stealing riches from the pockets of hardworking men, of luring impressionable innocents into his gang of thieves. Nor can he brush away the bruise blossoming across his jaw, nor the blood dripping down his chin from his nose.

Curtis: courteous, courtly | polite

His name just happened. Constable Lenton needed a first name for TQOL and this was it. But it makes sense—guess this is why he's always so pissed off about someone using rude language about Breanna. 🙃 Swearing’s not very courteous at all, is it?

“Enough of your miserable attitude and your filthy tongue.” Curt’s voice was sharp enough to cut. Slick with disgust. Harsh with rage. “You want to mouth off to me or Constable Hatchett or any of us and take your licks for acting like a wild animal? Fine. But there’s a lady present, and you’ll behave accordingly. Do you understand?”

Verity: truth

I just really wanted her name to abbreviate to very so I could associate Colette with Much. That's the whole story there.

Rolling my eyes, nudging her with my elbow, I say, “Pay attention. Help me assuage some of my guilt.”

“Can’t do that,” Verie says gently, and I hate her for being right. “You ought to tell him whatever it is you lied about.”

Thank you so much for this tag! It was really fun. <3

[lotus-mirage]

Trigun Stampede episode 4 liveblog!

I had a bit of a double take at “plant-based meat”.  Come to think of it, are there any actual plants on this planet? Or are they talking about eating the irreplaceable technology that sustains them...?

Welp, there’s Wolfwood.  Wearing that big old gun cross.  Thing.

lmao that’s not a very dignified first look at the guy

Interesting that there’s only seven cities when they seem to be named after calendar months.

Actually huh. I wonder how big this world is anyway.  It feels like it should be pretty small, especially with the number of cities, but I have no idea how big those cities could be.

Those are worms?????

Also another kinda bacteria-looking thing after the bombs, huh.

NEVERMIND WHAT I SAID ABOUT THAT BEING AN UNDIGNIFIED FIRST LOOK. guy just went flying :0c

and now he’s just flopping around in the backseat.  fantastic. no notes.

Plant... outpost? wonder what this is.

Wait Wolfwood is like. actually religious? I kinda thought it was just symbolism.  I can’t believe he’s actually religious and lugging around a big cross on his back.  I can’t tell if that’s delusions of self-importance or just... dweebery.

...drinking from what may or may not be holy water.  My guy. I understand resources are low.

Oh it keeps going.

...I do not believe this man is ordained.

Okay “undertaker”... may check out more?? I have no idea what they might be expected to know in a historical or modern day setting, let alone space-fantasy. I wouldn’t expect them to have access to holy water though?

Actually wait I need to google the difference between undertaker and gravedigger.

Nevermind, they probably do! Alright then. 

okay all that aside - what is happening with the background music here??? It’s unexpectedly unsettling, kind of.

Okay I switched audio languages briefly to see if the additional religious allusions in like every line from Wolfwood was also reflected in the Eng dub (even more blatant actually) and got hit with “You did get hit by big-ass truck, after all,” which was unexpected enough to make me stop and laugh out loud.

Speaking of which I was kind of expecting them to gloss over that given the cartoony nature of that whole sequence, but huh.

ah jeez what now

...we’re going Dune now?? Alright, okay.

the bug things are also Worms?

“detached electrons” I have no idea what this is supposed to mean. That sounds like it’d cause chemical reactions, which doesn’t look to be the case?

“tool of the trade” as a gun or as a reusable grave marker?

oookay eating the weird glowy bug alive and raw. I mean I guess if they’re Worms, we know they’re edible like that, but uh.  yikes.

assassins that control Worms, huh. that sounds like a lost technology thing, presumably

“I can see it in his eyes” yeah yeah okay lay it on a little thicker oh my god

Roberto vanished while they were having a moment! I’m honestly sure if that was an intentional comedy moment lol

okay my prediction is either another bug or a more worm-looking Worm

there is also like barely any liquid, there is no way digestion is happening that fast

OH LMAO is that what’s been happening!? They’ve just been getting launched??

Okay nvm that doesn’t make much sense and also they’d be less likely to survive it than these two I guess

Ooh I really want to see the Worm’s whole design

I guess that makes sense that is an incredibly acrobatic child.

okay yeah that looks like it’d cause rapid digestion

oh yuck the floor

the cross gun has a fucking skull on it. I don’t have words.

it’s a machine gun

oooh that is a really cool creature design!

so like.  is the kid also a Worm or do they just have some sort of power/technological control over them?

it’s a machine gun that also shoots lazers

it also decently high-tech, but still not entirely sure where it falls in terms of technology type

side note, the consistent mild back-and-forth between Meryl and Wolfwood is great

and now the thing about deserving to eat is linked back to the deserving to cry thing from last episode. great. fantastic. ow.

come to think of it, why are they still travelling with Vash?  just cause they got lumped with him after the last episode, or after more info...?

okay I honestly expected the kid and Wolfwood to actually be two different factions. It makes sense but now I want to know if there are more groups out there.

hold up. narration??

okay. red glowing tubes with characters I can’t read.  that’s not an aesthetic that we’ve seen in this show yet I think?

“the gate that allows access to the higher dimension.” the WHAT

I guess this has to be the ‘Gate’ Knives mentioned last episode, but also higher dimension, what

“his morality and ethics are acting as a defensive measure” ???

oh wait no it is Knives’ group. huh.

those look like plants in the background, but all of them are red.  was it the blue one that was having trouble, then? I assumed blue = alive and red = dead, but that may not be the case.  they’re also markedly smaller than the ones in the town.

“more human than anyone” uhhhhhh not sure I agree with that on principle, but I get what they’re saying. sure, I guess.

lmao wolverine claws

End notes:

Hmm, not sure where to start! First off, I think pacing/tonal issues were more or less entirely absent from this episode! nice.

I think that’s our entire party assembled, aside from Millie, who as I understand it is less of a key figure in TriStamp so far, but not so in other versions?? Anyway.  Nice!  I think they did a good job of establishing the dynamics between the different characters.

I guess the main thing to really speculate on is the Gate thing.  So far seems like simultaneously a physiological thing and a psychological thing. He’s had it for a while, but can’t control it (isn’t aware of it?), but it’s a way to access a higher dimension, but it’s also affected by his state of mind.

Not much by way of explaining the key antagonists or their goals, other than now we have... I guess half a goal? Maybe a step in the process.

Step 1: Collect Plants

Step 2: Utilize Vash’s Gate, allowing access to a higher dimension

Step 3: ???

Step 4: Profit      

[crabcrabcrabmeat]

ten films i love, tagged by @javert

Mobile Suit Gundam: Char’s Counterattack (1988) Utterly obvious to die girlies auf tumblr but don’t worry, it’s the only franchise gatekeepy one. God tier animation, OST that gives me heart palpitations, plot symbolically rich in a way that draws me back. Absurdly ambitious and largely pulls it off. Insane. Phantom of the Paradise (1974) I’m a sucker for leitmotifs being re-contextualized and this movie is exactly that. I think a lotta people are put off by musicals because they expect Glee shit, so a horror rock opera that plays w genres is a style that slaps. In fact, it’s style over substance to the point that while the character Beef was made with homophobic intent(?), he makes for killer camp. So influential it buried its own grave deeper, but when my drag career continues proper I WILL have it step out of RHPS’s shadow. Magnetic Rose (1995) This one’s arguably cheating, it’s a short film within a theatrical omnibus and the only one of the trio I rewatch, lol. Better experienced than described, but iirc it’s the first screenplay credit of Satoshi Kon and his style benefits the conceit greatly. The space physics are top tier too. Bound (1996) Genre fiction that fucks. Akira (1988) After watching this for the first time, I wore a rip of it on a USB necklace for like a good month, lol. If you’ve seen so many homages and #aesthetic gifs that its memetically weakened, the manga will be a better vehicle for experiencing the actual plot and themes. (Kaneda isn’t a cool protag! He’s not even in it for a full volume!) But I fortunately got to go into it w next to no preconceptions. Tampopo (1985) One of those art-house pics that’s fun to general audiences. I wouldn’t watch it with young kids or new friends tho given the prawn scene, lmao. The Terminal (2004) Not a masterpiece by anyone’s standards, but it was my fav for years as a child and I’ve been told “thats so you” or “that explains so much” lmao. I still do love seeing how peoples values and coping mechanisms materially shape their world, so, fair! As an adult, i think Tucci’s character holds up the best, his tone is comedically sound while being realistically mundane for an american authoritarian, lol. Funeral Parade of Roses (1969) A breath of fresh air in style and substance. It’s like a vaccine against MCU sludge. God I need to watch more new wave. The Private Life of Sherlock Holmes (1970) Again, former obsessions here, not necessarily top quality. The first vignette is the only one that sticks with me, but boy does it! Gold standard for any fanfiction or diagetic media criticism. Mikey and Nicky (1976) Ough. Love me a good tragedy. This one manages to hit so hard it even overcomes Peter Falk being styled (‘styled’) like Columbo—italian accent and all— while playing a jewish gangster lol.) You know that post about how the more serious and well made a story is, the more likely its fandom makes unhinged memes? That’s me every time I make a “full of milk” joke abt this movie or realize it’s fundamentally changed my experience of taking antacids.

Anyways please note that i’ve structured this list so that the first and last entries form a niche parallel. That is to say, a personal fav scene in both Mikey & Nicky and CCA is where the lead guys fistfight and tumble onto the ground in a blur of violence-as-latent-homoeroticism. (George lucas voice): it’s like poetry, it rhymes.

I'm too shy to tag others but mutuals I Am Pressuring U lovingly. U don’t have to write as much as i did tho lol.

[its-stayville-forever]

I stared at my laptop for so long, not knowing what I wanted or needed to say. What do I say? What will I say that will do justice to this beautiful, intricate, detailed piece of art you’ve craved with your hands? Do I start with the tears? Or the smiles? Or the plethora of questions that I have for you?

(Yes. Yes I am taking this apart and reading through the lines, underneath the lines, along the lines, you name it, I’m doing it. I think you knew what you were bringing upon yourself when you started writing this lol)

-The Title.

Listen, I’ve had my fair share of duolingo lessons with French, and I know that the title translates to ‘Tear’. Not the salty droplets of water (that’s la larme, but you don’t need to know that), but the ripping into shreds. So I really, really am soooo curious as to why you chose that word for the title. Is it because both the characters have their hearts torn and shred apart or is it that you ultimately wanted to tear OUR hearts apart? Or is there a reference that just went over my head? 🤓

-The Characters.

To create characters with depth, with hurt and suffering flowing through their veins? And to make it seem so easy for their hurt to seep into you? You know you’re actually fucking insane right? You’re so crazy SAHAR. Coming back to the point ehm ☺️. To write about a character that loathes a dead body, and to write her so intricately broken from the inside, to write a character that hurts from death and loss and to put the two with each other in a GRAVEYARD!? You put a person who’s hurt because of their mother (and father but 🤷‍♀️ ), and another individual who’s hurt due to the DEATH of their mother. Similar but such different causes. I absolutely hated the mom’s character, but I LOVE the way you wrote her and kept her character as it is throughout. The loss of a daughter and the need to see her all the time in the other one, literally everything about her character made my heart throb. I don’t, GOD I really don’t know the way your brain works wonders like these. How long did you put into developing the movie? 

-The Story.

This is a personal preference but I’m a SUCKER for angst (you know that), and this hit alllll the spots. I shed so many tears, so many gasps, so many emotions all together, like you always do with your works. 

Anyways. The story.

You know what this reminded me of? A movie. Reading through this entire thing, i felt like i was watching a movie unfold. Although I did feel that the story was slightly rushed (just a bit, i would’ve LOVED if it was two parts or longer but i ate this up anyways), I think the way you wrote from the beginning, her wishing death, that is her name on the stone than her sisters, to hyune finally putting down the flowers on her graveyard. Red lilies symbolize death and loss (yes baby i saw you there 😞) and i am in so awe of how you took out even the minutest of details like that one. I absolutely adored the quote and its use throughout the entire story and the relationship the two had as a ballerina and a figure skater. NOW. THE SCENE WHERE SHE GOES TO WATCH HIM IN THE OLYMPICS!?!? It reminded me of all the cute scenes we witnessed at the recent Olympics and it was just so 😿 I reached my peak at the end, I burst out crying in the last few paragraphs.

You are in a graveyard once more. You watch as Hyunjin sweeps the name atop the tombstone gently. Prima ballerina assoluta, he reads, the swan of my heart. His weathered hands shake as they clutch a bouquet of fresh red lilies, and your heart still aches at the sight. 

It is late at night at the graveyard, the branches are still humming to one another, like a melancholic flute. You understand now that they speak to the buried ones. “Not so long now,” they reassure, “your loved ones will follow.”

You believe them, and you will wait. For now, you’ll find solace in the red lilies sitting atop your grave. 

They are now meant for you, at long last. 

THISSSSSSS OH MY GODDD 😭

Thank you sahar. Thank you from the depth of my heart for putting something out that I sort of relate to when I need it the most. Just like with this and the poem you posted when you visited Monet’s birthplace, you put it out when I needed it the absolute most. I hope the love and care you put out for others is given three folds back to you. Take care and a big kiss for you, mwah.

-your biggest fan

La déchirure 

You exist to mourn, to ache for what was and all that will never be. Even if happiness brushed against your fingertips, dazzling and radiant, you would not recognize its face, you would distort its features into the terrible grief you’ve always known.

pairing: figure skater!hyunjin x ballerina!reader.

genre: angst. slowwww burn. heavy and recurrent grief. healing.

warnings: mc has a bad relationship with her parents. grief is a prominent theme here so please be aware. some allusions to sex but no smut. description of injuries.

word count: 21.8k

author’s note: heyyyy…. haven’t posted anything in 3 months i feel so shy AJNSJD i say this about every fic but this fic is truly my baby it took me so long to get it done and i poured my heart into it. so please if you enjoyed reading pls pls pls let me know. it means the world and more to me. happyyy reading!!! also thanks to @hyunverse for indulging all my brainrots about this fic i LOVE YOU

Your bare soles are bleeding across the graveyard. You don’t remember when your sandals slipped away from your feet, nor when your body decided to bring you here, heels scratched from the tiny rocks littering the ground.

But the pain doesn’t register in your brain, not yet. You’re only paying attention to the last name written on the tombstone— your last name, to be exact. 

Right now, more than ever, you wished your first name was engraved beside it too. 

You’ve memorized this graveyard like the back of your hand, know what sound the tree branches make during spring— gently swaying, like a melancholic flute, aching because flowers refuse to bloom upon them. And during winter too— even sadder, angrier, perhaps to mimic the sound of the souls left alone in the graves to fend off the cold.

Though you’ve never approached this tombstone before. You always remained a few feet back, each time your parents brought you to your late sister’s grave— every Sunday, for the past eighteen years of your existence, without fault. 

You don’t know the person they’re mourning.

You don’t know the person they wish to mold you after. 

Somehow, in a sick twist of fate, the course of your existence was set in stone before you could draw your first breath into this universe. 

She looks just like her sister, your mom whispered in awe, tears brimming in her waterline as she beheld you close to her bare chest. 

That is what your grandmother recalls about your birth, the rejoice of you being an exact copy of your sister’s features. There was nothing in her, in everyone’s memory about you. Everything orbited around your sister, the way the planets chase after the sun. You were, after all, born to replace the void she left behind. 

You sometimes wonder, is your physique the first setting stone of your pain? Had your hair been lighter, darker than hers, your lips smaller, plumper, would your parents be forced to look at you, behold you for who you are, learn to love you for who you would be? 

The question first popped into your brain at age five— maybe less intricate, a feeling that pressed against your ribcage: your parents don’t love you a lot, do they? You are now eighteen, the question has yet to desert you. 

You’ve always been aware of this reality— there are more pictures of your sister than of you in your house. Your parents always spoke of her, the perfect little girl, whisked away by a terrible sickness, at age seven. 

And she loved ballet. 

So, you had to love ballet too.

You weren’t given a choice, per se. At age four, you were thrust into a ballet class with little oblivious girls; just like you. Flushed cheeks and glossy eyes as you all tried to follow the teacher’s instruction. It wasn’t easy, it never got easier, year after year, only more challenging, only harder on your body.

Bigger bruises, sprained ankles from time to time, you’ve lost count of the injuries this art has inflicted upon your body. But thankfully, you ended up loving it too. You loved how graceful it made you feel, how the music seemed to whisk you away to an enchanting world, how the applause roared each time you came first in a competition, all eyes on you alone. 

Or so you hoped, you prayed. You wished to dance better, harder until all your parents could see was you. Not the daughter that came before you.

It was hard to admit at times, certainly something you never said out loud. But surely, yes, you were jealous of your deceased sister.

How could you not be when it seemed like you were competing with a ghost, someone whose absence weighed more than your presence?

Snippets of your life flash before your eyes as you stare at her grave. Pirouette, arabesque, plié, tendu— those are words engraved within your mind, ones you breathe in more than oxygen. You hear them in the voice of your ballet instructor, Jihyo. She’s a woman in her forties, though she looks older from the harsh lines framing her face. 

Her voice is high-pitched, her hair always tied back in a sleek bun you’re sure pains her brain, her words are harsh each time she corrects your posture.

And she’s the only person who believes in you.

She’s not nice, she has made you cry more times than you can count. So, you knew when she leveled her eyes to yours when you were nine, when she told you, “I see something magical in you”— that she was telling the truth. 

You wanted to prove her right, because for once, someone saw something in you, not in a ghost, not in ground-up bones.

In you.

You feel an uncontained anger swell within you, waves of relentless hurt swarming you as you fall to your knees.

You worked hard. You worked so hard. Between classes and ballet practice, the days strung you by like a puppet and sometimes you didn’t have enough time to breathe. 

Your entire life revolved around ballet. spin, point well, adjust your posture, you can’t stop now. Suddenly it’s two a.m. and you only get four hours of sleep before your classes begin. You didn’t have time to socialize with your peers, to have a crush on the sweet guy in your maths class, to giggle at an arcade with your friends. Soon after you were in your ballet class, even more spins, points, arabesque. 

But all of your exhaustion dissipated today. All of it seemed okay, for the first time in your existence, perhaps, the breath that escaped your chest wasn’t heavy. It was light, it was airy, it was one that yearned for the next, for the days that will follow, tinted with happiness, for once.

“I got into Julliard” 

That is what you told your parents an hour ago, voice brimming with uncontainable happiness, tears dripping down your eyes in an uncontrollable flow. 

Your mother’s eyes became teary in an instant. You thought the past was past you now. You’ll forgive eighteen years of coming second in your mother’s heart. Surely, she will only see you now.

But then her eyes set on the portrait of your sister on the wall, her tone desolate when she whispered—“she would have loved Julliard too.”

You don’t remember what happened after that. What curse escaped your mouth from the years of barely contained bitterness, when everything lashed out like venomous poison on your parents. 

You remember screaming, lots of it, something breaking too, you don’t recall if it is you who threw the vase or your father. The latter seemed more plausible— he was always bound to these sudden bouts of anger. Effects of grief, consequences of your sister’s absence. Her, yet again, poisoning your life. 

You remember feeling like a stranger in your home, a nobody, someone they’d kill in an instant to bring her back.

It was no longer a feeling, though. It was a fact. Your father cemented it loud and clear for you— “I wish she never died so you would’ve never been born.”

A pin-drop silence followed. Your father was always bound to bouts of anger, you knew that. He always regretted it afterward too, just like he felt in that instant, scrambling to apologize, to cup your cheek and say he didn’t mean it.

For how long has this thought festered in his brain, taken root in his veins, and flashed before his eyes each time he looked at you?

For how long did your parents wish you were dead instead? 

You don’t remember how you got to the graveyard. You don’t recall when it started pouring heavily on you. You only register the rain because the earth is wet as you clench it between your fists, as you punch the ground under which your sister is buried. 

You are crying, sobbing, a hysterical mess, you don’t know what you’re yelling, who you’re calling out for, what you’re trying to achieve by punching her grave. 

Unearthing her body and burying yours there instead, perhaps.

“What are you doing?” a stranger’s voice startles you, cutting through the fog in your mind like a thunderbolt. 

You don’t reply, simply turning around to look at the man standing a mere inches away from you.

“Do you know her or are you just desecrating her grave?” he asks calmly, as he brings a pink umbrella over your head. You realize that you’re drenched from head to toe, your feeble pajama does nothing to fight off the cold filtering between the fabric and your skin. 

You are freezing. You fear there is no place warm enough for your soul, not anymore.

“She’s my late sister,” you say, voice raw, scratched like a broken record. 

“She died young,” he says, looking at the dates engraved on the tombstone. 

You feel so horrible, for a millisecond. 

She was only seven. 

Her grave is too small compared to your body. 

But the anger quickly comes back to blind you. You invite it into your heart, push away the sadness and welcome the rage instead. It is the only thing comforting you in that instant.

“Did she do something to you?” he asks, his voice contrasting nicely against the heavy shatter of rain. It reminds you of the intro of your ballet music, soothing. 

“No,” you admit, a bit shamefully. But all sense of guilt dissipates at his next question— “then wouldn’t she be sad seeing you do this?” 

“What about MY sadness? MY anger?” you shout, lips trembling like the branches above your head. the storm picks up with your rising voice, the rain’s pitter-patter mimics the chaos inside your brain.

He remains silent and you can barely grasp the expression on his face, concealed by the umbrella’s shadows. You imagine that this conversation must have bored him, so you turn around yet again, your heart pounding angrily against your skin. 

But then, he kneels beside you, his umbrella completely discarded. You don’t dare to tilt your face towards him, so you simply stare ahead, your breath caught in your throat— what is he thinking of your most vulnerable state?

“I am rage,” he says, his voice permeating your being softly, the storm seems to calm down too to follow the ebb of his voice. “It means I am alive, or better, I am life, according to Armand, a modern art painter. You are alive today, and you get to be angry. That’s not something anyone here can enjoy,” he points out, taking a fleeting glance at the graves surrounding you. 

“You get to do something with that anger. But this, this won’t cure it.” 

He’s young, roughly your age it seems, but he speaks as if he beholds a wisdom beyond his years. You wonder what he went through to understand rage doesn’t fix anything. You wonder if he has ever been this angry, too. 

Did he move past it? Or did he drown the anger deep within the wells of his soul so he wouldn’t confront its ugly face? 

The question roams in your head as you watch him place a bouquet of red lilies atop the grave. You didn’t even notice the flowers at first, your view was too distorted by tears to grasp anything beautiful. 

“You’ll catch a cold,” the guy points out, smiling at you, or at least attempting to since the grin doesn’t reach his eyes. His words come out slower, as if weighed down by a sadness only he can feel. 

He is in a graveyard after all, the flowers were meant for someone else than you. 

“Wait here,” he says, quickly getting up and jogging out of the graveyard. 

What a silly request, you think, it’s not like you would dare move. Your feet are aching and you have nowhere else to go. 

He returns a few minutes later, a hoodie in his hands that he promptly pulls over your head. The warm fabric engulfs you in a cloud of roses and musk. “I tried to warm it up with the car’s heating,” he says sheepishly, and you blink slowly at his kindness, a pink tint blooming across your cheeks. 

“Thank you.” 

His eyes fleet to your bare, bleeding feet, and you fidget in place, trapped by a bout of embarrassment. 

“I have spare shoes in my car. Do you want me to drive you home?” His voice is gentle, as if speaking to a wounded animal, too bruised by the hands of humans. Tears spring to your eyes once more, you wish the earth could crack open and swallow you whole. 

“I don’t want to burden you.” 

“You won’t,” he says, and as if sensing your hesitation, he adds, “I promise. Leaving you here is what would burden me.”

You are very tired as he drives you to your place. You speak once when you ask him if he wasn’t there to visit someone, he says that it’s okay, he can come back tomorrow. 

You only dare look at him at the last red light before you arrive at your address. He’s beautiful, black strands sticking to his forehead, a tiny pout pulling his rosy lips forward. His cheeks are flushed from the cold, contrasting beautifully with the mole on his cheek. Then, by his jaw. Another at the beginning of his neck. You wonder if he has a map of ebony stars trailing down his chest.

You don’t know why this stranger instills such safety in you. Why would you rather stay in his car than set foot into your house once more. You dread what will await you behind those doors, you don’t think your heart could handle another tear at its tender flesh. 

You don’t think you could handle looking at your parents and only seeing strangers. 

But you know this safety has something to do with the way he placed the lilies atop the grave; as if it beheld someone dear to his heart and not a stranger. How he made sure you got home safely, how he didn’t seem to care that you dirtied his front seat and the carpet below your feet. 

He looks like a good person. 

You wish to tell your good news to a good person. 

“I got into Julliard,” you quickly let out as soon as he parks. You don’t allow yourself time to regret your confession. 

A breathtaking smile overtakes his face, the thunderstorm outside pales before the sun shining in his features. 

“Really?” he asks cheerfully, and you nod, a tiny smile painting across your lips. “Mm. Really.”

“That’s amazing!” his grin further widens, his eyes disappearing into two lovely moon crescents. “I know I’m just a stranger but, I'm proud of you,” his voice softens, “I mean it. I hope you’re proud of yourself too.” 

It takes you a few seconds to answer, you wish to bask further in the sound of his voice, to store his words into your memory, to revisit his kindness on nights that are too cold. 

This was all you’ve ever wanted to hear. 

“Thank you,” you smile softly. A moment of silence passes, you find yourself missing this stranger before you even leave his car. You wish to carry a piece of his memory within you, a souvenir of who he is— “I'm Yn, by the way.” 

“Yn,” he repeats, his voice tender. “Nice to meet you, Yn. I’m Hyunjin.” 

Four years later.

“You need to work on your landing more, but the rest is good.”

“Thanks, coach.” Hyunjin gives Jihyoun, his lifelong mentor, a thumbs-up as he loosens the laces of his ice skates. A dull ache is throbbing through his legs, like the faint buzz of bees circling roses. 

His body is weary, every muscle reminding him of the sheer effort he’s poured into perfecting his routine for the upcoming figure skating competition— the most important one of his life, by far.

“Are you leaving now?” Jihyoun’s voice pierces the delicate silence and Hyunjin nods, resting his head against the cold concrete wall. “Just gonna take a breather.”

“I’ll head out then,” Jihyoun says, patting his back gently, “make sure you get some rest.”

Hyunjin waits till his coach is far out the corridor to release a relieved breath. A familiar silence wraps around the ice rink like a comforting cloak, the stillness sits beside Hyunjin like an old friend. It is here, amid the soft hum of machines and the chill of the rink that Hyunjin feels most like himself. 

A few minutes trickle by, slow and silent. An uncomfortable feeling nudges at Hyunjin’s rib as he remains as still as a statue; he knows he’s on a losing bet to make time stretch forth, hoping that the sun outside will pause in its descent— a few more moments before the darkness completely sets in Seoul. Because the night will surely string along with it the next day, and the next day is one Hyunjin isn’t ready to face. 

When does he ever? 

But the sun always sets and rises once more, even if you dont wish for it to. 

With a sigh, Hyunjin grabs his bag and slings it over his shoulder. He makes his way to the vending machine upstairs, in the dimly lit corner near the dance studio. He drops a few coins into the slot, punching the number for his usual drink. But it gets stuck—of course. 

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath, pressing his forehead against the cold glass before frustratedly kicking the machine.

“I am rage,” a voice suddenly teases from behind.

Hyunjin is quick to distance himself from the machine, startled, and admittedly, very embarrassed. His shame morphs to surprise when he sees you standing there. 

Your lips curve into a gentle smile, and your eyes sparkle with quiet amusement— that light, however, dims slightly when he doesn’t immediately respond.

It takes all of Hyunjin’s will to act like he doesn’t recognize you.

“You get to do something with your anger, but this won’t cure it.” You quote, your voice softer now. “You know, you told me this, near the graveyard…” You point vaguely behind you, each word growing quieter as if you’re no longer sure if that scene was real or a figment of your imagination.

Hyunjin nods in recognition, and you relax, the tension lifting from your shoulders.

“Miss Julliard,” he murmurs, a hint of nostalgia in his voice. Your grin brightens at his words and Hyunjin notices faint smile lines tracing your lips and eyes. It seems as if you’ve laughed quite often for the past four years. The thought brings him a strange sense of comfort.

“What did the vending machine do to deserve this?” you ask, tilting your head with playful curiosity.

“Stole my money,” Hyunjin mutters.

“You’ve got to hit the side when that happens.” You show him, tapping the machine with an experienced hand. His drink clatters down, and he shoots you a thankful grin as he bends to retrieve it.

In those brief seconds, with his head bowed, Hyunjin begs his heart to slow its frantic beating. 

“What are you doing here?” you ask once he stands.

“I’m an ice skater,” he says, and your eyes widen with genuine surprise.

“Really? That’s amazing!”

“Yeah… I guess it is. Are you back from Julliard?” His voice is softer now, more tentative, reminiscent of the day you met. 

“For a little while. Just a few months. This studio—” you glance around, “—it’s where I used to train before I went away.”

“I see,” Hyunjin nods, “I train upstairs, in the ice rink. Because I’m an ice skater,” he repeats, before closing his eyes in embarrassment as your giggles spill forth. No shit Hyunjin.

“I’ll see you around then,” he quickly mutters, eager to end the conversation, before turning around and hurrying away. 

He’s almost by the stairs when your voice calls out his name, urgent, pressing.

“Hyunjin!”

His body freezes before his mind orders it to—he’s not the only one who remembers, then. 

“Did you eat dinner?” you shout, a little out of breath.

“No,” he admits.

“There’s a place nearby that makes the best kimchi stew. Want to go?”

“I’m not hungry.”

“It’s my treat.” Your smile has slightly dimmed, and you’re unconsciously scratching the skin by your nails. Even from afar, Hyunjin can discern a shadow looming in your eyes, a plea unspoken. 

“Are you lonely?” Hyunjin’s question comes out before he can stop it, blunt and raw. He’s always been honest, maybe too honest for his own good. Time has taught him that every moment matters, that each second slips away faster than you expect, and that it’s better to speak the truth before it comes back to poison you. 

Your smile falters. “I just… don’t want to go home. not yet,” you confess quietly.

“So you’re using me?” he teases, leaning back against the wall with a smirk. You roll your eyes, muttering “Never mind” under your breath as you start to turn away.

“Fine,” he sighs, pushing off the wall. “But I’m craving sushi.”

…

Hyunjin’s eyes are more worn than the last time you’ve seen him. 

Four years ago, they were puffy, soft with exhaustion, their brown dulled like the last flower clinging to life as fall sets in. But now, the lights have gone out completely, like a bloom crushed underfoot, its color bleeding into the cracks of the pavement.

You steal glances at him between spoonfuls of kimchi jjigae (he silently followed you to your restaurant), watching for any sign of recognition. But he doesn’t seem to remember your name, nor the day at the graveyard as much as you do.

The thought strips you of embarrassment and clothes you in sadness instead.  

Hyunjin has written your name into his diary more times than he’d care to admit, even less so to you. 

He has always walked this earth alone, a stranger even to his own emotions, especially his grief— no one understood how his mother’s death consumed him whole.  

It is true that only one body was laid to the ground many years ago. But Hyunjin’s soul followed hers into the ground when he was just fourteen. 

His sadness made sense to his teachers, his classmates, and even the distant relatives who only came around occasionally. But no one grasped the depth of his anger—at the universe for taking his mother when he was still a child, at the illness that wore down her bones, at himself, mostly, for still breathing when she no longer could.

That rage had devoured him, tore through his flesh with its canine teeth. He only saw its reflection once—when he met you.

Hyunjin didn’t know who or what you were mourning that day at the graveyard. But he remembers your screams on his way to his mother’s grave, raw and stripped down to the marrow. It was as if he had stumbled upon his younger self, begging his mother to dig through the earth and hug his frail body once more, just once more. 

“How long have you been skating ?” you ask suddenly, your gaze flickering over his face. He blinks slowly, as if to bring his consciousness back to the present moment. 

“Since i was a kid, nearly two decades now,” he says. 

“Do you like it?” it is a harmless question, a natural succession of the one that came before it. But nothing was ever that simple with Hyunjin, because ice skating reminded him of his mother, and his mother was the wound that had yet to stop bleeding. 

“I do, I really do,” he speaks softly, a fragile smile curling his lips. He waits till you both finish the first bottle of soju to ask— how have you been? and it’s your turn to frown slightly. He notices the tightening of your fist around the spoon, the subtle tremor in your hand. You, too, carry an ever bleeding wound.

“I’m okay.”

The next question slips from him without thought, “are you still as angry?”

You remain silent for a few seconds, holding his gaze as the question settles between you. His cheeks flush, and he almost apologizes for his bluntness, but then you speak.

“Was I ever angry? I think I was just very sad.” 

Snippets of a younger Hyunjin flash through his mind. The numerous brawls he got in with his classmates, the way he pushed away anyone who tried to show him kindness— He was all thorns, keeping others from reaching the tender petals beneath.

Tears spring in his eyes, unbidden, and he bites his lower lip. He understands what you mean perfectly, you understand what he feels perfectly too. 

“I feel as if my heart is too tired now to bear such big anger,” you say with a smile. “Have you worn out yet? That’s what I’d like to ask.” 

“Aren’t you afraid of the answer?” he pauses, adding in a quiet whisper, “I am.” 

The chandelier above dances across his glossy eyes. You’ve never been optimistic—life hasn’t allowed you that luxury. But a small part of you wants to offer Hyunjin hope, to breathe life back into his weary heart, even though you no longer believe in hope yourself.

But no words of reassurance come. So instead, you offer something much simpler, much more realistic. “Let’s ask it another time, then,” you smile, pouring each other a new round of drinks. You quickly down three shots before laying your head on the table. 

“Are you sleeping?” Hyunjin asks with a quiet laugh, the sound light, like a melody played softly on piano keys.

“It’s fine,” you wave a hand in the air. “The owner knows me. He’ll wake me when it’s time to close.”

Both of you are running from home, or what’s left of it. Hyunjin watches you, your face softened by fleeting peace, so different from the grief he’s etched into his memories.

Far more beautiful, too.

“Then wake me up, too,” he sighs, resting his head beside yours.

His eyelids close instantly, lulled to a nice sleep by the buzz of the fridge and the soft hum of your breathing.

Many minutes pass by— quiet and uninterrupted. Hyunjin finds that the next day has come much slower in your company. 

…

The first time you saw Hyunjin figure skating, you were drawn like a moth to a flame to the music echoing from the ice rink.

You recognized the swelling violin of Can You Hear the Music, and paused by the entrance, torn between stepping in and turning back. What if it wasn’t Hyunjin? Worse, what if it was, and he didn’t wish to see you?

Still, your feet betrayed your hesitation, inching forward. You stood at the door, watching in quiet awe as Hyunjin leaped into the air, spinning with perfect grace. He landed effortlessly on one foot, the other extended behind him in a flawless arc.

The lights danced over his body, his flowing white blouse trailing his movements like a siren’s voice pulling in sailors. His black hair floated weightlessly with each spin, strands resting delicately against his forehead.

For the past four years, you had struggled to feel human. The world tasted bland, as if your heart had lost its ability to savor anything. You were afraid you’d lost the capacity to be amazed—by sunsets, by poignant art that once moved you to tears. So you chased after beauty, desperate for the feelings it could still stir in you, a fragile reminder of your humanity.

But watching Hyunjin skate— that gripped your heart more than anything else had in years.

“He’s good, isn’t he?” a voice startles you and you turn quickly, caught off guard by a man standing beside you, a bottle of water in hand and a kind smile on his face.

“Yes, he is,” you reply quietly.

“I’m Jihyoun, Hyunjin’s coach,” he introduced himself, extending a firm hand.

“Yn,” you hesitated, glancing at Hyunjin, who was still absorbed in his performance. “An acquaintance.”

Jihyoun nodded, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. You followed suit, unable to tear your gaze away from Hyunjin as he spun, cradling his chest as if holding a memory close, his body lowering toward the ground in a quiet ache. It was a pain you knew all too well.

As the music softened, Hyunjin stilled, closing his eyes, taking a moment to catch his breath. You were about to slip away, retreating like a shadow escaping the light, but Jihyoun would have found you weird, perhaps he’d think you were a stalker. So, you remained there. 

“Hey, coach,” Hyunjin waved, skating toward you both. Anxiety flickered in your chest like a match that refused to light up—you regretted coming now. You had shared a meal just days ago, but Hyunjin hadn’t asked for your name, nor did he seem to remember it. Maybe you held onto his memory more warmly than he held onto yours.

“Miss Julliard,” Hyunjin greeted with a soft smile as his eyes landed on you, and just like that, your worries dissolved like sugar in hot tea.

“Julliard? That’s impressive,” Jihyoun whistled, but you shook your head. You often forgot how prestigious your school was—perhaps because no one ever celebrated your acceptance in it.

No one, except Hyunjin.

“Have you eaten?” Hyunjin asked, gliding to the edge of the rink, his blouse clinging to his sweat-soaked skin.

“No,” you shook your head. He nodded nonchalantly.

“I’m craving kimchi jiggae again,” he tipped his chin towards you, “we can go again, if you’d like.”

“Sure, I’d like that,” you grinned.

“Okay. Wait for me.”

… 

Hyunjin’s routine has always been quite simple. 

He’d work out in the morning, the rest of his day lost in practice, his nights reserved for painting or reading, sometimes pouring his thoughts onto paper. It was a life untouched by turbulence, a pattern he rarely swayed from— until you wove yourself into it.

For the past two weeks, you always came to see Hyunjin at the end of his practice. Some nights you’d go eat dinner at your usual spot; sometimes you’d simply buy a drink and find a quiet refuge on the rooftop, watching the city lights twinkle beneath the stars.

There was a strange sense of comfort, he had found, in two bruised souls sitting with one another— an unspoken understanding of what your tongues had often failed to express.

But you hadn’t come to see him in two days.

It’s past one a.m. when Hyunjin finally exits the practice building. He pauses outside, turning back to see that the lights are still on in the dance studio. 

He hopes it is you dancing there. 

With a faint sigh, he takes the stairs two at a time, not wanting to dwell on the fact that, for the very first time in a while, Hyunjin, the ever lonely man, is seeking someone else’s presence. 

When Hyunjin pushes open the studio door, he finds you sitting on the floor, knees tucked to your chest. Your tutu encircles you the way petals would hug a stem— layers of soft tulle in pale pink, contrasting delicately against your sheer tights and pointe shoes.

You appear just like the water lily he sketched only yesterday—soft pastels and an unmatched delicateness. His cheeks flush at the comparison, and, in a hurried attempt to leave, he fumbles, catching his shirt on the doorknob and bumping into the door. 

He’s frozen in place, wincing when you call out his name in surprise. Does he have to embarrass himself each time he’s around you? 

He turns slowly, a sheepish smile creeping onto his face. “Miss Julliard,” he waves, and you grin in return, your eyes warm, “What are you doing here?”

The words are lost on him as you run over to him, stopping mere inches away from his figure. His fingers twitch for his sketchbook, a sudden urge seizes him to draw you.

“You didn’t come by yesterday so I came to see you,” he explains, voice soft like a summer breeze. 

Your grin brightens like the sun. “Ah, did you miss me?” you tease, and he rolls his eyes playfully, walking past you to sit on the floor. 

Did he miss you? no he didn’t, but his heart did ache, just a little, at your absence.

“Why did you look so defeated sitting on the ground?” he asks instead of replying, leaning against the mirrored wall.

You sigh, taking your place across from him, “practicing this dance is so hard, I got sick of it.” 

He nods, understanding the frustration that stems from being a perfectionist, always chasing ideals in your work.

“You know what helps me? Performing to a song I love. Reminds me what I love about the sport.”

You hum, before a mischievous glint sparks in your eyes. “There is this one song.. From a barbie movie.”

He blinks in surprise, laughing as you dash for your phone.

“Barbie?”

“Yes! The 12 dancing princesses. My mom made me watch it to convince me to take up ballet.” 

“Is that so?” he grins, placing his chin atop his palm. 

“Yeah, she wanted me to follow my sister’s footsteps,” you say, and he thinks back to the small grave you were both kneeling next to. “I wonder if I wouldn’t have become a ballerina if I didn’t watch it,” you muse, before clearing your throat.

“Anyways,” you force a smile on your face, as a whimsical melody streams through the loud speakers. Your grin turns childlike as you stand onto pointe, your raised foot grazing the knee of your supporting leg. 

You glide across the floor as if you are floating, your tutu catching the soft glow of the studio light. Your leaps are as light as air, and you slide to Hyunjin grabbing his hand to pull him up, drawing him into your orbit. 

You laugh, spinning around him, your movements fluid and free, yet your arms frame your figure with a rehearsed prouesse. He can’t help but laugh with you, the warmth of your presence filling the room, the music wrapping around you both like a spell. 

You’re a blur of pink and light, you appear like an angel dancing to the tune of childhood memories.

As the song reaches its end, you twirl one last time before bowing gracefully. Hyunjin claps, the sound echoing in the quiet studio.

“I haven’t danced to that in years,” you say, catching your breath. “I probably looked ridiculous.”

He shakes his head, his voice steady and sincere. “I think ballet would’ve found you anyway. It’s like you were born for it.”

Hyunjin is used to the cold bite of the ice rink, that is where he feels most like himself. But he is somehow drawn to the warmth of this particular studio—no, not just the studio. It’s the warmth you bring, the way your smile lights up the space at his words, that makes him feel, for the first time in a long while, that he could have a friend. That he doesn’t need to walk down the path of life alone.

…

You’re lingering at the doorstep of your home, keys gripped like a lifeline in your trembling fingers. It always takes you three heartbeats to open the door—one to shut your eyes, two to fill your lungs with air, and three to prepare for the tidal wave of hurt waiting on the other side.

You push the door open and slip inside, peeling off your shoes like a shadow trying to leave no trace. With each step, the house pulls you in, a black hole swallowing the warmth that once flickered in your veins, devouring any trace of light.

Dinner with Hyunjin still burns faintly in your chest, like the lingering heat of a fireplace after the flames have died. He makes you laugh a lot, because he’s clumsy, and a peculiar fan of weird debates. You had just spent an hour discussing whether humans have two buttcheeks or simply one.

But you wither down inside this home, your joy punctured like a balloon drifting too close to the sun.

The walls have permeated your sadness, they echo the killing sentence your father cast into your heart four years ago, a wound that festers no matter how much time has passed.

Hyunjin asked you a few days ago why you were back to Seoul. You told him you were competing in the Seoul International Ballet Competition, and he said that he was preparing for the Olympics selection. He then laughed, saying how strange it was that after a month of seeing each other every day, it was only now that you’d shared this. 

You tried to laugh with him, but the sound felt like a stone sinking in your throat. Guilt gnawed at you, not because it was a lie, but because it wasn’t the whole truth. The ballet may have brought you back, but something else called you home. 

At times you wonder if you had made the right call by answering it.

“You’re home,” your mother’s voice cuts through the quiet as you enter the kitchen. You nod, humming absentmindedly. 

“I made pasta, it’s in the oven. And I bought that drink you like,” she says, but her words are too sweet, too forced—like the artificial flavor of apple in fizzy drinks. 

“Thanks,” you whisper, barely loud enough to carry the word across to her.

“I’ll grab it for you,” she says, moving toward the fridge. But when she opens it, her hands falter, hovering over empty shelves. “That’s strange… I could’ve sworn I put it here.” You grip the counter tighter as she flits from cabinet to cabinet, her search growing frantic. 

“It’s fine, I’m not thirsty,” you murmur, but she continues, finally pulling open the dishwasher.

“Ah, silly me,” she says softly, retrieving the can with trembling hands. You keep your eyes low, unwilling to meet hers. “I’m sorry,” she whispers, her voice as fragile as a cracked vase, “I forget so much these days.” 

And just like that, she slips out of the kitchen, leaving behind a gaping hole in your chest that threatens to swallow you whole.  

You hate it when she forgets in front of you, because it shatters the illusion. You see her now, as something frail, crumbling under the weight of time. Her mind, like a worn-out book, is losing pages faster than you can salvage them.

And the cruelest part is that it forces you to forgive her—to hold her in the softness of your heart, knowing that one day she’ll forget who you are entirely.

But has she ever known who you were to begin with? Has she ever dared to ask? 

Has she ever cared to? 

… 

The first time Hyunjin spoke about his mother, you were both lying on the grass underneath a starry night.

You had been rambling about a specific bagel from New York that you missed, while he hummed absentmindedly, his thoughts entangled in memories like marionettes tugged by invisible strings from the past.

He hadn’t meant to ignore you; so when you turned to him, playful mischief dancing on your lips—“Are you listening to me?”—he could only offer a sheepish grin in response. 

“What’s on your mind?” you asked, and he bit his lip, worry knitting his brow. 

Hyunjin had never had anyone to speak to about his mother; her memory resided in the pages of his diary, the strokes of his paintings, the rhythm of his dances—never out loud, never to another soul.

But he suddenly felt an insatiable urge to speak of her; thorns pricking his throat, his skin growing feverish as he fought to form the words he longed to speak. 

“What’s wrong?” you pressed, your tone shifting to one of concern. He thought you wouldn’t mind if he shared her memory, but what he would even say? There was so much to talk about, so much he admired, so much he missed.

“My mom…” he started, his voice tentative. He had your full attention now, he could tell by the way you fully turned around to look at him. “She used to make the best kimchi stew,” he confessed, closing his eyes in slight embarrassment. Is this really what he decided to speak about? 

Still, he pushed through. “She made it for me whenever I was sick. I don’t attach it to bad memories because it was delicious, and I could feel that she made it out of love, out of concern.” He pauses, sucking in a deep breath. “I hadn’t eaten it at all since she passed away. I couldn’t bring myself to. Until you took me to that restaurant.”

His eyes glistened as they settled on you, “So thank you for taking me there. I think you would have liked her kimchi stew.”

Your eyes widened slightly, dewdrops brimming in your waterline before you smiled softly. “I’m sure I would’ve.” 

He cleared his throat, somehow emboldened by the tenderness of your gaze. He thought that her memory would be safe within the confines of your mind. He thought that he wouldn’t mind sharing her with you. “She was the best figure skater I’ve ever seen.”

“Was she? Is she the one who inspired you to become an ice skater?” you asked, curiosity lighting up your expression. He nodded eagerly. “Yes, she was graceful with her moves; it felt as if she floated atop the ice. The media dubbed her the best figure skater of her generation,” he spoke, pride swelling within him as he noticed the admiration in your expression.

“It was always just her and me, so I’d stay late into the night watching her practice. That was my favorite pastime. She’d always buy me the food I wanted afterward, as a thank you.”

“She sounds like a good mother,” you said, and your words morphed into fingers pressing on his tender bruises. 

“She was. She is.” 

“Tell me more,” you smiled, and so he talked, and talked and talked. He shared everything he could recall: their weekly picnics beneath cherry trees, birthday candles they’d blow out together, the medals she dedicated to him, and her silly jokes that had once filled their home with laughter. 

He spoke of her kindness, her joy that lingered even until her last breath, the love that she beheld for this life and her art, and him. He didn’t mention her illness; it was a mere passing moment, never defining her, never stripping her from the passion that bound her atoms together. 

When he finished, he found his cheeks damp with tears, but his heart felt lighter than it had in years. The air around you was sweeter, for once, it wasn’t fourteen-year-old Hyunjin weeping over the memory of his mother. The ache had softened.

His last words hung in the air, echoing softly in the stillness of the empty park. You didn’t speak; instead, you gently placed your palm atop his. 

It is his very soul that twitched at your touch. 

“What are you doing?” he asked breathlessly, a foolish question, perhaps. 

Your reply was even more obvious, simpler.

“Comforting you.”

“I…” he hesitated, eyes darting furiously over your face, then your hand resting upon his, then your eyes once more, watching him patiently, leaving him the space to retract his hand or intertwine your fingers with his. 

“I’m scared,” he finally admitted, the shadows of his fears looming large. It terrified him even more to utter such words, yet he knew you wouldn’t use them against him; you understood what it felt like to be deprived of comfort— somehow that only saddened him even more.

“What if… What if I forget the coldness of her fingers wrapped around mine?” 

“Your mom loved you, Hyunjin. And someone who loves you would want your hand to feel warm.” 

Something shifted within his heart, atoms rearranging themselves to spell out a simple truth for Hyunjin— your mom would want you to be happy. 

He nodded, willing his fingers to slip in the empty spaces between your fingers. You squeezed his hand—once, twice, thrice—each pulse a silent invitation for your warmth to seep through his veins, to permeate his bones and sink into his heart. 

He could get used to this, he thought. He wants to get used to your warmth, he realizes.

What does that mean? 

…

Hyunjin has always known who he was, memorized to heart the architecture of his personality. 

He knew he loved art, that he found solace in learning about artists past who, like him, seemed to have sculpted their solitude into something lasting.

He knew he loved painting, he knew he hated egg plants, he knew he’d rather die than not achieve his mother’s dream, for him. 

But something within him was shifting—unraveling. 

His eyes are drawn to the entrance of the ice rink, like a compass needle to true north. His neck craned almost instinctively as the clock looms over 11 p.m.— the time you usually come by to the studio. 

“Don’t worry, she’ll drop by,” Jihyon’s voice cut through his trance. Hyunjin startled, his cheeks blooming with the soft pink of a rising dawn.

“What are you talking about?” he mumbled, but Jihyon only grinned knowingly. 

“Miss Julliard,” his coach teased. Was he that obvious? Did you notice it too? 

That nickname clung to you both since the first time he uttered it near the vending machine. You never corrected him, never offered your real name, and he never asked—though he knew it well. He had thought of you often over these past four years, wondered if you had been well, wondered if you had ever moved on or if you still carried the anger, the heartbreak as if it were your own spine.

He felt guilty that he had found comfort in your pain all these nights past. 

Did that make Hyunjin selfish? Or lonely? 

“Don’t stay up too late,” Jihyon said as he waved goodbye.

“Don’t worry about me.” 

Jihyon lingered by the door, as if wishing to say something else, but he simply sighed before leaving.

It feels odd now for Hyunjin to stand in the stillness of the ice rink, feeling like a hollow shell without you. The quiet is no longer familiar, nor comforting, not when he’s grown accustomed to your giggles spilling all over the place. 

What does it mean, he wondered, when the heart learns to beat to the rhythm of someone else’s presence? When the mind begins to archive every detail, every smile, everything that the other person has ever loved?

Like clockwork you jog into the studio, waving at Hyunjin from afar. He skates over to you, leaning against the railing as he smiles, it is natural for him to smile at you.

“How was practice?” you asked, and he shot you a thumbs-up, his fingers drumming against the railing.

“Isn’t your competition next week?” you ask and he nods, “Can I come watch then?” you say and his heart stutters at your request.

“You can, if you want to, if you don’t it’s okay too, you actually don’t have to,” he mumbles, his words rushing out, until you pressed a finger to his lips, silencing him 

“I’ll be there, I have to make sure everyone cheers for you when you win,” you grin, self-assuredly, as if you have never doubted that he’ll qualify for the Olympics. 

His heart grows limp at your words, his limbs losing their strength as your finger lingers upon his lips. He gently grabs your hand, moving it away, goosebumps rippling across his skin at how soft your wrist feels.

This isn’t normal. 

“Should I bring pom poms? Actually, should I make them from scratch? What’s your favorite color?” 

“Will you actually come?” he whispers. Hyunjin has never had anyone cheering for him in his competitions, except for his coach, but he was obligated to do so, in a way. He doesn’t remember what it feels like to smile at someone in the stands anticipating your win. 

Somewhat, you sense the gravity of hyunjin’s question, the vulnerability it entails, one he doesn’t try to hide. He has never attempted to hide his emotions from you, now that he thinks about it.

“Of course I will,” your voice softens, your playfulness melting away. “I promise. I…” you point your pinky to him and he chuckles quietly, “I pinky promise.” 

You kiss your thumb pad and signal for him to do the same, he shakes his head before following your lead, pressing both your thumb pads together. 

“There, sealed forever.” 

You quiet down, before giggling for a reason that eludes you both. 

“Have you ever tried ice skating?” he suddenly asks and you nod, “I know how to skate, but not how to do all those fancy spins of yours.” 

“Do you want to try?” he smiles and you lighten up, “Actually? What if I fall?” 

“I’ll be there to catch you.”

A few moments later, you were both on the ice, Hyunjin spinning around you as you found your balance. “This feels so different from ballet,” you chuckle and he grins, “do you like it?”

“Yeah, i do.”

“Come here,” he beckons, reaching for your hand, and you don’t hesitate, your fingers intertwining with his as he leads you across the rink. 

Can you hear the music starts playing on the loud speakers and Hyunjin laughs, turning around to look at you.

“I’m scared,” you giggle happily and he shakes his head, “Let go of your fears and hold on to me.”

And then, without warning, he spins you, the motion sending your hair flying around you like wings unfurling in the wind. he’s spurred by the emotions this song alone can bestow on him. Can you hear the music?, it asks. Yes, he can, now more than ever, is his answer.

He wraps a secured arm around your waist, lifting you off the ground as he traces wide circles on the ice. Your laughter can be heard over the music, shouts of exhilaration ripping through you as you lift your leg to a ninety degree, as if doing ballet on ice. 

He twirls with you in his arms, as the music hits its crescendo, before finally putting you down, his arm still around you, your chests almost brushing against one another.

You’re so close, closer than you’ve ever been, Hyunjin can decipher the specks of light in your eyes, can hear the booming sound of your heartbeat in his chest. Your hand wraps around his bicep as you catch your breath, and Hyunjin is wrapped in a cocoon of your scent. 

He doesn’t wish to break free, he wants to remain in the chrysalis woven by the notes of your perfume. 

It’s a few hours later, Hyunjin laid on his bed, a pillow tightly pressed to his face. He wasn’t a stranger to late-night thoughts strung along by the twilight, but he had never thought before of this—of your lips, how soft they looked inches away from his, how it’d feel to press them on yours, to move slowly, tentatively, and then ravenously, hungrily, achingly.

“Fuck,” he mutters, further burying himself under his covers. Hyunjin wasn’t accustomed to these kinds of thoughts, he had never pursued someone, never had the time nor the energy to do so. Never had anyone grab his attention, in the first place.

Until you.

“Do I like her?” he murmurs to no one but himself, before shaking his head forcefully. “Go to sleep, Hyunjin,” he mutters, willing his eyes to shut closed, sewed so tightly together images of you cannot slip through his eyelids.

But to no avail.

He groans, kicking the covers off before heading to his desk. There, he opens his diary, grabbing a pen as if to write a new entry. But his fingers itch for the buried notebook from four years ago, the one he eyes from the corner of his eye.

He sighs softly before digging it out of its place, his fingers expertly going to his entry the night he came back from the graveyard. The night you met.

He remembers coming home slightly distraught after dropping you off, he had lingered by the door a bit, hearing echoing screams, a door being slammed, then an eerie silence once more.

Hyunjin had been too immersed in his pain to afford absorbing others’ sadness. A sponge that is too saturated, unable to welcome the woes of any other being.

But you had managed to crack through his defenses, frayed yourself a passage through the small gaps forgotten, shed sunlight on parts of himself he had thought were rotten, lost beyond salvation.

He felt an excruciating sadness for you, for your anger, for your sadness, for the way it consumed you whole, because he knew what would follow—when a body burns up, all that is left after is ashes, scattered everywhere, mingling with specks of dust, meaningless, a heart that serves no purpose anymore.

He never told you, he is unsure if he ever would, but it was the fourth anniversary of his mother’s death when he met you. He had planned to spend the night in a willowing state of sadness, an incapacitating one that didn’t allow for his limbs to move, similar to the first anniversary, then the second, then the third.

But he had spent the rest of it sketching your tearful eyes as you looked up at him, as you cowered away from his words, as you relaxed in his car.

That is the image he finds in his diary entry. But now that he thinks about it, he didn’t skillfully depict the moles scattered on your face, the crease near your eyes, or the way your hair reflects the sun’s light. He didn’t capture the arch of your eyebrow or the way beauty seems to reside in every nook and cranny of your face, seems to pour out of your pores like the sun brushing against a waterfall the way timid lovers do—magical, beautiful.

He sees you in a whole different light, now.

Hyunjin runs a tired hand through his hair, before grabbing his sketchbook. In the hours that ensued, in which he tried to do your beauty justice, erasing and retracing the shape of you time and time again, numerous questions ran through his mind, racing against time to find answers.

Does he like you? No, too simplistic of a question, too dim to encapsulate what knowing you feels like.

Is his soul drawn to yours?

Perhaps. Yes. Most definitely, his heart whispered.

Would he be a fool if he ever confessed it to you?

It is his mind that answered then. A bit forcefully, in fear, in warning: yes, a thousand times yes.

…

There are places in your parent’s house that you always stray from, the way oil stirs away from water. One, the vicinity of their bedroom, two, the living room— the ones in which you are most likely to stumble upon them. Three, the attic, in which you will most likely brush against ghosts from the past.

But somehow you found yourself exactly there, tonight. 

It's 10 p.m. The sun has long sunk below Seoul’s horizon, leaving behind a sky awash in an exquisitely deep blue, so inviting you almost wish to disappear into it. Today was your rest day, no dance studio, no late night escapades with Hyunjin.

You find yourself missing his giggles and how they would linger in your mind long after you part ways.

The attic is still, the floorboards creaking beneath the weight of your feet as you fumble for a light switch, your hand sweeping along the dusty wall. It flickers on, weak and golden, and you squint as the air, thick with age, coats your lungs. 

Old furniture crowds the room, remnants of a life you left behind four years ago. You’re surprised they kept your bed untouched in your room, one last string tying them to your memory.

Your eyes sweep over old paintings, broken suitcases, and wooden shelves, a hand mixer—useless now. And then, you see it, the reason you climbed here. 

Your mother had once mentioned a box, in passing, filled with things your sister wanted to leave for you. Your mother wasn’t pregnant with you at the time nor did she intend to, but she’d entertain the idea to make her favorite girl happy. 

You kneel and pull the box to your lap, the cardboard soft and weathered under your fingers.

“She was so kind,” your mother had said, too many glasses of wine in her system, her words loose and unguarded. “She gave up her favorite toys for you, before you were even born.” You never asked why they were never passed on, deep down you already knew the answer. She never deemed you worthy of having them. 

Inside, you find a small doll with golden hair and big glassy blue eyes, its pink dress dotted with strawberries, a swan hairpin missing some crystals, and tiny, delicate ballerina shoes, pale pink, unused, small—so small. 

And then, a note. 

Your heart stumbles, the bile rising fast to your throat as you grip the worn paper in your hands. 

Your sister had always been a myth, a memory passed down to you by your parents. An elusive figure you have only seen in photographs, until now. 

You’ve never had words that she addressed to you. 

The paper crinkles as you unfold it. You can somehow hear the rush of hot blood in your veins—uncomfortable, deafening. 

The words blur together as your eyes skim over the paper. You catch fragments— to my future sister—then something about how she wants to play with you, urging you to hurry, come quickly, before I break all my toys.

Your vision wavers, the small, careful handwriting barely legible through the haze. I left you my favorite doll and hairpin. So simple. So kind. I also left you my new ballet shoes. You don’t have to like ballet but if you do that would be awesome.

I would love to dance ballet with you.

The note crumples in your hand as your heart lurches, body jolted upright as if struck by lightning. You stumble out of the attic, discarding the box as the walls close in on you. They press, like the past, against your ribcage until you feel like you might suffocate.

You’ve carried resentment like a stone in your chest, a tide pulled by the moon, ever present, ever rising. You resented her because her memory haunted you, grew larger than life as you did. But she never asked for that. She was just a child, a seven-year-old who loved you before you even existed.

How horrible are you? 

Guilt is bitter on your tongue, sour as acid, and you swallow hard against it, tasting the metallic tang of regret. You don’t think as you barge into your parent’s room, blinded by feelings too entangled like vines to tell apart. 

“What’s wrong?” your mother asks, sitting in a bed too big for her alone. You throw the crumpled note at her. 

“Why did you never give me this?” you demand, and her eyes widen as she skims the lines, a sheen glazing her pupils. 

“I…” she stammers, and you laugh—a hollow, jagged sound—as your hands press against your forehead, fingers digging into the migraine feeding off your pain.

“You know I hated her, right? I– I hated a child, my sister because I never felt loved by you,” you choke, voice fracturing, “how– my god how pathetic is that?” 

“i’ve always loved you,” she says, voice tentative. but it is too meek of a reply, too hollow before the depths of your abandonment. 

“I’ve never, NEVER felt once loved by you! YOU made me feel as if I was competing with a ghost. She wasn’t here but she was everywhere and I was never enough to fill her shoes!” 

“I was a grieving mother!” she yells, standing up to face you, her face flushed and her hands trembling. “Do you know how terrible it feels to lower your child into the ground? Do you know how horrible I felt covering her grave when she was scared of the dark, when she hated the cold? She–” her voice cracks like fragile glass, unraveling as tears spill over her face, “She kept telling me that she didn’t want to leave us, that she didn’t want to die. How am I—“ She sobs, the sound raw, torn, “how am I supposed to forget my baby’s last breath? how am i supposed to be a perfect mother to you when I couldn’t protect her?” 

“i never wanted a perfect mother.” you murmur, eyes shutting tight, chest heaving with hiccuped breaths. “I never said you had to forget her. But I was right here. I was alive. I was breathing, hurting, waiting for you to see me, to love me.” Your voice breaks, you sound like your seven years old self and you hate that. “Did I mean so little to you?”

You smile sadly before her silence, your shoulders dropping low. You are too tired for an offense, too tired to tear down her defenses. “I’m sorry that I wasn’t always a good child. I’m sorry that sometimes I threw tantrums. I’m sorry for all the ways I failed you. I know I’m not perfect. I hurt, I stumble, I make mistakes. I am filled with resentment. I choke with it, and sometimes I hurt others too. But I try. I always try to make things right. And I apologize if I do.” 

Silence thickens between you both like browned sugar, though this moment is anything but sweet. You remain quiet, hoping for your salvation to come in the form of two words, two simple words— I’m sorry—that is all it would take to soothe your heart a little. 

You wait, and wait, and more seconds pass as the silence stretches longer and your mother refuses to meet your eyes. And slowly, slowly the hope withers within you. You know she isn’t apologizing tonight. Maybe not ever.

“Forget it.” you whisper as you leave the room and hurriedly walk out of the house. You need something strong, something to burn away the ache, something to scald the memory from your bones, to forget.

It’s nearly midnight when Hyunjin finally steps out of the training building. The air is crisp, cool against his flushed skin, but his relief is short-lived as his eyes land on Sohee, the owner of the kimchi jjigae place nearby, hovering by the entrance. 

Hyunjin’s frown deepens—something feels off. 

“Ah, hyunjin,” the fifty something quickly jogs up to him. “The security guard told me you still hadn’t left.”

“Is something wrong?”

“Yn has been drinking for the past hours, she looks.. Sad. And I’m worried she can’t get home safely.” Sohee’s tone sets off the alarm in Hyunjin’s mind. 

His worry tightens into a knot in his chest as he steps into the narrow restaurant. His eyes immediately fall on you—your cheek pressed against the table, five empty soju bottles scattered around you

He crouches in front of you, his heart twisting as he takes in the dried streaks of tears on your cheeks. What happened?

“Hey,” he whispers gently, afraid to jolt you awake. You stir, blinking groggily, trying to piece together your surroundings.

“Hyunjin,” you breathe, barely a whisper, and his heart softens at the sound. He nods, offering you a small smile, though concern darkens his eyes. “What’s wrong, hm?”

His words unlock something deep inside you, and your face crumbles like a porcelain vase breaking apart. The tears come swiftly, welling in your eyes until they spill over, your lower lip trembling like fragile branches in a storm.

“I’m a—I’m a horrible person,” you choke out between sobs, your voice trembling as much as your body. Your eyes squeeze shut as your shoulders quake, and Hyunjin’s hands move instinctively, gently covering your tightly clenched fists.

“No, you’re not,” he murmurs, his voice soft and steady, as if trying to hold you together with his words alone.

But you shake your head fiercely, a sob tearing from your throat, raw and unrestrained. “I’m a horrible sister,” you manage to whisper, your words barely audible as you wipe at your eyes, only for the tears to fall faster, harder.

Hyunjin watches you break, his heart aching with every tear that slips down your face. He feels weird, feverish, as if your pain has somewhat transferred to his heart. He glances at Sohee, who quietly steps out of the restaurant, leaving the two of you alone in the quiet, dim light.

With a soft sigh, Hyunjin gently cups your face in his hands, his palms warm against your tear-streaked cheeks. His thumbs trace slow, soothing circles across your skin.

“You didn’t even get to be a sister, how could you be a horrible one?” 

“I hated her for so long when all she wanted was to dance with me. I hated a child for so long, I’m a-a horrible person.” 

Hyunjin tentatively licks his lips, thoughts jumbled in his mind like wires. His heart is beating so fast as he wraps an arm around your back, bringing your face to the crook of his neck. You seem to melt in his embrace, tension loosening off of your back as he gently pats your spine. 

“I don’t think you hated your sister. You hated how your parents treated you. Those are two different things.”

Your tears are unceasing, trickling down his skin as you sob more and more. He doesn’t mind the dampening of his shirt, he would never mind a lot of things when it comes to you.

“Humans aren’t straightforward lines, we bend and twist and stray from our paths because our hearts are too frail and sometimes we carry emotions too heavy for us to bear. Sometimes we are pushed to feel certain things when we’ve never wanted to go through them.”

He never stops patting your back gently, his hand traveling from the top of your hair to the base of your spine. “A bad person does not worry about being a bad person. I’m sure your sister knows you love her. You have nothing to feel horrible about.”

Your tears are unyielding and Hyunjin feels as if it isn’t enough— to press your body to his hoping the rhythm of his heart would calm down yours, to think of words of his own doing to soothe your pain. He has not had to comfort anyone in so long, he doesn’t know how to stop your ache. He wishes he could soak your sorrow into his heart instead— he’s used to it, he can handle your pain and his, at once.

He’s racking his mind furiously for things to comfort you. In his memory he stumbles upon the poem of Mary Oliver that has held his hand in the dark.

“Would you like to hear my favorite poem?” he asks, in a whisper.

He feels you nodding against his chest, and he peels himself away from you, painfully, like removing a bandaid from a wound that has yet to scab.

Hyunjin’s eyes are wide and glossy as he peers into yours, as he looks beyond your irises and gazes at your soul, as he recites to you, with a steady voice like a current that doesn’t fall prey to the hazards of storms— “You do not have to be good.” He smiles softly. “You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.” The verb strikes you like a thunderbolt. “You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.”

It passes him like a vision, a flash of white that blinds him, him holding your cheeks but without tears, him cupping your face, in the mornings and in the nights, because it is you his soft clueless flesh aches to love.

It’s gone as quick as it came, his words come out much slower, much more disoriented as he continues— “Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.”

“I want to tell you,” you hiccup, your cheeks are all rosy, delicate red veins protruding the white of your eyes. Your lips are all swollen from how hard you bit them to muffle your sobs.

“I will listen,” he reassures. Hyunjin stays true to his words. He drives you to his place, there, atop his couch, lit by a flower shaped lamp casting warm shadows on you both; you felt safe, a vanilla tea in hand, to talk, to tell Hyunjin everything, how you felt and how lonely, excruciatingly lonely you have been for the past years.

And he listens, he listens well, nodding, holding your hand when it shakes, wiping your tears when they slip from your face.

You feel a sense of gratitude swell in your heart, as if a hundred tulips bloomed in your chest at once. You feel safe talking about your biggest fears to Hyunjin, handing him your heart on an open palm, bruised, bleeding. He would wrap it in a gauze for you, he would keep it safe till you can heal it once more.

You doze in and off sleep on the couch, you can feel Hyunjin placing a warm blanket atop you. You swear he sat by your side for a long while, his hand gently patting your hair and threading through your locks.

You resisted the urge to pull his hand, to beg him to climb near you on the couch and have him encapsulate you in his hold once more. It would be too much for him to bear. Too much of you to ask. Too hard for you to handle a no.

Because even in your drunken state, with a heart weighed down by alcohol and ten thousand stones of grief, when Hyunjin cupped your cheeks in his larger, warmer hands, when he peered into your soul with his brown glimmering eyes, when it looked as if he could mirror your pain, as if he could understand the guilt, as if he could hold your hand through the grief— for one second, for a fleeting instant, it was all forgotten. 

The grief became a simple myth in your mind, a distant memory, something you could brush away as a bad dream slipping away with the march of time; simply because he was there for you through it.

… 

Hyunjin is beautiful.

This isn’t new knowledge for you, per se. You've known it from the moment your eyes met his, through a veil of relentless rain and the sting of unshed tears. Even then, you recognized it—he was the most beautiful human you’d ever seen. 

But somehow, you’ve managed to tuck this knowledge away, placed it in a forgotten recess of your mind. You had found other things to like about Hyunjin, things that wouldn’t be weird for a friend to admire— and Hyunjin made that an easy feat for you. 

You enjoyed the poems, all the ones he’d recite to you from time to time. You loved watching people’s eyes turn to behold him, and him unaware of this magnetic aura coating his porcelain skin. You felt warm hearing his bright and unrestrained giggles, seeing traces of happiness carved into his eyes, watching his lips stretch into a wide grin that seemed to swallow the world whole. 

But there are moments when it’s harder to forget. Like now—when Hyunjin stands before you, slipping on the finishing touches of his performance outfit. His sky-blue top clings to his frame, bedazzled with pearls and diamonds that cascade like teardrops, swooping around his small waist and hugging his broad shoulders. The fabric melts into his black pants, carving his silhouette like a chiseled statue.

There are only ten minutes left before his turn on stage. Last night, over quiet spoonfuls of miso soup, Hyunjin told you to please stay backstage with him, his voice so soft it felt like a secret only meant for you. And how could you refuse? Hyunjin wanted you close—Hyunjin asked for you.

He is nervous, you can tell by the slight tremble of his hands as he struggles with his earring, the delicate hoop slipping from his grasp. It falls, and before you know it, you’ve stepped forward, picking it up, your fingers steady as you help him clasp it into place. 

His gaze is heavy on you, and your heart beats a little too fast. You avoid meeting his eyes—he’s too close, too vulnerable of a setting for you.

You finish, stepping back, but Hyunjin’s hand finds your wrist, gently tugging you close again. He doesn’t let go, his fingers playing with the hem of your sleeve. He bites his lip, lets go of the plush flesh before biting it once more, then he confesses. “i’m scared.” 

Your fingers find his wrist, settle above his wildly beating pulse, a small part of you selfishly wishes it is because of your proximity. Your thumb gently swipes across his soft skin as you say, “you’ll do amazing. I’m sure of it.”

He nods, though something flickers in his eyes, something unsaid that lingers between you. He swallows it down, offering you a small smile. “Thank you. I’ll see you after.”

“Okay,” you grin back, “I’ll see you with a gold medal.” 

You’ve seen this choreography countless times before, memorized every twist, every subtle motion of his body. But watching him perform, under the harsh, burning lights, is like witnessing something new. 

Hyunjin moves with a grace that defies reason, a dancer molded by the music, his body bending to its rhythm, his face crumbling as the music swells. 

Hyunjin glides around as if he is one with the ice, he glows, like the sun on stage, mesmerizing, dipping low with the music and soaring high with its rhythm. Your hand is on your chest as you watch him deliver the killing move, a deep dip, head thrown back, his body a perfect arch on his knees. 

He finishes, under the roaring applause of everyone around. You’re first to stand on your feet and the entire arena follows, giving Hyunjin the standing ovation he deserves, the only one of the night. He bows deeply, a hand on his heart as he soaks in the praise. 

You feel like throwing up as you anxiously await the results to show up on the screen. One minute of silence passes by, then, you see it. His name comes in first. 

Hyunjin won. Hyunjin qualified for the Olympics.

He’s already skating towards you, and you’re moving, rushing down to meet him. You wrap him in a tight hug, feeling his chest rise and fall with quick breaths.

“How was it?” he asks, laughter bubbling in his voice. You find it to be such a silly question. 

How could he be anything but extraordinary?

“You fucking did it, Hyunjin,” you say, the words leaving you in a rush. He tips his head back, laughing, his happiness so pure it aches. You reluctantly pull away from him as Jihyoun comes to congratulate him, pulling him too for a hug.

“Proud of you son,” he says and you can see Hyunjin’s eyes well up with tears. you wish you could kiss them away, the tears and the sadness, will it to desert his heart, kiss his smile and happiness, learn the taste of his joys and sorrows. 

Oh god. 

The thoughts submerge you like you’re doused in gasoline, and being near Hyunjin is the crickling match that will set you on fire.

“There’s an afterparty to celebrate the man of the hour,” Jihyoun grins, patting Hyunjin’s back in a fatherly manner. You can feel the pull of the crowd, people waiting to shower him with well-deserved praise, like waves gathering to meet the shore.

“Are you coming?” Hyunjin’s voice is soft as his gaze lingers on you. You hesitate, and he pouts, a flicker of vulnerability crossing his face. “I want you to come, please.”

“Okay,” you smile, though your feet are already inching away. “But I left my phone at home. I’ll go get it and come back.” That is the truth, or maybe just a shadow of it.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Hyunjin, ever the considerate one. His kindness cuts deeper than he knows, a dull blade slicing against your fragile skin. You hate how you pull his thoughtfulness to somewhere tainted with shadows. You hate how your mind cannot accept that someone could care for you. What if he pities you, still? It asks. What if he only sees you as the selfish girl sobbing at her sister’s grave? 

How could someone like Hyunjin, radiant as the sun pay attention to a mere rock floating in space, aimless, too unimportant to even be given a name? 

“No, it’s a quick drive. Enjoy your moment.” You flash a smile, hoping it covers the tremor in your voice. You quickly slip away before Hyunjin can notice, your pace quickening as his brow furrows behind you.

You’ve never dared to truly like someone. The harsh truth is that people like you, who were born sipping grief in their mother’s womb, only end up accustomed to its metallic tang on their tongues.

You exist to mourn, to ache for what was and all that will never be. Even if happiness brushed against your fingertips, dazzling and radiant, you would not recognize its face, you would distort its features into the terrible grief you’ve always known. 

It’s been thirty minutes since you left and Hyunjin’s eyes keep drifting toward the door, pulled by some invisible force. Jihyoun is talking, excitedly introducing him to someone new, someone important from the sound of it. He hears snippets of the conversation— Switzerland, the best coaching center, a guaranteed win, but the words are distant, like murmurs underwater. 

His mind is a whirlwind of paranoid thoughts as Hyunjin redoes the calculations: it was supposed to be a fifteen minute errand, at most. Where are you?

His heart feels tethered to a storm as he steps out, muttering a feeble excuse to Jihyoun, feet moving before his brain catches up. The air feels heavy like trying to inhale metal, only to end up crushed from all sides.

He searches the parking lot, scanning the faces mingling there, but he finds no sign of you. His feet keep moving, driven by instinct, by a chilling feeling pulling at his heart, desperate to glimpse you.

Then he sees it—flashing lights up ahead. His world dims as he watches a man on the phone, gesturing frantically toward a car. A car that’s all too familiar. Yours, crumpled like a piece of paper, flipped on its side, crashed against a tree. 

A loud ringing floods his ears akin to the buzzing of a hundred angry bees, at once. His legs buckle, his hand slamming against a nearby car for balance, but it feels like the earth beneath him is giving way. His eyes squeeze shut, his back turning away from the wreck. Not again.

Please, not again.

His throat burns with bile, and it feels like nails are clawing at his chest, ripping his skin open and exposing his heart. It’s pounding wildly, erratically, like it’s trying to escape the cage of his ribs and splatter on his feet. 

He can’t turn around—he’s too afraid of what he’ll see. But he has to. His breath comes in ragged gasps, his vision spotted with white as he stumbles forward. He taps the man’s arm. He struggles to find his voice as if it were never his to begin within. “Did someone get out of the car?” he whispers, broken, pleading. The man shakes his head.

Hyunjin rushes to the window, desperate to find you, to see you breathing, but the glass is tinted, hiding whatever lies inside. Without thinking, he throws his fist against the window. Once. Twice. Again. And again. His skin splits, blood dripping down his knuckles, but he can’t stop. He pounds the glass until it shatters, only to find nothing within.

“Hyunjin?” A voice, so achingly familiar, cuts through the haze. He spins around, breathless, and there you are—limping, disheveled, but alive. You’re breathing.

In an instant, he’s in front of you, his eyes wide, frantic, searching yours as if they behold the answer to every fear, every prayer he has ever uttered. His hand trembles as it cups your cheek, thumb brushing your skin, needing to feel your warmth. His gaze flickers over your body, checking for any trace of life-threatening injury, his heart lodged in his throat.

“Are you okay?” His voice is raw, stripped bare.

“I am,” you reply, and your words are his salvation. A sigh shudders out of him, pulled from the deepest parts of his soul, as if he’s been drowning and you’ve finally pulled him to the surface.

He falls to his knees, palms pressing into the ground. Tears spill from his eyes, hot and heavy, streaking down his face like rain in a storm. You kneel beside him, and his arms instinctively wrap around you, pulling you close. 

His fingers weave through your hair, pressing you to him, needing to feel you, needing to know you’re real. His body trembles as he buries his face in your hair, his tears soaking through your shirt, inhaling your scent, grounding himself in you.

“Yn,” he breathes, your name the only thing that could express the magnitude of his relief. He holds you tighter, the words tumbling out like a prayer, “I thought I lost you. My god, I thought I lost you.”

It takes a while for you to process his words, to understand the scale of his fear at the thought of losing you. Those are foreign notions for you, a sight you never thought you’d grasp one day. A sight you never deemed yourself deserving of. 

“You’d care this much if I died?” Your voice is a whisper, small, uncertain.

Hyunjin’s bloodied hand smooths your hair, his eyes red, chest heaving. “Yn, I…” He squeezes his eyes shut, voice breaking. “Yn, please don’t leave me.”

“I’m sorry,” your lower lip quivers at the sight of his tears, somehow seeing him sob leads to your own unraveling, as if your emotions are tied by one red string. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to worry you,” you apologize, you the forgotten one, the ghost in your own home, apologizing because for once, your absence did hurt someone, because for once someone would miss you if you were ever gone.

Hours later, you’re in Hyunjin’s home, tucked into the safety of his bed. You’d refused to call your parents, not wanting them to know what had happened, how close their wish had become reality. 

The ambulance had taken you both to the hospital, where they patched Hyunjin’s wounds and checked you for a concussion. You repeated, over and over, like a broken record— “The brakes stopped working, and I jumped out of the car.” Hyunjin spoke for you when you grew tired.

“How are you feeling, Yn?” Hyunjin’s voice is soft, as he hovers over your figure. Your name sounds sweeter from his lips. It sounds as if it was always his to pronounce. 

“I’m okay. I’m sorry I ruined your night.” Your apology is quiet, but he shakes his head, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. Your eyes shut closed as his lips caress your skin, as if wanting to drown out all the other senses, useless, needing to focus solely on his touch. 

“If you’re okay, that’s all that matters to me.”

He goes to leave, but you catch his hand. You don’t overthink your next words, you think you’re long past that when it comes to him. “You called me by my name. I thought you didn’t remember it.”

“I never forgot,” he says, stepping closer. “I’ve known who you were since the moment I saw you. I… I thought about you a lot for the past four years, Yn. I think about you now too,” a pause, “for different reasons. Sweeter reasons.”

He remembered. He has come to know you and he still thinks of you.

“Me too,” you smile softly, “I think about you so much it feels as if you’re all I’ve ever known,” you confess breathlessly. Your eyes flicker to his lips, and his do the same.

Before you can think, you’re standing on your tiptoes, your lips resting on his, unmoving, driven by a desire so raw it blinded you.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry.” You pull away, stumbling back.

But his hands find your waist, pulling you back. “Can I do that again, Yn?” His voice is soft, and you nod, dazed. How could you ever refuse him?

His mouth returns to yours, slow and deliberate, like a melody reuniting with its refrain. Sweetness spills from his lips onto yours, a blend of honey and wildflowers and something that is entirely his. His breath surrounds you, intoxicating, pulling you into a world where all you wish is to melt into him, to slip beneath his skin and flow through his veins. 

Fireworks bloom behind your eyelids, explosions of colors you’ve never seen before, as if the universe itself has unraveled in the space between you both. His hands cradle your face, thumbs tracing circles along your cheeks that send a thousand butterflies flapping their wings throughout your being. Your fingers weave into the silk of his hair, a breath of relief escaping you as you touch him the way you’ve longed for. 

You’re still kissing him and yet you already ache to do it again, again and again, till you forgive the world every cruelty it has inflicted into you, if it allows you to hold his warmth a little longer, to keep your sun cupped between your palms. 

“Is this what happiness feels like?” he murmurs against your lips, a smile threading between your breaths, your teeth grazing his in the closeness. You laugh softly, your foreheads touching softly, “I think it is. It tastes so sweet.”

“Mm, I think I need to taste it again, to make sure,” he teases, his lips finding yours once more, playful and hungry. Time loses its meaning, minutes slipping away like sand grains between your fingers. By the time you part, your heart has memorized the rhythm of his breath and the weight of his lips upon yours, as familiar now as your own pulse.

… 

“So, how do we do this?”

Your laughter echoes softly down the corridor. Hyunjin has you pinned against the wall near the skating rink, his right hand braced above your head, the other hovering over your waist—yet, it’s that mere sliver of air between his fingers and your skin that ignites a wildfire within you, burning bright with longing.

“Wouldn’t it be strange if we just walked in, holding hands? I mean, Jihyoun knows me, but…” Your voice drifts away like chimney smoke, dissolving into the background of Hyunjin’s thoughts. He’s no longer listening—he’s observing. Memorizing. His gaze skillfully captures every curve, every shadow of your face, as if this is the last dawn he’ll ever witness. As if, by morning, he’ll be blind, and this moment is his only chance to engrave you into his memory.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes, his voice soft, almost reverent. Your words falter, fading like the final notes of a song only he remembers. He leans in, his lips brushing your cheek with a tenderness that paints your skin crimson red. 

He smirks, satisfied by the effect—perhaps, he thinks, that is how the sun feels as it kisses the horizon goodnight, leaving the sky a blushing mess. 

“You were saying?” he teases, and you roll your eyes, pretending to be exasperated. “I was saying that it would be—“ But his lips find yours once more, plucking the words from your tongue like petals from a flower. 

In the dim glow of the corridor, the world around you fades to an afterthought. It feels as though you exist only for this, only for him— to kiss and to be kissed by Hyunjin.

“Finally!” Jihyoun’s voice shatters the moment, ringing out like a bell, pulling you both apart. “Thank you for kissing him, Yn. Now he’ll stop with the longing stares at the door.”

“What stares?” you laugh, the sound bubbling sweetly up your throat. Hyunjin scratches the nape of his neck, shrugging innocently when your eyes meet, as if he has no idea what Jihyoun is talking about (though he knows all too well).

Hyunjin catches his coach’s eye over your shoulder, a wide smile tugging at his lips. Jihyoun once told him that he seems to bloom around you, like a flower starved of sunlight, finally nourished. The thought warms him—knowing that the people closest to him feel your presence like a balm to his soul. His mother would have loved you too, he’s certain of it.

“Will you stay with me tonight?” Hyunjin whispers later, as you’re leaving the practice building, his arm draped over your shoulder, yours wrapped around his waist. Natural. Familiar. Like two rivers flowing into one.

“I don’t have anything of mine there,” you pout, and Hyunjin stops, cupping your cheek, his nose grazing yours in a gesture so tender it makes your heart float within your ribcage. “That’s part of my secret plan—to get you in my clothes.”

“Oh, what a very secretive plan,” you giggle, stealing a quick kiss. “And what would we do tonight?” 

“Sleep together.” You raise an eyebrow, and he shakes his head, flushing crimson. “I mean—sleep, actual sleep, not that I wouldn’t want to make love to you,” Your laughter rings out, as his forehead finds its hiding place against your shoulder, embarrassed. “I just want to hold you close. That’s all.”

Your sweet Hyunjin.

“I want that too, Hyune.”

Hyunjin has never been much of a writer, his forté has always been to express himself with his body, spell out words out of the movement of his limbs. It is more evident as he opens the door to his apartment, with you trailing behind. As he looks at both your shoes sitting side by side near the entrance, your accessories resting next to his in the bathroom. 

He lacks the words to explain how right, how natural it feels for him to have you in his space, for you to fill it with the music of your voice and the fragrance of your perfume. As if it has always been his reality, to walk home with you, to watch you slip into his clothes, to brush his teeth next to you, to lay atop the bed with your warm eyes staring at him instead of a cold wall. 

“Do you believe in fate?” you suddenly ask, your thumb trailing alongside his neck, pausing right where his pulse beats. He has never been aware of the weight of life against his skin until he knew you. 

“I never did, I didn’t want to believe in something pre-written for me. Wouldn’t that confine who I am, who I could be?” he muses and you nod softly, inching closer to him. “But somewhat,” he trails off, lifting your hand to his mouth, peepering the sweetest kisses alongside your palm and wrist, like dewdrops caressing leaves. “I believe in it now, because of you.” 

“I think I was meant to find you that day in the graveyard. I think what I feel for you is too grand to be a pure coincidence,” he confesses. 

“And what do you feel for me?” you ask, your voice soft, curious. 

Hyunjin doesn’t answer immediately. Instead, he gently twirls a strand of your hair away from your eyes, before tucking it behind the cuff of your ear. He presses his forehead to yours, like two pages of a book meeting one another, then he exhales slowly, like a man who has found peace after a lifetime of searching. 

And in a way, he has. He can stop looking frantically for something that would stitch his soul up, he has found you, now. 

“I used to resent hearing my own heartbeat. At times it felt like a punishment, because existing felt like a chore. I wanted the sound to quiet down, I didn’t want to hear anything, nor feel anything anymore.” 

“But now,” he pulls you closer, your legs intertwining with his, like roots seeking comfort in one another, “it’s reassuring to hear, because it means there is still life within me to love you in it.”

Love. The word has long felt like a thorn ingrained into your skin. You have always recoiled from it, less from repulse and more in fear— if the people who were put on this earth to love you, didn’t, then weren’t you meant to remain unloved for the rest of your life? 

But looking at Hyunjin now, at the way the word rests gently on his lips, rolls off his tongue with such ease, with such certainty, you don’t want to run.

You want to stay. 

It is when Hyunjin traces maps along your skin with his lips, as you drift down the constellations of moles on his chest, as you find yourself lost within everything that makes up his being— his scent, his sounds, the weight of him pressed against you— that you find your words to reply, to breathe your first I love you to him. 

And in that confession, another realization comes, though this one is bitter, sour, like a chilling premonition: if Hyunjin were ever to leave, what would be left of you after? 

…

Hyunjin has never been fond of the concept of time, minutes seemed to march differently when it came to him— seconds stretching out like thin threads, nights unraveling in restless turns, sleep plucked right off from his eyelids. 

But with you, time softened, as the hours spun forward, swift and gentle. Around you, Hyunjin no longer felt the weight of passing days on his heart. 

Hyunjin didn’t feel the two months of happiness you bestowed upon him slipping from his grasp. 

He was lost, adrift in the gentle tides of your being—swept by the melody of your laughter, cradled by the softness of your curves. He often wondered if he was deserving of this happiness, yet never lingered long enough to find an answer. He selfishly accepted the joy you gifted him, for once. 

Your belongings filled the empty nooks of his apartment gradually, corner by corner—your satin pajamas settling just above his plaid ones, your skincare nestled near his on the bathroom shelf, your favorite mug clinking against his in the dishwasher. 

In some way, it mirrored how you’d seeped into him, like sunlight breaking through the longest of nights— threads of the sun illuminating what was once lost to darkness. 

He’d steady your chin to help with your mascara, your doe eyes looking up into his. You’d brush his hair, pressing gentle kisses along his shoulder blades. He’d do your laundry. You’d make his coffee each morning. He’d brew your tea each night.

You didn’t have much time to talk during the day, both of you engrossed in the practice of your respective arts. Yet, the knowledge that you were just a floor above him, close if he ever wished to see you, was enough to soothe his heart.

It was at night that you bared yourselves to each other, in ways that went beyond the tender grip of his hands on your waist, or the slow trail of your fingers down the curve of his back.

In the hush of the twilight, you’d unfold softly, revealing the hidden layers within—you’d share your dreams and hopes, and the moments that shaped you, letting the fragments of your pasts settle in the safety between you both. 

“I think I know my purpose now,” you whispered one night, and he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. “What is it?” 

“I think I kept ballet at a distance because loving it felt like surrendering to my parents’ dreams, like I’d be becoming what they always wanted me to be.” You paused, your voice a little softer, a little braver. “But I do love it, Hyunjin. I want to be the best at it. I want to honor my sister through it.” 

His gaze softened, as a tender smile blossomed in his lips. “You already do.”

Some nights were less sweet, tangled with heavy grief and unshed tears, yet it felt easier to walk through them if you were there holding his hand. 

“Would you go into her room with me?” he asked quietly one night, his gaze locked on his mother’s bedroom, its door sealed for a decade. He had never dared to enter it once more, afraid it would further cement the notion that she was gone.

That truth felt easier to confront with you near.

“Of course,” you replied softly. “Whatever you need.”

The room was just as he remembered, only stuffier with dust and heartache. Time hung in the air, dense and unmoving, clutching at her last moments alive, unwilling to let go. 

He looked to the bed, and he could almost see the shape of her there, frail and thin, her clothes too loose over a body worn out with sickness.

You held him close, steadying him as he took in each familiar corner: their photos framed with gold on the desk, her countless medals hung on the wall, her perfume and hairbrush untouched on the vanity, her rings resting in a small seashell container.

He walked slowly to the vanity, his fingers reaching for the ring he had loved most—a thin band of gold, crowned with a small emerald, dulled by time. Gently, he wiped away the dust with his shirt, before turning to you and slipping it onto your finger.

“Keep it,” he whispered. “It will live again through you.”

In the days that followed, you helped him breathe light and air into the room once more, sweeping dust from the framed certificates and photographs, polishing the medals until they shimmered as they once had. You washed the linens and her clothes, packing them carefully for a donation to cancer wards—something he never found the courage to do, until now.

Grief no longer felt like a knife lodged into his heart, its metal rusting with the passing of time. He saw its true face now—a soft ache, a quiet longing, a thicket of thorns that can only grow from the roots of love.

Your voice floated in his mind that night, echoing like the bells of a long standing cathedral. “your mom loved you, hyunjin. And someone who loves you would want your hands to be warm”— would want you to be happy.

Happiness swept into Hyunjin like an endless, gnawing hunger—an insatiable ache that demanded to be fed. He was ravenous for joy, longing to sink his teeth into it, dip his tongue into its sweetness and let it spill all over him. 

When an exoneree tastes freedom after decades of longing, it is the small breeze, the waves lapping hungrily at his bare feet that make his heart twitch. So it was with Hyunjin: the small joys swelled within his ribcage, vast and boundless. His heart strained against his chest, eager to burst free and feel it all. 

Somehow, Hyunjin’s biggest joy came from watching you dance— the principal dancer of your competition team. Whenever he had a break, he’d choose to slip away from the ice rink and climb the stairs at a hurried speed, slip into the dancing studio and sit in the corner. 

There, he’d watch you, leading the group of dancers you’ll perform with. You stood in the center, beckoning the attention of everyone around. Beautiful, so beautiful.

How foolish of him it was to try to deny it. How foolish of him to think that there was any outcome but to fall for you.

You always caught his eye across the mirror, your face breaking out in a wide grin, as you waved shyly at him, the strictness melting off your features and morphing into something warm. He felt special in a way, to be the sole recipient of such a breathtaking smile. He felt as if he could write hundreds of poems about that alone. 

That smile feels even more precious as you stand on stage at the Seoul International ballet competition, seconds before the light would turn on and you’d begin dancing. In the split second of darkness, it is him your eyes sought after in the crowd, it is him you wink at, before switching into your professional mode.

You aren’t as nervous as he expected you to be. Somehow your facade only slipped when five minutes before the stage you beckoned hyunjin in for a hug. “Do you need anything?” he asked as he kissed your temple softly, tightening his hold on you.

“I just need to hug you for a minute. It helps me calm down.” 

Hyunjin had always known you were a stellar ballerina. You were humble with your achievements, speaking of your art as if you don’t have years of practice to attest to your expertise, as if you hadn’t gotten acclaims nationally and internationally.

Still, seeing you on stage made a different pride bloom in his heart. You are the rightful star of the night, the swan of ballet as the media had dubbed you— delicate with your movements, spreading your arms like the unfurling of their feathers, spinning delicately into the air with a grace that made his breath catch in his throat. You were mesmerizing. 

You didn’t simply move, or dance, that would be too simplistic to encapsulate how you breathed life into this art. Into him. 

And it is hyunjin’s arms that you run into, scurrying down the stage steps, an overflowing bouquet in your right hand and a gleaming trophy held tightly in the other. 

“You won, my love,” he shouts, ecstatic as you throw your arms around his neck, as he cradles your waist, spinning you around like how he always orbits around you. 

He puts you down, leaning in to kiss you with no second thought, your eyes closed as you savor one another, as your lips move as if commanded by the stars, to part only to meet again, and again. Till your cheeks are both flushed and all he can taste is the strawberry in your lip tint. 

Your eyes lock on his, your pupils widening till they swallow your irises, mirroring your breathtaking grin. Hyunjin felt as if the sun had left the sky and lodged within his chest.

But what Hyunjin failed to understand is that, for souls like his, happiness is only a fleeting passenger. Even then, it isn’t meant to be swallowed whole; it is to be eaten bite by bite, back hunched, hidden from the harsh glare of the universe. Perhaps this is the price he pays for defying the sadness that shadows him—his own eager canines sinking into joy, ultimately tearing it apart.

…

“I think I’ll go to Switzerland.”

It takes a few seconds for Hyunjin’s words to settle into your mind, for the syllables to unfurl slowly, like a wave gathering its strength before inevitably crashing on the shore. 

Once, Hyunjin had spoken of a figure skating center in Switzerland, one that Jihyoun praised endlessly—the pinnacle for skaters reaching toward gold.

“Will you go?” you’d asked, and he’d only shrugged. “I’m thinking about it.” The conversation had dissolved then, lost in the press of his body against yours, in the paths his fingers traced down your stomach— dizzying enough to make you forget the sound of your own name.

But you should have known—some things cannot be buried beneath the covers. They always resurface, haunting, inevitable.

You draw in a deep breath, your gaze settling on your congratulatory bouquet. The flowers have started to wither now, despite the sugar cube Hyunjin dropped in the water. 

Were they a trigger for the slow withering of your relationship, too? Did the fall of that first petal set the course for your own undoing?

“Okay,” you nod, biting your lip anxiously. “When will you go?”

“In three days. Or else I’ll miss the deadline to join.”

Oh.

You remain silent, feeling as though barbed wire coils around your throat, each metal spike pressing deep into your flesh. He steps closer, his warm hands cradling your cheeks. It takes you a few seconds to meet his gaze.

You suddenly imagine a life untouched by him. The thought fills you with a horrible urge to weep.

“I know it’s sudden,” he murmurs, voice low, “I tried to delay it as long as I could, but Jihyoun kept insisting, saying it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I don’t want you to feel abandoned.” 

You shake your head, as if to push that thought away, as if the notion itself is meaningless.

“I’ve always known we wouldn’t stay in the same place forever. I have to go back to Juilliard soon, too. I just… never thought it would happen this fast.” You sigh softly, a tender smile slipping across your face as you bring your hands up to cup his cheeks. “But you’re meant for grand things, Hyunjin. If Switzerland is where you’ll find them, then I couldn’t be happier for you.”

“I love you,” he whispers, his nose brushing against yours, a gentle, aching gesture. “We’ll make it work, right?”

He searches your eyes, pleading, his brows drawn into a worried knot.

“Of course, we will.”

It is the first time you lie to Hyunjin. 

“I love you,” he repeats, gripping your waist and lifting you onto the counter.

“I’ve only known love thanks to you,” you murmur. That much is true.

Hyunjin kisses you with hunger, his hand tangled in your hair, his body moving with a fierce rhythm—passion and love dripping from each one of his touches, each one of his spilled i love you’s between broken whimpers and moans. 

He loves you tonight like he has something to prove. As if his fingertips must be etched upon your skin, as if his name should be the one carved deep within you, the one found if you were split open to your soul.

Lying against his bare chest, you feel his breath rise and fall beneath you, the tip of his fingers sketching aimlessly upon your skin. Yet, you sense as if there is already a rift between you both. As if the news of his living has seeped between your bodies— the distance has already laid its claim, separating you both.

… 

You’re back in New York, slipping into the rhythm of your classes like a puzzle piece wedged into place, not quite fitting, yet you force it to. You spend each waking moment practicing your final dance at Juilliard—The Sleeping Beauty—the ballet that will close this chapter of your life.

Your apartment has remained unchanged; the conversations with your classmates are as futile as ever. And your heart still pulses, aches for Seoul, for the warmth you found there, in Hyunjin.

Winter settles in, snow gathering in quiet drifts along the streets. Two languid months slip by, time dragging its feet, as if too wishing to remain right where you left Hyunjin. You lose yourself in the pursuit of a perfect performance. And yet, the praise of your professors and peers no longer fills you as it once did.

It all feels hollow, empty, when you can’t remember the last time you and Hyunjin spoke, actually spoke, the way you used to.

You’d already seen this scene unfold in your mind the day he broke the news—more vividly still as he walked away in the airport. You had known the first few days would be good—frequent calls and texts, sharing the smallest details of his new life and of your familiar one.

But then, the silence would settle in, as it has. Because you and Hyunjin are both perfectionists. Because without your art, both of you are left with nothing but shadows of yourselves— hollow shells calling out in agony to what truly pleases your souls. 

You’re afraid to say it out loud, but Hyunjin’s face is blurring in your memory, details softening as though sketched by an impressionist’s brush. All that remains clear are the shadows under his eyes on your last video call, dark circles carved deep into his soft skin, his exhaustion bleeding through the screen as he struggled to stay awake for you.

There is no one to blame, and somehow, that only hurts you even more. You could sacrifice your hours of practice, and so could he. But then the guilt would come, ravenous, gnawing at your soul. And guilt is a hungry being, soon enough it won’t be satiated by you. Soon enough it will turn to your love for Hyunjin. 

And you couldn’t afford that. 

You miss him most on days like this, when nothing seems right from the moment you open your eyes. The city’s chill feels sharper, as though mocking you, reminding you of the warmth you left behind.

The wind bites as you step into the night, wandering aimlessly, your feet carrying you to nowhere in particular. Tears hover at the edge of your lashes, but you refuse to let them fall.

There’s no grace in the way you don’t allow yourself to cry, no mercy in how you hold yourself together. You've always been a performer, haven’t you? Even your pain feels like a scene you must perfect. Is it tragic enough? Does it carve deep enough to justify being felt?

You bite your lip, numb fingers pulling out your phone. You type out Hyunjin’s contact— my love. Your last message to him was two days ago.

With a sigh, you press call. He answers on the final ring.

“Hi, my angel,” he says, a bit breathless. Probably mid-training.

You force a smile, hoping he won’t hear the tremble in your voice. “Hi, baby. Practicing?”

“Yeah.” He hums. “Are you outside?”

“Im going for a walk.” Your voice quiets as the lump in your throat tightens, a chain wrapping around your words, binding you.

“Are you okay, my love?” he asks gently, and you nod though he can’t see.

“I am,” you lie. “I just miss you.” The confession slips out before you can stop it, and the weight of it crushes you. You miss him so much it’s killing you.

“I miss you too,” he says softly. You feel like throwing up. You have to make it quick before your courage betrays you. 

“I think we should end things,” you say quickly, biting down so hard on your lip that blood beads up, sharp and metallic on your tongue— just like your words.

“What?” he whispers, and you hear his faint apologies, the rustle as he moves to someplace quieter, someplace where you can break his heart without an audience.

“Why do you want this? Don’t you love me anymore?” His voice is small, fragile, and you feel the tears welling in your eyelids, but not yet.

“You know there’s no one I love but you,” you say, drawing in a breath that doesn’t wish to be trapped by you. “But we’re both so busy it barely feels like we’re together anymore.”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, baby, I’ll try to text more, I promise. I’ll cut back on my training for you, I’ll—.”

“You know I’d never ask that of you.” You cut him off, smiling sadly and he falls quiet.

You see him then, in a haze of memory—Hyunjin’s head resting in your lap, your fingers lost in his hair. You hear his voice again, soft and raw, “My mom’s last wish for me was to win that gold medal. I’m terrified of letting her down. Just thinking about it—” He’d let out a humorless laugh. “She isn’t here, and yet I still feel this debt to her. Isn’t that strange?”

You know it well—the pain of failing those you love, even those who don’t love you back.

“Your mom wanted you to win that medal, didn’t she?” you say softly. “I would never come between you and that.” A pause. “But doesn’t it hurt more to wait for a message that never comes?”

“I…” he stammers, a sniffle slipping through the phone, and it nearly undoes you.

“Yn, I- you know that I love you.”

And in that instant, you know he understands. It’s because Hyunjin understands that you love him.

“I love you too, my Hyune.”

“Then don’t say this,” he chokes out, “say something cruel—something that’ll make it easier not to miss you so much when you’re gone.”

You can hear him crying, and the sound permanently breaks a rib within your heart. It sounds so raw, so painful that you wish to abandon everything and run to him. Had life not been this harsh to you, perhaps you would. Perhaps you’d have enough courage to believe that love can suffice for everything. 

“I came back to Seoul because my mother was sick. I thought…maybe it would bring us close again. But I think now that I came back just to meet you, Hyunjin.” His name falters, slipping from your lips in a stuttered breath.

“Thank you,” you whisper, voice cracking, “thank you for making me happy.”

The call ends, and you fall to your knees in the snow, finally surrendering to the grief tearing through you. Sobs wrack your body, raw and relentless, so fierce it feels as if your heart might just stop, as if you’ve become nothing but an ache, a bruised, throbbing mass of memories, pulsing with each thought of him.

Is this enough for you? you want to scream at whatever cruel hand pulling the strings of your fate. Has my suffering finally paid the debt of my existence— for both me and him? 

… 

You’ve come to understand that the expanse of human emotions is boundless, as vast and unknowable as the space that holds the universe. And with each passing day, it feels as if another star dies within you, its light dimming slowly, far from rebirth.

You once thought your heart had grown accustomed to grief—your life spent in mourning: parents you wished you had, love you wished had dared, even just once, to find you.

But mourning the happiness Hyunjin brought is something else. It’s a different kind of ache, not like the eruption of a volcano that fades into a quiet resigning. This pain lingers, dull and relentless, day after day, a wound that refuses to close, a pulse that never stills.

It has been a month since your fateful call. Hyunjin first sent you a bouquet of white roses, with a note nestled within—To the one who made me find love again, I will love you until my last breath.

You didn’t reply, but Hyunjin kept sending bouquets, each one arriving with a message that tore at your heart a little more than the last. I am thinking about you often; please think of me, too. As if you could do anything but that. If I am to exist in only one place, let it be in your mind.

You’ve hung each note on the fridge, their words staring back at you every morning as you make your coffee, exactly the way Hyunjin likes it.

Sometimes, you’d let the water run, overflowing in the coffee maker as you read his words again and again. Then, you’d catch a glimpse of your own distorted reflection on the water’s surface, wondering what it would feel like to drown in the sea, to let the liquid fill your lungs and wash over you.

But you never let the thought linger too long, chasing it away with the hum of a song. You know it will only lead you somewhere scary.

After three, maybe four months, the bouquets eventually stopped arriving. Hyunjin had surely grown tired of your silence.

The heart is no rigid thing; it doesn’t stay frozen in one place. It stretches and contracts, bleeds, then patches itself together again. But you hadn’t done much to heal it—truthfully, you hadn’t believed you deserved to feel good once more.

Then month five came, and there was no time left to dwell on anything. A strange relief, you thought, for a mind like yours, that never quite stops turning, even in sleep. Graduation loomed on the horizon, and you were terrified of your efforts going to waste, of them somehow never being enough to set you apart.

But one night, your professor placed her hand on your shoulder, her gaze warm as it met yours. Suddenly, you felt seven years old again. “I think you could be this generation’s prima ballerina assoluta, she said—absolute first ballerina, the best of the best. 

“Really?” you whispered, hardly breathing, and she nodded. “Yes, if you keep going this way, you will be.”

You thought about calling Hyunjin to share the news, but quickly brushed the thought aside. Instead, you spent the night picturing his reaction. It was pathetic, maybe, but you liked to believe he would’ve said he was proud of you, called you angel, kissed the tip of your nose, his eyes crinkling into half-moons. You fell asleep with his words murmured on your lips, as if they’d been real.

Month six rolled in, then seven. You had been keeping tabs on Hyunjin’s name as the Olympics approached. There has been news of him wanting to attempt a quadruple axel spin— forty-four years after the triple one. An automatic win, some would say.

You knew that if anyone could do it would be hyunjin.

You wondered if he too read the articles released about your performances. Did he smile at them, his sweet dimple surging forth? Or did your name sting him, like droplets of acid falling into an open wound? 

Month eight arrived, genuine joy weaving into your life once more. You took your final bow on the polished stage of Juilliard, the roaring applause ringing in your ears for days to come. You had the highest performance score of the history of the institution. Your professor’s eyes then searched yours— “where do you see yourself now? where would you feel happiest?”

Hyunjin’s arms. You almost said. Barely holding yourself. 

“I don’t know. I think I’ll try at operas. I want to perform the white swan there.”

“Then go to opéra garnier in Paris. I have a friend there. Talk to him, feel it out.”

You had almost kissed her cheek right there and then. Not only because the Opéra Garnier had been your childhood dream but because now, Paris was where the Olympics would be held.

You now had an excuse to be there. 

You kept looking for Hyunjin in every monument you visited. In the hush of night by the Louvre, along the quiet flow of the Seine, in the gentle strokes of Monet’s paintings at Musée de l’Orangerie. What would you do if you met him on a random street in Paris?

Thankfully, or unfortunately, you still hadn’t decided, you never had to find out. You didn’t see him.

It is the men’s singles day at the figure skating Olympics, and somehow, you feel more nervous than in all your own performances combined. You’re seated close to the ice, close enough to feel the chill radiating from it, close enough to capture every detail of the performances.

Then Hyunjin steps onto the ice. If not for your seat, you might have collapsed, your knees a mass of useless ground bones. 

He’s dazzling—achingly, excruciatingly beautiful. His hair falls longer now, delicate strands brushing his forehead like a prince out of a fairytale. His outfit is pure white, adorned with emerald diamonds cascading like droplets of light. Instinctively, you reach for the emerald ring on your finger too. 

Your gaze follows him everywhere, drinking in the sight of him tipping his head back in laughter, his nose crinkling as he talks to Jihyoun, every stretch, every step, every quiet act of his being. 

He was still as lovely, still as beautiful as you have always known him. 

You wonder if he’s thinking of you, too, as his eyes flutter shut before his music begins. What image knits behind his eyelids in that instant?

It has always been his face for you. 

The air buzzes with anticipation, thick with belief and doubt alike as everyone knows what Hyunjin is attempting tonight. All eyes follow him as he skates, tracing wide circles across the ice, bending low to the ground, spinning in perfect arcs.

Then, he launches into the air.

The seconds seem to trickle by as slowly as blood droplets rushing to a dying heart. You see it— one spin, planets orbiting around the sun, aching to inch closer to the warmth. 

Two spins— seconds marching forward to catch up with the next ones in a ticking clock. 

Your breath freezes in your throat, your hands grip the chair so much your knuckles turn as white as the roses hyunjin sent you after you parted ways.

Three spins— fireflies dancing around the light, drawn to it like milky stars.

And then he does it.

His fourth and final spin— your heart orbiting around Hyunjin as he achieves his dream, as he breaks the world record he long yearned for.

You fall back in your seat, a rush of relief loosening the tension in your body as the crowd erupts into thunderous applause. Unbelievable is the word on everyone’s mouths. 

But not on yours.

Your Hyunjin did it, like you knew he would. 

Tears gather in your eyes as he stares at the scoreboard, his gaze fixed, waiting, breath held alongside every other skater. 

Hyunjin’s name comes first. 

He collapses to his knees, the weight of his victory pressing down his body, finally breaking him open. Jihyoun rushes over, cradling him, shaking him, laughing, “You did it, Hyunjin! You did it, son!” The tears won’t stop rushing down your face; they have a life of their own now.

You watch as Hyunjin circles the audience, waving at the crowd cheering his name. He drifts closer to your section, his eyes scanning the sea of faces until, finally, he finds yours. 

The world stills, you force the earth to stop spinning to have this one moment with Hyunjin. You lock onto his gaze, holding it, savoring the way his lips form your name.

Then, as if pulled by a force greater than either of you, he climbs over the stands, moving swiftly across the seats until he reaches you. In an instant, his arms are around you, his head buried in the crook of your neck. “Yn, I…” he chokes, and you nod, whispering, “I know. You did it, Hyunjin.”

“I did it, Yn,” he echoes, his voice trembling. He pulls back to look at you, his hands resting on your shoulders, both oblivious to the flash of cameras, the seas of people flocking around you. 

No one here could ever understand what this moment means to him. No one but him—and you.

As he takes his place on the podium, tears shimmer in Hyunjin’s eyes akin to the reflection of the sun across the sea. He bites his lip, struggling to hold it together as the bronze and silver medals are awarded. Then the official steps forward, gold medal in hand. Hyunjin extends his shaking hands, watching as the ribbon drapes over his head, at long last. 

Suddenly, the past eight months of heartache are justified. You would endure it all again, twice over, if it led to Hyunjin having this moment. 

“Miss Juilliard,” Hyunjin says softly as he meets you by the door. He had asked Jihyoun to tell you to wait for him. Jihyoun seemed happy to see you once more. 

Hyunjin is different now than he was twenty minutes ago, when he threw himself into your arms, overcome by emotions too vast to name. Now, he stands before you, more composed, more guarded, though his gaze remains tender. He’s never been able to hide his eyes from you.

“Congratulations on your win,” you say.

“Congratulations on your graduation.”

He knows.

In that moment, you see it all—the two paths unfurling before you. You could smile at him and he would smile back. Then you would part ways. And you would meet again, in a ceremony of some kind. And he would have grown only more beautiful, and the ache would have not softened. And his loving gaze would set on someone else but you.

Or, you could speak now.

“I made some tiramisu back at my Airbnb,” you say, your voice tentative. “Would you like some?”

Hyunjin’s shoulders stiffen, a debate flickering in his eyes. Then he exhales softly. “Of course.”

You sit side by side in the uber. His phone keeps lighting up with congratulatory messages until he switches it off.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, feeling the need to break the silence. He tenses beside you.

“For what?”

“For stealing you away.”

His shoulders relax. “Don’t apologize. I wanted to come.”

The apartment you rented is small—studio-sized, really, but near Montmartre, where you’ve loved taking nightly walks by Sacré Coeur. Hyunjin slips off his shoes, placing them next to yours by the door.

For a moment, you both pause, staring at the sight of your shoes, side by side, once more.

He clears his throat as you gesture for him to make himself comfortable. He moves to the window, gazing at the city below, while you retrieve two plates, carefully setting a slice of tiramisu on each.

“Thank you,” he says softly when you hand him his plate. But neither of you takes a bite. It’s as if opening your mouth would lead to a torrent of words escaping, ones neither of you can contain. 

He yields first.

“You came,” he whispers, glancing over at you.

“I couldn’t miss seeing you win.”

“I missed you,” he says, biting his lip. Hyunjin has always been honest, especially when it comes to you. “It hurt a lot to miss you, Yn.”

“I’m here tonight.” 

Your words settle into the air as the hum of the world outside fades away. Hyunjin’s gaze, sharp and knowing, meets yours—those piercing eyes that have always stripped away your defenses, reading between the lines of your every unspoken thought.

He holds your gaze for a beat too long, and you fumble for your fork, needing something—anything—to diffuse the weight of what lingers in the silence between you.

Then, suddenly, his lips meet yours.

Kissing Hyunjin again feels like breathing in after being starved of air, like a cool breeze caressing your skin on a scorching day. A shiver spreads through you as he gently lowers you onto the couch, his body a pressing weight above you. Your hands find their way to his back, moving with the instinctive ease of muscle memory, while he kisses you with the fierce urgency of someone who’s finally tasted salvation. 

You wish to never part from him. You wish for your body to liquefy and morph into the hot rush of blood within his veins— anything so you wouldn’t have to part from him once more. You don’t think you can handle it. You don’t think you can lose Hyunjin again. You know you can’t.

When he pulls back, his cheeks are flushed a soft pink, like fresh dahlias, his eyes glossy and filled with something unspeakable as they trace over your face. “Tell me, Yn,” he breathes, “do you still love me? I need to know, please. It’s been tearing me apart.”

“I love you,” you say, with every bit of honesty you can muster. “I loved you before I even knew what love is, and I will love you, Hyunjin. Whether you are near or not. I will always love you.”

A breathtaking smile unfolds across his face, warm enough to thaw every frozen corner of your heart, to make decades of loneliness melt away. You would endure it all again, face the heartbreak and the grief. Fall at your sister’s grave and repent once more. You’d do it all if it means your path will cross with Hyunjin.

“I was always ever yours to love.” 

Epilogue. 

Hyunjin has always felt as if he has lived many lifetimes at once. Like a serpent, shedding its skin, he had lost parts of his being in various places. Some he managed to retrieve, others not. He had a lot to learn, overwhelmed by certain things past. His thoughts weren’t always kind. His hands didn’t always sweep gently against his skin. 

But on days like those, you were there to love him. He had learned and unlearned many things with you. Hyunjin had found that love wasn’t a sharp emotion, it didn’t slice away at the heart, it didn’t puncture. There were no sharp edges when it came to you. Even if he lost you along the way, he would round up a corner and find you there. 

And he did. Hyunjin found you, even when you didn’t wish to be found. You scurried from place to place, set foot into Paris to Seoul, Alexandria and New York. The distance lessened then widened. But it never tore you apart once more. Your souls were satiated in a way. You could rest side by side now. 

And you did, as you settled in Seoul, decades down the road. Where both you and Hyunjin built a new training center. Figure skaters on the first floor, ballerinas on the second. The days passed by in happiness, laughter and giggles. There was no curse. No punishment. Not anymore. 

You are in a graveyard once more. You watch as Hyunjin sweeps the name atop the tombstone gently. Prima ballerina assoluta, he reads, the swan of my heart. His weathered hands shake as they clutch a bouquet of fresh red lilies, and your heart still aches at the sight. 

It is late at night at the graveyard, the branches are still humming to one another, like a melancholic flute. You understand now that they speak to the buried ones. “Not so long now,” they reassure, “your loved ones will follow.”

You believe them, and you will wait. For now, you’ll find solace in the red lilies sitting atop your grave. 

They are now meant for you, at long last. 

[akumanoken]

It's a hill overlooking the capital on Makoto, a beautiful view, that's where they choose to bury Sakura. They knew he would much prefer such a lovely view to look out at, rather then be buried in some tomb. They planted a sakura blossom tree just behind him, it has yet to grow, but when it does it will be beautiful. Just like the one named after it. A small crowd have conversed to visit the grave, many blooms were placed around it, but the grave itself was left clear for a special few to place their flowers upon it.

"When the tree grows, you'll have blossoms to look at all the time." A voice spoke this one tried to sound cheerful, despite the pain within it, & it's owner placed a black rose upon the princess's grave, a symbol of death & sorrow.

"We'll make sure to bring others, otherwise you might get bored of them." A new voice, this one sounded more accepting, but still with so much angst. The owner of this voice placed down a red dahlia beside the black rose, a symbol of strength.

"... I am sorry we failed to protect you." A third & fourth flower was place by another with a cracking male voice, an orange daisy, placed with the rose & dahlia. 'In death & sorrow, we will find strength & joy', A combination of their favorite flowers. And lastly, a red chrysanthemum, placed separately from the other flowers. Love.

"But we will not fail you again." That male voice, Aymeric, spoke surely after a prolonged silence. The firmness everyone knew him for returning.

"We swear it." The pained female voice, Ivy agreed, pain mixing with anger. "We will not let your murder go unavenged. We will not let a murderer rule the place you love, rule your home."

"We will protect Makoto in your stead, protect it from the rat that sees fit to meddle in everyone's lives & take the ones he thinks he is fit to take." Tiffanie was the last to speak, placing her hand on the ground where her friend, her sister, laid in rest. The scions & other friends Sakura has made, standing behind them, lowered their heads, some in respect, others to hide their tears. "So please... rest well in Styx's embrace, let her lull you into the slumber you deserve. Trust in us to set this right. Trust your family to set Makoto on the right course." (something something Fuji actually goes through with assassinating Sakura like everyone feared, now they're about to plot a coup.)

My muse has died. Send in your muse’s reaction. @liroyalty

Oh god, Fuji gonna get FUCKED!!! LOL

But also like.... jfc y'all I'm dead, there are so many feelings like the hurt and feeling of betrayal at being killed by his father, leaving behind the only real family and love he's ever known... and watching Makoto have to deal with the changes that come with his life ending. He had always been certain he would die, and then to die just when he started to realize he could instead live for Makoto is a tragedy in itself, it's just a lot right now the poor boy is just distraught.

[selamat-linting]

Oh so i was wrong. lil cal is just a puppet. it was dave's brother being weird. and giving dave one he of a scare and one hell of a fight before simply giving the sburb copy away. a test of sorts? The parents and bro definitely know whats going on. But im not sure the extent of their involvement and their goals in here. like, the lab built underneath jasper's grave is def made for rose as a supply room and escape pod. dad's safe is def meant as an informational guide for john. so, i suppose dave's brother fighting him was in a way, support? i dont get him. like, shit dave. bro just kicked my ass is an understatement!

also hello jade. she's cool. i love her garden. she seems to be the one with the most supernatural powers even before the world ending. she can predict stuff! and she's bothered by the trolls? based on homestuck infamy im assuming its the aliens with the zodiac symbol.

also she has a grandparent who dies for a long time but she pretend its alive. it even looks like she preserved it. oh my god. is harrowhark nonagesimus puppeting her parents is a homestuck reference? LOL

There are these four roles that was mentioned. I didnt took note of it so i dont remember it exactly, but its something like, space wizard/witch(?), knight, heir (or is it stations?) of breath, and seer? i think?

considering how the heir is mentioned first during the exposition, im assuming its the most important role. like, the main character. and since john is the one playing sburb, he's probably getting that heir. but heir of breath? what the fuck does that even mean? his strife specibus is a hammer!

jade's intuition abilities lends me to be split between either seer or wizard. but, her fondness for nuclear physics and her own weird dream space that orbits around the upper worlds makes her more likely to be a wizard later on.

dave was easier to guess. his brother's insistence on giving him battles and psychological torment signifies that his role will be combat oriented. he's definitely a knight.

so by, order of elimination, that leaves rose as the seer. i didnt see much connection to it at first but, i realize now she has always been a seer. her hobby of looking internally at the psyche of her peers. her role as the one with the sburb host app and looking at john's adventures and documenting it.

okay so all in all, my current understanding of the game :

- the game sburb has multiple sessions around the world, which coincides with the end of the world (based on wayward vagabond's observation)

-the game is a portal, and despite having multiple sessions, we only see john and his group of friends. and their parents seems to know a bit of whats going on

-but its still unclear what the game's purpose and goals is. what does winning and going up even look like? the four kids are prophesied to have a messianic role, and each have separate titles. but i still dont understand fully how those roles will play out later on.

[metalliceyepoker]

So 'Ethan' is Hebrew name, and means 'firm, strong, and enduring'. Our persevering protagonist. Fitting huh?

'Donna' is Italian, meaning 'Lady' or 'woman'. If it's 'Don', that's for male, meaning 'Lord' or 'gentleman' winkwonk. It says at wiki that the surname 'Beneviento' came from the Italian town, 'Benevento', which means 'good wind'.

'Salvatore'. Italian origin name. Means 'saviour'. It's theorized that his family were doctors, so makes sense. 'Moreau' is from old French! Means 'dark-skinned'.

Now 'Karl'...... very ironic name. And I am nothing if not a lover for ironies. Because that's german name meaning 'free man'. His surname is pretty interesting too, because, you see, 'Eisenberg' means 'Iron Mountain'. His boss battle winkwonk. 'Berg' means mountain. 'Heißen' could mean 'Hot' or 'to call'. Hot mountain. Fucking volcano amirite.

Rosemary, the herb, it symbolizes remembrance. Put it on the coffin, and it means the memory of the deceased shall never fade. It also means honoring the fallen.

Mia went MIA for 3 years aha-

'Mia' has many origins. Latin/spanish/Italian origin says 'mine'. Welp ethan's cold dead ass sure ain't yours no mo-

Hebrew origin says 'bitter'. Hmmmmm.

Sorry I just, really can't understand why the fuck she'd lie, twice, to her loyal, loving husband like that who went through hell for her, a normal, boring IT guy who did all that for his family and her lie costed him his life- didn't even tell him he's a walking corpse- had he known, would he still had mold bebe? Was the whole Village incident preventable?

It was your fault to work for a crime syndicate and lie to your husband! And get him killed! Trauma? Don't wanna talk about it? Well at least you owed it to him to let him know he's dead. Dead. For 3 years you hid it. Had an infected kid with him. Who ultimately got detected in Miranda's radar. He died for her. Your daughter is forever tormented because of her power and trauma. And lack of father. Ffs. What you crying for. Smh.

Got derailed from frustration. Ahem.

'Miranda' is Latin origin. 'To be wondered at', 'Worthy of admiration'. Truly, the priestess of the Black God.

'Eva' means 'life' or 'living one'. Again, interesting name.

Elena the village girl, Greek origin, her name means shining light. That got snuffed out in blazing fire. Her father, Leonardo, sure was Strong as Lion when he tore through those people. Also their surname Lupu means wolf. Lol.

'Lulian', the one who points gun at your face, his name is Romanian origin. It means 'youthful man'.

The owner of the grave at Beneviento mansion, Claudia, that name means 'lame'. As in, crippled. Imagine Donna having had someone she cared about. Someone wheelchair bound. All the more heartbreaking.

'Angie' means 'messenger' or 'messenger of god'. What's with these names and symbolism hm capcom?

Ooh almost forgot Dimitrescu family! A sin punishable by gutting from long claws.

That surname means, 'follower of Demeter'. Yes that Greek goddess of fertility. 'Alcina' is Greek origin, meaning 'strong willed, opinionated', but it also says that it is from a poem. Beautiful sorcerer who ruled over the world.

Oh would you look at that? Hebrew origin of 'Bela' means 'devouring' or 'destructive'! Czech origin says 'white'. Well she is quite pale. And very hungry.

'Daniela' means, 'God is my judge'.

'Cassandra'? 'The one who shines and excels over men'. Loud and clear Cassie.

You know the big lycan with hammer? Uriaş? Yeah his name is Romanian. It means 'huge' or 'giant'.

Vâlcolac is Romanian for werewolf, Moroaică and Samcă are both from folklore, and Cadou is Romanian for 'gift'. Yeah some gift it is.

And that's about it. I'm loving all these symbolism. Intentional or not, it makes writing so much better.

[salty-dracon]

More Octopath 2. All the Chapter 4s, minus the character whose story end was Chapter 3.

Partitio Chapter 4:

I was wondering what that brick smokestack covered city in the trailer could be... turns out it's AN ENTIRE ISLAND run by THE GOD OF CAPITALISM HIMSELF

This entire factory would probably get thousands of citations from Fantasy OSHA.

Oh. That's the loophole. Roque called it the Neo Steam Engine. Partitio is getting the rights to the original, which cannot be mass-produced. Clever, clever...

Oh. Okay. Not the loophole I was expecting.

HAHAHAHAHA THEY ACTUALLY GIVE YOU EIGHTY BILLION LEAVES-

*train whistle* Oh cool so in Octopath 3 we'll have trains.

Local cowboy face skids into the cobblestones.

Yeah!!! He said it!!! He said capitalism!!!

The fact that we're fighting a giant train, and it does the Octopath Final Boss thing where the part sprites look like they're pieces of the boss itself fucks so hard.

As someone who keeps collecting little doodads, I totally get it.

And so, we hired the bad guy to work for our new company where we use steam power to bring the world closer together! Up until climate change kicks in, that is.

I have no clue how one guy and his scent of commerce could possibly tie into the final boss.

Osvald Chapter 4:

Oh, hey. A mention of D'arqest. The one who opened a portal to attack people around Crackridge, fought back by a man named Kal.

The fact that Osvald is canonically a math guy trying to use math to understand the world of magic makes him a man after my own heart. The fact that he is good enough to teach it to a child is also amazing. I'm a math guy myself, and people treat me like a wizard because of it. Plus, doing math feels like magic to me sometimes and is how Western style magic is supposed to feel.

And Harvey is a biology guy. Less exacting, but respectable, I guess.

... Wow. There's even lore behind Soulstones! They're the dried and crystallized blood of monsters.

I haven't been talking much about the banter but it's so good.

Like what if he extracted blood from the creatures on Ochette's island. The goopy ones. Or the Scarlet Moon ones.

I'm just saying, this thing looks suspiciously like the Scarlet Moon monsters......

THAT'S HIS WIFE?! Is this a Graham Crossford scenario where Osvald's wife's bloodline is tied to a god?

Yes, in fact.

OH NO. OH NO

Osvald, get his ass.

Agnea Chapter 4:

That little kid's going to know so much dance by the time Agnea's done with her.

Aww, her mother came to this town and the grandparents remembered!

Oh. Cuani inspired Dolcinaea, then.

With the persistent theme of the Moon, I wonder if the Moonstep has anything to do with it.

Why is this rich Italian girl personally attacking the poor slums lol

So cringe that they give every female boss the craziest boob physics.

Get her ass, Agnea

Hikari Chapter 4:

The Seventh Source has to be the darkness in human souls or some shit, right? "The Shadow"? Null, as the Room series called it? Because it's in that sword.

Talk about broken bridges!

Awwwww.

Hikari's backstory is obviously pretty much entirely based on feudal Japan including all of its social issues, and those are coming out a lot here.

Hikari: And that's how, at the tender age of 12, I acquired my very own shadow demon.

The other seven : WTF?!?!?!

And in perfect protagonist fashion, the story important guy Hikari killed brought it all on himself.

the fucking banter where Osvald would have rather pulled the frigit isle prison break than have someone else just unlock the door for him. or use magic.

Rai Mei I love you but I was under the impression you wore cool armor, not a boob plate and leggings.

Throne Chapter 4:

Her real bio father probably wrote that message on Pirro's grave.

Oh yeah, that door. But wouldn't the team have realized that it was locked while scouting?

Why is there a big valley under the sprawling metropolis of New Delsta?

Moon symbolism. Seriously, what the shit? Why does there just happen to be a cable car system under New Delsta, and wouldn't anyone know it's there just by looking up? Unless it's because they're over the Pit of Darkness or Pit of Shadows or whatever.

This is starting to feel like a weird semi-steampunk fairy tale in a half-forgotten dream.

Solistia, and moon symbolism for evil. I wonder if the two kingdoms are the light and darkness worlds. Maybe Osvald's wife and daughter and also Kal are descended from the Light lover, and there are others like D'arqest descended from the Darkness.

The Nameless Village? Which does, in fact, have a name.

This is like, Minecraft Ancient City levels of scary.

... What. The fuck. You're telling me that random ass kid in Oresrush- what the fuck is happening. If the Elden Ring x Cold Vein castle didn't turn my brain into mush already, this did.

What. The. Fuck.

Having like 200 kids and putting them all in one big organization so you can have the world's most powerful child. Hashtag immortal people things.

Throne... Get his ass and render it dead.

Castlevania looking asshole. (OP loves making fun of vampires)

Woooooooow. Woooooooooooooooooow.

Okay bravo, the ending was amazing, that shitty dad of hers is dead, and Throne gets a cute doggy to hang out with.

Temenos Chapter 4:

I was like "Kaldena" has "Kal" in front, so that can't be it. But yeah, they didn't overlook it. Her name was Dena.

Oh right the Nameless Village is in Toto'haha.

D'arqest came here, tried to call Shadow, yup yup... WHAT. So the Beastlings' ancestors were humans warped by The Shadow.

More moon symbolism on the ground. So combining this information with that from the end of Ochette's route, this Shadow is pretty much what attacks during the Night of the Scarlet Moon when the barrier between planes is broken.

I am not immune to hot lady knight.

Oh. She's a Dark Souls boss now.

Right, there's a leader of the Moonshade Order somewhere responsible for a massacre thirty years prior. Auuuuuugh I need a proper timeline of events! Too much stuff going on!

Castti Chapter 4:

Castti's a disaster relief apothecary, and I like her for that. I can't wait to see how she disaster relieves a COVID-er, purple rain coronation.

The fact that she saved all of their lives is crazy. And the fact that the townspeople listened is crazier.

Nooooooo I don't wanna fight a plague doctor. Where is his face. Please tell me I get to beat up a guy with a face.

Watching people die over and over is enough to drive one mad. But who exactly did he listen to in the first place, who made him this way? They must have a name. Is it D'arqest or Claude or someone else?

Bitch do NOT make me cry by having Castti formally put her friends to rest

And I'm crying at the ending image now. Poor baby.

Reactions so far to Octopath 2 chapters:

Agnea Chapter 2: I adored it! Agnea's story is pretty lighthearted compared to Primrose's, but I like how it's building up to the Artificial Silk Girl scenario we'll run into later. I like the villains overall, but this guy is partially why. He doesn't have Evil Disease, he just hates poor people. Also, so much good music so far.

Ochette Cateracta Chapter: Love seeing her clashes with places as deeply human as port towns. Love the important side character too. And I can't wait to meet the final boss. There's going to be lots of big monsters in this one... The ending scene where Alpione cries has beautiful music.

Temenos Chapter 2: I LOVE book based murder. It drives me insane I love it. And I love him and his himbo and the mysteries. Although evil knights clad in red = LOL.

I find it hilarious how when you get information out of a person, there's sometimes some funny shit, and sometimes some mind-blowing information rendered in normal text. And sometimes there's glitches.

HER SISTER?!

A DUNGEON AS COMPACT AS A SHIP????

I cannot wait to see what your cool boss sprite looks like with all it's moves-nooooooo moonlight judgment nooooooooooooo

Castti Sai Chapter: She's the one whose story I'm most interested in, since she seems like such a cool character to me. Also I love how the desert is explicitly the Gobi Desert- I feel like we don't get to see that sort of setting that often.

More glitchies!

Edmund, who looks like THAT: A man's gotta be a provider! Me: Got it, he's sexist, racist, and classist.

Stop killing people, Edmund. (10 minutes later) Good on you for whatever you did, Edmund, but fuck you still.

I can't be the only one who was really excited to see a sand lion and ended up disappointed when it was actually just a giant real-world bug. Called a sand lion.

Whoever voicing the Purple Rain guy is doing great. And I'm terrified for what he did to the Apothecaries and that town. Perhaps that's like Octopath's Ruins of Hornburg.

[vivern-of-nosgoth]

Litsen, I don't really care about this new RE8 DLC but

Why does Rose go to a usual school? Chris told she is not dangerous or infectious blah blah blah, so bullying isn't a problem? For a teenager with not fully explored powers and features? For a teenager whose Miranda took from Megamycete?

(super cruel and powerful bitch and super dangerous mold, you know, those kids, always catch all deseases and lice from lycans haha)

Did B.S.A.A were really THAT stupid and don't expect new Silent Hill / F.E.A.R. shit in their town, if Rose freaks out? Or.. did they.. with dependent Mia… With loyal as dog Redfield.. in absolutely natural way.. raise a little good girl under every day pressure of self doubt.. who will do anything.. to heal or to save someone, cause she IS a special girl, right, Rose? All what any child want to hear "We need you", "we believe in you", "you will be accepted IF..."

"My daughter is not a weapon!" You're right, Ethan, she is not. She is a puppet. Same as your wife.

P.S. Ethan will raised from his mushroom grave and shit go feral I swear to God

P.P.S. Hey hey imagine what uncle Karl could done or teach Rose how to deal with bullies? We could have new Junior from Problem Child 2 (1991) but mixed with Saw (2003)

P.P.P.S That why I feel deep disgust to Miranda - she don't give a fuck to poor Eveline, her own blood part, just another failed experiment, she didn't care about Moreau's condition - her loyest servant, she did't help Alcina in castle - her best lieutenant, Miranda promised to heal her blood deseas, not to make her addicted to blood and became a monster. Miranda is sick heartless bitch, without any affection or just simple human care. I doubt she wanted her daughter back, as a mourn mother. She wanted her as a symbol of unlimited power, same as Virgin Mary is nothing without a baby Jesus. She wore religion clother, she was not just Mistress Miranda, she was MOTHER Miranda. Holy mother. Who could be more dominant than mother of god himself? I'm sure she planned to push her Eva to be a Little Goddess on Earth, aaaaaand we could get another Eveline but unstoppable and under Miranda's control lol.

P.P.P.P.S Miranda and Wesker just had to go to a date and make their super-kid in natural way lmaooo. Nah, they'll fight each other like two roosters.

[skswriting]

the lottery offering

Rating: M Pairing: Jeongguk/You Words: 22,334 Summary:  “I volunteer,” you say softly, gasps rising up from the crowd behind you.  You can hear some of your tribe members burst into tears, some mutterings of thank the gods.  Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Elder Choi smiling smugly.  “Are you sure, child?” Alpha Kim asks gravely, “Are you ready to leave all this behind?  You will not be able to come home.”  You internally scoff.  Home.  This place hasn’t been home in years.“I am sure, Alpha Kim.  I volunteer to be the offering this year,” you confirm, voice unwavering. AN: i’ve been working on this for too long and it ITSELF is too long i literally just wanted to write about big dick jeongguk why am i like this Warnings: jeongguk is an alpha, there’s like a hint of beastiality? you don’t actually get fucked by a wolf though you just want to be lol, lots of gratuitous sex and overall cheesiness because jk is still a goofball, pussy eating, finger, edging, overstim? maybe? or at least a poor attempt at it, blowjobs, vaginal sex and knotting, i’m not sure if i have to warn about anything else, also major warning i read through this SO quick i was tired of looking at it i’m sorry

When one of the Elders asks for you to meet in their cabin after dinner, your heart sinks to your feet.  The Elders, and most of your tribe for that matter, don’t go out of their way to speak to you, so for one of them to call upon you can’t be good news.

You don’t eat much, stomach twisting violently as you sit in a secluded corner, immune to the chattering around you.  Maybe today is the day they kick you out.  It’s no secret your tribe doesn’t like you, your orphanism a major hurdle they’re unable to overcome, considering the scarce resources your tribe are reluctant to share with someone who’s unable to provide.

“Elder Choi,” you knock politely, bowing your head as you pop your head in, “You wished to see me?”

“Ah, yes, Y/N, come in child,” his voice is soft, giving no hint as to what’s to come, “Please, sit.”

You kneel on a pillow at his tea table, accepting the cup from him.  It’s silent as you both drink, your mind whirling as you try to think what’s about to happen.

“It will be your first Lottery tomorrow, yes?” he asks.

“Yes, Elder Choi,” you answer.

He nods and falls silent again.  He stares out the window and you watch him carefully, the flames of his fire casting shadows over his face.  He gives you a small smile when he faces you again, setting his cup down with a decisive clank.

“We have not had to host a Lottery for a few years.  The Lottery, though of mutual benefit to us, is a sad affair.  To lose a member of our tribe, a son or a daughter, to have them ripped away from their family and friends.  The tears and the good byes.  Heart wrenching, isn’t it?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but you answer anyway, “Yes Elder, very heart wrenching.”

“It is a blessing, however, when someone is selfless enough to volunteer, someone prepared to give themselves over instead of letting someone be ripped from us.”

It hits you, what he’s asking.  There’s no love lost between you and your tribe, but to have an Elder hint that you should just give yourself over cuts in a way you weren’t expecting.

“Little Mina will be in the Lottery this year, won’t she?” Elder Choi asks, and it’s a low blow.  She’s been sick for a few years and it’s been hard to obtain medicine for her, but she’s been so optimistic about everything and is the joy of the tribe, “It would kill her mother if she was chosen.”

“It would…” you whisper.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to bring the mood down.  I merely wanted to make sure you were ready for tomorrow.  Do you have your dress ready?” it’s a ruse and you know it.  He’s laid the seed and now he’s waiting for it to take root.

“Yes Elder, I’ve been working on it for weeks,” you tell him and he nods.

“Good.  Please, finish your tea, I don’t wish to keep you too late and have you tired for tomorrow.”

“Thank you, Elder.”

He says nothing more as you sip slowly at your tea, mulling it over.

You don’t like his manipulation; it’s abhorrent, really, to use your outcast status and the personal attack of Mina against you.  But really, what is there to keep you here?  There’s no happy ending for you, just a life of solitude, always on the outskirts.  What could the other side hold that would be worse than what you’re already facing?

You’ve made up your mind as you push your empty cup away.

“Good night, Y/N, I’m glad we had this talk,” he tells you earnestly, leaning forward as he stares into your eyes.

“Good night Elder, I will see you at the Lottery tomorrow,” you bow to him, before you take your leave.

-

It’s a somber atmosphere, you and the other participants standing in front of the stage, Elder Lee standing beside Alpha Kim behind the bowl with all the offerings’ names.  All of the participants are dressed in white, as symbolism of consenting to being an offering, blank and ready to leave everything behind.

You’re standing at the front, Seyoung on one side and Bongsoo on the other.  They both have their hands clasped in front of them, the tension evident in the rigidity of their muscles, but you’re standing loose.  You’ve already made your peace, you just have to wait for the right moment.

“Everyone,” Alpha Kim booms, “Thank you for gathering here today.  It has come time for need of another offering.  We have plenty of goods to provide for trade, to be delivered next week before the cold sets in.”

There’s no call back, as the crowd waits for the end.

“Let us not stall any longer.  Jeongguk, please, step forward and draw the name.”

The recipient this year is tall and toned, muscles shifting under his tunic as he steps up beside the alpha.  Judging by his aura, he too is an alpha, dark eyes sweeping across the crowd.  It must be your imagination, but you feel as if his gaze lingers on you for a moment longer.  There’s no mistaking the red bleeding into his eyes, overtaking the gold specks of his status.  He’s the closest you’ve ever seen turning feral and you’re surprised they’ve let him get this far.

Your heart kickstarts when you see him raise his arm and prepare to reach into the depths of the bowl and seal someone’s fate.  Before his fingers get the chance to grasp onto a slip of paper, you step forward.

“I volunteer,” you say softly, gasps rising up from the crowd behind you.

You can hear some of your tribe members burst into tears, some mutterings of thank the gods.  Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Elder Choi smiling smugly.

“Are you sure, child?” Alpha Kim asks gravely, “Are you ready to leave all this behind?  You will not be able to come home.”

You internally scoff.  Home.  This place hasn’t been home in years.

“I am sure, Alpha Kim.  I volunteer to be the offering this year,” you confirm, voice unwavering.

He examines you for a moment, before turning to Jeongguk.  Jeongguk takes a moment to take in your figure, head tilting as his eyes roam over you.  You stand tall and proud, looking him head on.  His mouth quirks when your eyes meet and he nods.

“What is your name?”

“Y/N, Alpha Kim.  My name is Y/N.”

“Y/N, we have accepted your volunteer as this Lottery’s offering.  Gather your things, we leave within the hour.”

You bow to them, surprised to receive a bow back, before you turn to the side and bow to the Elders.  You don’t say anything to anyone as you head back to your small hut to gather your meager things.

-

The Lottery started when a shifter pack approached tribes like yours, desperate beyond belief.  Their numbers were small and members of their pack were on the verge of turning feral, unable to sustain mates to keep them from turning.  They proposed a trading system: tribes would provide bodies for mates and in turn they would provide resources.  This would keep either of you from dying, letting the pack slowly grow their numbers and letting your tribe stockpile food.  The Lottery was considered the easiest and fairest way to pick who would be traded. The Lottery has been around for as long as you can remember.

The redness of Jeongguk’s eyes means the process has started; his canines are elongated even in human form and his nails are too long.  His hair is shaggier than others and his communication skills are lacking.

The other problem is that he apparently tends to stay in his shifted form, a big, black wolf that’s almost as tall as you and definitely bigger.  The first day of your return trip, Jeongguk walks ahead of you, tail swishing as he leads with Alpha Kim.  Alpha Kim had explained quietly that you might have a harder time mating with Jeongguk with how far along he already is, the feral part of him fighting to reject the bond in order to move forward with the transformation.

It’s not a comforting thought, because if you mate with Jeongguk and the bond is rejected, you’ll both die.

“Please be patient with him,” Alpha Kim asked of you, which seemed uncharacteristic for his alpha status, “I watched Jeongguk grow up, I can’t let him go feral.”

“Yes, Alpha Kim, I’ll do my best,” you had told him.

Now, you’re on your way to your new pack, your new home.  You’re still wearing your Lottery dress and you’re starting to sweat, unused to walking for so long, but you don’t say anything.  It’ll take a few days to reach their pack and you don’t want to already be a burden to them.

There’s only a few of you.  You, Jeongguk, Alpha Kim, and one guard introduced as Yoongi.  You can keep up for the most part, because Jeongguk and Yoongi are the only two that are shifted, so they keep it slow for Alpha Kim.

Eventually though, the fatigue catches up to you.  Your calf muscles are screaming, urging you to take a break and rest, and you think you can feel a blister on the back of your foot.  You don’t mean to lag behind, but it’s getting harder to breathe, your chest tight, as you focus on each next step and not just dropping to your knees.

A rumble breaks you out of your headspace and you glance to see Jeongguk standing in front of you.  His eyes scare you, blank as they stare at you, and you’re almost unable to see the gold amidst the red.  There’s a brief stare down between you, before he turns his back to you and hunches down slightly.

You’re surprised that he’s offering to carry you, but your screaming feet don’t let you look a gift horse in the mouth, so you tiredly straddle his back, anchoring your hands in his midnight black fur.  He doesn’t even seem to register your added weight, trotting to catch back up to the others.  Alpha Kim doesn’t say anything as you rejoin them, but he does give you a slight smile.

“Thank you,” you whisper quietly to Jeongguk, for his ears only.  They twitch in recognition, but that’s all you get.

Bedding down for the night is slightly awkward, the shifters trying to give you privacy as you roll out a sleeping pad and lay a thin blanket on it.  There’s a little of the fire left from dinner that they’re maintaining to keep you warm and you’re thankful, huddling down beside it.

The blister on the back of your foot needs tended to, the skin peeling and the blood dripping.  You hiss as you touch it, digging into your rucksack to see if you have any salve.  You keep your groan to yourself, frustratedly running your fingers through your hair before you go to stand.

“Where are you going?” a soft voice asks and when you turn, you’re surprised to see that it’s Jeongguk who asked you.

He had shifted back earlier, but this is the first time you think you’ve heard him speak, and the airiness of his voice doesn’t match the sharpness of his face.  It’s pleasant though, a soothing, melodic timber.

“I’m going to see if there’s some salve materials nearby, burdock root or chamomile or something,” you shrug, limping a little as you turn away, “I’m not running away, I’ll be right back.”

“I’m not worried about you running away, I’m worried about how dark it is and the wild animals around here,” his voice takes on a gruff quality as he snaps the words out, gaze heated, “I’m coming with you.”

Your bite your lower lip, feeling properly chastised.  You didn’t mean to cause offense and you duck your head as he nears.  Neither of the other shifters say anything, watching you two leave.

It’s quiet as the two of you walk, you using the waning light to search.  You want to apologize, but you don’t want to add insult to injury, and he doesn’t seem keen on saying anything either.

“Burdock?” he gestures to a flowering purple bush.

“Oh, yes!” you grin, hobbling over to it.  You hum as you gently dig into the ground, unearthing a few roots of the plant and tearing them apart gently.

“Chamomile doesn’t grow this far north, but there should be some symphytum around we can add,” Jeongguk tells you, standing behind you, seemingly on watch as he surveys the surrounding area.

You’ve never heard of that plant, but he seems to know what he’s talking about so you nod as you stand.  He reaches a hand out to steady you, your skin tingling under his fingers.

“Your dress,” he says suddenly and you just look at him, “You should have let me dig up the root, you got it dirty.”

You look down at yourself, seeing the dirt patches on your bare knees and the smudges on your dress.

“Eh, it’s just a dress, I can wash it.  I’ll let you pick the symp… symphytum when we find it though,” you grin at him and you’re rewarded with a half chuckle, “We should get back to it before we lose the light.”

Jeongguk raises an eyebrow as he taps underneath his eye, “I can see in the dark, remember?”

You bark out a sarcastic laugh, “Sorry, my puny human eyes are only so useful.”

“It’s okay, we’ll get through this together,” he grins as you and you give him a real laugh, before you nudge him along.

Jeongguk points out some other plants you never heard of before as you search for the symphytum and you take in all he has to offer.  You dabbled in medicine and gardening in your tribe and so you listen to everything Jeongguk tells you, especially considering the area you’re heading to is so much different than the area you grew up in.

“Ah, here we go, symphytum,” Jeongguk points it out and you nod, taking in the features of the plant, “we need the flowers and leaves.”

“Wow, how do you know so much about all this?” you ask, admiration clearly present, and you swear you see him blush a little.

“My grandma was our pack’s medic,” he tells you, gathering what you need to add to your burdock root.

“Was…?” you ask softly.

“She died last year,” he says, quite gruffly.  He doesn’t elaborate more than that and you don’t expect him to.

Your parents passed when you were young, and you don’t remember specific details of them, but you know the feeling of loss well, an emptiness inside that you can’t seem to alleviate.  There are memories you have that you know you’ll never get to recreate or commiserate, and you can empathize with Jeongguk on that, who must have been close to his grandmother if his knowledge is anything to judge it off of.

You don’t say anything, but you lay a hand gently on his arm, hoping you can convey your emotions to him.  Jeongguk looks at your hand on his arm before he looks up at you, eyes still guarded, but you don’t look away.  He studies you, able to see you much better in the dark than you’re able to see him despite your eyes adjusting, before he touches his hand to yours in return.

You smile softly at him as he shifts from touching your hand to holding it.  Neither of you say anything as you stay there for a moment, just existing together, before he softly clears his throat to break the moment.

“We need water to turn this into a paste, let’s head back to camp,” he says and you agree.

You let Jeongguk carry you back to get to camp quicker and you see Alpha Kim and Yoongi curled up in their shifted form, the fire still lit but small.  Alpha Kim raises his head as you two approach, giving you both a quick once over to check that neither of you are hurt.  Once satisfied, he turns his head the other way, and the two of you are left to your own devices.

“Here, mash them like this,” Jeongguk tells you softly, sitting beside you on your sleeping pad as he crushes the materials together between two rocks, “We’ll add just a bit of water at a time until we get something thick and not too watery.  It’ll stick best to your blister that way.”

You nod, watching him carefully as he makes the paste.

“Give me your foot,” he instructs and you scoot back to place it in his lap, “this shouldn’t hurt, but let me know if I press too hard.”

He’s careful as he spreads the paste lightly over your blister, face entirely concentrated as he takes care of you.

“It doesn’t look like we have to wrap it, but we’ll put some more on in the morning.  You should lay down now, though, it’s getting late, and we have to get up early in the morning.”

Before he moves, you grab his wrist to make him look at you, “Wait.  I… I wanted to apologize.”

He tilts his head in question, waiting for you to continue, and you frown as you let go of his wrist.

“I didn’t mean anything when I made that comment about not running away earlier,” you tell him, “That wasn’t a dig at you, or your pack.”

Jeongguk sighs as he removes your hand only to hold it, staring down at the way his hand engulfs yours, “It’s okay.  I can’t imagine how hard it must be for your tribe to give up someone every Lottery.  I know it’ll be difficult for us, having such a small time frame to prepare to be mated for the rest of our lives, but please know that I’m thankful for you.  I don’t know your reasons for volunteering, but I like to think that your willingness gives us more of a chance, with no prejudice and no fear.”

Jeongguk softly places your foot back on the ground, before he pushes himself up and away before you can say anything.  You can tell by the movement of his body that he’s about to shift.  It looks like such a weird and painful process, the bones shifting into place as he hunches over, fur sprouting from his skin as his face elongates and ears pop up.

You notice that Jeongguk always shakes his legs out when he shifts, and just him; neither Alpha Kim or Yoongi do it.  It must just be some quirk of Jeongguk’s and it makes you giggle around a throat still tight with emotion as he does it, making him turn towards you.

He growls lowly in his chest, something that sounds almost playful, before trotting over to you as you settle on your sleeping pad.  He nudges his face against you, still growling a little, and you giggle as you realize he’s trying to push you down to lay on your sleeping pad, snuffling over you as you settle down, pulling the thin blanket over you.

He sniffs at the ground near you, turning in a few circles before he decides to curl up behind you, close enough that you can feel the heat of his body but not enough that it’s suffocating.  Combined with the heat of the fire, your body relaxes onto your pad despite the hardness of the ground and you fall asleep easily.

-

You wake up pleasantly warm, head pillowed on something soft.  You hum as you snuggle deeper into it, body rising and falling rhythmically, a soft rumbling in your ear thrumming through you pleasantly.  It’s almost enough to lull you back to sleep, before you realize you didn’t fall asleep with a pillow and what you’re laying on feels eerily alive.

When you crack your eyes open you see Jeongguk in his shifted form curled around you, your body wrapped up in his with your head resting on the side of his torso.  He’s awake, lazily watching you, and you notice that some of the red in his eyes is diminished.  They’re brown and gold this morning, shining brilliantly in the early morning light.  You realize he’d purposely been rumbling for you as it slows down, the sound dying out beneath your ear.  You can feel his tail twitching by your legs, as you’re completely swaddled in him, and you realize this is one of most comfortable moments of your life.

“Good morning,” you whisper to him, and he sighs as a response, curling around you tighter, “We should eat before we set out.”

You pick your head up to see Yoongi gone, probably to hunt for breakfast, and Alpha Kim in his human form rummaging around through their belongings to prepare for whatever he brings back.

You slowly extract yourself from Jeongguk, stretching sore muscles from walking, but you’re surprised to find that your back isn’t sore from sleeping on the ground.  You wonder how long you’d been laying on Jeongguk, knowing he’d chosen to curl up behind you when you went to sleep.  Judging by the way Jeongguk whines and huffs as you untangle yourself from him, you can tell he was as comfortable as you had been, trying to use his body weight to keep you pinned down.

After a light breakfast, the four of you set out.  Jeongguk makes you ride on his back for the rest of the day, despite your protest that your feet and blisters were fine.  He had growled at you, circling your form and rubbing up against you until Alpha Kim had approached you.

“We won’t reach the pack until tomorrow afternoon, it’ll be easier if the three of us can shift and Jeongguk carries you,” Alpha Kim had told you and you had acquiesced, mounting Jeongguk.

The second day passed much the same as the first had, and ends with the four of you bedding down for the night around a small camp.  Jeongguk is less shy about curling around you in his shifted form this time around, nudging your shoulder with his snout before unceremoniously plopping his head down in your lap.  You want to protest his closeness because you feel gross, still wearing your dirty Lottery dress, but you had been unwilling to hold them up for even a moment just for you to change, so you let him lay on you.

It had been worrying to you that Jeongguk had stayed shifted all day, but you can’t deny how comfortable he is when you’re trying to go to sleep, forgoing your blanket as you bury yourself in him.  You brush your hands through his fur, marveling at how soft it is and he starts to rumble under you.  You realize that he doesn’t do it for you but that its his way of letting you know that he’s comfortable.  His nose digs under your hand until it’s resting under your palm, urging you to move it.  You fall asleep petting him, thinking that volunteering no longer feels like a death sentence but more like… a new beginning.

You wake up to sunlight and rough jostling, with a gruff snuffling in your ear.  You’re disoriented for a few moments, head rolling against the ground as you try to gain your bearings.  You’re laying on your side facing away from the camp and there’s sweat dripping down your back because Jeongguk in his shifted form has you pressed right up against his underside, nose tight against the back of your ear as he growls deep in his chest.

It takes you a moment, but when you register the wetness and the growling, you realize what’s happening.  His lower half is thrusting up against you and his cock is between your legs, rubbing against your skin.  Your pulse quickens as you realize that Jeongguk must be having a wet dream or something similar as he growls in his sleep and licks at your skin, sending a jolt through your entire body.

You’re almost mortified to realize that the wetness you first thought was coming from him is actually from you, that you like what’s happening.  Even though he’s in his shifted form it’s still Jeongguk and there’s no denying that you find him attractive.  The fact that he’s rutting against you is doing things to you, his cock hot and heavy against you making your head spin.

You’re afraid to look down, to sear the image into your mind.  You know it’s not going to look like his human cock, but when you glance down, you can’t help the way you keen in the back of your throat.  He’s big, precum smearing against your stomach as he works his cock under your dress, pressing against your clit from the way he’s got you pinned.  With one of his legs over both of yours, and one of his front legs extended over your torso to press into the ground to give himself leverage, you would have to fight to get out of his hold.

But you don’t want to.  You can feel the heat between your legs, the arousal swirling in your stomach as his growling gets deeper and his tongue gets more insistent.  You can feel the press of his teeth against the sensitive skin of your neck and when his thrusts speed up, hitting your clit just a bit faster, you can’t help but moan lowly.  You hope Alpha Kim and Yoongi are out hunting so you don’t have to deal with the embarrassment of knowing they know.

You give a tentative thrust down and moan a little higher when Jeongguk’s cock rubs against your clit harder.  You clench around nothing, whimpering as you thrust down again, and again, until you’re working in tandem with him.  You can feel Jeongguk’s body shaking behind you, his low growling shifting to a higher pitched whine, nosing roughly at your ear before his nips turn purposeful.

You startle when it dawns on you that he’s finally woken up, the nip more than a dream instinct, but his thrusting doesn’t stop.  You gasp when he starts shifting behind you, helping you onto your knees and elbows as he stays crouched over you, body dwarfing yours as you rest your forehead against your sleeping pad.

You can’t believe this is happening but Jeongguk doesn’t give you time to think, his shifted cock giving your clit delicious friction as he stays mounted this way, thrusting with conscious purpose now.  He noses along the entire back of your neck, licking the shell of your ear and nipping at your shoulders.  Your back is so slick with sweat you can feel every press of Jeongguk’s belly against you, clenching with each thrust, wishing he’d stuff you with his cock.  It’d tear you in half but it’d be worth it to be so full, to be forced to take it, to test the limit.

You moan as you think about it, letting Jeongguk phantom fuck you and reaching a hand under your dress to touch the tip of his cock as he thrusts against your stomach.  Jeongguk lets out a half howl, thrusting up against the palm of your hand as the press against your clit becomes constant.

“Jeong-Jeongguk,” you hiccup, “S’too much, please, gonna cum.”

Jeongguk is shaking above you and you sob as the pleasure peaks, Jeongguk continuing to fuck up against you as you cum, clenching hard around nothing and whining in displeasure over it.  He noses eagerly at your neck, licking furiously at your skin as his thrusts grow erratic, close to his own orgasm.

You reach further down so you can brush feather light fingertips over the body of his cock.  His shifted cock is much different than a human cock, no mushroom head but thick at the base where his knot would be.  You groan as you think about it, the dirty mechanics of being knotted like this, out in the open in camp with your knees pressed to the ground and your dress pushed up to your breasts.  Your panties are useless at this point, sopping wet and glued to the ridges of your cunt.

You feel Jeongguk throw his head back and howl loudly as the first spurts of his cum shoot up to your tits, smearing against the skin of your stomach before it drips down onto the inside of your dress.  It’s disgusting, and filthy, and you’re horrified to learn that you love it, the feeling of being utterly dominated like this.

Jeongguk pants against your skin as he expends all that he has, his body sagging against yours but not forcing you down to the ground.  Your body is shaking as he steps back from you, his snout trailing down your back and to your crack, nosing at the thin fabric of your panties.  You can feel the puffs of his breath against your soaked skin and you slowly push yourself up, arms and legs shaking.

You’re breathing hard as Jeongguk walks around you, eyes brilliant as he stares at you.  His tongue flicks out to lick at your cheek and you breathlessly giggle, Jeongguk pressing his face against your chest to slowly guide you back, laying you against your sleeping pad.

You’re tired, the exhaustion settling in your bones as you glance up at the slightly blue tinted sky.  It has to still be early, but when you glance over, Alpha Kim and Yoongi are gone, which you are immensely thankful for.

However, Jeongguk doesn’t give you time to rest.  He sniffs earnestly at your neck, rubbing his face and tongue against you as he works his way down.  Your dress feels disgusting from where the cum covered front is pressed to your skin, but Jeongguk just brushes it up over your breasts, licking at one nipple and then the next before he continues down.  He cleans your stomach of himself, nose warm and tongue warmer, and you’re not ashamed at the way arousal has started to pool in your stomach again.

Jeongguk must be able to smell it, tongue pressing more eagerly the closer he gets to your cunt.  He nudges your thighs apart with his snout, growling appreciatively when they spread and your smell hits him full force.  He bites at your panties, pulling the thin fabric away and down your legs, tossing them in a random direction over his shoulder before the point of his tongue flicks against your clit.

You don’t bother to stifle your moan, the feeling of his tongue rough in texture as it presses harder with every lick, cleaning you of your dripping arousal with valiant effort.  You cry out when his tongue presses inside you, licking at your walls deeper than most cocks have ever reached. You can’t stop the little sounds you make, the humping of your hips against Jeongguk’s face as the pleasure builds.

If he tongues this good you can’t imagine the damage he can do with his cock, spearing you open effortlessly and making you cum multiple times.  You clamp down around his tongue as you think about it, wishing he would just fuck you, shifted or not, cumming to the thought of it.

Jeongguk snuffles happily against you, licking your cunt clean of your cum and your thighs free of sweat.  When you gain the energy to lift your head, Jeongguk is hunched over you, licking his jowls with his tail wagging.  His tail wagging.  It’s so ridiculous you can’t help but laugh, letting your head thunk back against the ground as you hear the telltale sound of his bones shifting.

After a few moments of silence, gentle hands lead your legs closed, running up your sides to grab your dress and pull it up and off, hitting the ground with a wet smack.

“C’mon, there’s a little stream near here, let’s get you cleaned up,” his voice is laced with sex and you shiver, letting him pull you up and onto shaky legs, opting to just carry you when you end up swaying.

It’s not awkward to be naked in front of him, rubbing cold, clean water against your skin.  Jeongguk watches you for a few minutes, appreciating the dip of your fingers between your thighs as you clean yourself of spit and arousal and your cum.  He finally strips himself and you can’t help but stare.  Even in human form he’s big, cock hanging half hard and heavy between his legs, thigh and abdominal muscles toned and flexing as he perches himself on a jutting rock to wash himself.

Your mouth is watering and you don’t even care; you can feel the weight of cock on your tongue and you specifically want his in your mouth right now, dragging your tongue down the protruding vein and around the bulbous head.

“We’ll never get back to the camp if you keep staring,” Jeongguk smirks over at you, brushing his hands down his thighs in an obviously teasing manner.

“I want to suck you off,” you confess easily, squeezing your thighs together when you see Jeongguk’s gaze darken and his cock jump.

“Later,” he promises, and you’re practically drooling when he fists his cock, hand tightening on an upward stroke, “we really do need to be going.”

“Then quick jerking off,” you whine petulantly, and Jeongguk has the audacity to laugh at you.

Jeongguk gives you his tunic to wear back to camp as a makeshift dress, keeping a small bit of distance from you, which is much too far considering he had almost fucked you into the ground earlier.  This must be his way of attempting to be respectful, or at least you hope so; just the thought of Jeongguk regretting any of it or being ashamed makes your stomach clench painfully.

Alpha Kim and Yoongi are packing up camp when you arrive.  They give the both of you a knowing look and you blush as you duck your head, realizing they must be able to smell what you two had done.

“Come,” Yoongi smirks, the word intentional, “if we leave now we’ll get home before lunch.”

Home.  It sounds pleasant and right coming from Yoongi.  You’re going home, not just to their pack, but your pack now.

-

There’s a small welcoming ceremony when the four of you finally arrive and you’re overwhelmed by the positivity of the pack.  Their numbers have grown, but it’s not the size of some other shifter packs you’ve seen.

Jeongguk keeps close to you as elder pack members pull you into a hug, welcoming you to your new home and encouraging you to ask for help when you need it.  Shifted pups sniff at you, particularly your stomach which makes you blanch, before yipping and wagging their tails happily at you.

“This is Y/N,” Alpha Kim booms to the crowd, “Y/N selflessly volunteered herself to be Jeongguk’s mate to prevent us from losing him to his feral side.”

The little pack cheers and you blush at their enthusiasm.

“Let us let these future mates have time for themselves,” Alpha Kim turns to you and smiles, “Please, rest.  The journey was long and I’m sure you’re… tired.”

You try not to react, knowing that he’s not talking about the walking.

“I’ll show you to our cabin,” Jeongguk tells you softly, placing a hand on your lower back to lead you away, “Thank you everyone.  We’re happy to be home.”

You smile and wave at everyone as you walk away, Jeongguk leading you towards the center of their pack territory.  It’s a foreign feeling to you, so used to staying out of your tribe that you don’t know what to do knowing you’re going to be living in the thick of it.

“These cabins look so nice,” you comment, looking at the smattering of cabins around you.

“Alphas build cabins before they take a mate,” Jeongguk explains, “Outside of me, none of our alphas are of age yet, so no one is preparing to build.”

“Woah, you built this?  That’s impressive,” you exclaim, as he reaches for the door.

He stops with his hand on the handle, seemingly frozen, before he turns hurriedly to you, “Um… actually, could you stay out here for a moment?”

You furrow your eyebrows, confused, but nod.  Jeongguk gives you a quick, thankful smile, slipping in through the slightest crack so you can’t see inside.

You feel a little foolish standing outside Jeongguk’s cabin - well, your cabin now, as well.  You can hear frantic clattering inside and Jeongguk’s light footsteps as he runs around.  You hear the terrible screech of a window opening, and when you bend around the corner of the cabin you can see what looks like trash being thrown out of it.  It startles a laugh out of you, realizing Jeongguk is cleaning for you, and it’s so endearing.

You wait patiently, knowing Jeongguk wants to make a good impression on you.  Finally, the door creaks open, before Jeongguk pushes it open wide and steps aside.

“Please, come in,” he says, slightly out of breath, and you giggle at him.

“I could have helped you clean,” you tell him, stepping past him and he ducks his head after being caught.

It’s modest, and homey.  There’s a little kitchenette to use when you don’t want to go to the main dining hall, a small sitting area, and a hallway that leads to a small bathroom and bedroom.  There’s a pack bathhouse that they utilize, so the bathroom has a toilet and small wash tub for a quick rub down, and the bedroom is just a pile of furs.

“I know it’s not much but-” Jeongguk seems embarrassed, scratching behind his ear as he avoids your gaze.

“I love it,” you tell him honestly, “it’s very comfortable, very… you.  And I like you.”

The blush that spreads across Jeongguk’s face is satisfying and you grin at him.  You were worried you and Jeongguk were going to have an awkward period of forcing yourselves to get to know each other, but it’s been pretty natural.  There might have been some truth to Jeongguk’s words that you volunteering made it easier for you two to connect, as there’s no expectations for either of you.

“I know Alpha Kim said we have time for ourselves, but there are pack duties I need to get caught up on,” Jeongguk tells you, almost sounding regretful that he has to leave.

“That’s okay, I understand,” you tell him, and you truthfully do, but there’s a small pit of nervousness at the thought of being by yourself as you’re still unsure of the inner workings of the pack, “but um, am I… allowed to be out by myself?”

Jeongguk gives you a strange look, placing his hands on your shoulders and smoothing them down your arms, “You’re part of the pack now and my future mate.  You don’t have to walk on eggshells around us, gods know no one out there will.  Please familiarize yourself with the pack, it’s home now.”

You nod, feeling ashamed about your question, but unable to articulate to Jeongguk how out of place you felt when you were in the midst of your tribe.  Jeongguk hesitates for a moment, swaying back and forth, before apparently coming to his decision and leaning down to press his lips to your forehead.

With a horrifying sense of clarity, you realize you let Jeongguk go down on you before you’ve even properly kissed.  But then again, you two don’t have an exactly conventional relationship.

“I shouldn’t take too long,” he whispers against your skin, seemingly unwilling to go.

“Okay,” you whisper back, smiling when he kisses your forehead again.

As they say, parting is such sweet sorrow.

-

You take the time to introduce yourself to the surrounding cabins, receiving delighted responses.  You feel bad, because there are so many names thrown at you in a short time frame that you don’t remember most of them.  You met Alpha Kim’s son, Namjoon, and two people claiming to be Jeongguk’s best friends, Jimin and Taehyung.  There’s the old lady just a cabin down from yours, who winks rather lasciviously at you when she tells you that the wood the cabins are made with are thick and block sound.  There’s a human girl around your age named Jihyo on the other side of your cabin who is super sweet and invites you in for tea, which you postpone to another afternoon.

You meet another girl on the way back to your cabin, because you are actually really tired, who introduces herself icily as Ina.  Despite her attitude, you bow politely at her.

“So, you’re Jeongguk’s mate,” she says kind of tersely, after having sniffed at the air around you with a look of disdain.

You’re familiar with this kind of attitude, which is very reminiscent of your tribe, so you continue to be polite to her.

“I am!  I’m Y/N,” you introduce yourself, “It’s nice to meet you Ina.”

“I heard Alpha Kim say you volunteered.  I’ve never heard of someone volunteering,” she continues.

“I remember it happening once when I was a kid, but back then-”

“Did you only volunteer because you think he’s hot?” she interjects over you.

Your mouth clicks shut, unsure of how to answer her.  You’re afraid if you say no, she’ll wheedle her way into the depths of your soul and pull your tragic reasoning out.  But you can’t say yes, because not only is it not true, but you’re afraid that she’ll spread an ugly rumor around that you’re shallow.

It’s a conundrum you’re not sure how to approach, but thankfully your saving grace is a smiling older woman placing her hand on your shoulder and deflecting Ina’s question.

“Ina, what’s with the inquisition?  Y/N dear has had a long journey, we have plenty of time to get to know her as a person, and as a mate for Jeongguk.”

Ina looks embarrassed at her interruption and bows to the older woman, with a small sorry before she scurries off.

“I’m sorry, you didn’t have to get involved-” you start but she waves your apology off.

“Don’t worry about it.  And don’t worry about Ina, she’s just feeling slighted right now.  Is it okay if I take up some of your time?  I’d love to have a cup of tea and get to know you,” she smiles so prettily at you, eerily familiar, and you find yourself nodding before you remember you were going to take a nap.  Too late now.

“Would you like to come back to Jeongguk’s cabin?  Well, mine too I guess.  Um, our cabin-” you stumble over yourself, out of your depth as she laughs.  Not at you, but at the obvious confusion you’re having trying to fit yourself into the pack.

“Sure deary, let’s go,” she links her arm with yours, turning you to your cabin.

You spend a pleasant hour with her, apologizing at first for not knowing where Jeongguk keeps his stuff but easily locating a kettle and some tea.  She introduces herself as Minseo and gives you a brief history of the pack, and some of the members, before she conspiratorially asks if you want to hear stories of Jeongguk from when he was a child and you quickly agree.

That’s how Jeongguk finds you, kneeling at the little table with Minseo, tears in your eyes as she recounts a story of a buck naked teenage Jeongguk jumping into a lake on a dare and not evening completing it.  He looks shocked to see you and Minseo giggling against each other, tea refilled and steaming, before it transforms into a serene look.

“Hi mom,” he greets Minseo and you abruptly stop giggling, turning to the woman beside you with wide eyes and a hanging mouth.

She grins sneakily around the rim of her mug, “Ah, baby, you ruined my fun, I hadn’t told her I was your mother yet.”

He rolls his eyes but is still smiling as he leans down to kiss the top of her head, snickering to himself when he sees how shocked you still are as he kisses your cheek.

“Are you staying for dinner?  We’ll be eating here tonight, Omega Kim is bringing us bear as a treat.”

“Omega Kim has always been so sweet on you, you’d think she was your mother and not me,” Minseo pouts and Jeongguk coos.

“Maybe if you were nicer to me,” he singsongs, not even trying to avoid the slap she aims at his shoulder.

“Yah, do you know how long I was in labor with you?” Minseo complains but she’s smiling, looking so incredibly happy as she gazes at him.

“I’m sure you’ll remind me.”

“A whole day, Guk, an entire day of pain and agony and spreading my legs so your grandmother could check just to tell me you were being stubborn and weren’t coming out despite being stretched by a watermelon.”

Jeongguk groans, “Do you have to be so graphic about it?”

“It’s not like it’s something you won’t go through,” she teases and the implication brings a blush to your cheeks.

You and Jeongguk?  Kids?  You’ve barely though past your mating ceremony, but you suspect it’s a normal thing for mother-in-laws to be worried about.

“Besides, with the way our little Y/N smells, it doesn’t seem like you’re all that shy about it,” she says knowingly and you choke on your tea.

“Mom!” Jeongguk groans, avoiding looking at you as he scratches behind his ear, “Please.”

Minseo grins to herself, downing the last of her tea as she stands on creaky knees.  Jeongguk helps her to her feet, you pushing yourself up to follow them to the door.

“I’ll let you two have your time.  Please dear, don’t be a stranger, I love visitors,” she tells you sincerely and despite your mortification that she can somehow smell what you and Jeongguk had been up to, you wholeheartedly agree, “And Jeongguk, eat some more, your cheeks are getting thin.”

“Yes mom,” he tells her dutifully, kissing her cheek before she hugs you goodbye.

You wave at her, watching her bustle down the path, before Jeongguk shuts the door.

“Can everyone smell your cum on me or something?” you ask and Jeongguk bursts out laughing, though you can see a bit of embarrassment lingering on his face.

“Well, kind of, but it’s mainly just me.  You probably can’t smell it because you don’t have the sense for it but each of us have our own, uh, scent.  So earlier when we… ahem,” Jeongguk clears his throat, seemingly unwilling to explicitly mention it and you grin at that, “a lot of my scent would have transferred over to you.  That’s what everyone is referring to.  They’re probably surprised because scenting is kind of an intimate thing and we’ve only just met.”

“Oh,” you hum, “so I smell like you.  That means everyone knows whose mate I am, that I belong to you.”

Jeongguk makes a strangled sound and clears his throat again, “Yes, that you- yes.”

The two of you stand by the door, just staring at each other, before Jeongguk moves away to head to the kitchen.   There aren’t many dishes to do, but Jeongguk does them anyway, and you think he’s doing them just to have something to do.  You decide to help him, sliding silently up beside him and taking a dripping dish from him quietly.

It’s quiet between you two as you work together, Jeongguk washing and you drying them before putting them away.  Finally you ask a question, addressing the difference between you.

“Does it bother you?  That I’m not shifter, so I have no way of scenting you back?” you ask softly.

Jeongguk takes a moment to answer, scrubbing at a spot in the sink that looks stained and unable to come out.

“No,” he finally says, “my mate doesn’t have to be similar to me in order to be a good match for me.  I don’t need someone who has good eyes or good sense of smell,” here’s teasing you here, judging by the tongue he sticks out at you, “or a certain status for me to want to spend my life with them.  I just want someone I’m comfortable with and who makes me happy.”

The answer settles something pleasant in your stomach and you smile shyly at him.

“But…” he hesitates for a moment, “I do want to apologize.”

“For what?” you ask, putting the towel you were drying with back on a rack.

“This morning,” he says softly, “I hope I didn’t… force myself on you or make you feel uncomfortable.  I mean, I enjoyed it, and judging by the sounds you were making you did too, but I never verbally checked with you and that was wrong of me.”

You bump your shoulder against his, before leaning against him, “Jeongguk, it’s okay.  You didn’t force me.  Caught me by surprise, sure, but… it was good.  You were good,” you’re blushing, hiding your face against his tunic sleeve, but you don’t care, “I liked it and I wasn’t exactly quiet about wanting to do more after, was I?  We have a week before our mating ceremony, so maybe we can just… explore until then?”

Alpha Kim had explained that it’s a big tradition within the pack, a little ceremony held in front of the pack, with food and dancing.  Then, you head off to the outskirts of the pack clearing where there’s a mating clearing, an area blessed by the Moon Goddess.  You and Jeongguk aren’t allowed to have penetrative sex until then, a tradition long held in their pack that the first “real” copulation has to be blessed by Her for a good life together.  At least Jeongguk’s already semi fucked you outside, so it won’t feel so foreign actually getting mounted in the open like that.  Besides, it’s not like you can’t do other things.

“You can’t say things like that with a straight face,” Jeongguk groans, “You have no idea how hard it was for me to tell you not to suck me off this morning.”

You laugh, Jeongguk turning you to gently pull you into his arms, “You have no idea how hard it was for me to not just drop to my knees and do it anyway.”

Jeongguk growls and you shiver, Jeongguk holding you close to his chest as he presses a loud kiss behind your ear.  He moves to pepper kisses down your neck, nipping at your pulse point while you scrabble to hold onto his back.

“Jeongguk,” you breathe, “kiss me, please.”

He wastes no time pulling back to press his mouth to yours, swallowing the whine you let out as he pushes you tightly against the counter.  You’re ignoring his semi for the moment, pressed deliciously right up against you, to enjoy the feeling of his mouth practically devouring you.  His tongue feels as good in your mouth as it did in your cunt, brushing against your own and against the back of your teeth hotly.

Jeongguk’s hands can’t decide if they want to grab at your ass, your waist, or your thighs, kneading whatever skin they come in contact with.  At some point they’re in your hair, tugging you away from his mouth with force so he can kiss down the front of your throat to your collarbones, biting and sucking bruises into your tender skin.  All you can do is take it as he forces his hips upward, groaning as he nestles his covered cock right between your pussy lips.  You’re still wearing his tunic as a dress, so you can feel him in his entirety and god is he big.

“You’re gonna drive me crazy,” he growls, your skin stinging from the bite he just left that he soothes with his tongue, “I can smell how wet you are already.  Just wanna go down on you until you cry, finger you until you’ve came so many times you lose count.”

“Jeongguk,” you sob, overwhelmed with how bad you want him, “touch me, please.”

“Come on,” he lets go of your hair to pull you up on his hips by your thighs, “so many things I want to do to you.  You stepped up to that stage with no fear and clear determination, looked me right in the eyes like I can’t bring you to your knees.  Wanted to bend you over and fuck you right then, show your whole tribe the sweet pussy they’d be missing. Fuck, Y/N.”

There are actual tears in your eyes as Jeongguk stomps his way to the bedroom, softly laying you in your pile of furs.  He towers over you on his knees, eyes roving over you as he takes in your flushed face and heaving chest, smirking at the way your thighs rub together.

“Pull your tunic up,” he instructs and your hands quickly fall to grip the hem, “slowly.”

You swallow thickly, taking a few deep breaths as Jeongguk places his hands just below your knees, eyes falling to watch the way your fingers shake.  You pull it up slowly, eyelashes fluttering as you savor the drag of the fabric against your sensitive skin.  Jeongguk hums, fingers creeping up your legs the farther you pull the tunic up, licking his lips when he sees your panties and the wet spot they’re sporting.

You pause when you reach your navel, letting your fingertips trail against your skin as the goosebumps erupt.

“So pretty, baby,” Jeongguk breathes, the furs shifting under his knees as he leans over you more, abs quivering from exertion, “What a show, keep going.”

You whimper a little, placing your hands flat against your stomach as you continue to push the tunic up, feeling yourself up.  Your hands slide up your sides causing you to shy away from the ticklish touch and your fingers brush just under your breasts.  You jolt at the feeling of Jeongguk’s tongue against your stomach, hands flying down to grip at his hair.

“Did I say you could stop?” he growls, biting softly at your skin, tongue hot and wet, “Show me those tits, baby.”

“Jeongguk,” you moan, arching your back as you push the tunic up higher, your exposed nipples immediately hardening in the cold air, “feels good.”

“Take it off,” he commands and you listen, struggling to pull the tunic over your head while laying down since he won’t move back to let you sit up.

“Touch them,” he orders and you pinch your nipples softly, moaning louder, “Mmm, harder.”

You listen to him, pinching harder as he travels up your torso, leaving little lovebites in his wake.

“‘M gonna fuck these pretty tits one day,” he tells you, licking the valley between your breasts, before he bites rather harshly at your right breast, his hand swamping your own on your left breast.

He massages the left as he wraps his mouth around the right, sucking harshly and biting at your sensitive skin.

“Guk,” you sob, one hand trapped under his and the other gripping onto his bicep, “your mouth, I- fuck!”

Jeongguk grins, nipple tight between his teeth as he tugs, letting it go with a wet smack, “Touch your pussy baby, just a little.  Show me how wet you are for me.”

You’re soaked.  Without even touching yourself you can feel the way your panties cling to your skin.  Is it always going to be like this with Jeongguk?  You sure fucking hope so.

Jeongguk lets go of your breast to plant his hand into the furs beside your head, giving himself leverage as he switches from kissing your chest to marking your neck.  You squirm as his body heat settles over you, so close to touching you but so far away.  His chest brushes against yours, your nipples rubbing against his sweaty skin as his hair brushes against your cheek.  You whine into his ear as you massage the junction of your thighs, canting your hips up to try and brush against the front of him.

“Just a little,” he reminds, voice raspy against the shell of your ear, biting gently on your earlobe, “Touch yourself through your panties first, tell me how wet you are.”

You breathlessly follow his instructions, letting your fingers wander from the apex of your thighs to the top of your mound.  Your heart is beating erratically as you massage it slowly, so close to your wetness but teasing yourself just a little more.  Jeongguk has the perfect vantage part from your neck to watch your hands work, chest rumbling with the first touch of your fingertips against your clit, acting like he feels it just as acutely as you do.

“Oh,” you breathe out, Jeongguk’s teeth sinking in behind your ear.

“Tell me,” he growls, “Tell me how you feel.”

“So wet,” you immediately concede, brushing your fingers down to rub against your entrance where your wettest, “I want you so bad Jeongguk, I’m aching for you.”

Your pussy makes an audible sound as you rub your fingers against the fabric of your panties.

“Pull them down, just a bit,” his voice is rough as he pants, eyes trained on your fingers as he loses sight of them exploring between your lips, “Wanna smell you.”

You shimmy them down slowly, body wiggling under Jeongguk’s as you get them down just far enough for you to work with.  Jeongguk’s groan is low as your smell hits him and he licks a stripe up your neck.

“Put a finger in.”

You don’t disobey him, breaching your walls with just one like you’ve been told.  You’re so wet you can barely feel it and you whine in dissatisfaction.

“One not enough for your greedy pussy?” he sneers, raising himself onto his haunches to get a better look at what you’ve put on display, “Two, then, but only two.”

You work a second one in and the stretch is nice, but nowhere near filling.  Jeongguk watches the push and pull of your fingers, crossing his arms over his chest as he casually observes you.  It’s so apathetic you cry out, willing him to do something, but he doesn’t.  He lets you finger yourself for a few minutes, watching your drip onto the pile of furs beneath you as he breathes steadily.  The only real way you can tell he’s affected is by the way his nostrils are flaring and how dilated his pupils are.

“Feel good?” he finally asks.

“You’d feel better,” is your instant answer and he seems pleased, giving you a smug smirk as he shrugs his top off, “Could touch me so much better, your fingers are-are thicker and longer and-”

Jeongguk leans down to press a kiss to the center of your sternum, hands raising to grip your hips tight.

“Fuck, baby, you smell fantastic,” he groans, tongue slithering out as he trails down, biting and sucking as he goes, “Tasted so good on my tongue, can’t wait to eat you out again.”

“Please,” you beg, you whimper, you plead, “please touch me, Guk.”

“Okay, baby, since you’ve asked so nicely,” his hands slide down your hips and around your thighs, settling his shoulders between your legs.  You keen at the stretch, cool air brushing against your wet pussy as Jeongguk takes a moment to watch your fingers at eye level.

“Show me how wet you are,” his voice has dropped, tone low and rough and you exhale hard through your nose as you do as he asks, scissoring your fingers as you pull them out so he can see how thoroughly coated they are, “Fuck yeah…”

Despite the gruffness of his voice, his hands are gentle as he takes your wrist in his hands and presses them into the bed.  Jeongguk is so utterly focused on your pussy, using his thumbs to spread your lips apart as he takes in a deep breath.  It’s a little embarrassing for you, but the unrestrained moan he lets out overpowers anything your feeling as you squirm in his hold.

“I can’t wait any longer,” he mutters to himself you think, before he all but attacks your pussy with his tongue.

“Guk!”

He’s vicious, tongue laving from top to bottom as he eats you out, basically swallowing you whole.  You’ve stretched yourself enough from your two fingers that his slip in easily, and he’s quick to push it to three, working them in tandem with his tongue.

You’re practically vibrating beneath Jeongguk, physically unable to keep your mouth closed as you let him know just how good it feels.  You’re so worked up you can feel your orgasm approaching fast, your thighs beginning to shake the closer it gets.

“Oh, cumming, I’m-” you try to speak but you feel like you’re about to swallow your tongue.

Just as you feel like you’re about to tumble over the precipice, just when you can taste it in your mouth, Jeongguk rips himself away from you and your orgasm comes to a screeching halt.

“No, nonono,” you cry, frustration tears budding in the corner of your eyes as you reach out to a panting Jeongguk, “Why did you-!”

“Shh, it’s okay baby, just relax,” he coos, leaning down to press kisses into your thighs as he brushes his hands lovingly up your sides, “calm down for me, yeah?”

You pout down at him, wiping at your eyes as you huff.

“Just trust me, okay?” he smiles cutely at you, like that makes it feel better, as he softly buries his tongue back into you.

You want to be mad because you were so close, but his tongue calms you down and you sink back into the feeling.  Jeongguk seems eager to get back at it and you sigh as the feeling builds back up.  He alternates between sticking his tongue in you and thumbing your clit and dredging his fingers against your walls as he sucks on your clit like a man starved.

It doesn’t take long for you to feel the beginnings of your orgasm approaching and you decide to keep it to yourself.  But Jeongguk must pick up on the tells of your breath quickening and your hands becoming restless because just as you’re about to tip over the edge again Jeongguk pulls away with a wet smack.

“No!” your hands fly up to cover your face because you’re actually crying this time, tears of frustration slipping down your temples into your hairline.

“Pretty girl,” Jeongguk kisses his way up your body, nosing at your ear as he smooths a hand through your hair, “Take a deep breath for me.”

You sniffle into his shoulder, smacking his bicep weakly as you cling onto him, “Why are you being such a dick?  I just wanna cum.”

“I know you do,” he kisses the tip of your nose, before pressing a smothering kiss to your mouth, “And you will, it’ll feel good, I promise.”

“How am I supposed to know if you keep stopping!” you complain and he laughs into your skin as he settles between your legs again.

Jeongguk presses apologetic kisses to your pussy, humming as he slips his tongue up and around your clit as he eases his fingers back in.

“Sorry baby, forgive me?” he grins devilishly at you and you can’t answer, eyes already starting to roll from how deprived you feel.

“Please no more teasing,” you whimper, threading shaky fingers through Jeongguk’s hair, “I don’t think I can take any more.”

“Okay pretty,” he acquices, and you can see the physical change in him, the way his tongue turns pointed and the way his fingers stiffen inside you, “I’ll let you cum.”

You almost wish you had let him do as he pleased, because he works you up to a quick orgasm and tongues you through it, wrapping a hand around your waist to hold you to the bed as you squirm and twitch and gasp your way through it until you’re finished but he… doesn’t stop.

“G-Guk, that’s-” too much, but the words die in your throat as he merely buries his face farther in your pussy, fingers taken to stroking the upper bounds of your walls to keep them lodged up to his knuckles.

“You wanted to cum,” he tells you darkly, mouthful of pussy, “So cum.”

“I did,” you squawk, futilely trying to close your legs around his head, but he easily holds them open, “I c-can’t!  Not again!”

“You will,” he tells you simply before he dives back in.

And you do.  Two more times, the feeling not as all encompassing but just as intense, leaving you slack jawed and with an aching back from how you arch and shy away from his touch.  Your body melts into the furs when his fingers finally retract from inside you, tongue leaving your clit numb and sore.

“Such a good girl, make so many pretty sounds for me,” Jeongguk murmurs, massaging your hips as he lays beside you, “Did so well for me, baby.  Gimme a kiss.”

Your mouth barely works but you kiss him, Jeongguk leaning his torso over yours to make it easier on you.

“You’re still hard,” you note, glancing down to see the bulge in his pants, hidden away from you for too long.

“It’s okay, don’t worry about it,” he tells you but you whine.

“Wanna suck you off, been thinking about it all day,” you admit and he makes a low sound in the back of his throat.

“Yeah?  Wanna suck your alpha off?  Wanna make me feel good?” he asks, voice low and soothing as you push yourself down his body, bringing his pants with you.

You groan at the feel of him, cock sticky with your arousal.  You don’t care about that, and don’t hesitate to suck on his head, hand moving down to play with his balls and twist at the base where you know a knot is waiting for you.  You want it in you so bad you whine around his cock, pushing down so you can suck on more of him, tucking your teeth behind your lips so you didn’t nick him.

Jeongguk groans above you, hands carding through your hair to hold it back, watching your mouth work him over enthusiastically, spit dribbling from the corner of your mouth.

“Ah, baby, just like that,” he moans, giving a tentative thrust of his hips that you gag around, “So eager.”

Jeongguk is big, and most of his cock doesn’t fit in your mouth, so you happily suck what you can and fist the rest of him.  He feels as good in your mouth as you expected him to, heavy against your tongue and the taste heady.  You pull off to breathe, jaw aching from the girth of Jeongguk’s cock, and he coos as you gasp for air.

“So good baby, so close, just a little more, yeah?  Gonna cum down that throat of yours, gonna feel so good, mmm,” he moans as you swallow him back down, fighting through your need to gag to hold your mouth around him and just suck, twisting your hands around the rest of him, “Y/N.”

You whine as Jeongguk reaches down to hold your head steady, before catching on that he wants to fuck your mouth.  You moan around him, making sure to keep your teeth hidden as you tongue at the head each time he thrusts in.

“Ah, yes, yes, gonna cum,” Jeongguk growls, leaning up on an elbow to watch your face intently as you glance up at him, “Hnng!”

There’s so much cum and you try to swallow as much as you can, but you have to pull off to breathe and a few splatters land on your cheek and jaw.  You continue to jerk him through it and Jeongguk hisses through his teeth at the sensitivity, baring his neck as he lets you work his cock roughly before he unceremoniously pulls you up to him to shove his tongue in your mouth.

You laugh breathlessly as you fall against him, trying to keep up.

“You’re insatiable,” you condemn and he grins against the column of your throat.

“You just make me feel so good, sound so pretty for me,” he tells you, “Want to fuck you so bad.”

You can’t help the way you clench your legs together and Jeongguk can feel the muscle movement from where you’re settled on his lap, calming down together.

“Soon,” he promises, running his hands up your back as you relax against him, heart beat slowly returning to normal, “Let’s just enjoy yourselves, like you said.” 

-

You’re humming to yourself as you help prepare meat in the dining hall.  Some of the pack members had gone on a hunt the day before and the second run had gone out this morning.  They were trying to stock up on their own food, as well as add to the supplies they were going to trade to your tribe for the Lottery.  Well, your old tribe.

Jeongguk had gone out on the second run and he had been excited this morning.  Jeongguk told you he liked hunting more for the physical aspect than the actual hunting part, though he did disclose that one of his favorite memories was taking down an elk all by himself.  He promised to find a rabbit, which was meat you really liked, so you two could have dinner in your cabin and you found the gesture incredibly sweet.

However, when Minseo rushes into the preparation room, eyes wide and chest heaving, your heart drops into your stomach.  The chatter from the other pack members dies down quickly, as you all zero in on the absolute panic on Minseo’s face.

“Minseo what’s-”

“It’s Jeongguk,” she whispers, reaching a shaky hand to you, “Jeongguk’s hurt, we have to go.”

You hear the words, can see Jeongguk bleeding in your mind’s eye, but you can’t make your feet move.  Jeongguk’s hurt.  Your future mate is hurt and all you can think is the worst, hand tightening around the knife in your hand.

“Y/N, dear, it’s okay,” Minseo gently takes the knife from you, laying it on the table as your breathing shortens, “C’mon, he’s in the healing hut, let’s go see him.”

Minseo holds you close to her as the two of you sprint over to the healing hut.  The closer you get the louder it becomes and you two see the rest of the second run standing around outside, debriefing Alpha Kim.  Some of them are already bandaged up, favoring legs and holding limp arms to their chests.  You can only hope Jeongguk made it out with as minor injuries.

Alpha Kim notices you and Minseo drawing closer and beckons you into the hut, “He’s okay, he’s inside.  He’s asked for you, go see him.”

You quickly nod at him, bounding up the stairs and holding your breath as you push the door open.

The first thing you notice is how disheveled Jeongguk’s hair is, face dirty and gaunt and a small frown marring his face.  The second thing you notice is the bandage wrapped around the entirety of his left arm, stained red in some spots.  The third and last thing you notice is Ina curled up in Jeongguk’s lap, sobbing.

They haven’t noticed you and Minseo yet, the door opening too soft to be heard over the sound of Ina’s crying.  You go to take a step forward and announce your presence, but Minseo places a firm hand on your shoulder and shakes her head, motioning for you to be quiet.  You want to protest, to let them know you’re here, but realize Ina is talking as she cries.

“Why did you have to choose her?” she asks, hands clutching at Jeongguk’s pants, face hidden, “Why did you have to step out of the pack?”

Jeongguk sighs softly, a light hand placed on the back of her head as he tries to console her, “Ina, we talked about this…”

“No, you talked about it,” she vehemently denies, “You decided we weren’t a match and you decided to end it.  I wanted to work through it and stay together.”

Together?  You should have known from the way Ina had approached you and the way she talked to you that there had been something between them.

“I could have made you so happy,” she whispers, pulling away to look up at him.  Your heart breaks for her.

“Ina, I wouldn’t have been happy if I had stayed,” he breaks it to her in a gentle voice.

“You never even gave us a chance!” she rips herself away from him, standing up and turning so quickly that you barely have a chance to prepare for when your eyes meet

Ina’s nostrils flare dangerously but you meet her stare head on.  Jeongguk stands up behind her, ready to step in, but you shake your head at him.  You and her were going to have to talk it out one day, better now when everyone can bare witness.

“You’ll never take away the fact that I was his first,” she declares and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at her childish attack.  You wanted to be civil, seeing as how you’re in the same pack now, but she’s made it clear she has no intentions of ever treating you as an equal.

“Well, we all make mistakes,” you shrug.  You can’t deny the little trill of fear that runs down your spine when her eyes narrow and her hands clench.

“You bitch-”

“Ina,” Jeongguk growls behind her, voice low and authoritative, “Don’t talk to her like that.  I didn’t “choose” Y/N; if she hadn’t volunteered it would have been whoever was drawn from the Lottery.  I’m sorry but that’s the truth.”

Ina’s face twists and she turns her head away for a moment before she charges forward.  Your eyes widen, bracing yourself for impact, but Minseo guides you away from the door to let her barrel out of it.

It’s quiet for a few moments, before Jeongguk sighs heavily and sits back on his medical cot.   His movement snaps you back into the moment and you take a small step towards him, causing him to raise his head to look at you.

Jeongguk looks exhausted as he simply stares at you for a moment, before he raises his arms in welcoming and you fall into him.  You wrap your arms around his shoulders, cradling his head to your chest as the tension in your body floods out of you.  You’re not surprised to find that a few tears fall, utterly relieved to see and feel that Jeongguk is only minorly injured.

“Y/N,” Jeongguk says tiredly, breath washing across your skin, “I’m sorry you had to see that.”

You shake your head, kissing his crown as you rub your fingers against the back of his neck, “I don’t care about Ina right now, are you okay?”

Jeongguk lets out a deep sigh again, the arms he had tightly wrapped around you growing limp, “So tired.”

“What happened?” you asked softly, “How did you get hurt?”

“Bear,” he says gruffly, “Took us by surprise.  Snagged m’arm with its claws.  Had’ta flee.”

His words are starting to slur and you squeeze him to you for a long moment before you slowly ease him back down onto the cot.  Jeongguk doesn’t fight against you, nuzzling against the hand you lay on his cheek as he gets comfortable.

“Rest now,” you kiss his cheek and his eyelashes flutter closed, “You’re okay.”

You watch his face even out as he falls asleep, the furrow between his eyebrows slowly smoothing.  When you turn around, you see Minseo watching the two of you with soft eyes and a softer smile.

She simply says, “Let’s let him rest.  We’ll prepare him dinner and you can deliver it later.”

“That sounds good.”

There’s quiet between the two of you as you head back to the dining hall before Minseo breaks it, “He was wrong, you know.”

“Jeongguk?” you question and she nods, “About what?”

“He says he didn’t choose you, but he’s wrong.”

“How so?” you ask, because you very plainly volunteered, there was no choosing on his end.

Minseo smiles serenely up at the clear blue sky, closing her eyes against the sunlight, “He chose you the moment you stepped forward.”

-

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Jeongguk frowns at you, watching you change into heavier clothes.

You roll your eyes, completely exasperated with him, “I don’t care what you think, I want to do this.”

You pull a thick cloak around you, cinching it around your neck as you face him.  He’s tonguing his cheek, staring intensely at the wall as he thinks.  The two of you have been arguing about this for the past half hour, the both of you adamant on opposite stances.

“You don’t know the area well enough,” he finally settles on, “There are other pack members who would be more useful on this supply run.”

You pause in lacing your boots up, slowly and carefully facing Jeongguk as he seems to realize the implications behind his words.

“You think I’m useless?” you ask in an even tone and he takes a step towards you before you even finish.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” he snaps, as you glare at him and shove past him.  He snags your arm to turn you to him before you can leave the bedroom, “I just meant-”

“I know what you just meant,” you rip your arm from his grasp, continuing down the hallway, “I can’t just be your bitch forever Jeongguk, I have to be of some use to the pack.”

“No one thinks-!” Jeongguk is hurrying after you as you head towards the front door, but you’re done listening.

“I’m going whether you like it or not,” you tell him fiercely, and he stands kind of dumbly in place, eyes wide and chest heaving, “I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Y/N!” he calls out, but the only answer he gets is the slamming of your front door in his face.

When Alpha Kim had approached you about accompanying some pack members on a supply run, you had immediately said yes.  You’d only been with the pack for a few days but you felt like a burden, so you tried to pitch in wherever you could: clothes mending, laundry, food prep, farming.

This supply run would give you a chance to get to know some of the pack members a little better and the surrounding area as well.  You were excited about it, and it hurt your feelings a little when you had told Jeongguk and his response had been a shake of his head.

“No, I don’t think you should go,” he had said, casually, turning away from you like the conversation was over.

He seemed to think that because he was an alpha, what he said went, but you were your own person and you had already decided you were going on the supply run; you had told Jeongguk out of courtesy, not permission.  So you had simply left Jeongguk to his lunch and went to pack some of your belongings before you really began arguing, before he called you useless.

Now, you’re approaching the group gathered outside Yoongi’s cabin, the alpha the leader of this particular run.

“Ah, Y/N, good, you’re here.  That should be everyone, are we ready to set out?” his voice is quiet but commanding, and your little group quiets down as they nod their agreement.

You don’t look back as you follow the group out to the edge of your pack boundary line and across it, chatting with the human girl Jihyo.  You two have spent some time together since you’ve arrived and you feel better about not being the only human on the run.

Yoongi leads your group in his shifted form, nose to the ground as other shifted members flank the sides.  You dislike the idea of the shifters circling around you humans like you need protection, but considering you still don’t know the area, you don’t fight against it.  You’re sure they’re just being extra careful with you as well, considering how new you are.

You and Jihyo collect some simple and easy herbs as you walk.  There’s a deer den the group is headed to and there’s a black berry patch Jihyo had mentioned that was near it.  You’re expected to reach a camping spot by sun down, head into the deer den to catch them by surprise in the early morning, swing by the berry patch, and reach home just before dinner.  You hope that it’ll give you and Jeongguk enough time to calm down after your little spat to talk it through.

Yoongi stops suddenly in front of you, one of the pack members stumbling into him as he raises his nose to sniff quickly at the air, tail stiff with alert.  The others seem to realize something’s amiss as they crowd you and Jihyo in between them, watching the tree line for whatever it is Yoongi’s smelling.

Except Yoongi lets out an amused huff before he shifts back, turning to face the way your group had just come from.

“You might as well come out of hiding, I can smell you,” he calls out and you look where he’s looking, but with your diminished senses you can’t see anything.

Until a black body shifts its way between some bushes, head held high as he walks to you.  You roll your eyes and turn away from Jeongguk as he joins your group, padding his way up to Yoongi, ears and tail lowered in respect.

“Weren’t you attacked by a bear a two days ago?  Should you really be following us?” Yoongi asks rhetorically, before he shifts back.

Yoongi barely gives any of you time to adjust to the new addition to your group, sticking his nose back to the ground as he continues to follow the trail.

Jeongguk turns his head to look back at you but you push forward with Yoongi, refusing to spare him a glance.  You can feel your blood boiling. How dare he follow you like you’re some little girl who needs her father to watch over her.

Jeongguk doesn’t approach you as you and Jihyo continue to collect easy supplies as you walk.  You’re going a little slower than you expected, but the way the pack does things is different than you’re used to.

It becomes evident what’s given Yoongi some concern when he pauses over a dark splatter against a tree trunk, growling lowly in his throat as he sniffs at it.

“That’s… blood,” Jihyo whispers nervously by your side, subconsciously reaching down for your hand in search of comfort.

Jeongguk nears Yoongi and they seem to have a quick conversation if the look they share is anything to go by.  You’re surprised to see them motion for your group to head into the trees, off the established path.  One of the unshifted members behind you explains what’s happening when they sense your hesitation.

“It must be another shifter’s blood if Yoongi’s taking us into cover.  He must not be sure what’s hurt it,” he says, a shifter named Minho, “It looks like old blood though, so it’s probably more a precaution than anything.”

You nod and when you face forward, you can see Jeongguk is looking at you over his shoulder.  You give him a quick, reassuring smile and he accepts it, turning back to help beat down the grass for your group to walk through easier.

Yoongi seems satisfied with your cover after a few hours, shifting back to put a halt to the group.

“We’ll bed down here for the night,” Yoongi announces, the treetops hiding the waning sunlight, “We’re a little farther from the deer den than I would have preferred, but we’re capable and can make do.  I know there’s a little lake nearby where we can get some fish for extra food and wash up really quick, which we’ll do in shifts.  Minho, help me gather some wood.  Seulgi, Jeongguk, you head to the lake-”

“Wait, that’ll leave Y/N and Jihyo by themselves,” Jeongguk quickly interjects, meeting the withering glare Yoongi sends him head on.

“Your point?”

“W-Well, someone should stay with them, shouldn’t they?  Seulgi can handle fishing by herself, I’ll-”

“The two of you will catch more fish faster than just Seulgi by herself,” Yoongi counteracts, before his voice turns teasing, borderline mocking, “What’s the matter, Jeongguk?  Don’t trust your mate by herself?”

“That’s not-!” Jeongguk splutters and you snort, crossing your arms.

“Then Seulgi and you will gather the fish.  You should remember where the lake is, I won’t insult you by holding your hand and walking you to it.”

Jeongguk’s face turns red and he glowers, Seulgi nudging his shoulder good naturedly as they turn away.  Jeongguk does shoot you one last glance but you ignore him again, upset with his response to this whole situation.

“C’mon, let’s start setting up camp,” Jihyo says and you snap back to it, nodding as the two of you get to work.

Quickly, the two of you pat the ground down enough that you’ll be able to easily contain and control your small bonfire.  Jihyo shyly asks if she can set her sleeping pad near yours and you feel your heart constrict in a pleasant manner, pulling yours closer to hers in answer.  You like Jihyo and you hope that your friendship with her only grows.

“Jeongguk’s been acting kind of weird today,” she observes, almost hesitantly, like she’s afraid to cross any boundaries.

You sigh as the two of you settle in to wait for everyone to get back.

“Yeah, we had a fight this morning about this supply run.  We’ll be okay, I’m just upset with how much it seems like he doesn’t trust me.  I know we’ve known each other for less than a week, but all this seems completely uncalled for.  He followed me out here for god’s sake.”

Jihyo nods, taking it what you’re saying and thinking it over, before she says, “I have no advice, sorry.”

You laugh, patting her hand as you smile, “It’s okay.  It’s something Jeongguk and I have to figure out for ourselves.”

“For what it’s worth, it seems to me like he’s just worried about you; I’ve only known Jeongguk a few years and he’s always been kind of reserved and off on his own, but whenever you’re around he always seems to be a little more present and engaged.”

You sigh, running a hand through your hair, and she smiles reassuringly at you, as she says, “Maybe try and talk to him tonight, before bed.  You’re not supposed to go to bed angry, right?”

You stand as Minho and Yoongi breach your little clearing, arms loaded with more firewood than is probably necessary for a night, but it’ll be good to have as a precaution.  You’re the most adept at starting a fire, having had to use one everyday to heat your little hut in your old tribe and whenever you wanted to eat, so you have it going in no time at all.

The four of you sit and talk as you wait for Jeongguk and Seulgi to get back, and it takes longer than you were expecting.  You’re not sure how far this lake is but it can’t be that far and Jeongguk’s not enough of an idiot to have gotten lost.  You briefly think about the dried shifter blood and start to worry that whatever got it had got them.  Yoongi must detect the change in your heart rate because he shoots you a comforting smile.

The relief you feel when they finally come back, sacks loaded with fish, is overtaken by surprise when Jeongguk unceremoniously dumps a large and slimy catfish in your lap with a wet plop.

“I caught this for you,” he simply says, turning away immediately to hand his sack to Yoongi so they can start gutting the contents.

You stare at the fish in your lap for a moment, it’s dead beady eye staring back at you as you start to smile.  Even in the midst of a fight he’d been thinking of you and you shake your head, pulling a knife out of your belt to gut and debone it.

You wonder if, as you bed down for the night, Jeongguk is going to sleep beside you.  You’ve gotten used to sharing space with him the past few days and your sleeping pad feels empty without him.  He and Yoongi are talking on the other side of the smoldering fire, probably a plan for the sneak attack on the deer in the morning, and he looks handsome in the firelight.  His jaw is drawn tight, chewing on his lip as the two of them strategize, arms crossed over his chest with his biceps flexing as he shifts his weight from foot to foot.  He’s handsome, you’ll never deny that, and what makes him even more attractive is the way he cares, especially about others.  Especially about you.

You’re less mad at him now then you were earlier, but you know it’s something the two of you still have to discuss; he needs to realize that you are an individual and you get to make your own decisions, whether he agrees with them or not.  But you realize he was right in being worried about you going on the run in the first place, unfamiliar with the pack and the area. You’ll let him know that you’ll listen to him more next time if he’s willing to do the same.

Jeongguk suddenly glances over at you and you don’t shy away from his gaze, even if your heart does jump with surprise.  You scoot back on your pad a little to pat the space in front of you and he smiles, a small genuine one, before he motions you to wait a few more minutes.  You’re content with that, letting yourself relax as you watch him finish up his conversation, before he eagerly pads his way over to you.

“Gukkie,” you smile at him as he settles right beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist to haul you into him.

“Hey, pretty girl,” he greets, leaning in to kiss you softly, at odds with the way he tightly holds you close to him.

“The fish was good,” you tell him and he grins happily at you.

“Seulgi was getting mad at how long I was taking, but when I saw it I knew I wanted to get it for you,” he admits and you laugh at him.

“There were plenty of other catfish you could have caught,” Seulgi grumpily snaps at him, still awake and sitting by the fire even though her eyes are starting to droop, “It didn’t have to be that particular one.”

He ignores her and you poke his side for it, Jeongguk just burying his face in your shoulder.  You smooth a hand down his back, bunching his tunic top in your hands as you keep him close, breathing in his comforting scent as your body melts into him.  He shifts so the two of you are a little more comfortable, one of his arms sliding under your head as a makeshift pillow while one of your legs slides between his.

“Are we okay?” he whispers to you, the chatter of the last few pack members serving as quiet background noise.  You think you can hear Jihyo snoring, enhanced by the few crickets you guys haven’t scared away.

“I still want to calmly discuss it and not just accept your bribe of fish-”

“-it wasn’t a bribe-” he sulks.

“-but I get it,” you tell him gently, laying your free hand on his cheek.  He kisses your palm as you continue, “we should’ve talked it out more before I stormed off and you decided it was necessary to crash the party.”

Jeongguk has the decency to look sheepish, “Sorry I just- sorry.  Yoongi’s right, I should trust you more.  I just worry about you, being new to the pack and the area.  I trust the members with my life but if something happened to you on this run and I wasn’t here to protect you, I’d never forgive myself.”

“You won’t always be able to protect me,” you gently admonish him.

Jeongguk heaves out a heavy sigh, like it pains him to admit, “I know.  I’m sorry.”

“Me too,” you tell him, “I should have listened to your concerns seriously before I got mad.  It’s just… hard for me to listen to others. It’s been just me for so long, I’m not used to other people caring for me.”

“Sounds like we both have some things we need to work on,” Jeongguk notes and you smile into his neck.

“Together?” you whisper, glancing up at him.

“Together,” he smiles before he kisses you.

“Ugh, get a room,” Yoongi gags from the other side of the bonfire, and you and Jeongguk giggle into each other.

-

You and Jeongguk are incredibly sexually compatible, that much is obvious, but more than that, you find that you genuinely enjoy being around him.  Time and time again, you find the two simply together and enjoying each other’s presence, not just each other’s bodies.

It’s nice.  A comfortable life with someone you genuinely enjoy being around and someone you didn’t just settle for is not something you’d ever have.  Jeongguk makes you laugh until your stomach hurts, tears clinging to the corner of your eyes.  He makes you cry with soft stories of his childhood, recounting precious memories with his parents and grandparents, about friends that have come and gone.

It’s amazing.  He’s amazing.  You keep waiting for the other shoe to drop, for something to pop this bubble that you’ve been living in for the past few days, but it doesn’t come.  You don’t expect your life with Jeongguk to always be this easy, but you know that if you two continue to work together like you’ve been, you’ll be able to overcome anything.

“Our ceremony is in a few days,” Jeongguk tells you two mornings before your ceremony, curled around you with your head resting on his bicep.

He’s scratching at your scalp, and you’ve noticed these last couple of days that he’s lost most of his feral features.  His nails are short and blunt, and his fangs have retracted to match the rest of his teeth. You’ve learned that it wasn’t so much that Jeongguk’s feral transformation that made him lose his communication skills, but that he’s fairly reserved most of the time naturally.  It doesn’t bother you; you like watching Jeongguk just exist in the space around him, filling it entirely with his very being.

“I know,” you whisper, brushing the lightest touch against the newly started ink on his chest.  It’s part of the ceremony, Jeongguk having earned the right to bear the pack’s insignia, and it’ll be completed by the time you say your mating vows.

“Are you nervous?” he asks, using the leverage he has in your hair to tilt your head back, staring intensely down at you, “Are you regretting your decision?”

“No,” you tell him immediately, because you don’t, “there are some things I regret in life, but you’ll never be one of them.  But yes… I am nervous.  I don’t know why though.”

He smiles sweetly at you, kissing you even sweeter.

“I can’t wait,” he says honestly, smattering kisses across your face as he tries to pull you closer, though there’s miniscule space between you two already, “getting to do this with you for the rest of my life… it sounds almost too good to be true.”

You bury your face in his chest and he lets you, wrapping his arms tightly around you as he pins you to the furs.

“You’re sappy,” you mumble into his chest and he hums, not denying it, “but the rest of our lives has a nice ring to it.”

The only thing that could potentially put a damper on your mood is Ina, who has been nothing but rude and condescending to you.  You ignore her, for the most part, and don’t mention anything to Jeongguk because it’s not worth a second thought.  Jeongguk is your mate now and it’s something she’ll just have to accept.

Jeongguk’s friends, Jimin and Taehyung, are really sweet to you, and help you prepare for your ceremony considering your lack of friends.  But you think you can begin calling them friends of your own as they help rub oil into your skin, specifically around your neck, to help loosen and slightly numb it to prepare it for your mating bite.  They also help you make a necklace for Jeongguk, your own symbol of possession considering you can’t return his bite.

The night before your ceremony, you’re whisked away from Jeongguk, Minseo giggling at the outrage on his face.

“It’s bad luck to see your mate before the ceremony, Y/N’s gonna have to stay with me tonight,” she lies and you cackle as Jeongguk whines at her, uncaring of the fact that he’s amidst his pack in the dining hall.

Some of the older women coo at him as he stands, stalking towards the two of you as Minseo drags you around.  The rest of the pack joins in on the fun, pulling you around the hall as they block Jeongguk’s attempts from getting to you.  The both of you laugh as you play along, you hiding behind people as Jeongguk wrestles pups to the ground, acting like they’re his biggest obstacle.

“I’ll never get to her this way!” Jeongguk proclaims, letting one of the pups gain the upper hand and put him in a rather strong headlock for someone his size, “You’ll never take her from me!”

You giggle as Minseo comes around to collect you, pulling you out from behind a sweet omega named Taeyeon, tucking some hair behind your ear as she slides a clip into your hand.

You grip it tightly as she leans into you, whispering, “This was my mother’s.  It would… mean a lot to me if you wore it during your ceremony tomorrow.  Mother always wanted to see Jeongguk’s mating ceremony and I think she would have loved you.”

It brings tears into your eyes and you hug her tightly, as the crowd around you continues to laugh and play loudly.

“Thank you,” you cry.

Minseo kisses your cheek, keeping you close to her as she says, “Out of any daughter I could have received, I thank the gods it’s someone like you.  I know you and Jeongguk will be happy together.”

Minseo is going to have you flat out sobbing in a few moments as she pulls away to smooth your hair down before she steps back.  You wipe hastily at your eyes, pocketing the clip safe and secure in your pants.

“I’ll see you in the morning,” she tells you.

You go to answer, but familiar arms wrap around your waist and lift you up.  You squeal loudly, the crowd bursting into cheers as Jeongguk spins you, grin becoming visible as he shifts you until he has an arm around your back and under your knees, both your arms around his neck.

“Gotcha,” he’s smug, like it was actually a challenge to get to you.

“Oh no, whatever shall I do?” you sarcastically intone, pressing the back of your hand dramatically to your forehead, “It looks like the big bad wolf has caught me.”

“I’d be careful, little lamb; this big bad wolf has quite the appetite and it seems he’s caught something particularly tasty,” he licks his lips, winking at you, and there are whistles from the crowd.

You snicker but quickly school your features, fluttering your eyelashes at him as you say, “I wonder what I could possibly offer in exchange for my life?”

Jeongguk purses his lips, pretending to think, before he says, “I suppose I could spare you.  In exchange, you have to promise yourself to me.”

“Oh?  That’s a steep price,” you tease, biting your lip as Jeongguk growls a little at you, “Is it worth it, do you think?”

You hear a few people in the crowd shout out yes! and you grin at Jeongguk as he says, “You promise yourself to me, and I in turn promise to devote myself to you until I die.”

“I get to keep my life and receive a promise of my own?  Seems grossly unfair to me.  How about I tack on my own promise of devotion?”

Jeongguk doesn’t respond, just hoists you up a little farther so his aim is more on point when he kisses you hotly.  The crowd around you cheers the two of you on and you can’t quite hide the smile you’re sporting in the kiss, no matter how hard Jeongguk tries to eat it up.

-

The day of your ceremony, Minseo does steal you away from Jeongguk, practically shaking with excitement that she gets to help you dress.

Your dress is made of light cotton, something easy to slip in and out of, both for the ease of the party and the copulation.  Minseo rubs a sparkly powder made from fern flowers, flowers thought to have been blessed by the Moon Goddess, into your hair.  She gives you a watery grin when you slide Jeongguk’s grandmother’s clip into place, securing some hair out of your face.

You’re barefoot, to appreciate the earth beneath your feet, one of the blessings of the gods that allows your pack to survive and prosper.  It’s a beautiful day and at noon the pack members howl, signaling the start of the ceremony.

As Minseo guides you out of her cabin you feel your heart jump up into your throat from nerves.  You have the most absurd thoughts as you approach the center of the pack grounds, things like: will Jeongguk be there to meet you?; has all of this just been a sick joke, a taunt of the gods to show you what you’ll never have?; will you wake up back in your tribe, all alone again?

Minseo squeezes your shoulders as you suddenly stop, eyes wide and breath shortening.

“It’s okay sweetheart, just take your time,” she tells you, “you take this at your own pace, okay?  Today is about you and the start of your life with Jeongguk, this isn’t about anybody else.”

“Will he be there?” you ask her fearfully, afraid that when you reach the center he’ll laugh at you from the sidelines, as if you were ever good enough for him.

“Being Jeongguk’s mother, I know him inside and out.  Y/N, I’ve never seen Jeongguk look at someone the way he’s looked at you.”

You nod, taking a deep breath as Minseo smooths some of your hair down, waiting for your signal.  Finally, you nod with a bit more finality and step forward.

Various pack members throw seeds at your feet as you pass them.  The congregation grows thicker the closer you get to Jeongguk, but they’re purposefully blocking him from view, Alpha and Omega Kim standing at the very end.

“Y/N,” Alpha Kim greets you and you bow to him, “Please, rise.  Accept this gift of our pack, as we formally acknowledge that you are to be mated to one of our alphas, Jeon Jeongguk, and that better yet, you are officially one of our own.  Today and going forward, you are a part of our family.”

You wipe a tear from your eye as Omega Kim steps forward to place a rather simple but beautiful flower crown on your head, you bowing a little lower to show respect and thankfulness for the gift.

“Allow me to be the one to say this: out of any offering we could have chosen, I’m thankful you had the courage to volunteer.  Please, step forward and meet your mate.  If I can be blunt, he’s been rather anxious all morning.”

An indignant hey sounds from behind him and you laugh, the Kims parting to give you your first glance of Jeongguk and it steals your breath away.

He’s standing in the middle of the pack circle, wearing just as simple of a tunic as your dress, just as barefoot, and just as handsome as you’ve seen him everyday this week.  But his hands are clasped tightly in front of him, eyes glassy as he gazes so fondly at you it causes more tears to spring to your eyes.

Jeongguk holds his hands out as your step to him and you willingly follow the way he pulls you to him, dropping his forehead against yours.  The pack is quiet and respectful as you share the moment together, before you feel Jeongguk release a shaky breath.

“Hi,” he says, voice hoarse and you want to laugh but you can feel your lower lip wobbling.

“Hi,” you parrot, throat tight with emotions you’re currently unable to process.

“You look… more beautiful than anything I could have ever imagined,” he tells you, raw honesty shining through each word he speaks, “The clip- thank you.  I know grandmother is smiling down on us today.”

You can’t respond, choking on all the words you want so desperately to say to him, but he seems to understand you anyway if the spring light kiss he gives you is anything to go by.

There’s light applauding from the pack as you two straighten, Alpha and Omega Kim stepping up to the two of you.

“Everybody,” Alpha Kim intones, raising his hands high, “Please join me in blessing the joyous joining of these two bodies.  Though they are separate in physical form, they are one in soul.  May the Moon Goddess bless their lives together as we help watch over them, so is our promise as a pack.”

The shifters throw their heads back to howl as you and Jeongguk cross your arms to join hands, Omega Kim wrapping a twine rope that has been steeped in the same fern flower powder in your hair.  It sparkles against your skin, catching the sunlight as she wraps and wraps and wraps, up and down your arms until she knots it in place, knot hanging between your hands.

“In front of the pack, recite your promises.”

“As an alpha,” Jeongguk starts, staring directly at you, voice steady and resolute, “I promise to protect you with my life.  I promise to give you my all, so that we may have a good life together, here, within this pack, until fate intervenes or decides otherwise.  I promise to love you more today than I did yesterday, and love you even more tomorrow.  As my word is my bond, do you accept?”

You don’t think as you nod, already knowing what your answer is, “I accept.”

“Y/N, in front of our pack, please recite your promises.”

You take a moment to gather yourself, rubbing your cheeks against your shoulders to rid yourself of your tears since your hands are bound.  Jeongguk coos softly at you, pure elation etched in his face as he watches you.

“As a human,” you begin, voice shaky with emotion but ringing true with clarity, “I recognize that there is not much I can do to provide for you.  But I promise to be the best mate I can be, to support you in your endeavors and to lift your spirits when you are down.  I promise to love you with my entire heart, until fate decides to bless us with children, and I promise to love and protect them as any mother would do.  As my word is my bond, do you accept?”

“I accept,” Jeongguk whispers, arms straining against the rope in an effort to not just pull you to him and ravage you in front of everyone.

“We as a pack wish you all the happiness in the world,” Omega Kim finishes, reaching forward to undo the knot, letting the twine fall away from your arms as Jeongguk finally pulls you into him.

He’s crying into your hair, holding you close to him as the pack surges forward to give you their congratulations before they set off to get the party started.

“Why are you crying?” you blubber into his shoulder, holding onto him, “Stop it, you’re making it worse!”

He hiccup laughs into your ear, running his hands down your back as he finally pulls away.  Your heart swells as you wipe the tear tracks off his cheeks, leaning up to kiss him softly.  He nuzzles his nose against yours as you pull away, tucking you into his side as you follow the crowd to the party.

“I do really like this dress.  Looks like your Lottery dress,” Jeongguk says, clearing his throat of any remaining tears, tugging playfully at the hem.

“It is!” you say, stepping away as he keeps a grasp on your hand, Jeongguk letting out a laugh as you use it to your advantage to do a little spin, “Well, parts of it.  Figured I’d never wear it again but could still get some use out of it.”

“You look pretty,” he says simply, “and not to be a pervert so early in the afternoon, but you’ll look even better out of it.”

“Shut up,” you blush and he grins.

You and Jeongguk aren’t allowed to drink any wine, to keep yourselves clear headed for your impending copulation.  You two don’t need to drink to have any fun, though, as the two of you twirl around with your pack members, dancing and laughing and eating to your heart’s content.

You’re flushed and sweaty as the sun starts to set, the pack lighting up a bonfire as the party starts to wind down.  You’ve been stopped by individuals of the pack who want to personally congratulate you and wish you well.

“I’ve watched Jeongguk grow up and he’s always been such a sweet boy,” an older beta woman tells you, spindly fingers clutched around yours, “He’ll take such good care of you.  And I can tell you’ll take equally as good care of him.”

Jeongguk is on the other side of the clearing, nodding along as he intently listens to an older alpha tell him a story.  He seems to feel your gaze on him because he pauses in his conversation to glance up at you.  He gives you a small smile, tilting his head in question, but you just smile back as you shake yours.

“You know the old wives tale about the copulation ceremony, don’t you?” the beta asks.

“Oh, no, I don’t believe I have.  What is it?”

“They say that if your fern flowers glow during your copulation, the Moon Goddess is revealing that you’ve found your true mate.”

You’ve actually never heard that wives tale before and the surprise on your face makes the beta laugh.

“Don’t overthink it; it’s just a fairytale we tell the pups.  My advice to you during your copulation is just to relax, you’ll only make things worse for yourself if you’re tense.”

You nod, having already heard this from other mated pairs.  But if you’re being honest with yourself, your not worried about having sex with Jeongguk.  Sure, there’s a little pit in your stomach, but it’s completely overshadowed by the excitement thrumming through your veins at crossing this last intimate barrier with him.

The crowd gets quieter as the moon rises and the party dies down.  There are lots of tired pups being gathered up by their parents as Minseo lovingly embraces you, and then Jeongguk.

“You birthed me, shouldn’t I be hugged first?” Jeongguk exclaims, pulling his mother tightly into his arms as you snort quietly beside him.

“I like Y/N better,” she says simply, but she holds him just as close to her, “I’m happy for you both.”

Jeongguk lets out a shaky exhale, letting her go before he takes your hand, “Thank you.  We’re going to make our rounds before we head to the clearing.”

She nods and gives you a radiant smile, waving you both off.  The rounds involve wishing everyone thanks and bidding them goodnight, older shifters try to give you last minute advice and others your age merely patting you on the back and giving you sly smirks.  Yoongi is probably the worst and you try to ignore the lascivious grin he gets you; he’s already experienced the carnal desires between you and Jeongguk, this isn’t anything new for him.

“Alpha Kim, Omega Kim,” Jeongguk greets and you bow to them and they smile at the both of you, packing up the remaining food to be delivered to your cabin, “thank you for this celebration.  We’re going to go pay our respects to the Moon Goddess now.”

Which is code for: we’re going to fuck like animals.  You try to keep your face neutral, but like with Yoongi, you try not to look Alpha Kim directly in the eyes.

“We wish you all the happiness,” Omega Kim reinterates and you do return this sweet little lady’s genuine kindness, “Oh and Jeongguk?”

“Yes ma’am?”

“Go easy on her,” she teases and you immediately cover your face as you hide behind Jeongguk.  Why are shifters so shameless?

Jeongguk seems just as embarrassed, holding onto you as he whines, “Alpha Kim please control your mate.”

Alpha Kim raises his hands and shakes his head, “Keep me out of this, son.”

The two of them laugh as you wallow in your embarrassment, before Jeongguk forces you beside him to bow one last time and walk away.

“He told her,” you state, glancing up at Jeongguk to see his ears are red, eyes focused on the treeline in front of you.

“He totally told her,” he soullessly intones and you can’t help but crack a smile.

Jeongguk tries not to laugh with you, but he can’t fight the way his lips curl as you giggle into his side.  The walk to the clearing doesn’t take very long and your heart rate picks up when you enter it.

“Jeongguk,” you whisper, eyeing the candles spread around, most of them adorning the base of the Moon Goddess statue.

When you turn to look at him he’s smiling softly at you, leading you further in.

“This could have been a fire hazard,” you scold, for lack of anything better to say.

“Shut up,” Jeongguk rolls his eyes, pulling you to the blanket he has laid out in the center of the candles.

You quiet down as you kneel on the blanket, running your hands over the fur.  It feels new, almost untouched, and you spread out on it on your stomach, sighing as some of the tension eases out of your body.  The clearing is quiet and you close your eyes, almost feeling like you could fall asleep.  The thrumming under your skin for what’s to follow can’t be ignored, though.

You don’t jump when a hand grasps your ankle, thumb rubbing against the skin there as another hand travels up the back of your leg, gripping at your thigh.  A kiss is pressed to the crease of your knee and you laugh at the ticklish feeling of it, before the hand on your thigh grips your hip and nudges you to roll over.

You do so, gasp getting caught in your throat when you see Jeongguk kneeling over you, eyes dark and half-lidded as he gazes down at you, his stare intense.  His hand on your hip moves up until it’s clutching at the dip of your waist, his fingers firm and intent, and your eyelashes flutter at the contact.  The want to close your legs is intense, but Jeongguk is slotted between them.  Jeongguk inhales sharply when he feels them tighten around his thighs instead, which is of very little reprieve for you, and if anything it makes the feeling worse.

“Let’s say our prayers to Her,” he tells you, voice already starting to deepen.

You don’t trust yourself to speak so you just nod, letting Jeongguk help pull you up and over to the statue.  You smile up at Her as you kneel at Her feet, clasping your hands in your lap.

Jeongguk bows his head as he says his prayers to Her, but you keep your head raised.  It almost seems as if She is looking back at you, her gaze stony and resolute but still so benevolent.

“I don’t have anything else to ask of You, You’ve already given me Jeongguk.”

The euphoric feeling that spreads through you suddenly is almost too much to comprehend and you sink into it, letting the feeling travel through your body until you can feel it even in your toes.

“Y/N.”

Jeongguk’s voice sends a shiver down your spine and you spin on your knees to see that Jeongguk has already moved to the blanket, leaning back on his hands with his legs extended in front of him.

You can already feel yourself start to get wet as you crawl towards him, Jeongguk sitting up to meet you in a messy kiss.  Your hands fly to his hair, angling his head up to give your neck a little slack, his own landing on your ass.  The feeling in your body gets hotter and more intense the longer you touch Jeongguk, one hand slipping from his hand to trail down his neck and rest on his pec, right over his heart.  The resounding and steady rhythm beneath your palm is comforting, despite the hungry way Jeongguk is trying to devour you.

“Want you.  Need you,” he groans, his hands on your ass drawing you closer, settling you more firmly in his lap so you can feel him compressed hot and hard in his trousers.

“Get naked,” you breathe out, pulling back to rid yourself of your dress.

Jeongguk’s eyes open, mouth forming a half smirk as he no doubt opens his mouth to say something stupid, before his mouth drops open when you unceremoniously pull your dress over your head.  His mouth shuts with an audible click and he acts like every time he sees you naked it’s the first time.  You knock the fern crown off in your haste and Jeongguk replaces it with shaky fingers, hands smoothing down your flyaway hairs.

“I’ll never get over how pretty you are,” he whispers, hands reverently running over your skin, from your shoulders to your fingers and back, down and around your sides to your ass and thighs, “Feel so good in my hands.  Can’t believe I’m the one who gets to touch you like this.”

You whine as you wriggle in his lap, his fingers light and ticklish, “Love your hands, Gukkie, they’re so big.  Touch me more.”

He hums as he leans forward to attach his lips to the top of your tit, sucking at the skin as his hands tweak your nipples.  You don’t really get much out of having your breasts fondled, but Jeongguk seems to like playing with them and the caress of his hands does feel nice, even if it’s not the most arousing.  You still let yourself get lost in the feeling as you run your hands through his hair, letting Jeongguk leave as many love bites as he wants as he works your nipples to hard peaks.

“Taste good,” he mumbles, his breath causing goosebumps to erupt when it hits your wet skin.

“I have something that tastes even better,” you promise, trailing your own hand down your stomach to lightly trace your lips, feeling how wet you already are yourself.

“You think?” he grins, teeth encasing your nipple for a second, “Think I should find out for myself?”

“I think I’d let you do whatever you wanted to me,” you tell him honestly, squeaking as he shifts under you to take you in his arms, slowly lowering you until your back meets the blanket.

His eyes are black and molten as he pulls back from you, lips furiously red from where they’d worked your skin over, “Don’t tempt me, lamb, or I might take you up on that offer.”

You spread your legs wide in response, fingers drumming against your skin from his lack of touch, pussy aching in need.  Jeongguk lets out a slow breath as he finally sheds himself of his clothes, your mating necklace getting caught in his shirt before he pulls it free and lets it fall back against his skin, complimenting his completed tattoo.

“So good for me,” he praises, kissing his way down your body.

Jeongguk appears to have no patience, immediately diving into your pussy like he’ll die without another minute of it on his tongue.

“Fuck!” you cry out, thighs clamping around his head at the sudden feeling, and his strong hands pry them apart and hold them to the blanket, keeping you open for him.

Your eyes roll back as he delves his tongue into you, eagerly licking and sucking any part of your pussy his mouth can reach.  He’s neglecting your clit with his tongue, but his nose brushes against it continuously and its enough to have you fucking your hips up into his face to get more pressure on it.

“Be a good girl and stay still,” he growls, one hand letting go of your thigh to throw his arm across your hips and hold you down, “Gonna get you nice and wet for my cock but… it looks like you did a good enough job of that for me.”

You groan and nod your head, “Want you so bad, Guk, been thinking about your cock all day.”

You can feel him grin into your pussy, which shouldn’t be as hot as it is, before he says, “Don’t worry, I’ll give it to you.”

He’s been fucking you with his fingers all week, so when presses one slowly into you to test the stretch, you’re quick to ask for another.  And then immediately another.

“So greedy,” he tuts, but doesn’t argue as he presses three fingers into you, watching with rapt attention as your back arches at the sensation.

It’s addictive, the way Jeongguk moves and crooks his fingers inside of you, tongue finally lapping against your clit in order to relax you more.  With his arm still holding your hips down, you take to clutching at his hair to move his tongue in a way you like and he lets you guide him, humming against your skin as you clench around his fingers.

When he finally pulls away you whine your dissatisfaction, eyelashes fluttering open as Jeongguk crawls up your body, his chin wet and glistening in the candle light.  You huff as you wipe it off, arm linking around his neck after.

“I was gonna cum,” you pout, accepting his light kiss.

“Oops,” he shrugs, smirking, and you smack his shoulder, pulling him back into you.

You could kiss Jeongguk for hours, tongues stroking together as your hands explored.  You especially like touching his back, the muscles taunt and defined under your hands as he presses his body against yours.  You both moan as his cock nudges into the wet mess that is your pussy, Jeongguk pulling away with a wet smack and a nip at your lower lip.

“I want to have sex like this,” he tells you, laying his palm against your cheek, “I want to watch your face.”

It’s almost embarrassing to think about, but you can’t help but echo his sentiment and the two of you shuffle for a few seconds, Jeongguk planting his knees more steadily into the ground as your thighs bracket his hips.  That nervous flutter starts up in your stomach as Jeongguk presses the head of his cock against your slit, rubbing it slowly against you as he himself seems to gather his nerves.

Jeongguk holds onto cock as he leans back down over you, pressing his mouth reassuringly against yours as he slowly pushes in, your mouth dropping open as he fills you.

You’ve taken cock before, but it had always been quick trysts with men who didn’t care about you, usually with you half clothed and pushed up against a wall, your own fingers rubbing your clit to give you something as they chased their own orgasms.  There had been some girls you had fucked, pussies wet as you rubbed them together, and there had even been a sweet, traveling woman who had buried her face in your cunt for a few hours and worked your pussy raw.  She had pulled the best orgasms out of you until you cried, but then she had disappeared like a ghost and left you aching for days.  Most people didn’t acknowledge you after, unless they wanted to get their rocks off again, and you had gone with it because you had your own needs to fill too.

Jeongguk is not most people and you can feel the tears gathering in your eyes as he pushes his cock in until his pelvis meets yours.  He’s dropped his head to place his forehead against your collarbone, breath ragged as he finally comes to a halt, body quivering as you clutch onto his shoulders.

“Okay?” he asks, voice deep but quiet, “Hurt?”

“I need a sec,” you whimper, trying to relax around the intrusion and he grants you it, keeping you close as he peppers kisses across your skin.

The throbbing in your pussy changes from uncomfortable to needy as he cock pulses in you and you finally rub your nose against his neck and whisper for him to start moving.

Jeongguk takes a shuddering breath as he slowly pulls his cock out and inches it back in, fingers creating indents on your hip as you clench around him, trying to adjust to the feeling.  His thrusts help, loosening your body up as the pain ache transforms into spikes of pleasure.

“Feels good,” you whine, loosening your hold on his shoulders and letting him pull out of your neck, “Gukkie, feels good.”

You smile up at him as his eyes open, before they widen considerably.  His minuscule thrusts stop and you fear the worst, raising a hand to his face.

“What?  What is it?” you worry, trying to turn your head to see if maybe something’s happening and you see-

You see your hair spread around you with the strands glowing against the blanket.  You gasp, raising a hand to pinch some of the powder off your hair to see it coat your fingers, glowing a translucent blue against your skin.

“Y/N,” Jeongguk whispers shakily, reaching a hand up to touch the crown that had fallen onto the blanket when he laid you down, “the flowers… they’re glowing.”

Jeongguk’s right, your hair is glowing and the rest of your body is starting to glow too, where fern powder has fallen onto your skin all day.

“You’re-you’re glowing and that means your- that means we-” Jeongguk’s lower lip is starting to wobble and he can’t finish his sentence, dipping his head to let it rest in your neck again, “Y/N.”

You cry with him, clutching tightly onto Jeongguk as the message the Moon Goddess sent you sets in; Jeongguk and you are true mates.  It doesn’t sound real, as you sob into Jeongguk’s shoulder, and you don’t feel any different than you did ten minutes ago.  But fern flowers don’t randomly glow, especially not after they’ve been plucked, and not coincidentally on your mating day after giving the Moon Goddess your thanks.

Jeongguk kisses you, a messy thing of tears and spit as he undulates his hips, framing your face as he sets the pace.  You can make out faint murmurings of it’s you as Jeongguk tongues you, pelvis pressed against yours as he grinds against you.  The pressure is almost too much, the hard plains of his lower stomach pressing tantalizingly against your clit as you open around his cock.

His pace turns more frantic, pulling his hips back farther and farther, spearing you on his cock more and more as his hands roam your torso.

“Pretty girl, my pretty girl,” he groans, licking a thick stripe up your neck as your legs tighten around him, overcome with the feeling, “So wet, feel so good around my cock.”

You nod in quick agreement, hands slipping down his back as he starts to sweat, “Guk, touch me, please.”

You cry out as his fingers toy with your clit, tears gathering in your eyes, carding your fingers through his hair.  Your orgasm is fast approaching and Jeongguk seems hellbent on sending you over the edge fast.

“Yes, yes, Gukkie, so close,” you pant, having trouble keeping your eyes open.

“Gonna look so good around my knot,” he grunts, the pressure of his fingers turning deadly and you cry at the feeling, “Gonna knot you so good you’ll feel it for days.  This is the only knot you’ll ever need, the only knot you’ll ever want, got that?” his voice turns into a growl and you openly sob.

“Only ever want you, Guk- gonna- gonna-!”

You throw your head back as all sounds get caught in you throat, back taunt as you arch it, Jeongguk fucking you through your orgasm as his fingers don’t slow.  It’s so good, consuming your entire body as it locks up until all you can feel is it and Jeongguk.

“Baby, look so good like this.  God, I’m so lucky.  Gonna bust- gonna knot-”

Jeongguk stops talking, leaning down to clamp his teeth around your neck.  You don’t even flinch at the feeling, your body thrumming from your orgasm.  There is a sort of warmth in your heart at knowing that once Jeongguk leaves his bite claim it’s official by shifter standards, that you and Jeongguk are mated for life.

You gasp as you feel the initial swelling, Jeongguk biting harder in tandem as his knot grows.  You’ve never slept with a shifter before and the swelling, despite being aware of it, is not something you’re quite prepared to take.  You whine as it continues to swell, Jeongguk growling around his mouthful of your skin as his thrusts slow down as it locks you two in place.

You squeeze your eyes shut as Jeongguk begins to cum and bites through your skin, pain erupting along with it.

“Oh fuck, fuck,” Jeongguk grunts, licking at your neck before he throws his head back and howls, body twitching in your hold.

There’s… a lot.  It feels like Jeongguk cums for a minute straight, panting heavily into the air before he lets his full body weight fall on top of you.  You wheeze but don’t fight it, pressing your nose into his temple as you breathe together.  Jeongguk licks periodically at your bite wound as your breathing evens out and your heartbeats return to normal.

“I can’t believe it,” Jeongguk finally whispers, “How would I get so lucky?  To meet my true mate through a voluntary offering.”

His words bring tears to your eyes again.  It does seem too good to be true, to have been ostracized from your community only to have that ostracism lead to your volunteering at Jeongguk’s Lottery.

Jeongguk raises his head to meet your eyes and he’s wearing a dopey smile, brushing his fingers over the crown of flowers.

“You’re still glowing,” he whispers, eyes bright and shiny in the candlelight.

“Cut it out, I’m gonna cry,” you hiccup, trying to pull Jeongguk down to kiss you, but he resists, testing the pull of his hips.

His knot has gone down enough that he’s able to pull out, but he quickly plunges his fingers into you.  You go to protest, but the words die in your throat as he gazes very seriously up at you.

“Y/N,” he sounds just as serious, “I just- I love you.”

You reach out and punch his shoulder and he rears back, more out of shock than actual pain, “Ow!  What the hell!”

“You can’t say that to me when you’ve got your fingers in me like that!” you protest, though his words have sent your heart spiraling.

“I didn’t want to let the cum out yet,” he says, pouting like the ridiculous idiot he is.

You open your mouth to say something, but he leans in and softly kisses you, finally removing his fingers so he can hold you by your waist.

“I just wanted you to know,” he says, shameless and honest, “I don’t expect you to say it if you don’t feel it.”

You feel a lot for Jeongguk, but you’re not sure if that feeling is love or not, so you keep it to yourself for now.  Jeongguk doesn’t seem offended, if the sweet kisses he continues to give you mean anything.  He places a hand on your cheek to tilt your head and you hiss as it pulls the stiff skin of your neck.

Jeongguk grins as he pulls from kissing your mouth to kissing your neck, the attention alleviating some of the pain.

“We have the clearing all to ourselves,” Jeongguk murmurs against your skin and you hum in acknowledgement, letting him slowly guide you back down on the blanket, “Let’s lay here for a bit, yeah?  I wanna take my time with you.”

“Guk…” you start off and he looks up at you, raising a quizzacle eyebrow, “... thank you.”

He doesn’t ask for what.  You both already know, can both feel it when he raises up to kiss you again, with the intention of taking advantage of all the time you guys have left.  Which is forever.

[you-cant-spell-subtext-without]

Sigh. It’s quiet today, so I guess it’s about time to talk about 12x06: Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox.  

This is an episode without Cas, so clearly it revolves entirely around Cas (I'm kidding, but only a little bit).  It’s also a bottle episode and a meta writer’s wet dream, so excuse me while I nerd out - this is a long one to unpack, and I have spent too much time doing it for you.  That’s ok because, as Sam says:

DIVE IN AFTER THE CUT BUDDIES!

The Asa montage is where we start.

Asa is a Dean mirror. The parallels are pretty clear - he’s a scruffy rough around the edges hunter, Mary is the reason he got into hunting, he wears a ton of flannel, etc.  If you remain unsure, the writers throw this in at the very beginning in the montage of Asa’s life as a hunter So That You Know:

Bucky: Hey, you know they make new cars, right? Asa: I don’t want a new car. This is my lucky car. 

***Canadian!Dean confirmed.

Shaine Jones may also be the Canadian Jensen Ackles.

I don’t make the rules ok?

Back in the US, the boys surprise Jody with a visit. 

In case you forgot the episode prior to this one:

Side note: domestic Jody gives me life. 

We’re clearly supposed to see how Jody is a mom figure for the boys, and it feels nice for them to have that, especially since Mary is Taking Some Space.  Their entire dynamic warms even my cold black soul.

[romantic scene of a couple silhouetted against a sunset while sweeping music plays on Jody’s TV. The couple kisses.] 

DEAN

[his mouth full of pizza] Jody, you watching some kind of chick flick here?

JODY

Well, Dean. I’m a chick. 

Kim Rhodes YOU ARE A DELIGHT.  A side note - I know this exchange is supposed to be funny, but I feel sad for Dean (who clearly is a rom com chick).  This is a perfect example of Dean struggling to present some fabricated image of heteronormative masculinity that’s not the heart of who he actually is.  His surprise that a “badass sheriff chick” can also enjoy rom coms makes me fucking upset.  

ALSO:

Anyway, Asa has passed on and the boys tag along with Jody to the wake in support.  

SAM

Yeah, no, Jody. We… we know you’ll be fine, but… you know, we never go to hunter gatherings, outside of bars. Dad always said they were trouble, so…

DEAN

Yes, you’d be doing us a favor if you let us tag along.

***more receipts that John Winchester was an isolating abuser.  They could have at least had a normal HUNTER life and friends who hunted.

SAM  

That is a big house. [Music continues playing, coming from inside the house now]

***We now establish one “theme” of the episode.

JODY

Family home. Asa was just a guy. 

AKA pretty brutal implication that Asa didn’t have a family of his own.

Speaking of implications:

[Jody removes her coat and the three of them begin mingling. Dean finds his way to the kitchen and a cooler full of beer] DEAN

No label. Well, that’s a red flag. 

****LOL WHAT THE FUCK IS THE REASON****

....

....

....

GIRL SEND HELP

Enter Bucky, who is actually (SPOILER!) the villain of the episode.

Do all hunters just walk around with this manly flannel/weird symbolic necklace combo?  Looking at you Bucky and Dean.  

Dean is surprised to find that people know who he is:

But doesn’t seem to have an issue with it until -

***Someone who just bragged the entire five hour car ride about killing Hitler shouldn’t be this concerned about what people are saying about him right? 

Or is he thinking it may involve something he isn’t comfortable sharing - since apparently there are things Dean doesn’t feel comfortable sharing as established by the prior couch conversation with Jody?  Hmmmmmm...

***Compare the expressions.  The “you’ve died four times” response is the same as the smug/proud “I killed Hitler” face.  The reaction to the “stories” is the “hey this is my personal business” reaction Dean had to Sam’s Japanese erotica art form comment. He is thinking specifically about something personal.

I wonder what it could be.

I don’t think any one had to teach Max Banes the art of seduction, but also thank you.

Also, manifesting Dean being raised by Max and Alicia’s Cool Witch Mom instead of John Trash Winchester.  Because that’s what we’re supposed to think here, correct?  Two sibling hunters usually present a brother mirror.

Worth noting Sam’s surprise that witches can also be hunters.  The John Winchester Bigotry Brain Rot runs deep.  (GOD the Sam-witch thing would have driven him crazy I LIVE FOR THAT).

Dean escapes to Asa’s office/room and proceeds to go through his things.

[Dean is in Asa’s office and finds an angel blade mounted on blue velvet inside an ornate glass-lidded box. He opens it, reaches in and pulls out the angel blade, comfortably spinning it in his hand when Sam walks in.]

SAM

Hey.

DEAN

Oh, hi. This is a real Angel Blade. I mean, this guy was legit. 

***that’s weird, why does Canadian!Dean have an angel blade?  We haven’t heard anything about angels yet, and it wasn’t in the opening montage.  Hmmmmmm, I say. Hmmmmmmm...

***Sam is also concerned about The Stories They Tell 

This one particularly:

Honestly I don’t know why he’s THAT surprised that people know he was possessed by Lucifer?  Didn’t he start like multiple apocalypses?  That’s something people tend to be in the know about. Anyhoo.

DEAN

Yeah. Apparently we’re a little bit legendary. 

SAM 

Yeah, but, I mean, so was Asa. Then a hunt went bad, and he ended up hanging from a tree, alone in the woods.

DEAN

He died on the job. No better way to go. 

SAM

You really believe that? 

DEAN

Yeah. What, you don’t? I mean, come on, Sam, it's not like we're in the “live till you're 90, die in your sleep” business. This? [Dean points at Asa’s hunting wall] This only ends one way. 

***Insert deep internal screaming about 15x20 here***

It’s Jody’s turn to be uncomfortable as we find out she and Asa were more than just friends and everyone knew it and Said Things About It and Told Stories About It.

HMMMMMMM...

Dean is surprised that Jody not only enjoys rom coms, but ruggedly hot men. Another thing they have in common.

As Dean comes to terms with the idea that Jody can be a mother figure and also a human person with a life and her own feelings and needs and thoughts, enter the person whom said lesson is actually about:

This is a Kim Rhodes Facial Expression stan account now.

So cute how Jody knows immediately that Dean is not okay.  Time to reach:

JODY

Huh. Is that why you spent the entire ride up here telling me in extreme, excruciating detail how you killed Hitler, but, uh, you neglected to mention the fact that your mom is back from the dead? 

***look, it’s another Dean doesn’t like others knowing personal information parallel!***

DEAN 

Yeah, no big deal. 

JODY

That’s a lie.

DEAN

JODY …

JODY

Look, maybe this isn't my place, and this is epic stuff, but

JODY

Yeah. Because what if I’ve changed. What if they changed? What if it just didn’t work out the way I wanted?  If you wanna talk about anything

***Killing Hitler used yet again to show Dean doesn’t care about oversharing hunting stories, but he doesn’t like for people to know personal ones.  Also, Jody mentions her son and her husband.  Her family and her romantic partner.  

Dean wasn’t just reunited with Mary this season. He was also reunited with Cas, after saying goodbye to him at the end of Season 11 when he headed to what he thought was going to be his death as the Amara-bomb.

So, this conversation isn't just about Mary (the “anything”).  It’s also about Cas (the”...absolutely anything”).

Mary chats with Mama Fox and more Points Are Made about hunters not getting to have a “normal life” or family:

MARY

I saved his life. 

LORRAINE

[scoffing] What am I supposed to say to that? After you, Asa got so… Hunting was his whole life. He never married. Never had a family, kids. And now… enjoy the wake. 

***sending Mary on a guilt spiral about Asa (mirroring her other guilt spiral about hunting as a life for her own sons)

Speaking of mirrors:

BUCKY

And Asa loved that Jeep. Fuses were shorted, fuel line was busted. Ah, he didn’t care. He’d just roll up his sleeves, he’d get right to work. 

Time to learn about today’s Big Bad.

BUCKY

Jael. He’s a crossroads demon. And he hangs people. It’s his thing. Snaps their neck, slits their throat. He’s a real piece of work. 

***Wait a second.  Jael is a demon?  Don’t...angel’s names usually end in “el” in SPNverse?

Samandriel.

Uriel.

Gabriel.

Raphael.

Gadreel.

Castiel.

HMMMMMMMMMMMMMMM.

Anyways the demon [questionable] killed Asa and now everyone  is trapped and also In Grave Danger.  

BUCKY

Exactly. Right, so five years later, Jael– he came back, and he came for Asa. 

JODY

How so? 

BUCKY

Asa was seeing this woman, right? She had a kid. 

LORRAINE

Marlene. 

BUCKY

Yeah, Marlene. Jael got into her. It didn’t matter that he was killing people, he wanted Asa to know it was personal. He gets off on it. 

***that’s so weird, didn’t someone else in the show start seeing a woman with a kid - 

what a sexy little coincidence.

oh and didnt  a supernatural being come back right around that time too - 

HMMMMMMMM.  No killing though.  That’s the difference between angels and demons, I guess.

(meanwhile Dean has been drinking alone outside - as he does, and is realizing he can’t get back in)

HI QUEEN

Also, this immediately took me to 

this show isn’t fair.

****sob break****

Jael Posession 1:

So curious how there are two siblings and then one gets possessed by something Satanic and the other one is good at seducing men.

SO FUCKING CURIOUS.

Jael Possession 2:

Elvis. Random.  Though he was the guy who brought up the Stories Sam Was Surprised Were Circulating -

He was also oddly interested in it.  Methinks Elvis thoroughly enjoyed the Jael possession.

Bilie gets Dean back in the house.  The words “one-time deal” are said a lot of times.

BONUS: Jensen why are you so pretty:

The hunters get to work, and I live for Max Bane’s pentagram aesthetic.

MAX

I like a Fifth Pentacle of Mars. It’s got more character. 

***TBH, same.

Jael possession 3:

****Kim Rhodes is even better when she is playing evil.

JODY/JAEL:

I had so hoped you’d kill your mom. Wouldn’t that be a riot? 

[Mary draws the angel blade and charges at Jody. She cuts Jody’s arm before Sam wrestles her away.] 

SAM

No! Mom!

MARY

What are you doing?! She’s a demon. We kill demons. 

******WOOF MARY - I REPEAT TO YOU THAT THE JOHN TRASH WINCHESTER BRAIN ROT RUNS DEEP.

Also did you immediately flash back to this with me?

Gets me thinking that Dean’s feelings for Cas are made twice as complicated by the fact that he is also a supernatural creature.  Another Reason Why John Winchester Would Disapprove.

****Just as he would Disapprove of Sam Being Possessed By the Devil and all that (never forget he told Dean to kill him because of the whole made unclean by demon blood thing). 

Right on cue:

JODY/JAEL

Oh, I have heard so many stories about you Winchesters. And I desperately want the Lucifer thing to be true.  

***Stories again. Jael proceeds to go into Stories That Are Dark Personal Shameful Secrets:

JAEL

As for the rest of you, I have been inside your heads. I know all about you. For example, the twins. Too frightened to tell anyone that they actually came to say goodbye to their daddy. Or the grieving mother who hated the fact that her son was a hunter so much she’d hide his gear, she’d sabotage his Jeep, anything to keep him from hunting. Not that it worked. Could’ve tried harder, huh? 

[She gestures at her own face] And this meatsuit you all seem to care so much about. She actually fantasized about a life with Asa. Can you believe that? Like that worthless man– 

***HMMMMMMMMM

[Bucky gets off the floor and sneaks up behind Jody/Jael] 

BUCKY 

Shut your filthy mouth. 

[Jody/Jael grabs Bucky by the neck and forces him to his knees] 

JODY/JAEL

And you. Bucky. Brave, brave Bucky. I was there that night. Tell these nice, stupid people what you did. Tell them what you took from me. Asa was mine. 

***Excuse me? THIS IS GETTING VERY...subtextual.  A dark timeline supernatural being/hunter relationship [ending badly because demons only know how to take, consume and possess]? ...Asael?  CURIOUS. 

They chant the exorcism, a different hunter doing each iteration (beautifully done) 

and send Jael back to hell, but not before Bucky shares his Shameful Story - he’s the one who killed Asa.

Elaboration:

BUCKY

Asa, he was just all– he was just always so stubborn. Look, we were in the woods. [We see the scene play out as Bucky describes it] Jael, he… he was taunting him. Asa wanted to chase him, but he didn’t have the angel blade. I said, “Let’s go back.” He called me a coward, and he shoved me, so I shoved him back, and he fell. He hit his head. Asa? I didn’t mean to do it. But it was a mistake. Asa. Asa? An accident. I’m sorry. I didn’t know what to do. Asa hated that damn demon so much that I just…

DEAN

Oh, you thought people would buy that Jael killed him? So you hung your best friend to cover your own ass. 

BUCKY

What are you gonna do to me? 

ALICIA:

Tell everyone, every hunter we meet. They’re gonna know your name, Bucky. Know what you did. 

MAX

You like stories. This is the story everyone’s gonna tell about you. Forever. 

***Shameful Stories that Define You, what a theme.  Also, definitely a supernatural being potentially having some subtextual feelings for Canadian!Dean.  Hmmm.

***Funeral pyre and side discussion about how Asa did have a family, and children, and a potential supernatural sidepiece.

In conclusion, Supernatural is a love story.  Thank you for watching this dark timeline/Canadian dub.  You’re dismissed for the day.  Go eat bacon.

[gizkasparadise]

cdrama rec/review: go ahead

KDRAMA AND CDRAMA MASTER LIST OF REVIEWS

Series: go ahead Episodes: 40 Genres: family, healing/melodrama, slice of life, romance Spoilers in the Rec: for the first 20% ish/set-up If You Like, You’ll Like: reply 1988, le coup de foudre, find yourself (same production company/main male actor), rain or shine/just between lovers, found family stories, meet again stories

Rank: 10/10** (see Drawbacks section)

PREMISE

widower hai chao and his 6 year old daughter jian jian live happily above his noodle restaurant despite the recent, tragic death of his wife. one day, dysfunction junction a married couple (he ping, a police officer, and chen ting, a real piece of work) move into the same building with their 7 year old son, ling xiao. immediately, jian jian attaches herself to ling xiao, who is unexpectedly grim for a small child. 

because ling xiao’s family is less-than-healthily grieving the loss of their youngest child, ling xiao’s sister who died in a terrible accident. The Apartment of Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms eventually implodes, ending with chen ting abandoning her husband and son. he ping, suddenly a single father, and hai chao come to a friendly partnership that is clearly alluding to gay marriage where they co-raise both of their kids--hai chao as the primary caregiver, and he ping supporting them financially through his job as a policeman.

meanwhile, the neighborhood busybody is dead-set on getting hia chao remarried. eventually she introduces him to a divorced single mother, he mei, and her son zi qiu, who is ling xiao’s age. they sort of start to date, but it culminates in he mei skipping town and leaving zi qiu behind. hai chao, man with a heart of gold, informally adopts him and zi qiu becomes jianjian’s foster brother.

from there, the trio grow up happily and become inseparable. but once zi qiu and ling xiao graduate high school, the bullshit parade their respective childhood skeletons reappear in their lives. circumstances lead to the boys moving overseas, leaving jianjian and their fathers behind. 

they reunite after 9 years, when the boys return to a home where they hope to pick things back up from where they left off. things are more complicated than that, as jianjian finds herself in a new life and surrounded by new people. 

MAIN CHARACTERS

li jian jian

hai chao’s daughter and the only girl in the family. she attended the required short-hair-low-grades training program required of all cdrama youth female leads. super positive and outgoing, as well as the youngest of the three pseudo-siblings, jian jian grows up spoiled and over protected by her father and brothers, and as a result is completely devastated once her family falls apart. it’s so sad.

after the time skip, she’s an on-the-verge successful artist who makes woodcarvings, and exudes big art bro energy. inhales sugar like it’s nobody’s business. she inherited her father’s disease called caring too much, and it’s incurable!! 

ling xiao

the eldest brother and resident fun police. ling xiao comes from a seriously toxic home that finally seems to improve once his mother leaves. but then she comes back. fucking great. introverted to the point of being withdrawn to anyone but his chosen family, ling xiao’s had to carry a lot of emotional weight that takes a larger and larger toll on him as the series progresses. please get this boy some therapy. 

becomes a dentist because jian jian needs one. wears a lot of monochromatic outfits with low necklines because heavy angst but make it fashion. has been in love with jian jian since high school and is still carrying that torch 9 years later.

he zi qiu  

the middle child who grows up in hai chao and jian jian’s home, and is her foster brother in all but paperwork. hotheaded, zi qiu and jian jian basically share two brain cells that ling xiao routinely takes from them for safekeeping. he spoils jian jian, sneaking her snacks and junk food and wants to become a pastry chef so he can open a sweet shop for her!!

my favorite character. just wants to be wanted 8( him and hai chao’s relationship is my favorite dynamic in the series. will sob while driving a pink moped. is too proud to beg

li hai chao (left) and ling he ping (right)

the greatest (hai chao) and okayest (he ping) dads in the world! noodle dad/hai chao has never done anything wrong in his life, ever, and we know this and we love him. he ping isn’t a bad person, but demonstrates pretty classic absentee parenting/isn’t as emotionally present in his son’s life as hai chao. hai chao is the heart of the family, and would do anything for his kids 8( 

SOME SUPPORT CHARACTERS 

tang can (left) and qiu ming yue (right)

jian jian’s #GirlGang and roommates. they, like literally everyone in this drama, have some severe mom issue hang-ups. tang can (left) is a former child actress who is struggling with her lack of success as an adult and gives well-meaning but absolutely terrible advice on the regular. 

ming yue (right) is jian jian’s best friend since childhood and as an adult is trying to break free from her mother’s controlling nature--she’s also had a thing for ling xiao for the last 9 years. raises fish for symbolism purposes.

chen ting

ling xiao’s mom and certified garbage human. unable to cope with the death of her daughter that was her fault lbr, she abandons her family and disappears for ten years. she forces her way back into ling xiao’s life when he turns 18, where it’s revealed that she’s remarried and ling xiao has a younger half-sister chengzi (”little orange”). shit goes down, and soon ling xiao is forced to move back to singapore to serve as primary caregiver to both his mother who abandoned him and the half sister he barely knows. 

emotionally abusive and basically hits every single square on the toxic parent bingo card. i just. i just hate her. even typing this out is making me mad.

he mei

zi qiu’s mother. after a few dates with hai chao, she ends up ditching her kid and disappearing for unknown reasons. is a slightly better parent than chen ting but that’s like saying some poison kills you slower. the show tries to bring us around on her but it didnt work for me. 

SOME OTHERS

zhuang bei, zi qiu’s best friend growing up who i would like a lot less if he wasn’t played by the same actor who played my beloved dachuan

zheng shuran, jian jian’s first boyfriend and fellow artist who’s got a weird thing for women’s waists and pretentious artists’ statements

du juan, jian jian’s friend who co-owns their woodworking studio. has absolute trash taste in men

chengzi, ling xiao’s half-sister who can be a brat but dear god does she need to be protected/saved 

**DRAWBACKS

so this is a weird one for me. what i didn’t like i really didn’t like, but what i loved i really loved. ultimately, the factors/uniqueness of this show and the loveability of the main characters outweighed the negatives and it’s one of my favorite dramas.

THAT SAID. i got some #thoughts on this one. 

first, there are literally no positive mother figures in this show. not a damn one. they are all negligent or controlling at best or down right abusive at worst. no woman over 30 is portrayed positively and that’s a big No from me. 

the last 10 eps have some pacing issues and focus on the wrong people. spending the remaining episodes focused on one of the most universally hated characters vs. the main family was a bad move 

the show tried to redeem or make us sympathize with characters that were, to me, completely irredeemable. one case is worse than the other, but both of them were terrible people that deserved to be cut out of the main family’s lives.  

REASONS TO WATCH

the main family. the characters are so wonderful and nuanced, and their dynamics with one another were amazing. you’ll fall in love with hai chao aka noodle dad and the trio. they go through so many trials but they still stick together and it’s ultimately a healing drama and i loved it very much.

the central romance was less in focus, but the pining is enough to make jane austen emerge from the grave. i loved the leads together, and while LOL ling xiao’s attachment to jian jian was not always healthy, they supported each other and it made me smile. i love me a tortured pining dude.

#Acting. everyone played their parts to perfection. the child actors in particular were so well-cast (esp baby zi qiu)

the soundtrack lmao. you watch the opening credits and know you’ll need to buckle up

idk it’s a very unique show, and i haven’t seen one like it. reply 1988 comes close, but it doesn’t tackle the same issues and it was all just very real and earnest. 

Final Thoughts.

GOODNIGHT, GOOODBYYYYYE MY CHILDREEEEEEEN

[musicallisto]

without fail tag

THE “WITHOUT FAIL” TAG — List five things that you, WITHOUT FAIL, weave into or explore in your stories, whether it be specific themes or tropes, character archetypes, allusions to other literary works, what have you! It really can be anything that you consistently include in your narratives for whatever reason. Then invite others to share theirs by tagging them!

I was tagged by @deadlymodern - thank you so much for tagging me, this tag is amazing and I loved reading your answers! I can tell you have a very thorough approach to your writing & themes, it’s so cool!

(tagging people at the bottom of the post if you want to skip)

1. flowers, skies & words

grouping them together since they're all related to a wider, general literary device: symbols and allegories in my stories. Without fail, I’ll always use flower symbolism to evoke certain themes, places, characters... withered petals for death, blossoms for youth, you name it, it’s probably been in one of my stories. just consider my main WIP’s title, The Grave of Roses (Le Tombeau des Roses). It’s a little basic, and has been used time and time before in literature, but I still love it.

Other elements that often make it into my stories as symbols are planes (because I love aviation obviously, but also as a symbol of breaking free, independence, of man’s domination on mortality, what with having tamed the skies, but also his frail condition and how everything hangs on a thread). Also, the sky is pretty.

And lastly, words, stories, novels always have their place in my stories, and more often than not one of my characters is a writer, or someone who uses words and stories as some kind of comfort, outlet, or a driving force.

At its [the tombstone] foot, below the name, red roses piled up, enough of them to cover ten graves. A single vermilion bud, a wind-swept poppy, clashed with the rest of the bouquet, and Samuel knew that it was William's children who had placed it there. Only they knew that he didn't even like roses anymore, and that he would come to lay poppies on his father's memorial every time he returned to London...

The tomb was both smaller and prettier than Samuel imagined, less opulent than England would have wanted to give its precious child. The morning sun, like a caress, illuminated the epitaph, a Latin verse that Samuel had known in the past. “Bury me southward,” he heard William say so clearly that he almost turned around, "so that I can look at England and France in the same breath." His name, however, was drenched in full light, facing east, and inexplicably this saddened Samuel.

“And there it is... it's pretty, don't you think? I don't know if he would have liked it... You probably know it better than I do...”

“And why do you care about that, huh? You don't even believe in God.” “He's a writer. He believes in symbols.” “He believes in vanity, alright.”

“I think he would have liked it anyway,” he nodded in agreement, his eyes glued to the lonely poppy. (Translation)

2. parental roughnesses

this was bound to come, because I feel like we were all pretty fucked up at some point in our lives from our upbringing. I didn’t go for straight up “parental issues” because I don’t deal with like, abusive or absent parents or anything, just complicated relationships between parents and their children, but who still love each other. Oftentimes it has to do with one of the children idealizing the heck out of their parent and slowly realizing that they make mistakes and are not a hero at all, and/or unmeetable expectations and parental pressure. but it’s not like I’m projecting or anything lol

“You never knew Father, William,” Grace stopped him immediately [...]. “Don't you dare pretend you know what it's like.”

“Growing up without a father is not necessarily better than losing him in childhood! Everyone here has suffered from his disappearance, Grace. You have no idea how much I miss him, despite never meeting him. But that's all in the past now. And there's no reason for there to be another war.”

“Of course there is!” she retorted ferociously, despite the tears spilling from her eyes. “Of course there is, and they're going to send you there like Father, and you'll want to play hero like Father, and then you'll get shot down like a dog! Where's it going to be this time, huh? Above Luxembourg, just like him, or maybe somewhere in your beloved France?” (Translation)

3. patriotism

One way or another, all my stories always deal with patriotism, nationalism, pride in one’s country and more broadly speaking one’s relationship to it. It questions what it means to belong to a country, to share one culture, one language; does it justify acting in the benefit of one’s country, and where do you draw the line before you intentionnally harm others’; what even is a country, a nationality, and it what sense do you belong to one, and what do you owe it, if you even owe it anything? Is it wrong or right to feel love and attachment to your place of origin? And what does it mean to fight for your country, for its values, for its people? & other things of the like. It probably stems from my own experience as a binational person; growing up, I was always asked stuff like “but who do you root for in a football game” “but are you like really French or not?” “if Spain and France got into a war what would you do?”, and this all lead me to question “am I more French or am I more Spanish - which one am I, and which one would others perceive me to be - do I need to pick a side? And how can I express my affection to these places that raised me both differently, without undermining the other - or others? can I still be proud of my heritage given the horrors my countries have committed in the past?”. I still haven’t found a definitive answer, so my writing is just me throwing trails out to the world and hoping I’ll figure it out someday. that’s why my stories often have a war setting; firstly I just love historical fiction, and secondly it’s the perfect backdrop for all these questions to unfold.

William laughed at the idea - he, a true Frenchman! It was a very silly thought. He may have loved what he had seen of Charlotte's country, but England was not to be ashamed of any other land, for it was the only one he would love until his last breath. (Translation.)

4. just a hint of supernatural

I love me a good ghost story, and I’m a fan of everything spooky, but what’s subtly spooky, and not the gory, in-your-face horror. This particular theme may have increased since I saw The Haunting of Hill House which completely OBLITERATED ME with how it uses the house and its ghosts to tell a story of family and trauma and memories... but I’ve loved ghost stories forever. Another piece that truly resonated with me was One Hundred Years of Solitude (Cien años de soledad) by Gabriel García Márquez. It was my first dive into the world of magical realism and I didn’t make it out of there the same person I was when I entered. This one is not necessarily included in every piece without fail, because some are just too anchored in reality, but if it’s not a straight-up spirit or an otherworldly creature, I’ll always find a way to include an aspect of superstition, a myth, a legend, a tale from faraway that is neither proved nor disproved throughout the story. It truly adds to the atmosphere of the world, even in a very realistic and gritty setting, I believe.

I hear murmurs of legends among the soldiers. [...] One of those stories caught my attention, I must admit... It is not very special, nothing more than a children's tale, but I thought it was beautiful enough to please your Romantic soul. Some pilots speak of a cemetery, somewhere in the countryside north of London, which has something mystical about it, lost in the flowers that sway as far as the eye can see, in the calm rhythm of the wind, wrapped in the heady scent of eternal spring, and where the bravest warriors would go to rest forever, tired of their exploits and the continual explosions. No one knows exactly where it is or what to do to be buried there, but this beautiful image simply floats like a dream in the minds of many and, I confess, in mine as well since I first heard about it.

It is said that there only flowers dare to disturb the heroes in their sleep... This fragment of silence is called the Grave of the Roses.

So if I were to leave you, if you were to hear that I am gone...

With a bit of luck, that is where you will find me.

5. love

this one is broader and less obvious than you might think. Of course, I’ll always, always implement an element of romance to my story (and more often than not it’s angsty with star-crossed lovers or insurmountable obstacles or forbidden romances and whatnot), but there’s more to it. I don’t think I have ever written a story that is entirely grim and bleak, simply because I do not believe the world is built like that. I’ve said time and time again that love is my favorite thing in the world, and I believe it is the force that drives us all forward and connects us all together; love is, to me, the truest power of humanity, and its inherent purpose. And love covers all subjects and all types of relationships, but my absolute favorite ways to explore and show love in my stories is through long-lasting, rock-solid friendships (because friendships are often overlooked both in fiction and real life), and just a grandiose love letter to humanity as a whole. I’m an optimist, and many people who have suffered more than I have would deem me naive for thinking this - and I cannot blame them -, but as Anne Frank put it more bravely than I ever could, “despite everything, I still think humans are good at heart”. My stories are always born out of love and made for love. For the love of humanity and kindness and literature and love of myself, too, because sometimes I just like rereading the words and thinking, “wow, I’ve made it this far. look at me go.” In a word, yes, I would say that is what it boils down to; my work, but also what I hope my entire life and being will be. An ode to love.

“He admired you and truly loved you, you know. You were a good leader, I'm sure, and a good friend, above all.”

He thought she was going to put her hand on his shoulder, and prepared to bend to avoid it, but instead she came to rest on the polished marble of the tomb, which was already beginning to erode at the corners. The soft light bathed her hand, and Samuel's on the other corner, still resting above William's surname, the only thing he had been proud of from beginning to end.

“And I loved him too. I loved them all. If you only knew...”

well, I got carried away, as I always do when talking about my writing, but it made me miss it so much. I haven’t worked on any of my projects since literally October and I’m feeling the void rn. anyway, thank you again for enabling me to ramble about what I love most, Thais! and I’m tagging @softeninglooks, @lxncelot, @myriadimagines​, @swanimagines & @randomfandomimagine + plus any writer who wants to talk about their marvelous work <3

[ladyloveandjustice]

Saw the My Hero Academia Heroes Rising Movie!

It was a lot of fun (and the animation in the second half was AMAZING eye candy) but also KINDA STRANGE in some ways. 

The previous MHA movie was set between the second and third season, so I assumed this would be the same and be set between the third and the currently airing one, but this actually seemed to be concurrent with wherever the manga is right now, and referenced several events that haven’t happened in the anime yet, and featured characters that haven’t appeared yet. Not like super huge spoilers, but like, for instance, Todoroki quotes something I GUESS Endeavor must have told him in the manga but hasn’t said to him in the anime yet at a dramatic moment? even that dude who caused all the controversy with his name reveal recently factors in and appears for a few minutes. So if you’re an anime-only like me, fair warning for that.

There were also a lot of hilariously contrived things in this movie including the entire premise which was like

UA: so we’ve been roasted in the press and lost the trust of society for being irresponsible supervising our students who are currently being targeted by a villainous organization that will take any opening to attack them. what do we do?

Aizawa: well I think we should send the entire class of first years to an isolated island with ZERO adult hero supervision,where the nearest help is like a thousand miles away and they can easily be cut off from communication with the outside world! Also we should task them with protecting the entire populace, and do absolutely nothing to check up on them or keep the League of Villains from following them and attacking. This is a cool island with no crime on it usually so, y’know, it should be fine.

UA: brilliant!

It did make for some cool fight scenes and having all the peeps in class 1A get to show off their powers a bit, which is something the first movie didn’t do very well. The first half of the movie was very obnoxious in the ‘guys fight, girls are in charge of evacuation and don’t get to fight bc we’re not going to bother to hide our sexism here’ but the second half had all the kids teaming up for cool combo attacks which mitigated it a bit. 

also Bakugou and Deku’s contrasting ways of dealing with the two little kids they were protecting WAS side-splitting; at one point poor Deku has to crawl on Bakugou’s back and SHOVE HIS FINGERS INTO HIS EYES and prevent him  raging out at these small children and it made me laugh so hard, as did the little girl saying “OH HEY IT’S THE MEAN ONE” when Bakugou arrived to rescue her.

BUT HEY SPEAKING OF BOTH COOL FIGHTS AND REALLY CONTRIVED THINGS, THAT ENDING.

in an article I skimmed, Horikoshi mentions the movie is basically an idea he considered for the final arc, and I was like “huh I wonder how that works” but when you watch the last half of the movie YUP it’s truly a bunch of climactic shonen final arc resolution events happening that are then immediately undone and it’s just SO awkward and hilarious. spoilers under the cut

Basically, Deku and Bakugou fight a villain who is basically All for One except it’s A Different Dude.

Deku is all: KACCHAN I WILL SACRIFICE ONE FOR ALL AND GIVE IT TO YOU SO WE CAN LIKE, BOTH HAVE IT  FOR A WHILE AND BEAT THIS GUY WITH DOUBLE POWER AND THEN  IF WE LIVE YOU’LL JUST HAVE IT I GUESS

Bakugou: wtf really. (his conflicted, upset and uncomfortable expressions here were REALLY detailed, like I said the animation was gonzo, but it was honestly rlly weird to see him experience a lot of emotions at once IM NOT USED TO HIM HAVING MORE THAN ONE)

 DEKU:  YEAH WHY NOT, JUST FUCKIN’ TAKE IT, YOU GET TO HAVE EVERYTHING JUST LIKE WHEN YOU STOLE MY LUNCH MONEY

Bakugou: oh shit...we’re going to slowly reach and have our fingers brush each other and struggle until we finally clasp hands aren’t we... 

Deku: YEAH THAT’S RIGHT BITCH!!! AND WE’LL MIX BLOOD WHILE MIGHT U TOUCHINGLY PLAYS IN THE BACKGROUND 

Bakugou: fuck. Kirishima can’t ever know about this 

Deku: NOW ACCEPT THIS HAND, AND THUS SYMBOLICALLY YOU ACCEPT THE HAND I OFFERED YOU WHEN WE WERE FIVE OR WHATEVER, CULMINATING YOUR ARC AS MY RIVAL AND GIVING YOU THE POWER TO BECOME SUPER SAIYAN

Bakugou: oh no you’re not kidding I look so stupid.

Deku: That you do, Vegeta.  NOW ARE YOU EXCITED TO BREAK YOUR ARMS!!!

Bakugou: didn’t you spend like, a whole episode realizing you have legs??? what happened to that? but yeah actually i am i have always wanted to show i can break my arms with these powers way better than u ever did!!!

Deku: honestly I couldn’t have chosen anyone more deserving than u to feel this pain

anyway they fight together and then pass out and All Might arrives ten minutes late with starbucks: what the fuck did you do young midoriya

Deku: I’M SO SAD I SACRIFICED MYSELF AND MY DREAM. 

All Might: NOT AS SAD AS ME IF YOU GAVE MY POWERS TO YOUNG BAKUGOU! THAT MEANS I ACTUALLY HAVE TO SPEND A TIME WITH HIM NOW. DO YOU KNOW HOW ANNOYING THAT WILL BE FOR ME

Deku: sorry

All Might: oh thank god i guess Bakugou passed out conveniently before the powers fully transferred so you still have them or whatever

Deku: wow that is incredibly convenient.

All Might: alternately maybe my mentor was doing me a solid from beyond the grave and stopped the power from transferring to someone obnoxious with the other One for All-ers. Thanks Hero Mom :’). always looking out for me.

Deku: uhh when i proposed a similar theory about the people connected to One for All helping me you said it was stupid-?

All Might: YEAH WELL THAT WAS WHEN YOU SAID IT WASN’T IT??? SHUT UP.

Deku: anyway in the trend of convenient happenings, when Bakugou woke he remembered nothing about this fight...

Bakugou: Assagdsfasfasdasd WHY ARE MY ARMS BROKEN???

Deku:... so our relationship in the main series isn’t affected and -

Bakugou: WHY ARE MY ARMS BROKEN IN THE SPECIFIC EXACT WAY DEKU’S ARE ALSO BROKEN???

Deku: ...and the status quo can remain!

Bakugou: you know what. I’m not going to question this any further. because i don’t ever want to remember the fact i held hands with a nerd. god i love repressing.

***

Like can you imagine if Horikoshi had gone through with this, what a depressing ending this would be without the reset???. “all that stuff about this being the story of deku becoming the greatest hero lol we pranked you’  I’M GLAD HE CHANGED HIS MIND but also it tickles me that he apparently thought at one point that holding hands with Deku was the ultimate endpoint of Bakugou’s character. I hope in his original plan Bakugou had held hands with everyone else in Class 1A at that point and Deku was the Final Step. 

Anyway, ridic contrivances aside it was a fun movie and it was very fun to see it in theatres with everyone very excited and cosplayers and all that. JUST PREPARE TO DRINK IN THE SHONEN, CUZ THEY AIN’T HOLDIN’ BACK.