#so it might not work for everybody's settings

[kinardsevan]

martini shot

inspired by that brand new interview with ButWhyTho. louliver | rated t | 1.4k

“Love of my life? Really? You just had to use those words?” 

Lou chuckles as he settles his phone on the counter, rinses off his toothbrush. 

“Well, good morning to you, too, Gorgeous,” he replies, dropping his toothbrush into the cup it gets set in each day and lifting the hand towel to his mouth, swiping away any remnants of paste left on his mouth. 

“Love? Of my life, Louie?” Oliver’s voice grows more irritated with each word. “Do you need Ryan to remind you what it was already like for the fandom?” 

Lou chuckles again, picking up his phone off the counter and walking back into the bedroom. He heads over to the closet and opens it, glancing around at his options for the day. He doesn’t have anywhere to be, and although Oliver has work, he should be around at the end of the night, even if it’s late, so while he doesn’t want to be too formal, he also doesn’t want to look so casual that his boyfriend thinks he isn’t trying. This thing between them isn’t really new anymore—it’s been almost a year since it started, and more than six months since they put a label on it— but he knows that the answer to keeping something feeling fresh and safe is by continuing to breathe life into it. 

“Here’s the difference, Gorgeous,” he comments back as he pushes polo after polo aside in his closet. “Ryan, possibly unlike Eddie, is actually straight. Last I checked, he gagged at the suggestion of making out with you on the car ride back from when we shot the funeral procession. Like, full-on, nearly puked right in front of me, Kenny, God, and everybody.” 

“That’s not the point, babe,” Oliver whines in response. Lou grins if Oliver is already giving way to terms of endearment, this will be an easy hurdle. 

“No, Gorgeous. The point is that if I’ve learned anything in the past year, it’s that I don’t want to hide how I feel about you. I know we talk about keeping things quiet outside of our social circles, and that’s fine. We don’t have to tell the whole world when they don’t know us from a hole in the ground. But I’m also not going to lie or feel like I have to backtrack when I’m just speaking my truth.” Lou pauses for a moment to let his words sink in. His gaze stops on a gray long-sleeved henley. It might get too warm for it, but based on what the weather is supposed to be for the day, he’s not overly concerned. “Make sense?” 

Oliver is quiet for a few moments, but Lou is so attuned to his various nonverbal sounds at this point that he’s not worried. Eventually, the younger man mutters a drawn-out ‘yeah’ with a sigh. 

“Bu-but still, babe,” he croons after a moment. “Love of my life?” It seems that each time he repeats the phrase, his voice pitches higher, and it only makes Lou grin more each time. Between the two of them, Oliver might be the more hands-on one, but Lou is definitely more generous with his words. That’s not to say that he isn’t aware of how Oliver feels—he very much so is—but he’s definitely the one who’s more comfortable saying it twelve times a day versus Oliver’s three or four. 

He grabs a pair of jeans out of the closet and tosses them up on the bed along with the shirt, setting his phone down nearby. 

“Does me saying that out loud bother you,” he asks, genuinely curious. 

“No,” Oliver admits on a breathy exhale, calm as a cucumber. “I think it just…puts things in perspective.” 

“In a bad way,” Lou questions as he pulls his shirt over his head. He’s not actually expecting Oliver to say no or get overly sentimental about their relationship, but when the photographer gets introspective like this, he likes to pull as much out of the younger man as he can. 

“Not at all. It’s more that, actually, hang on. Can I see you?” 

Lou’s phone chimes down on the bed, signalling an attempt to initiate FaceTime. He picks it up and accepts the video call, shifts a few things around on his bed so he can tilt his phone up at the right angle for them to see each other before finishing pulling his shirt down. Oliver grins at the sight—his entire face takes up the frame, and Lou can tell he’s in his trailer at work. A tongue laps across Oliver’s face and Lou smirks. 

“Good morning to you too, Jade,” he states. She lets out a little chuff in response, and Oliver shifts the camera back slightly to let her into frame.

“Good morning indeed,” Oliver replies. 

Lou raises an eyebrow at him suggestively as he reaches up for his jeans and shakes them out. “You were saying?” 

Oliver lets out a breath with a little eyeroll, smirking back at him. 

“I was just saying, like, I know we’ve talked about it before and all, but I didn’t ever really think 9-1-1 was gonna be the place I met somebody. You know?” He turns away from the camera briefly, smiling at Jade as he scratches the top of her head while Lou pulls his jeans up with a little hop and then buttons them before grabbing his phone off the bed and then leaning down over it, leaning his weight into his elbows as he looks back at the other man. 

“I mean you’re not alone in that,” he responds. “I don’t know exactly what I was holding out for before last year, but I think it’s easier to conceptualize that you’re going to meet someone in a work scenario than it actually is to make it happen. Especially when you assume it’s going to be heteronormative. I knew I wasn’t walking into something that was going to put me in a position where I felt unsafe or uncomfortable, given the people in charge. But did I think everything I’d been trying to find for 39 years was going to be packaged in a mouthy—sorry, what is it the kids are calling you right now? Evil British princess?” 

Oliver laughs, shakes his head. “Shut the fuck up.” 

Lou laughs with him briefly, a cheeky smile still on his face, at least for a moment, as he looks back at Oliver. 

“Seriously, though, Oli,” he admits, a bit softer. “I didn’t say those words out of anything other than the truth, and to-…” He pauses, clearing his throat. “Watching you find that range, even in an arguably clinical setting, it’s not fun to watch, and seeing you that devastated over someone who’s technically still alive? Fuck, baby. I don’t- a-and I can’t.” 

When he manages to look back up at the phone and see Oliver’s face, his expression has softened to one of love and understanding. 

“I love you, too,” Oliver says, his tone still soft. “In the ‘chase you into a disaster, put my emotions fully on display, lose it because the suggestion of you hurting without me being able to solve it kills me’ kind of way.” 

Lou lets on a smile as his cheeks warm just slightly. They stare at each other for several minutes until Jade ultimately interrupts again, letting out a whisper of a whine, licking Oliver’s face again. Distantly, Lou hears knocking, and he’s sure Aisha is probably around with food. 

“Alright, Gorgeous. Go have fun. Call me if you have time or if you need someone to pick up the kids. Otherwise, I’ll see you later,” Lou tells him. 

Oliver nods. In the background, Lou can hear the door to his trailer being opened. 

“Send me pictures when you get to Shanna’s,” he replies. 

“Will do,” Lou answers, fully smiling now. He blows a kiss at the screen and watches Oliver pantomime catching it, patting it all over his face. “Love you.”

“I love you, Louie,” Aisha calls out from somewhere behind the camera. The screen flips a second later and Lou sees her waving animatedly, grinning.

“Love you too, Aisha,” he replies with a laugh. The screen flips back around just in time for him to get a camera full of Jade pushing herself entirely into frame before Oliver shifts away, laughing. 

“Olive juice,” Oliver tells him, his eyes wide and pupils dilated. 

Lou nods, mouthing it back, and a second later, the call disconnects. He drops his head against the pillow beneath him with a groan before letting out a laugh. 

“The fuck am I gonna do,” he mutters into the air rhetorically. A few seconds later, his phone buzzes in his hand and he looks up, wondering what else Oliver has to talk about. 

It’s his sister. He shakes his head at himself with a quiet laugh, and answers the call. 

[amethystfairy1]

In my head they’re all living happily ever after, and the hot cave has made a safe rift that Cub watches over because he told Scar he was a hybrid/mutant and Scar was like, “well that solves that issue! Hot cave it is!” (Let me live in hope)

When the rumbling started I thought Blackwell was LITERALLY drowning everybody from the undercuts out. Like shoving it with so much bedrock that they had no choice but to go to the surface where they’d get killed or arrested…… (I’m scared)

My theory is the breakup tag will probably be Zed and Tango, TRUST. Because I don’t think Jimmy is giving up his chance in the sky, Pearl doesn’t have anybody (unless you count her breaking up with the soup group, but if she stayed topside then she could atleast send messages down via the podcast), Grian isn’t going to stop being Cuteguy up top so he can’t go back now, and the only thing I can think of is Zed completely giving in and moving down with Tango because he’s done with the overcity’s bullshit, or tango maybe living in the hot cave as it’s the only place he actually KNOWS the location of up there? OR (worst of all), Etho has to do topside to collect a child, and gets stuck up there….but I’d LOVE to see that. Like maybe he’d just drop by one of their apartments (I feel like Jimmy’s would be closest for some random reason), and just be like “so……yeahhh….funny story..”

but anywayyyy, I LOVE YOUR WRITING OMGOMGOMGOMGOMGOMG! Your like genuinely so good??? I found this fic right in the beginning, it was one of the first flower husbands fics in the series that I happened to stumble upon and went, “…..huh, gonna save THAT for later!” And put it in my read later spot. Everntually I got sound to reading it, but noticed it was like..12th in a story or whatever so I figured might as well go to the start for the full effect because it seemed cool, and FELL IN LOVE!

I finally caught up during etho and doc’s meeting fic (don’t remember when that was). So I think it’s a little ironic now that the director’s debut was my catching point. (Granted I have lost track for a bit since then bc it’s been TWO YEARS, you mad lad.)

And sorry if you mentioned it before, but what is your inspiration for this fic? Other than the obvious ofc (like HermitCraft, traffic series, Hotguy/cuteguy, etc). Because my boyfriend pointed out (as I was ranting to him, he’s somewhat in the Matt scene but hasn’t fully fallen into it head first unlike me for literal YEARS (I digress)), that the undercity over city concept is a lot like arcane with pullover and…the other city (don’t watch the show myself I’m remembering from something he said) so now I’m curious!

(Hopefully this was intelligible, woke up in the middle of the night and had the inescapable urge to ask)

Awwwh THANK YOU! I'm so glad you've enjoyed my writing and all my work on TTSBC! I can't answer a lot of this stuff :P Buuuuut it's gonna be so much FUN!

As for inspo, I actually did not watch Arcane until way after I started TTSBC. Honestly, I didn't really have any other strong inspiration for it other than the Hermits and Life series and Emperors themselves! I've always loved the 'someones got a big secret' kind of tropes, so I wanted to expand on that! And I've been playing around with the idea of a city in the depths beneath another city as a setting for a story for a long time, and so TTSBC just kind of happened! ^-^ I hope that makes sense! Thank you so much for your kind words!!!

[yumelatte]

Of All The Things, I Became A Priestess In Amphoreus - Chapter Six

From Madness, With Love

In which you wake up to find yourself being a priestess in an otome game, and Phainon is the knight commander at the temple.

Phainon’s the true male lead; you’re not the female lead, but it sure feels like it.

Otome Isekai AU

AO3 Link

Masterlist

<- Previous Chapter | 6: From Madness, With Love | Next Chapter ->

While you and Phainon were finishing with setting up the area, you both avoided eye contact with one another—everything was done in silence after your initial instructions. 

And while it was a little awkward, you were relieved because you didn’t think you could handle another conversation with him. Your fluttering heart would get in the way. 

Shortly after the courtyard was set up, Aglaea came with the citizens. 

When you looked at the crowd behind Aglaea, you had to do a double take—heart racing for a different reason. 

You had been expecting some citizens, but not this many. 

Just how many people wanted to experience the luxurious bath for themselves? 

With her lips pressed into a thin fine line, Aglaea walked towards you and Phainon. 

There’s no way; there can’t be this many people who had snuck into the bath…

“Are these all…” you trailed off, not believing your eyes. 

Aglaea shook her head in disappointment, saying exasperatedly, “I’m afraid so.” Turning around with a hand on her hip, she used her other hand to present the numerous citizens. “These are all the individuals whose weaves tangled with The Hero’s Bath.” 

At least some of the citizens had the humility to look ashamed…

Sighing, your eyes swept across them, trying to count how many there were; however, you gave up after the thirtieth. 

This was going to take a while.

Taking a seat on your uncomfortable stool, you gestured for the first person to sit across from you, already dreading the next hours. 

As Phainon and Aglaea rallied the remaining people into an organized line, you started on your healing. 

Your first client was a middle-aged man, dressed in familiar Okheman fashion. 

He looked friendly enough, giving you a quick wave upon approaching you. “Good morning, Priestess.” 

“Good morning,” you greeted, politely nodding. 

Taking a seat across from you, he asked, “So, how does this work?” 

“If you’re worrying about pain, there won’t be any.” 

“Oh, thank Kephale.” 

Raising your hand next to your face, you said, “I’m just going to hover my hand over where your heart is and check on your soul.”

“...My soul?” 

“Did Aglaea explain anything to you?” 

“I only know about what happened to the woman at the banquet might happen to me. She said if I went here, I could prevent it.” 

“Well, it’s true. Because you dipped into the corrupted bath, your soul might have tainted residue that needs to be extracted.” 

“Oh right, the bath…” He moved his eyes away from you, ashamed of his past behavior. “I didn’t know it was like that.” 

Your question from yesterday crossed your mind: Why did he enter the bath when it was unappealing? Since he was here, you decided to ask, “You saw how the waters were. It didn’t stop you from entering?” 

“I was aware of the dirty waters, but I couldn’t help myself. I mean how can I when the taste of luxury was right there? My friend told me The Hero’s Bath is a whole ‘nother feeling of relaxation! I thought it was just some fancy effect…” 

Oh, he just wanted to try out the bath… but you wondered… “Did it actually feel any different from the usual ones?” 

“Yep, it was worth every second; I fell asleep in there, and I’m glad you’re here to solve my issue!” 

He sure is being shameless when a minute ago he was avoiding your gaze…

…Were you here to solve everybody’s problems? 

With a sigh, you accepted your role. “I’m going to proceed now, okay?” 

“The sooner it gets done, the sooner I can go home!” 

Taking that as permission, you placed your hand over his heart and closed your eyes. 

As darkness overtook your vision, his soul lit up with faint black wisps surrounding it. 

Because he wasn’t mad yet, the material was barely there, and it made your life significantly easier. 

You absorbed the wisps with no problem, opening your eyes after. 

“Is it done?” 

Removing your hand, you nodded. “Be well and don’t go near the bath again.” 

“Nice, I can go home and sleep now.” The man got up, leaving the seat vacant for the next person. 

A young woman cautiously walked by him and took the spot where he was, scanning him before greeting you with a small nod. “Hello.” 

“Hello,” you replied, adjusting yourself on your seat. “You’re aware of why you’re here?” 

“Yeah, for the cure.” 

“...You also went into The Hero’s Bath?” 

“...Yes.” 

“Is there a reason why you went into the waters, knowing it didn’t look good?” 

“Ah, well… It didn’t look bad to me.”

“It didn’t?” 

“It looked sparkly actually!” 

Um, what? The bath you saw didn’t emit that kind of effect. “Sparkly?” 

“When I saw the waters, it was golden—like piles of coins.” 

Blinking in disbelief, you said nothing else because that was unexpected. 

“Is it not supposed to look like that?” 

“No, but no point in worrying about it now.” You raised your hand, explaining the process to her. “I’m going to hover my hand over your heart and check for any signs of madness. If there is, I’ll heal it for you.” 

“Sure.”

Placing your hand over her heart, you shut your eyes, focusing on her soul. 

It flickered in the dark with no real alarming sights; similar to the man before, it had slight black wisps.

Already expecting the substance, you drew it to yourself. 

When you opened your eyes, the woman looked indifferent. 

“You’re good to go now. Don’t go near the bath again no matter how shiny it looks! It’s not worth the consequences,”  you warned her, making sure she understood how dangerous it was. 

“Thank you for your service, Priestess! I can enjoy my wealth without worrying about the hands of Thanatos now.” With an enthusiastic nod, she took off and left you waiting for the next citizen. 

As she walked away, a young boy haughtily stepped towards the empty seat. He didn’t greet you like the others, and he didn’t look too happy to be here. 

“Hi, are you here for healing, little one?” 

“Don’t call me little one! I’m already old enough to wield a sword.” 

Someone didn’t learn manners… 

Giving a resigned hum, you asked, “Okay, what do I call you?” 

“The Hero!” 

Your knuckle found a place over your lips, stifling a laugh. “Hero? Is that why you went into The Hero’s Bath?” 

“Yes ma’am! …I mean I didn’t go there at all.” 

Oh so we’re lying now? 

“Let’s say you went there. What would you see?” 

“If I went there—which I didn’t by the way—I would see…” His eyes closed for a second as if he was in deep thought. “...I would see a party made for me. The waters were clean and blue, and there were a lot of people waiting to welcome me back…”

A celebration fit for a hero, indeed; however, he used different tenses when describing the sight, which was concerning. It proved he had taken a soak in the bath. 

“I’m going to check on your soul and tell you what you’re going to save the world from.” Lifting your hand, you fished for his permission, “Is that okay with you?” 

“Of course, I want to know what I can save it from!” He sat still to let you proceed, being obedient at the prospect of his dreams.

You closed your eyes as you hovered your hand over his heart.  

Relieved at not seeing any other problems other than thin, black tendrils around his soul, you quickly removed them from him. 

But he was expecting you to tell him something amazing. You’ll play along with it because you didn’t want to crush his hopes. Children should have their aspirations encouraged and nurtured. 

Smiling while giving him a slight wink, you tactfully said, “One day, you’ll stop the baddest villain of them all and be praised for your efforts. Everyone will want to meet their savior—you. But this will only happen if you avoid The Hero’s Bath until then.” 

Without another word, the boy excitedly got out of his seat and rushed over to who you were assuming to be his mother. While they were leaving the premises, his mouth was moving as if he was telling her about what a great person he was.

If he wanted to be a great person, he should set aside his pride and say thank you for once. 

You’ll let him learn that on his own though. 

“Yoohoo~” A merry woman waved at you, but her eyes were distracted by something else. 

Following her line of sight, you found she was looking at Mydei who had his back towards this direction. He was supervising the temple’s children as they were pretending to fight. It seemed they didn’t heed his words, and he had taken it upon himself to be a makeshift caretaker. 

Sitting down, the woman squealed, “Who is he? He’s so dreamy! I’ve never seen him around before. Good-looking and good with kids… Do you think he’ll let me take him?”

Surprised by her unabashed behavior, you were speechless because what do you say to that? 

You couldn’t blame her; Mydei is attractive and proving himself to be reliable with children, but she was being so obvious. 

You weren’t this brazen with your thoughts on Phainon, were you? 

“Um, sorry ma’am, but-”

Cutting you off, the woman suddenly turned hostile. “Don’t call me ma’am. It makes me feel old…” However, she quickly cleared her throat and returned to her bubbly self. “Anyway, I’m here to rid myself of madness. I can’t afford to lose myself to it when there’s plenty of other reasons to lose myself to.” 

“You can’t afford to, but you willingly went into the tainted bath?” 

“What?” Giving you an incredulous look, she continued, “You think I would go into dirty waters like that? To me, it looked fresh and rejuvenating. There were delicate flower petals floating in the reservoirs and brilliant candles lighting up the place.” 

Huh…

“Well, I’m going take a look at your soul, and if I find any traces of corruption, I’ll get rid of it.” 

“Please go right ahead. I’ll just be admiring the blonde man in the distance!” 

You shook your head before finding the spot where her heart was and shutting your eyes. 

As expected, the same slim pieces of black material orbited her soul, and you withdrew it without any resistance. 

Your eyes opened because you finished, but the woman wasn’t aware of that. She was still staring at Mydei with dilated pupils. 

You were scared for Mydei, having half a mind to warn him about this woman; however, it didn’t look like she was going to approach him at all, so you decided to let him be. 

Was this how you looked when it came to Phainon? Do you gaze at him with equal amounts of lust as she does for Mydei? 

Afraid of the answer, you stopped thinking about it and let her know about her soul. “I’m done with extracting the madness. Thank you for your cooperation, and for your sake, don’t go in the bath again.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” Slightly laughing, she stood up from the seat and silently muttered, “...I have better stuff to dream about now.” 

Pretending to not hear what she said, you bid her farewell as you waited for the next person, hoping they were normal and not leading you to second-guess yourself. 

An old woman ambled her way over, seating herself on the unoccupied chair. “Hello, hope you’ve been having a wonderful day.” 

Thank Kephale! Someone sane… “Same to you, ma’am.” 

“I was about to enjoy the feast at the dining table at the baths when Lady Aglaea came to get me.” 

Nodding, you wanted to confirm with her. “You’re here because of a dip into The Hero’s Bath, aren’t you?” 

Throwing her head back, she laughed, “Hah, is it so wrong to indulge in something for once in my life? The staff who restocks the food at the dining table are always lecturing me on leaving some for others, but what do they know? They have unlimited supply, so what does it matter if I take whatever I want?”

 “I’m sure the waters didn’t look as appetizing as the food…”

“Oh, but they were! They looked like the coveted Celestial Ambrosia—and not the bootleg kind either—the ones that Phagousa originally spilled onto the land. I know you’re not supposed to drink the bath water, but the nectar was practically calling my name.”

So much for normal and sane… Was Celestial Ambrosia that tempting? Tempting enough that she had drunk the corrupt source? 

You feared you might not be ready to see her soul. 

“Well, whatever you did… You’ll be happy to know that I can eliminate the consequence.” 

“You’re doing the gods’ work, Priestess.” 

You really are, wondering what the gods were thinking of your services. “I’m going to begin with checking your soul now.” 

She gave you a nod as a sign of permission. 

With closed eyes and a hand over her heart, you saw her bright soul floating in the dusk. Because of her confession, you had been anticipating something worse than black wisps; however, you were glad to be wrong. 

They circled around the flame, unable to fully encompass it. You absorbed it, so it couldn’t plague the light any further. 

“All done already?” the woman eagerly asked. 

“All done. Don’t drink from the baths, and definitely, don’t go back up there anymore.” 

“As long as I still have my beloved dining table, I suppose.” Her knee slightly cracked as she got up from the seat and strolled away. 

Despite having gone through only five people, you were growing tired.

Sliding a hand over your face, you prepared yourself for more. 

It was okay; they were counting on you.

A young man was next; he didn’t waste time sitting across from you. 

“You-”

“Yes, yes. I came because I went into The Hero’s Bath. Can we get on with it?” 

“Oh, I was just going to ask what you saw when you went there.” 

Huffing, he answered, “I had only wanted some quiet and relaxing time to study. I couldn’t focus with all the muscle heads around, so I had to find another area to be in. I heard of the bath that was built for heroes and why not? Not all heroes are big and muscular. I’m going to be a scholar at the Grove, which is better than being someone with big muscles and an empty head.”

…The Grove… He must mean the Grove of Epiphany… But you had asked him what he saw —he had given you his whole life story instead. 

Trying again, you redirected his thoughts to focus on sight, “Did you see anything wrong with the water though?” 

“If I think about it, the blue waters did have a greenish tint to them, but it was only a little bit so who cares?”

So, he saw something different from you like everyone else, but why? 

Rather than getting a headache from mulling it over, you explained how you were going to look at his soul for anything wrong and heal it if there were. He gave you his permission, and you carried on with the task. 

After extracting the obscure strands from him, you told him he was free to go. “And even though it’s an isolated spot away from people you don’t like, it’s better to avoid it if you want to live for your goals.” 

As he left the seat, he didn’t say anything else to you which made you think he didn’t hear you, but it wasn’t your problem anymore. 

…If he caught it again, it was going to be… 

…He said he was going to be a scholar, right? 

Oh Cerces, please let him be smarter about his actions from now on. 

“...Hi…” 

A shy voice interrupted your mental prayers. 

The young girl blankly stared at you, waiting for you to greet her. 

“Hi there. How are you?” 

“I’m well, thank you.” 

Ooh, so polite! What a nice change of pace. 

“Did you go into The Hero’s Bath?” 

She kept her head down as she nodded. 

And honest.

“Can you tell me what you saw?” 

Murmuring with her face hidden from your view, you couldn’t hear what she had said.

“Sorry, what was that?” 

The girl warily looked at you before moving closer to you so only you could hear, whispering into your ear, “...There was blood.”

Blood? That wasn’t good. Did she get hurt while in the bath? 

With worried eyes, you tried to identify any injuries on her. “Are you okay? Did you injure yourself there?” 

Shaking her head, she admitted, “No, it wasn’t my blood.” Leaning away from you with her hands interlocked behind her back, she casually said, “It was the blood of my friend who said bad things about my family, so I wanted to do bad things to him.”

…Um, did she just admit to committing a murder? Is this why she didn’t want anyone else to know? 

“I know what you’re thinking, but I didn’t actually do it. The water already had his blood when I got into it.” 

Oh. Did that make it better? You had no idea. 

How did she know it was her friend’s blood? Honestly, you didn’t want to know the answer to that question. 

“Well, I’m going to help you with your health. Is that okay?”

“Okay, I know you’re not like my friend, so I like you!” 

On the outside, you were smiling to reassure her; however, you were panicking on the inside. You would hate to be her enemy if she was this wrathful towards her friend. 

Repeating the procedure from earlier, you lifted the black wisps from her soul. Compared to the others, the material clung harder to the light, and you expended minimal effort to take it. 

“If you like me, you have to promise me not to go back to that bath, okay?”

“I promise. Thank you, big sister!” 

Even though she had dark thoughts, she was very polite. 

Waving her off, a slight smile appeared on your face—her mother holding her hand as she returned your goodbye. 

Feeling a sting in your head, your head fell into your hands. 

Really, a headache right now? 

You decided to go on for a little longer. 

Instead of asking them if they went to The Hero’s Bath and what they saw, you explained to the rest of the citizens about what you were doing and asked for their consent. 

After some more clients, you couldn’t ignore how badly your head was hurting anymore. 

Aglaea had noticed your struggle, but she chose not to say anything until now. “If I may suggest… A break is in order for you to recuperate yourself. You have been at this for quite some time now.”  

“Oh, but…”

“How are you going to help others when you cannot even focus?” 

You hated how right she was. Your head was killing you, and there was no point in continuing when you were this close to passing out. 

Nodding, you allowed her to announce your temporary departure as you made your way over to a resting spot away from the crowd. 

Leaning your head against a wall, you relaxed for a moment. 

Just for a moment because when you opened your eyes, you saw a woman, one of the citizens, conversing with Phainon. 

An unfamiliar pain emerged from your chest, and what made it worse was you could hear their conversation. 

“You’re Sir Phainon of the Knights, right? You’re also Kephale’s Chrysos Heir! Oh, it’s so nice to finally meet you. I didn’t think I would ever get the chance to see you. I know you go to Okhema sometimes, but it’s such a big city. Your heroic actions are well-known throughout though! Anyway, are you aware of how handsome you are? Do you have plans on settling down anytime soon?”

Phainon let out a burst of laughter, and you wondered if he was unaware of her intentions. “I didn’t know I was famous in Okhema. I’m just doing what is expected of me. I wasn’t aware, but thanks! And…” He moved his eyes away from her to meet your gaze. His eyes widened at the unexpected contact before returning his attention to her. “...I’m afraid it’s too early for that.” 

Looking away when he broke eye contact and with a hand on your heart, you sighed deeply, trying to ignore the nasty feeling bubbling in your chest. 

You had no right to be jealous. 

Knowing how Phainon is, it made sense he would have other admirers; you weren’t the only one weak to his charms. 

Lydia and the woman before him were proof of that. 

But maybe you should be the only one. Maybe you should kill the others, starting with the woman before him right now. 

…What? 

What did you just think? 

No! It didn’t matter if they were hitting on your guy. It still doesn’t justify murder—you already had this discussion. 

…Your guy? 

Since when was Phainon yours? 

He had always been yours. 

No, he hadn’t.

…You were starting to go insane; this wasn’t you. 

Where are all these unhinged thoughts coming from? 

Thinking about the citizens from earlier, you realized they had similar thoughts as well. They weren’t to the same degree as you, but they were somewhat identical. 

Were you being affected by the madness because of the deed you were doing here? 

Best to not dwell on that thought any longer.

Returning from your break and feeling much better, you cleared the rest of the citizens before nightfall without a hitch. 

With everyone’s madness officially cured in Okhema, the archbishop decided it was a good time to have the aforementioned banquet before the Month of Freedom ends. 

He thought it was time for the clerics to get recognition for their contributions, so the banquet will be held in honor of Kephale and Phagousa. 

Thanks to the Ocean God’s blessings, you and Zayne were able to dedicate time and effort in allowing the area to prosper. 

Similar to the first feast, there was a self-service nourishment table filled with various entreés, desserts, and drinks. Not wanting a repeat of the previous event, every item that needed to be sliced had been precut. Despite curing the corrupting force that had sneaked its way into the area, it wouldn’t hurt to be too careful. 

People had been more alert when they arrived; however, the welcoming atmosphere proved difficult to resist as they quickly became relaxed around friendly company and lively music. They weren’t going to let one bad event sour the rest of their lives. 

“You’ve never had these before, Mydei?” Lydia held a plate of fluffy pancakes drizzled with syrup before the blonde man. 

Mydei inspected the dessert before shaking his head. “These are?” 

“Golden honeycakes! Want to try? They’re absolutely delicious, especially because I made them!” Giggling, Lydia slightly turned away with flushed cheeks, wondering if she was being too boastful. Everyone was always praising her abilities, so she couldn’t be wrong, right? 

Mydei stared at the pancakes with a hand on his chin. If memory served him correctly, Lydia had also made the cookies you gave him and your chimeras. Honestly, it tasted good by his standards. 

Taking another fork, he ate a piece of the dessert.

“How is it?” Lydia’s eyes sparkled in anticipation, waiting for his judgement. 

Mydei finished chewing and swallowing the tasty food before replying, “I enjoyed it. You deserve the credit for your treats. Hm… may I know your recipe?” 

You watched Mydei and Lydia chatting with a hand resting on your cheek at a nearby table. 

Mydei was supposed to leave to go back to Castrum Kremnos after finding a solution to the madness problem which turned out to be you, but he had stayed for the celebration, allowing him to meet Lydia and everyone else. 

You had told him if he needed anything, he could send a letter and you would respond. 

“Priestess…”

Hearing Phainon say your name, you turned towards him. 

Shaking his head with a hand on his hip, he remarked, “You’re the guest of honor yet you’re sitting here….” 

“The banquet is for the gods, Phainon. The archbishop probably felt pity for me after that healing day.”  

“Speaking of which, how are you feeling? It must’ve been tiring after using your ability on all those people.” 

“It wasn’t that bad. The important thing is that I helped all of them.” 

“You don’t have to push yourself if you don’t feel well though.” 

“You’re right…” 

Just thinking about how you felt halfway through the citizens made you feel exhausted. 

You could use a drink right now. 

Eying the far away alcohol, you asked, “One of them mentioned something called Celestial Ambrosia. Do we have that here?” 

One of Phainon’s eyebrows raised, recalling your previous state. “Celestial Ambrosia? You’re quite brave for being a lightweight.” 

“I’m not a lightweight…” you countered with a pout. 

“Pfft, the other drinks aren’t good enough for you?” 

“Last time, I had one of the red ambrosias. It was alright… but the lady was talking about Celestial Ambrosia like it was the best thing ever.” 

“We don’t have any and with good reason. Just a few drops are enough to knock you unconscious. You can’t hold your alcohol at all, and you want some of it?” 

“I—too—can hold it. Like I said, I could beat you in a drinking contest.” 

“Really?”  

Matching his stare, you daringly said, “Really.” 

Grinning at your confidence, Phainon glanced over to the alcohol bottles lined up on the self-service table. Lucky for him, this event was for Kephale and Phagousa. “Are you ready to eat your words?” 

Seeing him looking at the drinks, you registered what he was thinking before smirking. “Are you ready to lose?” 

“We’ll see who the loser is after this.” 

As Phainon went over to retrieve the alcohol, you braced yourself. 

What happened at the first banquet was a fluke; you were going to outdrink him tonight. 

Coming over with two bottles of ambrosia and cups, Phainon sat across from you at the table. 

He poured two glasses, pushing one of them over to you. “Ready?” 

“Bring it on.” You situated a hand on it, bringing it closer. 

“First one.” Phainon winked at you before he threw back his glass, making a slight clink as he placed it on the table. 

You also drank yours, putting the empty glass next to his for him to fill it up. 

The fruity liquid slid across your tongue, and you mentally thanked Phainon for choosing a sweet ambrosia. If he had chosen one made from noon seawater, you didn’t think you would be able to go on with this competition.

Pouring more alcohol into your glass, he raised his own, waiting for you to take yours before drinking his. “Second one.” 

Smugly smiling at him, you consumed more of the liquid in your glass. 

This much was nothing. 

Two glasses of fruity ambrosia never tasted better; victory will taste even sweeter. 

“You sure you’re ready for the third round? I seem to remember you were on your third glass when you started feeling it.” 

“You were watching me?” Your cheeks had already started becoming warm after that last drink, and the implication of his words intensified the sensation. 

Suddenly avoiding your eyes, Phainon realized how it sounded. “It’s not weird, right? I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to keel over with how much you were drinking.” 

Hmm… You didn’t mind him watching you, to be honest. It was sweet how he was looking out for you.

“...No, thanks for being concerned about me.” Putting your glass before him, you exclaimed, “But I’m so close to winning. I c-can feel it. Give me more, pretty boy!” 

“...Pretty boy? You think I’m pretty?” Despite his brief pause, he did refill your glass. 

Retracting it from him, you set the dainty cup on the table, using your finger to trace the top while blurrily gazing into his lovely blue eyes. 

You wanted to drown yourself in them. “Pretty. Handsome. Y-you are.” 

More ambrosia flowed into his glass as he talked, a slight flush appearing on his face. “On the day of healing, a woman came up to me and said I was handsome too. I wasn’t aware of it, but I guess it’s true if you’re the one saying it…” 

“Oh, her…” Not finishing your thought because you didn’t want to. 

Instead of staying on the topic, you picked up your glass and fully downed it, slamming it against the table with a big thud. You stood up with your hands on the table’s surface, slightly swaying on your feet before leaning towards him to accuse him. “H-how are you still fine after all that alcohol? Are you ch-cheating?” 

Phainon thought it was time to call it. Things were getting a little too honest for his liking. “I think we both know who’s the clear winner of this contest.” Standing up, he gathered the empty glasses and recapped the opened bottles, returning them to their original location before walking back. 

“You’re definitely… cheating! What is it? Is it because of your… practiced tolerance?” 

Chuckling at your sore loser behavior, he only gave you a knowing smile which you were fuming at. 

The truth was as a Chrysos Heir he was made immune to the effects of alcohol, but he wasn’t going to admit that to you. The drinking contest was just an excuse to be around you; however, he didn’t expect you to call him pretty and handsome. 

He… liked that you complimented him. 

“C’mon, let’s get you back to your room.” Phainon hovered a hand over your shoulder, herding you to the exit. 

With your head in his direction and a pitiful expression but still following him, you cried, “You said… I was the guest of honor. Now… you’re making me leave my own p-party?” 

“And I also remember you said it was for the gods.” 

“...You’re not fair…” Giving up, you leaned against him, unable to hold yourself up anymore. 

Phainon flinched as your body touched his, unsure if he should put his arms around to support you. 

“...Sorry…” Closing your eyes, you softly whispered, “...I don’t know if I can make it by myself…” 

Examining you, Phainon gingerly removed you from him and made sure you were able to stand on your own before turning around and kneeling, offering his back to you. 

“...Phainon?” 

“Hop on.” 

“Ooh…” 

Feeling your arms around his neck and your head resting on his shoulder, he fought the heat on his cheeks as he got up with your legs through the loop of his arms. 

Suppose he was the one to blame for your current state…

The temple was silent with the only sound being the wind rustling the leaves of the plants around you and him. The fire torches lighting the way also gently crackled as Phainon carried you to your room. 

Once at your door, Phainon got on his knee again. 

You slowly separated from him, already missing his warmth. 

He stood up after you got off of him, refusing to face you. 

“Phainon?” 

“Yeah?” 

“...Um, thank you for… taking me back here.” 

You shouldn’t be thanking him when he was the one who made you like this. 

“It’s no problem… Good night, Priestess.” 

Watching him leave, you resisted the urge to run to him and stop him, heart pounding in your chest and ears. 

That whole time while he was taking you back to your room—your mind had been screaming he was yours over and over again. 

He wasn’t. 

He wasn’t yours. 

Whose thoughts were those? 

Because they weren’t yours. 

[teddybeartoji]

i really have lost all confidence in my writing lmao i hate it

[helioptilie]

i rewatched the force awakens recently and i am still not over how much potential the sequels had. i love you finn star wars, i love you rey from jakku, you could have been so great

[xcziel]

not me watching a video about how "creativity and theatricality is back in popular music - especially in rap!)" after the awards season

and thinking about how right place wrong person came out at the beginning of 2024 and smeraldo garden marching band was filmed and in the can back in 2023

[dukeofankh]

If your vision for the deradicalization of right-wing men begins and ends with "other men telling them that that's gross and to stop it" then I'm sorry, you do not understand how masculinity works.

"Men who hold patriarchal status" and "men who are feminists" are two groups who overlap less than you want them to. I'm sorry. That's not solely because men are so happy with patriarchal status that they don't want to risk it by policing misogyny/queerphobia/racism, It's because being misogynistic, queerphobic, and racist, end expressing other forms of toxic masculinity(and often abusively so) are part of how people establish and maintain patriarchal status. The men who have the ability to stop this via nothing but peer pressure are the very people who are doing it. That's by design. And engaging in feminist intervention is, in and of itself, usually the abrupt end of that status and its associated power to persuade misogynistic men.

Like, I have worked in blue collar jobs as a notably queer person. It was pretty much a constant deluge of verbal abuse. In my experience, most blue collar work environments are exploitative, abusive, and bigoted, and very gleefully so. On the occasions I have spoken up about someone saying something that was super fucking out of line (asking me which of the girls walking by was hottest. We were installing a portable classroom at a middle school), believe it or not, they completely failed to be shamed! Because nobody else on the crew gave a fuck. *I* was the weird one. They ghosted me. A full blown company ghosted me. I suddenly didn't have a job anymore because they just straightforwardly stopped telling me where the next job site was.

Like, this doesn't mean that it's your job to do it, but this vision you have of these big groups of men where everyone is on the fence and there is precisely one shit stirrer who can be shut down by a brave feminist man who can single handedly set the example for all these other guys...you are high. You are describing an "everybody clapped" level absurd scenario. Most of these truly virulent misogynistic guys either have zero friends, because, you know, our society is atomized to fuck, or they are in a group where the feminist guy is actually the weirdo who can be shut down and ostracized much, much easier than the misogynists, because there is no such thing as a man misogynists respect who stands up for women.

You might be saying "well, we're talking about longstanding personal relationships, actually. Like, they need to have to want to spend time with you and then, as a side effect, you can mind control them out of being a threat to us."

Problem with that being:

1: Many feminist men also have no friends, see the atomized society above.

2: Feminist men already stopped hanging out with men who make rape jokes because why the fuck would we want to spend time with them.

3: That isn't just because we respect women so hard. We are in many cases talking about men who are also deeply queerphobic, heirarchical, violent and abusive to other men. What initially drew me to feminism and women was a lack of heirarchical squabbling and constant bullying, and the ability to be openly queer. A lot of men who came to feminism did so because they knew that the patriarchy was not a place they would find success or acceptance. These are not the men who are gonna be able to change right wing minds.

4. Men do not view themselves as a monolith. There is no universal brotherhood of men. The actual meaning of the term "Fragile masculinity" is that men are constantly expected to prove that they are deserving of the status of being a member of their own gender. There are large swathes of men--including most of the men who you'd look to as examples of good, feminist men who you want to undertake this project--who are considered failed men, sissies, f****ts, soyboys, ect. They are. Not. Going. To. Convince. These. Men. Of. Jack. Shit. Much less successfully *shame* them. Jesus.

I know all of this sucks. I know it would be cool to be able to just point at a group and have them be responsible for the work. But nah. It's gonna have to be a societal project, one that will probably outlast all of us. Sorry. The thing you want these men to do is, absolutely, the morally correct thing to do. But presuming that it would be effective is, and once again I am so sorry about this, just ignorance of how these social groups function.

[drdemonprince]

any advice for coping with being on the receiving end of a public callout ?

Oh yes:

Do not acknowledge the callout publicly. It will only further its spread, lend it legitimacy, cause you to be interpreted as guilty, and convey to anyone who bears you ill will that you are rattled and feeling socially threatened.

Do not act out of urgency. One of the ways that cancelled people get themselves in far worse trouble is by spiraling due to anxiety and rushing to issue a statement about what has happened, or to attempt to socially manage public impressions about what has happened. Do not do this. Anything that you say will be picked apart and used against you. The situation is truly not as urgent as it might feel. A lot of times, doing nothing and being quiet is the best way to proceed, and the dust will settle better if you do.

Do not issue a public apology. If you truly feel that you have wronged someone, that conflict should be worked out in private with the people you have directly affected. You do not owe the anonymous public audience a damn thing. Do not apologize for something you don't honestly believe that you have done wrong. Take time and really think about what happened, and seek the counsel of people whom you trust in PRIVATE.

Do not attempt to disprove the callout unless you have crystal clear, smoking gun evidence that the person who accused you is actually victimizing you. And even then, probably don't do it. I have only seen a disproof of a callout work ONCE, and that was when Juniper Abernathy revealed the person cancelling her had been abusing her. Even if the facts are on your side, acknowledging the accusations will only make more people aware of them, give your detractors ground to criticize your every word, and will muddy the waters and make people find the situation confusing and troubling rather than clear.

GET THE FUCK OFFLINE. Delete your social media apps for the time being. Turn off notifications. Turn off DMs requests. Change your settings so that you only ever hear from people you already follow (I do this, on the advice of Philosophy Tube). Get away from the computer.

Connect with IRL friends. When you're wrapped up in a cancellation, the negative opinions of a handful of foaming at the mouth freaks loom way larger than they actually are. And social media dramatically skews our sense of social priorities such that the approval rating of complete strangers starts to seem more important than people we actually know, and trust, and who actually know us. Go get a meal with a buddy. Watch a dumb movie. Talk to your grandma about her plans for her garden. Surround yourself with real people you care about and focus on their life and problems, to help put things in perspective.

Find distracting, active, rewarding activities that bring you out of the digital space and into physical reality. Not everyone is talking about you, not everybody hates you, most people have no fucking clue what has been said about you, and most people do not give a fuck about you (that's good). There are so many areas of life that are completely fucking untouched by what a bunch of social media power users have to say online. Go volunteer to clean up a park, run some errands, take an exercise class, foster a dog, regrout your bathroom, knit a hat. Even if the worst case scenario happens and a cancellation sticks, it's really only among a certain very vocal group of miserable fucking people. There is a whole world around you that will not ever care, and you will have a life outside of this.

Good luck!!

[mercvry-glow]

love me hard love me soft

parings. jack abbot x nurse!reader

summary. jack abbot isn't a soft man, but he'll learn for you.

warnings. age gap (jack mid/late 40s, reader late 20s early 30s), typically pitt medical drama stuff, hospital setting, work place kind of relationship, they're pining but not kissing, other pitt characters, santos is mouthy, no use of (y/n), but let me know if there's more!

notes. the jack abbot grind is real and alive within me, I need so many more fics with him to come out. not much to say here, but since my requests are open I will mention I do try to keep my readers as nondescript as possible so every one can feel welcome here! please enjoy and any and all feedback is welcome, ask box is open as always!

wc. 1600+

It was no secret to the PTMC staff that Jack Abbot wasn’t a soft man. Rough around the edges and tough as nails, the ex army medic was as stoic as they come. He had been at the pitt for a number of years before you came around, working day by day to provide the best care he possibly could for the people that came to the ER. 

It was a hard job, physically and mentally taxing on the body. Everybody kenw that, it was basically in the job description—but you made it easier on him, and everybody saw. 

You, the nurse who had come in as a temp, were the saving grace of quite a few people in the pitt. 

Jack included. 

Sure, he was a hardass but he was genuine and kind if not a bit guarded. 

“You could take it easier on some of the interns ya know,” you said, taking a seat next to Jack as he finished charting a few things on one of the computers at the nurses station. 

He left a small scoff, not turning to look at you “the job isn’t easy, they can go to Robby if they want someone nicer.” 

You gave him a knowing look, “You’re plenty nice, Jack. They just want to learn from you, being more approachable is what makes you a good teacher.” 

Tough love was more Jack’s style, patience was yours. 

“Jesus, woman. You come over here to lecture me or something? I’m sure someone needs their temperature checked.” That remark earned him a slap on the arm and an indignant scoff from you. 

“Oh don’t be an asshole Jack! I’m just saying you’d go a lot farther with some of the younger staff if you could lighten up.” Sitting forward in your rolley chair you scooched closure to the older man, clearly invading his personal space as the two of you continued the conversation in a small moment of peace. 

Jack leaned back in his chair just slightly, eyeing the way your knees bumped against his. You were always doing that—getting in close. Somehow you weren’t scared of what might be underneath all that steel-plated attitude.

He tilted his head toward you. “You know I don’t do well with ‘lightening up.’ That’s your department, Sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” you warned, trying not to smile.

He smirked—just a twitch of the lips, but enough to count. “Then stop smiling every time I do.”

“Touché.”

There was a beat of quiet between you, broken only by the distant rattle of a gurney being rolled past and the soft clack of a keyboard a few feet away. It was almost peaceful. Almost.

“You really think I’m too hard on them?” he asked, voice lower this time—quieter, more honest.

You blinked. He rarely opened the door like that, even after years of working together, of being together. 

“I think you’ve seen a lot of bad, Jack,” you replied, nudging his foot with yours under the desk. “And I think you want to make sure they’re ready for it. That’s not wrong. But… compassion doesn’t make you weak. And letting them in, letting me in, more doesn’t make you soft.”

He didn’t respond right away. Just stared at the monitor, lips pressed tight.

Finally, he said, “You made the Pitt better when you walked in here, you know that?”

You looked at him, surprised.

“That’s not me being soft,” he added gruffly. “That’s just the damn truth.”

You smiled again, leaning back with a little satisfied hum. “See? You can say nice things.”

He groaned and went back to typing. “Don’t get used to it.”

On the otherside of the pitt, a few of the interns (namely Whitaker and Santos) stood watching the interaction. 

They couldn’t understand what was different about you, why Dr. Abbot let you get so close or why it even mattered to them. 

“Is he actually smiling?” Whitaker whispered, brows furrowed like he was witnessing some kind of natural phenomenon.

Santos squinted, arms crossed over her black scrubs. “I think that was technically a smirk. But yeah. I’ve never seen him do that before. Not even when a guy walked in here with a screwdriver in his shoulder.”

Whitaker huffed. “What is it about her? Like… we’ve been here for weeks and the guy barely grunts at us outside of traumas.”

“She called him an asshole once,” Santos said, deadpan. “To his face.”

“That’s what I mean! Anyone else’d be doing triage on themselves. But her? He likes her.”

They both watched as you leaned in and nudged Jack’s arm again, laughing softly at something he said. The kind of sound you don’t really expect to hear in an ER.

Whitaker shook his head. “I don’t get it.”

“Maybe it’s because she doesn’t try too hard,” Santos mused. “She just… gets it. The pace, the patients. Him.”

Whitaker rolled his eyes. “You think it’s cute, don’t you?”

Santos shrugged, hiding a grin. “Kinda. But if you tell anyone I said that, I’ll say you’re lying.”

The brief quiet between didn’t last long—peace rarely did in the Pitt.

“Trauma incoming!” someone called from the double doors, and instantly, the mood shifted. The air snapped to attention. Everyone shot to their feet at the same time, chairs rolling and shuffles heard in unison.

“Room 3,” Dana’s voice rang out. “Ped versus auto, ETA three minutes. Bystander started compressions.”

You and Jack were already moving, grabbing gloves and snapping them on. He tossed you a look, his version of “ready?”—and you gave a nod back, adrenaline kicking into gear.

Inside the trauma bay, the gurney rolled in hard and fast. Blood, pressure alarms, panicked shouts. A young teen, unresponsive, with a cracked helmet and the visible deep red staining the right side of his jeans said it all.

Jack took command like always. “Let’s go! O2 on, wide bore IVs—Kid, stay with me.”

You moved into position while the interns filtered in along the wall, wide-eyed and stiff. Santos lingered a bit too close, trying to be helpful but also trying to see everything at once as per usual.

“Pressure’s dropping,” you called out, hand on the young man’s wrist. “Palpable at 70.”

Jack was already cutting through fabric, assessing the damage. “Get that line in now. If he’s got internal bleeding—”

Santos blurted, “Damn, this is intense. No wonder she’s always stuck to you like glue.”

You froze for a split second—so did Dana and everybody in the room—and Jack’s head snapped up like a missile had locked on.

“What did you just say?” His voice cut through the chaos like a ten blade.

Santos blinked, caught completely off guard. “Uh—I didn’t mean—”

“This is a trauma room, not a gossip circle,” Jack barked. “If you’re not focused on the patient, you can get the hell out.”

Silence fell for just a second before another doctore pushed past Santos to jump in on the line.

“Intern out,” Dana said firmly, giving Santos a nudge toward the door without even looking at her.

You didn’t have time to react, not really—not when a kid’s life was in your hands—but you felt Jack’s presence tighten beside you. All steel again. The warmth from earlier was gone. Not for you—but for everyone else.

And Santos would probably think twice before running her mouth in the middle of a trauma again.

The rest of the team worked in a tight rhythm, the energy electric and focused. Fluids in. Monitors up. The suction buzzed while Robby barked vitals. You stayed glued to the patient’s side, hands steady, voice low and soothing despite the pressure.

After what felt like forever but was only about ten minutes, the kid finally stabilized. Pressure creeping up. Oxygenation improved. No sign of a brain bleed on the portable.

It was a win, another save. 

“Get him up to CT,” Jack instructed, peeling off bloodied gloves. “Page ortho for that femur. Kid’s gonna have a hell of a time if he wants to bike again,”

As the gurney rolled out, the noise faded into the hallway. The tension broke. Air was breathable again.

Jack leaned against the wall as people filed out, pinching the bridge of his nose. You stepped up beside him, just outside the room, letting the buzz of the hospital fill the gap.

“You alright?” you asked softly.

He gave a low grunt. “Would be better if I didn’t have interns running their mouths in the middle of a code.”

“She was probably just nervous,” you said gently, though you couldn’t begin to excuse Santos’s timing. “And maybe a little dumb.”

Jack snorted.

You nudged your elbow into his. “Things look different for everyone.”

His brow quirked, eyes flicking toward you. “That’s what that was?”

You smiled, giving a little shrug. “I mean… could be worse, right?” 

Jack rolled his eyes but didn’t push you away, which for him might as well have been affection after what had just happened.

“I’ll talk to Santos,” you added. “She’s got so much potential. Just needs to learn when to shut up.”

“I’ll make Robby talk to her too,” Jack said quietly, voice low and a little rough around the edges. “But not today. She already got lucky once.”

You leaned your shoulder against the wall, mirroring his posture.

“Y’know, for what it’s worth…” you said, glancing sideways at him, “You were kind of amazing in there, as always.”

Jack looked at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in those tired hazel eyes.

“Don’t start,” he warned lightly. “You’re already ruining my image.”

You smiled, placing a small kiss on his cheek. “Too late.”

mercvry-glow 2025

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

𝐦𝐢𝐝𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 ・h.j.

—you help han shave after a long day, leading to kisses and confessions.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠・han jisung x reader // 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞𝐬・fluff, fluff, and some more fluff // 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬・839 // 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬・you shave his face, mentions of blades, hannie baby is really tired, kissesss, honestly nothing else haha.

𝐚/𝐧・I've been trying to just write and not over-edit everything until it feels like my fingers are going to fall off so I might make this a series where I post random thoughts that I haven't edited until my brain explodes :) sooo I only edited this once (everybody clap!) its probably painfully obvious (this took me 6 hours I literally don't know how)

"I feel gross," Han grumbles, lifting his head from your chest and rubbing his 5-o'clock shadow that very quickly turned into a 12-o'clock shadow when he decided to crawl into bed with you after work instead of completing his usual night routine. "M'just so tired, I don't wanna do nothin'."

You peered down at him, his self-conscious frown pressed against your shirt. His chest trembled every time he breathed—heavy with the type of exhaustion that settled deep into his bones, a feeling he knew all too well. Han carried the world on his shoulders and never asked for anything in return; you wished for nothing more than the power to release him from all this weight, and carry it upon yourself for a change.

"M'gonna do something, okay baby?" You whisper, planting a ginger kiss on his forehead as you untangle him from your arms and lift yourself from the mattress. It feels like hours until you come back, Han fidgeting restlessly when you slide back into his room with a silly smile and an impressive spread.

"Is that a charcuterie board?" Han laughs, your smile like a soothing balm to his fatigued muscles. You splayed out various shaving essentials onto the piece of wood, including: a razor, shaving cream, and a large bowl of water that makes him tilt his head, wondering how you were even able to balance all that on your arm.

You nod, seeming very proud of yourself. "Yes, indeed it is."

His face melts into a grin as you set yourself up, placing the board onto the bedside table and settling yourself atop his thighs. Han's thumbs brush mindless circles on your hips, like they always do. His eyelids flutter shut as you slather cool shaving cream over his jaw, basking in the relaxing essence of it all. He breathes, inhaling for the first time in what feels like lifetimes, allowing your gentle hands to ease every ache and pain from his body.

You glide the razor across his jaw, dipping it into the bowl of water every now and then to shake the hair off. The room is silent, save for the quiet hum of your heartbeat and the soft scrape of the blade, walls thrumming with the silent intimacy you two share. You had thrown open the curtains hours ago, now painting the room in splotches of light and cool air, which licks up his spine making him shiver. As if on cue, something stirs inside him, a feeling that blossoms inside his ribs, a warmth that spreads through his skin, making him want to get up and dance yet lay down and kiss you all at once.

This is far from the first time Jisung has experienced this strange phenomenon. It happened when you snuck into his practice room after hours, with nothing but yourself and a sharp tongue, lecturing the staff about his unrealistic schedule. It happened at the sight of your reassuring smile, front and center at one of his concerts. It happened when you kissed him for the first time, breathing life back into his body when it felt like anxiety had taken it all.

And it happens to him now, as you squint your eyes, lips pursed in concentration; you were so kind and attentive, so absolutely ethereal. The midnight stars hung over your head like a delicate halo, strokes of blue and gold sprinkled over your face, leaving him dizzy and breathless.

It hits him, suddenly, intensely, with a flutter in his chest and a trembling exhale—he feels stronger when he's with you. The revelation almost seals his windpipe shut, lashes collecting dew as he peers up at you admiring all the wonder you hold.

You finish, dipping the razor into the water once more before smoothing your thumb over his freshly shaven jaw, eyes sparkling with constellations only he could find.

"You make me feel stronger—" he breathes, the words slipping out before he can overthink them; part of him doesn't understand what he meant, but the other knew it just felt... right.

For some time, you are unable to respond, simply blinking, mouth slightly agape. The silence kills him, making him squirm awkwardly in his seat, suddenly feeling very embarrassed by his confession. And then you press your palms against his damp cheeks and rid the distance between you two.

It knocks the air out of his lungs all over again, no longer thinking about anything except for how your hair smells like vanilla and your lips taste like spring. You feel like the universe, clutched tightly in his hands, and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

[dwaekkicidal]

Nonsexual Dominance with SKZ

wc» 1.1k

cw» gender neutral, d/s dynamics, dom!skz & sub!reader, trad!minho, sfw but some people might see some things as controlling or toxic- it's not meant to be and this is based off a MUTUAL agreement + set boundaries. if you dont like dont interact <3

txt version

DO NOT republish or translate+post my work!

𝙱𝚊𝚗𝚐 𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗

Makes you send him food pics regularly. On days where you genuinely don't want to, he won't push it, but for the most part he enforces it and will be upset if you don't send a pic. And this is only really because it means you didn't eat.

He loves it not only for the obvious reason of watching over you even when he's not around, but also because it reminds him to also eat. All those hours in the studio blur and it's only a matter of time before he completely loses track of time- but you and your meals are there to remind him :)

𝙻𝚎𝚎 𝙺𝚗𝚘𝚠

Ok hear me out, traditional husband!minho... If you don't want it, he won't push it but it works so well,,, If it's far enough into the relationship that the trust comes naturally, he'd sit you down to discuss your opinions on you staying at home all day and quitting your job and putting all the financial burden on him- because he wants that responsibility. He wants to take care of you so extremely.

The pleasure dom in him comes out specifically outside of the bedroom. He absolutely loves cooking for you and spoiling you with extravagant dinners & expensive gifts, and he loves just holding you close just because he can, but he expects you to do everything else in the house- or at least most of it. While he's willing to compromise certain chores, he wants to come home to the house being clean and clothes being washed and all that.

But he always makes it worth your while and spoils you rotten :( Cuddles you until you're absolutely sick of him (not) and tries to take you out on regular dates to spoil you (like while shopping at the mall or taking you out to a nice dinner)

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚋𝚒𝚗

Might sound kind of weird but hear me out- him telling you "no." I think Chris is one that would love to do this but has NO self control and therefore can't bring himself to unless he absolutely has to lol. But Changbin thrives off of it.

Don't get him wrong- he looves to spoil you. But he also loves that little spark in your eyes when you bat your eyelashes at him so prettily and ask him for something- only for you to get a gentle but firm "no" that makes your bottom lip puff out. & It's not that he doesn't want you to have whatever this thing is, it's more so that he knows there's a limit to being spoiled and no matter how much he loves you, you both need an occasional humbling- and he feels like you both could use a soft reminder of who let who have all the control

He'll always make up for it with sweet kisses and maybe a little tickling to make your pout go away, but his chest puffs out a little every time he gets to tell you "no"

𝙷𝚢𝚞𝚗𝚓𝚒𝚗

Is the kind to having his hand on your body at all times, if you're more than an arms length away from him you'll be getting a certain look that discreetly reads "Get over here now." Sometimes will even curl his finger up in your direction- doesn't care if somebody is watching or even if he's in the middle of talking/an important conversation

He just likes to have you close, and he knows he needs that mental grounding that you offer more often than not. He's just confident about needing it, so he's not afraid to show everybody how much he loves you and needs you by his side

That being said, he will lead you around malls, museums, grocery stores, or hell even the other boy's apartments all with his hand either intertwined with yours or on some part of your body (usually your lower back) that lets him guide you around.

𝙷𝚊𝚗

He felt a little awkward at first bringing this up to you, but now that it's become a regular part of your routine, he lives for these moments: he loves when you sit pretty on his lap and shave his face for him. It's gotten to the point where he will refuse to shave himself at all for weeks on end if you aren't able to do it for him.

It makes him feel a bit more dominant than it should? considering he will see you have free time and point out that he needs a shave- which usually has you dropping everything to go do it for him. But he also sees it as him being loyal to you and you having an equal amount of "control" on his life. (Also you will catch him dead before you catch him complaining about his lover sitting in his lap for any amount of time lol)

Generally just domestic little acts of service that let him "command" you while also letting you have control over his life (that's really only obvious to you two, but that's more than enough for him)

𝙵𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚡

Doesn't realize he likes it right away, but he loves to talk for you with strangers. He loves to order your food for you, order your coffee for you (sometimes even mobile ordering it so you don't have to talk to people if he's not available), carrying your clothes for you while you shop and being the one talking at the cash register- stuff like that.

Not only does this scratch that little dom itch in the back of his head because he's taking care of you while still being in "charge", but it also allows him to spoil the hell out of you with you knowing how much money he's spending on you lol. You get to sit pretty at his side and look at/play with the little trinkets by the register while he drops literal hundreds on you with a smile on his face.

𝚂𝚎𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚖𝚒𝚗

Sorry not sorry but he loves his non sexual punishments. No matter what you do in or out of the bedroom, he can and will find a way to punish you for it without having to lay a finger on you.

One of his favorites is making you write a sentence down over and over again. Kinda cliché "teacher" punishment but it usually gets his point across and prevents you from acting out (for like a week max lol). If he's particularly annoyed at you/frustrated he will make you write it in Korean & wont translate it for you more than once lol.

Another one he really likes is making you kneel on the floor instead of on the couch. He's not really huge on forbidding you from watching tv unless you want him to go that far, but you're not gonna be allowed to sit on the soft, comfy couch- you're gonna be kneeling on the floor, most likely by his leg so you can still cuddle up to him (he'll grant you a small pillow if it's a longer punishment)

𝙸.𝙽

Jeongin loves picking your outfits and your accessories for you. He's not usually too dominant out of the bedroom otherwise, and it's very rare that he is, but this is the main way he is.

Even before you two lived together, he would text you a grossly sweet good morning message and would include a comment about how you should send him a few outfits for him to choose from you to wear. But now that you guys are living together, he takes it upon himself to pick out an outfit for you while you're still in bed or in the bathroom waking up.

Taglist: (red=can't be tagged)

@valkyriexo @lunearta @jabmastersupriseee @rylea08

@yaorzu-blog @amararosesblog @jiminssluttyminx @clemissleepy

@miss-daisy04 @kittyxnoa @dwaekkiiracha @honeyybbuubblleess

@mariteez @fun-fanfics @honeyybbuubblleess @kittycatkrissa

@nicora04 @chuuyaobsessed @moonlightndaydreams @velvetmoonlght

@aeri-skzver

[bloomzone]

2025 : #22 How to LOCK IN

✒️..You overwhelmed. u keep saying, "I need to get my life together," but you don’t even know where to start. That feeling being stuck in ur own head, paralyzed by everything and nothing at the same time it’s real ikr I've been there but there’s a way out of this messy shit is to locking in. Locking is when "u stop reacting, and you start creating" . You start showing up for yourself like you matter because you do but how .. ?

1. SET GOALS & INTENTIONS

Before anything else, you need direction. When life feels messy, it’s usually because you're reacting to everything instead of moving with purpose. So start with a pause. Ask yourself: What do I want my life to actually look like? Not in vague terms like "success" or "happiness" but specifically. What kind of mornings do you want? What kind of work fulfills you? What kind of people do you want around you? What does peace look like for you?

Now set intentions. An intention isn’t just a goal it’s a way of being. A goal says "I want to lose 10 pounds." An intention says "I want to treat my body like it matters." That's the difference. Intentions give your goals a soul. Write both down . This is your why and you're going to need it when things get hard then u will remember to keep u going

2. KILL DISTRACTIONS

When life feels messy, the first thing you have to do is quiet the noise. And I don’t mean just the literal noise . I’m talking about the mental clutter: endless scrolling, group chats with no purpose, random content you consume that makes you compare yourself to others (hear me out) All of it is stealing your focus. You can’t figure out your life if you’re constantly filling your brain with everybody else’s.

Start by auditing your digital life. What apps do you open as soon as you wake up? What’s constantly grabbing your attention but giving you nothing real back? If it doesn’t help you grow, if it doesn’t calm your mind, if it doesn’t fuel your creativity it’s time to let it go. At least for now. Silence can be uncomfortable at first, but within silence lives clarity. And clarity is the seed of change.

3. FLIP THE MENTAL SWITCH

This part is important as setting goals . If your life feels off track, you have to make a hard decision with yourself: Am I going to keep living like this, or am I going to do something about it? This is where you flip the switch. And flipping it means choosing to no longer accept a half-lived version of your life. It’s the moment where you say, "I’m tired of feeling behind. I’m done wasting time."

You might not know how to fix everything yet, but the decision to lock in is the beginning. This switch is an energy shift. It’s the point when you stop waiting for motivation, stop waiting to feel "ready," and decide that showing up is no longer optional. You become your own motivator. You stop asking, "Can I really do this?" and start saying, "Watch me." It’s about becoming unrecognizable to your past self, one action at a time

4. CONTROL YOUR SPACE

When your life feels messy, often your space reflects it ofc . Look around your room. Your desk. Your phone. Your inbox. Is it all chaos? Then your mind will be too. You don’t need to do a full makeover you just need to create order. Clean your room like you're clearing your head or like someone important will come in organize your stuff like you’re organizing your next move.

When your physical environment feels chaotic, it signals your brain that you’re not safe, not grounded, not focused. And that’s exhausting. You deserve a space that supports the person you want to become. Light a candle. Open a window. Get some sunlight in . Your space should be a place where change can happen. Because once your space feels clean and calm, your mind starts to follow.

4. FUEL YOUR BODY

You can’t lock in if you’re running on fumes. That foggy, tired, heavy feeling you’re carrying A lot of it is physical. You’re probably dehydrated. You’re probably not sleeping enough. You're probably surviving on caffeine and chips or whatever. And I get it when your mind is a mess, eating right and sleeping well feel impossible.

But your body is the machine that gets you out of this rut. If your body is crashing, your mind can’t focus. Your emotions spiral more easily. Start small: more water, less sugar. Stretch your body in the morning. Take deep breaths. Cook for urself , go outside. Move your body. Fuel it. Your energy and mental clarity will thank you. You don’t have to go from 0 to gym rat. You just have to treat your body like it matters.treat your body like how u will treat your child

5. FOCUS YOUR MIND

Right now, your thoughts are probably bouncing everywhere. You feel overwhelmed because your brain is trying to solve everything at once. But focus isn’t about doing everything. It’s about doing the next thing.

And to do that, you need clarity. You need to know what matters right now. not next week. not next year. right now. What’s one thing you can finish today that moves you forward? Is it doing laundry? Submitting an application? Journaling your feelings? Focus on that doing your homework ?. Give it all your attention. Turn ur phone off and pour into that one thing. Get used to being present. That’s what real focus feels like your full self showing up to a single task.

6. OWN YOUR TIME

When your life is a mess, time just slips through your fingers. Days go by and you don’t even know what you did. That stops now. You need to get intentional. Before bed, plan tomorrow. Write three things you want to accomplish. Block off your time, even if it’s just: wake up 1h before ur usual time , workout , cook breakfast... . It doesn’t have to be extreme. It just has to be deliberate.

Think of your time like currency. Once it’s spent, you don’t get it back. So don’t spend it on guilt, fear, overthinking, or distraction. Spend it on action. On healing. On building something that matters.

7. ALIGN SPIRITUALLY

Here’s the part no one talks about when you're in a mess: your soul is tired. U feel disconnected. You might not even remember what peace feels like. Locking in isn’t just about habits It’s also about realignment.

You are more than your productivity. You are more than your checklist. So pause. Sit with yourself. Be still. Breathe. Talk to God, the universe, your ancestors whatever u believe in , journal . Let your spirit speak too . Let your pain surface. Let yourself feel again. That’s where the answers you’re begging for will show up always have some minutes everyday whenever in the morning or night to sit and talk to urself and let everything out (negativity) .

8. EMBRACE DETACHMENT

Detachment isn’t about not caring it’s about caring from a place of peace not panic. When you’re locked in, you learn to release your grip on things you can’t control: people’s opinions, outcomes, and timing. You stop chasing, and instead, you start aligning. You don’t beg for energy, attention, or results you trust that what’s meant for you is flowing your way. The art of detachment is what keeps your power close. You give your best and focused, but you’re no longer shaken by what doesn’t go as planned. That’s is called control .To practice detachment, start by identifying what’s stressing you out or what you’re obsessing over ask yourself if it’s something you can change or if it’s beyond your control or out of it . Then, consciously let go of the attachment to that outcome or person. This doesn't mean you stop caring it means you trust that whatever happens is part of the journey and that it will all unfold as it’s meant to. You can practice detachment by shifting your focus back to what you can control your actions, your attitude, and your peace of mind. With time, detachment helps you remain calm, clear-headed, and more connected to your own path without being weighed down by the uncontrollable.

If your life feels messy, that doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re being called to level up. To stop floating. To stop waiting for someone to save you. Locking in isn’t boring it’s freedom. It’s how you take back control. And once you feel that click you’ll never want to go back.have a good luck 🍀.

@bloomzone

[hyukascampfire]

THE TERRIBLE HALF-TRUTHS OF THE UNDEAD ҜING

⠀(🍂 ) 𝓡EVENANT in folklore, a revenant is a spirit or animated corpse that is believed to have been revived from death to haunt the living ... ( 𝑝𝑙𝑎𝑦𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 )

1︎5.5k revenant!yeonjun · ƒ ! r ft. soobin ⸺ ✴︎ 𝖿𝖺𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗌𝗒 ... smut, violence, angst, death, animal death & vivid descriptions of animal death, major character death, unprotected sex, cumming inside, dry humping (because bring it back), biting, dom yeonjun sub reader, mentions of death in childbirth, reincarnation, teasing, breast worship, yj calls reader ‘my love’, def some typos

🪶 ⦂ how fun is this collab? :,) this fic was so fun to write. i personally believe that tsfawc enjoyers will love this one,, but you'll have to read it to confirm that, right? hehe. and of course, go read everybody else's if you love this one! they're all set in the same world, and everybody worked so hard on these fics. send some love their way!

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

𝒪𝑁𝐶𝐸 𝒰𝑃𝑂𝑁 𝒶 𝒯𝐼𝑀𝐸, in a land far, far away, where the treetops touched the soft clouds of the sky and the water sparkled under the glowing sun, where mountains rose high, and long, deep caves ran through them, where the sea met shore in collisions of swirling, foamy punches, where the undead walked among the living, where the winged flew above the finned, there was a land where things beyond reason and rhyme existed perfectly true. Among those strange beings and within the veils of Aethera, there was a girl loved by death. 

He sits on your shoulder, a dark, boding shadow and glared at those around you with promise in his eyes.

That’s how it seems, anyway. That’s how everybody looks at you. They dodge you, whisper about you, evade your gaze as if he might reach his claws for them next if they linger for too long.

Crows with dead eyes arrive at your doorstep like some lover’s cheeky gift, other poor creatures like fat grey mice are left to rot in the wheatfields, and yarrow stocks wilt outside the wall of your room. If Death thinks that you are flattered, he misunderstands you. You are terrified of nothing more than dying. The first time, it was a sly joke. Then it happened again, and you watched their eyes change. And it happened again and again, and your people are a suspicious type. Something can only be a coincidence so many times.

When you began to sneak into a little shack with a village boy, you thought that maybe, somehow, this would all pass. He died too. There’s really no coming back from that, is there? You don’t blame them. You’re not the freak that they all believe you to be—none of them get close enough anymore to know that, though.

The wickerbasket’s handle creaks under your fist. You usually only forage along the shallow line of the forest; you pluck from bramble bushes topped with plump berries that crawl between trees during the summer, and when the crab apple tree’s branches hang heavy with the fruit, you snatch those up too. You’re more useful to your family out here, in the woods that they deem just as cursed as you. Where you won’t be their burden.

Crisp autumn leaves crunch under your boots. You scan between them—more grey and rotted this late in the season than fresh and orangey—for the edible mushrooms and roots that you usually forage at this time of year. The basket’s already pretty heavy with a variety, black morels and sorrel and burdock, as you bend down to pull a truffle from the dirt against a tree.

You drop it down with the rest of your finds. The basket smells like earth, no doubt your hands do too. You dust your palms off on your skirts and go to rise back from your squat.

A deep, billowing horn pierces the forest’s silence. It’s both far away, wiggling between the whispers of rustling leaves, and much too close. It draws out. Long. Bone-chilling. You freeze, scanning between each tree trunk and praying that you won’t find what you fear you might.

You are much deeper into the woods than you usually are. Than you ought to be. And you know what that horn means—you know that it means something far worse than what you’d been afraid of, coming into these woods. Much more primordial than the hide-behinds you were scared you might find this deep, much less avoidable than the faerie rings you stepped around.

Why would The Wild Hunt be here? A shudder runs down your spine, and you curl your fingers into your skirts and lift them as if to prepare to run, but you don’t. Your feet find root in the forest floor and all you can do is stand terribly still in catatonia. Their horn sounds again, and a procession of wicked whoops and howls follow. Wild hoofbeat rumbles under it all—the hunt and their rides. You hope that they’re just passing through, and you won’t so much as see one of those wild riders. There were plenty of folktales that the matrons of your village would bolster to terrify you as children, but you knew even then that their stories of the riders, with their flesh falling away from them and their pale or beady eyes and their gnarled maws and frightening figures as they rode on the backs of equally terrible steeds, were not fabricated. They are not a bogeyman or a wailing banshee; they are death made in the flesh, and they are here. In your forest. 

Your legs won’t work. You curl your clammy fingers tighter around your basket and lean into the tree beside you. How deep had you wandered into the forest? Hopefully not too far; when you gain the courage to run, you hope that they do not send their hounds to snap their foul breath on your heels. Maybe just standing here and blending into the trees is best. The Hunt would love a chase, and you don’t want to become their next.

The next call comes and you throw that all to the wind. Your heart pounds against your ribcage as you let your basket clatter to the leaves and you take off. You fly over roots and shrubbery and between the trees, your blood roaring in your ears faster. You’d oblige if you could.

Above the loudness of your frantic mind, the harrowing whinnies and The Hunt’s ruckus dulls until it’s faraway again, and then it’s gone. Well, you don’t stop to check if they’ve really passed through the forest. You just run.

“There you are, love.”

His voice cuts through your frantic escape and stops you dead in your path. You almost go crashing down over the ground with the force that you dig your heels into it. Though the voice is non-threatening, you don’t turn to face the source.

He speaks again. You already know who it is. He, old as the earth you stand on itself, leads that band of wild riders. Is the king of the undead, collects souls for reaping.

And he’s the one who’s plagued you with his attention. Death.

“Why do you keep your back turned to me?” he says. “I frighten you. That hurts.” His voice lilts with amusement and sharpness. “I wish that you would face me.”

You’re not fond of the way that he speaks to you with a familiarity. But then again, you’re not fond of dying, either. Your legs are boneless beneath you. Turning, you slowly indulge him, though it takes a great amount of willpower to not run again like your jittering jaw and trembling hands ask you to.

The King of Death stands tall and utterly preternatural, leaned against a crooked tree in the woods behind you. His smile cracks across his face in a jagged way that suggests he finds you amusing, but none of that meets his eyes. They’re the color of the greyish, rotted leaves beneath you. The dark shadows beneath his eyes are the only thing belying the weight that his infinite life might have on him. That, and the hollowness that rings from him.

And though he sounded entirely playful, you are shaken by the sorrow that you find in him now that you’ve turned. Even more so, you’re not sure why you feel it echoed somewhere in the hollows of your bones. “I’m sorry,” you say. It trembles terribly. You want to say that you’re sorry you caught his attention, but it seems you’ve always had his attention. It’s more that you are petrified down to your marrow that the time’s come that you face this… strange infatuation. Here he stands: the one who leaves hollowed out husks of creatures at your doorstep. Should you run or thank him? Is Death as prideful a creature as the other kinds that inhabit Aethera? “I don’t mean to…”

He pushes off his tree, fixing his cape that cascades over only one of his shoulders. It’s tattered and falling apart like the rest of his clothing, though you think that the bronze stitching and swirling oakleaf patterns in the black say that they might have been immaculate at some point. Or maybe they weren’t, and they had started that way. He is Death, anyway. “You’re sorry?” he says. “Why are you apologizing to me? You’ve hardly done a thing to warrant it.”

Faltering, you wet your chapped lips. You’re not really sure. Holding back another apology for fear that you’ve offended him and he’ll now strike you down for it, you say, “I thought that, maybe the hunt was…” Wow, you sound stupid. You can see in the sly smile his lips form that it amuses him. That’s almost worse than angering him: intriguing him. What you really should be doing is boring him so that he’ll find you a waste of his time. Then, maybe, he’d give up haunting you.

“After you?” he finishes. Shaking his head, he says, “My hunters only answer to me.”

“Oh,” you say plainly. Part of you wants to ask why that should comfort you, especially when you’re the one that he sends little bits of death to, but rationality keeps those words in the back of your throat. You don’t really want to know. “Why are you passing by here?”

Something akin to old longing passes through those witty eyes, and then he eats up the distance between you with languid steps of his long legs until he’s nothing more than one last step in front of you. The closeness consumes the air in your lungs, leaving nothing for you but short and shallow drags. The forest has gone dead silent aside from the sound of it. His voice is even more magnetic now that he’s so close.

You recoil when he brings a hand up to brush the pad of his thumb over your cheek and then cup your jaw, as if afraid that he might snuff you out here and now. His fingers are softer than you thought they might be, and the lines of his face sharpen into what you think is hurt. Hurt that you flinched?

“We go here and there,” he says, “but it’s been a very long time since we came here.” There’s a certain thickness to his words; a certain tension coiled over them from something that you’re not privy to. And yet, there’s a farawayness, too. You bet he’s full of a lifetime of secrets. Lifetimes of secrets. “But I think I’ve found myself a reason to finally return.”

Breathy and still struggling to flatten out your breathing, you ask him, “Why?”

The Undead King’s smile turns wicked once more, and he doesn’t answer you. It’s awfully eerie.

“Do you have… business here?” you try again. It’s a roundabout way of asking, do you have someone to take away?

“I have business wherever the living go,” he says, letting your face go but not giving you any more room. You narrow your eyes. He’s quite good at non-answers. “Nothing is more certain than that I will greet every living thing eventually. I’ll come to take you, too, when the time comes.”

Your mouth dries up. The entirety of your home, all the people you’ve ever known, fear you for all the death you bring. Not one of them fears it more than you do. You’ve seen it enough to fear its frightening finality.

The drop of your face must’ve told him how much that scared you. “Dying is not such an awful thing, love. Living pales in comparison.” Searching your eyes, he adds, “But I’ve not come to take you.”

That’s easy for him to say: that death isn’t something to fear. His words don’t calm your thundering heart, but you offer him a, “Thank you…” It trails off toward the end when you realize that you don’t have his name. If he has one, anyway.

“Yeonjun.” He tilts his head, strands of sparrow hair brushing over his watching eyes. “Most don’t know it, but you’re not most people, are you?”

Your breathing had just begun evening out. It’s a shame, the way that it kicks back up at the way he looks at you. “What do you mean?” you say, but of course you know. Nobody else is given dead things like you. It’s not like you yourself are very strange; you like pretty dresses and sharing gossip with friends just as much as any other girl your age.

Giving you another one of those knowing smiles that he uses just like words, he steps back. “I’m sorry that I scare you how I do.”

You don’t answer him. What could you say to that? That he doesn’t? That would be a lie, and he would know it.

Yeonjun’s eyes flit over your face, over your cheeks made pink by the autumn cold, lingering on your lips for a few unexplainable beats, and then landing on your eyes where he searches and finds something that sends his throat bobbing with a thick swallow. “I don’t mean to be your monster. It’s only that…” He steps back again. “You remind me a terrible amount of someone I once knew.”

“Who?” Though your shoulders relax a bit with some distance between the two of you, you do your best to not let your guard down. All the stories that you recall being told, all those cautionary tales passed down through word of mouth around a fire, end with some stupid girl thinking that the monster could be changed or tricked. You’re willing to bet that the man in front of you, no matter how human he looks or how enchanting his words are, could be neither.

That doesn’t explain the ache in your chest when he holds your eyes for too long. But you shove that feeling way, way down. It’s nonsensical.

His voice takes on a parting tilt when he says, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Death takes us all.” Yeonjun dips his head at you. His smile wavers. You’d think that crooked smile on his mouth was indelible had you not seen it twitch down at the corners only for a moment. If you’d have blinked, you’d have missed it. “You think I’ll hurt you,” he says, “well, don’t let me stop you. Go ahead, run. I apologize for your basket.”

Death takes us all. You’re not sure what that’s supposed to mean, coming from him, but it sends a cold wind up your spine and goosebumps crawling over your skin.

He watches you go. You don’t look back when you do, but his gaze sits on your back until you’re sure you’re out of his sight. When you return to your home, your mother asks where the basket full of ingredients for supper went.

You imagine what her face might look like if you told her the truth. But that was impossible, so instead you tell her some stupid story about a wolf that startled you so bad that you ran home paying no mind to where your basket was. It’s close enough to the truth.

༺ ꘏ ༻

It doesn’t matter what you do; you can’t get his face out of your head. While you cut butter into flour and then roll out dough, simmer fruits over flame and you slice cheese off blocks, you replay that meeting in the forest. The memory spins and turns over no matter how hard you try to put it away from your thoughts.

It’s not every day that somebody meets the likes of him. You can’t blame yourself; he had such captivating eyes. Dark, playful, and endless. There they are again. You sigh and dust your hands off. Maybe you are just as strange as they all think that you are. Morbid curiosity is like that, though. Taking the most normal of us and making you wonder what you absolutely should not wonder about.

And you absolutely should not wonder about him.

The sun has begun to hang high in the sky, but the breeze that crawls through the window you pulled open before you got to work is a crisp one. Autumn’s really come, now. Outside the window, a huddle of children play around in the leaves that you’d raked up. You’ll have to rake those back up, but you hardly have the heart to tell them to take their playing elsewhere. Their giggles and small voices waft in with the breeze, and a traitorous part of you yearns for a family that you know you’ll never have. No man would risk that fate, not after what happened to the last man who paid you any attention. You grit your teeth at the memory.

Having a face for the thing that’s made your life the way it is is strange. Seeing him in the flesh, with handsome eyes and a taunting mouth, looking something near human, you think you’ve come to resent him for it. How dare he ruin your life? He, more than anybody, should know how fleeting life is. What is in it for him to deface what little time you have? You keep going back to that thought: why did he ever even appear to you in that forest? There is not one story in which you remember Yeonjun showing his face to those he hasn’t come to claim. Death makes his visits swift and purposeful.

Moreover, why on earth would he even look your way? You wish there was a plain way to ask him why, or even to plead with him to stop. Whatever it is he’d ask of you, you think you might give him. To get back to living, you would.

A deep, familiar voice from behind you gives you pause. “Want some help with that?” Soobin says. He stands  in the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the frame. It’s made too small for him. Most things in your tiny village were made too small for Soobin. There had been a time where you’d been taller than him, that had hardly lasted long enough.

“As if,” you dismiss and gesture at his dirty hands. He’d no doubt been out working his family’s field, his tunic sleeves rolled up to his elbows.  “Cow shit isn’t an ingredient.”

Anybody else might’ve scoffed or taken offense, but he just laughs and invites himself in anyway. It never fazes Soobin. He doesn’t let you push him away.

It’d be better if he did. How long before he ends up dead, too? Alive one moment, and then a husk without a soul next. You don’t think you could handle seeing cold, dead eyes where the annoying, warm shine should be. Of course it would be better if he stayed away, if he had half the mind to. Even most of the children have heard enough from their mothers to stay a healthy distance. He’s not too much better than a child, though.

“Isn’t it?” he says. His cheek is smudged with whatever sort of dirt he’s got on his hands and under his nails. “I’m done with work for the day. Want to go out to the field?”

You two have always ran off and avoided your life in between willowy, flaxen wheat stocks. They were just tall enough at this time of year to hide you away. But, for some reason, your stomach does a quick flip at the thought of being outside. It’s silly; couldn’t he find you here, too? “I’m busy,” you say. You’d already kneaded this roll of dough plenty, but you dig your fingers into it and begin again.

“Busy?” he scoffs, “Since when are you too busy to get away from work?”

Gritting your teeth, you let the sounds of your kneading answer. Now, more than ever, he should keep his distance. You know one thing that you’re sure nobody else does: Death’s come to visit. 

His brows shoot up in your peripherals. “I don’t get answers today?”

“I’m sorry,” you say, giving up working the over-kneaded dough only because your arms ache. “Why don’t you go talk off the ear of some other poor village girl? I’ve heard as much as I can handle today. And then when that one’s tired, you can bother the next, I’m sure.”  You soften the words with a quick smile his way. No matter how many times you say something sour in hopes that it’ll send him away, as soon as you glance up at his face, you reel it in.

His company is all you’ve ever had. The least you can do for him is make sure he doesn’t end up like carrion, even if he chooses to take that risk himself. You don’t know why he does.

Voice playful, he says, “I’m glad to hear that you believe I’ve got ladies falling at my feet, but I’d rather not annoy a pretty girl, so you’re my only option.” He pokes at the sleeve of your simple cotton dress. “Should I drag you out of here? Don’t your arms hurt doing all that?”

“Oh, you are a refined man, aren’t you?” you say, shuffling out of his reach. Damn him, he makes it difficult. “Well, I am a pretty girl, so you should take yourself elsewhere.”

Soobin smiles easy. “I’m bored out of my mind. You’re just going to let me suffer?”

“That’s not my issue.”

“I’d argue that it is,” he says. “Come on. Why are you giving me a cold shoulder?” Leaning, he tries to get a look at your face. “Did I upset you? I wasn’t aware that you cared much about what I thought.” When you spare him a sharp glance, he says, “I think you are very, very beautiful. Would you stop ignoring me, now?”

You wish you could fall into the easy banter that comes with being around Soobin, but you can’t. You can’t let him be around you. “Soobin, stop it,” you say, draining your voice. You don’t look at him while you say it.

Going quiet, he seems to notice that today’s different. His gaze is heavy as he stares at you for a few long moments. Crossing his arms over his chest, he asks, “What happened?”

You swallow. “Nothing. I’m just doing something.”

“Oh, alright,” he says, tone inflicting in a way that says he doesn’t believe you one bit. He pushes off the counter. “I’ve put up with you pushing me away for years. You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“Soobin,” you warn. If you look at him, you fear you’ll be forced to watch the only one who never cared much what a risk it was being around you leaving. So you don’t.

Your friend raises his hands in the air defensively. “Okay, then.” He makes for the doorway with languid, lingering steps. As if he doesn’t want to leave. “Tomorrow..”

That’s both a threat and a promise, knowing him. Sighing and watching the rowan tree out your window sway, you bid him a curt goodbye.

If only that jerk took offense to things. It would make things an awful lot easier for you.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Being out in the wheat fields brings you peace when you’re alone, but you find it to be terribly lonely. The earthy, sweet scent of it wraps around you, and the stalks whisper against each other in a soothing way.

When you look beside you, the patch of wheat imprinted with the shape of your bodies is empty on his side. You are quite weak; it makes you want to go knocking at his door for his company. But that would be the selfish thing to do, so you card your fingers between the golden straw instead.

A chill trickles down your spine. You feel his presence before you even see him; it’s a feeling that you used to get fleetingly, as if something far away was tugging at you. But then he became real, a living thing in front of you that can touch, and that is much different.

“Why is it that I always find you out in the wilderness?” Yeonjun says. His voice comes from behind you.

Has he been watching you? You stand and dust your bottom off, heart kicking to life. “It’s nice out here,” you say. In truth, you haven’t come outside since that day. You’ve dodged Soobin and made a million excuses as to why you won’t go anywhere past the fences of your home. “I like to… watch people go about their days. It’s interesting.” It’s true—you always watch from afar how the village folk interact. How groups of girls your age link arms and whisper to each other, how neighbors come together to fix up a shoddy fence. You watch them be a community that you are not a part of. Watching it tastes bitter sometimes, but mostly you take pleasure in imagining yourself there with them. You’re not sure why you try making small talk with him, but what else? Should you go running again? If you were to listen to your pattering heart, maybe that’s what you’d do. He’s hardly shown you any bad will, though, and he’s the one that’s come to you. Maybe it’s silly to wait until something bad happens to be cautious.

A thousand pounds in stones sit at the center of your chest, though, and his voice makes them feel lighter. Why on earth that is, you’re not sure. It’s a nice relief regardless.

He smiles. It's different from the ones he showed you before. It’s knowing; more sweet than cracking over his face like the smile you would expect from the likes of him. What use might he have in being sweet? “Could I join you?”

Blinking dumbly at him for a second, you nod. “Oh, uh… Yeah.” Settling back down into your spot, you spare him a few curious sideways glances.

The breeze billows over the gold stems, moving them like gentle waves over the ocean and blowing your hair in it too. The flattened bits rustle under his weight. He doesn’t even turn his face toward the village; instantly, his gravitational eyes are on you.

“Do you come here often?”

“I do,” you answer. Mostly when you and Soobin have too much to do and not enough will to do it. “It’s nice. The village doesn’t like me much, so it’s easier out here.” You don’t mention that mostly you don’t come here alone.

Yeonjun’s face becomes far away. It looks strikingly like somebody forced into an old, unpleasant memory. “Don’t like you?” he asks, “What reason would they have for that?”

“They fear me. Things go wrong around me, that’s all.” You pluck at the hay absentmindedly. “Things die. They’re smart to stay away.”

The hay whispers much louder for the long moment he remains quiet, digesting what you’ve said. Maybe deciding what to say, considering that it’s his fault.

“Die?” he asks, voice inflected with surprise.

Turning to him, your brow creases. Shouldn’t he know? He’s the one that’s done it to you. “Everything that gets too close ends up dead. Everything,” you say, resting your temple on your knee. “So, I guess, I just keep it all at arm’s length.” You look back at your tiny village, a collection of familiar, un-familiar thatch-roof homes. 

Continuing to blink at you, his eyes narrowed in a strange grimace, Yeonjun says, “Death follows me, too.”

What? A laugh of disbelief bubbles up in your chest. Of course, death follows him. You cover your mouth with a hand to obscure your laugh, but you just giggle at him harder.

A laugh twitches at the corners of his mouth, too. “I mean it,” he says. The lines of his face become distant again, eyes both trained on your face and melancholic as if the sight reminds him of something.

It ignites a question in your mind about something he said in the forest. “You said that I reminded you of somebody,” you say, testing the waters. “Who?”

A muscle feathers in his jaw. He looks away, as if he can’t look at you while he says it. “I loved a girl from this village once. When I was human, no less than you.”

You falter, mouth falling open to ask all the questions that flurry through your thoughts. You settle on one. “You were human?”

“I was,” he says ruefully. “And I had everything. I had the love of my life. I think that even the most bitter of creatures on this island had envy for our love. She would braid dandelions into my hair, and then I’d braid them into hers.” He swallows thickly and pauses, as if the wound was still festering and fresh. “And then she died. She died starting our family. She died because of me, in my arms.”

You don’t know what to say, so you just look into his shining eyes as if that’ll help. You’re not very useful with people, much less comforting them.

“I couldn’t accept that. I wouldn’t. So I went where I shouldn’t have gone, and angered something much bigger than myself. They thought it would be a fitting punishment for me to live an eternity, the King of Death who could not bring back his dead lover.” The harrowed look that he gives you, only briefly, has your chest heavy all over again. “They have a sense of humor, the forces.”

You imagine what it would’ve been like for him to lose his lover in that way. How far he’d gone to try and have her back, but death does not give back. Where had he gone to have been turned into this? An immortal thing, forced to roam the world and scoop up the souls of the living for an eternity? To be bound in ancient bones and made to remember forever how you had lost your lover?

The grandness of what you want to say is too big, but all those words feel pitying and patronizing in a way that you don’t think will actually bring him any comfort. Rather, you doubt anything you say will be able to patch up a wound older than you could imagine. Simply, you offer him a raw, “I’m so sorry.”

Yeonjun lets a crooked smile replace the trembling at his lips. “As long as I live, so too will she,” he says, placing his palm over his heart. “Death doesn’t so much happen when we leave behind our bodies, but when we’ve left the minds of the living.” Narrowing his eyes at you, he brushes hair behind your ear with his knuckles. “I know she lives on, somewhere out there. Somewhere. I’ll find her.”

That intrigues you. “Is there some way that you could bring her back?”

The grim light in his eyes tells you his answer. “My curse is to take life,” he says, “not to give it. But the one who made me this, he is cruel in a twisted way. If I were to find her, as a human or an animal or a blade of grass in the forest, only then could I rest.”

It is cruel. “You’ve been searching, then,” you conclude. “When you find her, you’ll both be able to rest.” But how could he find her, if as he says, she could be any living thing? Where would he even begin?

Slowly, he shakes his head, throat bobbing. “Death needs a farrier.”

She would become what he is. You swallow thickly. Was it not him who caused the deaths that follow you? Or, at least, it was not on purpose?

Opening your mouth, you go to tell him that you’ll help him look. You’re sure you’ll be of no help. He’s spent an immortal lifetime searching, and he still hasn’t found his dead lover. Nobody would know better than him where to look.

The ground shakes beneath your palms with impact, and something cuts through the wheat. The noise of its bleating becomes nearer until the both of you scramble up to find out what’s in such distress.

A deer stumbles around wildly. It looks lame, but you don’t see anything wrong with its legs. Your throat tightens at the awful sound, piercing and sad. Frozen, you watch it try to stay upright before it finally collapses down, legs still kicking as though it still wants to run but its body has begun weakening on it. “Oh my god,” you say, stumbling back. The sounds; its sounds are awful, echoing in your bones and constricting your thoughts until they’re a pinched panic.

There’s an arrow lodged into its ribcage, deep and at a terrible angle. You already know that it’s pierced some vital organs, if not its heart. It continues to writhe on the ground, not ready to give up. You’re not sure if you should approach it—you don’t want to scare it, and you can tell by the look in its wet eyes that it already wants to be away from you.

Or, maybe it had come to you. How else had it found the two of you in the middle of this field?

Yeonjun’s already on it. He puts his knees into the dirt and dried wheat to kneel by it, running his hand over the beast's pelt in long strokes. The small buck flinches at first but relaxes once he learns that his touches are gentle, not the gnashing of hungry teeth ready to make him a meal.

Blood runs like lead through your veins. You say, “Can we help it?”

He shakes his head. “He’ll die.”

Whip-lashed, you swallow thickly. He says it so unphased, and you’re sure he is. You can hardly make yourself mirror that serenity that he exudes as he runs his hand over its flank, but you get on the ground beside him anyway.

The buck’s breaths slow to desperate drags for breath. For a few long minutes, the two of you sit in silence and stay with him until he no longer fights, until his breaths are ragged. You feel his side, still warm and alive, but you see the life going from his eyes. You sit here, talking to each other about nothing just so it hears gentle voices as it goes, for a while.

Eventually, he’s gone. Quiet and at peace, no longer hurting. This time, when you look over to Yeonjun who still smooths over the deer’s skin even as he goes, guiding him delicately into whatever greets us when we go, you see death as a gentle thing.

༺ ꘏ ༻

Though you never seek him out, Yeonjun always finds you. In hidden places, away from prying eyes, he appears behind you and makes himself known. Well, you have a feeling that he watches you for a while before saying anything. It’s hard not to feel the strange tingling of his gaze over your form. It’s akin to the sixth sense that’s supposed to keep you safe out in the dark hearts of forests, an innate feeling that tells you some beast with a rotten, pale maw watches you between the trees.

Yeonjun doesn’t feel rotten, though, preternatural and eerie as he is. As you shirk your duties and talk with him for hours, you stare into ancient eyes and watch his crooked mouth move around his words and you feel an odd comfort. As if he’s the only one who’s ever understood you, or maybe that your strangeness pales beside him and for once you’re nothing but who you are. So many nights, the sun fell on your talking until the night insects buzzed from the grasses and your eyes were heavy.

Sometimes, as you dozed off with your back to a hay bale or a hardwood wall of the abandoned home beside yours with its sagging thatched roof, you caught such festering longing in his his eyes that you’d let your lashes fall and pretend to sleep so that you could imagine what it was that he longed for. No doubt his lost lover. When you imagine him, bound in bones and coming back to haunt the living for an eternity as he mourns her infinitely, searching for her in impossible places, your chest aches with a gnawing intensity.

It’s a terrible, cursed existence. Even the nothingness of death becomes a paradise beside it.

“Is it scary?” you ask into the air, sat criss-crossed on the thick duvet of the bed. He sits across from you, looking perfectly lazy. Moonlight pools in like sterling mist through the shutters.

“What?” He watches you, sitting in your plain dress, as though you’re the only thing in the world.

You’ve begun to wonder. Wonder about those looks he gives you.

Shifting, you fix the shoulder of your soft chemise where it’s slipped down when you catch his eyes lingering on it. His throat bobs. “Dying,” you elaborate. “Is it really nothing? After we go, all of it was for nothing?”

A slow smile tugs his full lips, made a bit red in the middle where he likes to worry it. It’s such a human habit to see on something so far from human. “Hardly,” he says. “It’s like going home, right where your soul is supposed to be. Who do you think rides with me?”

Furrowing your brows, you tilt your head toward one shoulder and let your hair pool there. “The riders are dead?” You had thought they were undead in some way like Yeonjun, other sorts of revenants come back to life with their own purposes. Then, are their creepy horses dead, too? A chill goes down your arms. Sometimes, sitting here with him when his face is made soft by the orange glow of the fire he puts on, you forget what he is.

“They are.” He nods, leaned back onto his elbows, his eyes alight with a hunger that makes your insides feel funny. “It doesn’t stop once we’ve died. You don’t need to be scared, my love. So many things end, but then so many things begin. The earth no longer holds you down, the weight of being is gone. You don’t know anything like it; you don’t know leaving behind the pleasures of earth to know the ones that only the afterlife can show you.”

His eyes laced with something entirely else, he adds, “And it’s not the end. Not for everything. For some it’s only the beginning, and for others, those who have not yet fulfilled their purpose, they come back to the flesh. They return.”

You can’t tell if he means himself, or something else. The weight in his eyes, dark, endlessly swirling pools, makes you wonder again why it is that he’s lingering here: the place that he had not visited once since the death of his lover, for the fact that it still hurts too much. Why his shadow of death, his fault or not, was tangled in your soul enough to brush its fingers over the things around you.

“It’s scary,” you say, breathy. The thought of eternity.

Soft hairs brush over his eyes as he tilts his head at you. “Do I scare you?”

“No.”

“No?” he echos, pushing himself up so that he leans back onto his palms. “Isn’t that strange? Pretty little thing says she’s not afraid of death, but her heart races when I’m near. Her sweet heart jumps at just the brush of my leg. Are you sure you’re telling me the truth, love?”

Your blood roars in your veins, inflaming your cheeks and making your head dizzy. Nobody’s ever looked at you like that before. Hair prickles on your skin. “Yes,” you breathe.

Feral delight sparks in his eyes, black as pitch. His smile turns up all feline at the crooked corners. “Crawl to me, then.”

Like how fire licks up oxygen in any room it is in, his words steal the breath right from your lungs. What does he think you are? You blink at him wide-eyed and dumb for a moment.

How can he say that as though it were nothing? Moreover, how does the ravenous flare in his eyes, his head tilted back as he watches you down his nose expectantly, do that to your belly?

Your mind glazes over with something thick and heady, and you damn the nerves in your belly and begin to crawl from your end of the bed to his. His tongue darts out to wet his lips, making sure you feel every inch of the taunt in his eyes as he trains them on you. When you’ve gotten to him through the thickness in the air, you settle into his lap and bracket his waist with your thighs.

Yeonjun takes the soft fat of your hips in his fingers. “Fuck,” he says. It sounds like he’s barely holding the gates on something endlessly consuming. Something that might break loose on the two of you, and leave you changed forever with its hungry, gnashing teeth. His head hits your collarbone. “Tell me to stop. Please, tell me to go. Because I don’t know how.”

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t stop. I want it, Yeonjun. I want this.”

He straightens, pupils blown and eyes as tense as his set jaw. “No, you don’t understand what you’re asking for. All I’ve ever done is ruin. All I’ll ever do is ruin. I won’t ruin you; not again.”

That rings bells somewhere outside the heavy fog that’s infiltrated your mind, but they don’t sound too alarming when he looks as though he wants to drag his teeth over your heart to taste its beating. It doesn’t touch the ground, when you want him to, so badly. So badly that you taste it on your tongue and it tinges your words as you tell him, “I do know what I’m asking for. I want you. Yeonjun. Don’t you want me too?” Voice and confidence wavering, you pull back. Maybe you’ve read this all wrong. A tickling shame crawls over your skull. “Do you not want me?”

“You think I don’t want you?” he says, straightening up and meeting your gaze. His breath is hot on your mouth. “I want you so fucking bad. You are in the marrow of my bones. Fuck, I have done nothing but want you, but I am foul. I will only hurt you.”

He takes your hand and places it over his chest, where a heart should be. Beneath your palm, you do not feel the thumping of an alive thing. Yeonjun has no heart. You knit your brows and examine the strain of his features. Does he think that you’ll be disgusted? Maybe the girl you were in that forest might’ve been, but being near Yeonjun has changed you in ways you couldn’t start to put your finger on. “I’m asking you to,” you say. “Show me what you want to do to me. What you’ve wanted to do to me.”

Searing silence burns between you as he drinks that in, and then he shoves you onto your back. Supporting himself with an arm beside your head, he curls his fingers into your hip and nudges your thighs wider. He doesn’t lift the hem of your chemise like you expect him to. No—Yeonjun begins to grind himself into your cunt through all the layers of your clothes. Though your dress is bunched up and his pants lay between any real contact, Yeonjun’s hard and that friction tastes fleetingly sweet.

“I want you to beg me for it,” he says, grinning down at you with cruel intention. “Beg me, and make it so pretty.”

You let little sounds linger in that back of your throat and become hungrier each time he grinds against you. It’s so much, mind swimming and sparks spraying up your spine, and yet each time it is not near enough. Damn that foxish smile on his face; you beg for him anyway. “Yeonjun,” you breathe, curling your fingers around the wrist of that hand with which he pins your hip. “P…lease, will you help me? It feels so good; I want more, please.”

He raises his eyebrows at you and an eager grind comes right over your throbbing clit. 

You know he wants more than that, but mortification already is making your voice unsteady and your cheeks burn. “Yeonjun,” you huff, hips wiggling.

The king of the undead delights fully in your shame and rewards you with more of those pointed, dry grinds. Your legs tremble; he’s giving you so little, and yet your need takes it and magnifies it into something grand.

Though he pretends he’s on some high ground, you hear his shuddering breaths each time his fucks his hips against you. He feels that roiling, liquid need in his belly just as vehemently as you do. The room fills with your breathy pants and grinding bodies. You catch your lip in your teeth and begin to meet him half-way. Your moans are low and sweet, and each one sends his jaw tighter. 

You twist and grind against each other like fumbling teens until you’re coiled up so tight that he has to pull himself away. Your throbbing cunt protests, but you know he doesn’t want you cumming like this.

“You want me to show you what I’ve wanted to do to you?” he says, working at his pants. His eyes are so drunk on you, and his cheeks betray his state. “Open your legs, my love. Let me show you a little death.”

Throat gone dry, you slowly let your thighs fall open. The dull throbbing between your thighs roars to life. He slides your skirt up your leg, stopping when he frees your knee to pepper a few hot kisses into it. Once he’s got it bunched up at your ribcage, he runs his tongue over his dry lips to wet them. “Fuck. Such a pretty pussy. I want to fucking eat you up.”

“Yeonjun,” you whine. His name is all you can muster out, anticipation sharpened to a knife point.

Flashing his teeth, he purrs, “You like that, you filthy thing. I bet you’d like for me to fuck you till your brain’s gone and all that’s left is my name. Isn’t that right? Is that what you want?”

Your thoughts stall and you nod, making your mouth into a filthy pout. God, how you want that. Maybe he’s right about you being filthy. Coming from him, it sounds like a delicious thing to be.

The pretty, leaking tip of his cock brushes your clit as he slides it up and down your slit to collect the mess there. Your thighs jump to close before your mind gets the better of it. He does this a few times—up and down, letting you feel and get used to the size and length of him all the way till his cockhead kisses your clit and you squeak.

“Are you comfortable, love?” he asks, shifting your hips with strong hands. “Do you need anything from me?”

It’s so at odds with his other, nastier words. Your head spins, the moonlight blurring. “I’m okay,” you tell him. “I… just want you. Want you to put it in, want to feel you.”

His cock catches on your hole, and he begins to push forward with promising pressure. But then he pulls back, smiling downturned. You whine; why can’t he save his capriciousness for later? You’d almost had it…

“I could give it to you, or I could not…” He hums. “Wouldn’t that be so cruel of me? To leave you wanting?”

You flutter around nothing. Every inch of your body buzzes. Alive. You are more alive now, at the promise of Death’s touch, than ever before. The irony might be something to wonder about if you weren’t dribbling down onto the bed sheets with crude need. “Stop it,” you say. Your voice is whiny. You’re glad you can hardly hear yourself past the pounding in your bloodstream.

That delights the King of Death. He wrinkles his nose at you, burning you alive with his eyes as he presses his palm to your belly and guides himself into you with his free hand. You wrap around each inch of him slowly. The air between you bows under the weight of your gazes; he holds your eyes the whole way, inch by inch until he’s seated fully into you with his groin flush to your body. He stretches you to fit, and yet it’s just right. You could ask for no more or no less; you might even think your body was made for him, were you not too busy circling your hips to feel him.

“Good?” he says, squeezing your hip. “Do you need a moment?”

Pursing your lips, you test out the shape of him with another wiggle. “Maybe… Maybe a second.” Truth be told, you need a moment to grapple with the sparks sprinkling over your mind more than you need a moment to adjust to his stretch. You let out a shuddering breath.

He traces circles into your belly, just beneath your navel. The pad of his thumb goes round and round, warm on your flesh. “As long as you need,” he says, but it’s more like a triumphant, playful coo. There’s that lopsided smirk. One day, you’d like to kiss it off him. Taking that hypnotizing finger, Yeonjun trails it up your stomach, over your ribcage. He hooks it beneath your dress and drags it higher, revealing the soft swells of your breasts to the air. You shudder, body so, so hot that your nipples peak and tighten against the cool air.

“Such pretty tits,” he says, brushing his knuckle up the underside of one. “Everything about you. Such a pretty, pretty body. God, I don’t know if I want to worship it or ruin it.” His breaths fan over your skin as he bends down and pops an eager nipple into his mouth, lavishing it before releasing it with a lewd pop and letting his mouth fall all over your breast. Lick here, nip there, until you’re squirming adequately and squeezing him like a virgin. Then he blows cool air over it and watches with eyes like a cat toying with its prey as you shudder harder, your chest jumping. “Fucking look at you,” he sneers.

“Junnie,” you say, lost for breath. You think you’ve walked yourself into the lion’s den.

His breathy laughs fall over your breast. Taking his teeth, he drags them over your skin, right over where your heart thunders a rhythm fully for him, and then he bites. Nothing more than a shallow mark, the shape of his teeth in your soft tit. He lingers there, admiring the sight before he straightens himself up again.

“Fine.” He pulls out of you slowly, but you know what comes after that, so you savor every second of it. “I suppose you’ve wanted after it long enough. Let me hear your sweet voice again, my love.”

Yeonjun fucks you just right. His cock nudges right up on your sweet spot as if he’s done this before. Like he knows where to find it. You gasp and whine—you’re just happy he’s finally giving you something. 

“Oh, fuck,” you mewl. His shoulders wear the red crescent marks of your nails. “That’s—so good right there.”

Ever egotistical and cocky, he croons, “Yeah?” Rolling himself back, he makes it his mission to hit it ruthlessly.

A sharp, pitchy sound comes tumbling past your lips. You bring your hand up over your mouth, letting your eyelids dust your burning cheeks so that you can brave the flipping in your spine and deep in your belly. It’s nearly insufferable—the way pleasure licks up your spine, how it spreads out into your veins and takes control of you.

“No,” Yeonjun growls. “Don’t you dare close your eyes. Let me see that look in your eyes when you cum.”

Your eyes are heavier than they’ve ever been, but you open them. The sight that greets you is worth the effort. Yeonjun’s lip twitches and then he throws his head back, the column of his neck on display as his Adam's apple jumps around a thick swallow.

If that sight wasn’t enough to send you teetering down into whatever depths of lust and ecstasy that he crawled out from, then the angle he hits as he pushes one of your thighs to your chest is. The world frays, deep tremors starting at one small point in your cunt and then exploding up through your stomach and down the back of your thighs. Your chest arches off the bed and you mewl helplessly, fighting and embracing your orgasm in an intoxicating death.

“Oh, fuck,” Yeonjun growls, strained with something whinier as he watches you shake beneath him. “Fuck. I’m gonna—fuck, I’m gonna cum…” His voice chokes as his hips become stuttered more than pointed, the slick sounds of your own release tangling up with his grunts and pants until he shudders and stills, cumming into your puffy, fluttering cunt.

You both catch your breaths as if there’s no air in the room left for a while. His hair’s damp on his forehead, as is yours on your neck, and his eyes droop lazily. More lazy and content than you’ve ever seen him.

Collecting you to his chest, where only your heart thumps away frantically, he presses his mouth to your ear and says, “Do you think death is so scary now?”

With your limbs nothing more than boneless and liquid pleasure floating slowly through your thoughts, you smile.

A little death can be more visceral than living, you think.

༺ ꘏ ༻

The tree stump beneath you makes your tailbone ache. You sit criss-crossed, watching Soobin work away at the soil and tend to that section of the fence that’s begun to rot and sag. Your mouth moves endlessly, filling the space that would otherwise just be made up of his grunts of hard work.

“You know, you ought to help me if you’re just going to sit and watch,” he says, straightening to swipe at his forehead, sweaty despite the cold in the air.

“Totally improper,” you say, smiling at him cheekily. “Are you saying that you can’t handle yourself, strong man?”

He glares at you with the venom only somebody made to put up with hours of chatter could muster. “What’s got you so talkative?” he says.

You know he means why you’re suddenly not glaring him away. You can’t tell him that you’ve spoken with Death himself, so instead you say, “Nothing.” Letting your legs dangle down, you smile at him.

Yeonjun hadn’t done any of it. It’s a comfort, to some degrees, to know that. It’s not your fault that they died. Being around them, being around Soobin, won’t make them turn up dead. The rest of them still don’t know that—and they wouldn’t believe it, anyway—but the black shadow hanging over your shoulders dissipates.

For the first time in so, so long, you do not feel marked by death.

“Sure.” His smile tilts. “A week ago, you wouldn’t even look at me.”

Rolling your eyes, you decide to give him a hard time. “Not true. You just have a way of getting on my nerves.”

“I take pride in that.”

“Take pride in what? Being insufferable?”

Crinkling his nose, he says, “Knowing how to bother you best.”

“Get back to work, stupid.” Your heart soars. It’s good to have friends. To let yourself have friends is an ever better thing. Is this how it is? To be with others and not feel like their burden, or like they’re crossing their fingers behind their back to ward off whatever bad things you might bring onto them? He’s made it his mission to hover around you no matter what, but this feels different.

Maybe, for so long, part of it has been your own gloom that’s obscured it all. Maybe if you didn’t bare your teeth to anybody who got too close, it could’ve been like this always. You hate to think that your own isolation could be some part your own fault. But how were you not to show your teeth when someone tried to reach their hand out to you?

It doesn’t matter now. You shove that all down and let yourself feel the slight warmth of the sun’s glow on your skin where it peeks through the clouds. It’s a nice day, you shouldn’t ruin it with those thoughts.

The sun’s begun making its descent when Soobin’s done. He takes a long drink of water, hissing with relief and crumpling down to the ground with his back to your stump.

“Are you making any way with that girl you were talking to me about?” you prompt.

Giving you a long look over his shoulder, he says, “Don’t.”

“What?” You laugh a little, raising your brows down at him. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know what you’re doing,” he says, voice flat as he picks stickers out of his fingers.

Soobin’s had a thousand different crushes. There was that daughter of the shepherd, and then the wealthy merchant’s daughter and her long pretty hair, and then the neighbor… Well, you could go on. None of them ever really came to fruition for the poor guy. He thinks that it’s because he’s a poor farmer’s son, but you always tell him that it’s because he’s got an insistent mouth, and that he should be more grateful that you deal with him. Your lips turn up at the corners a little thinking about it—he’ll find the one eventually, but you like the indignant look on his face when you say it.

“I mean it!” you say, nudging him with your leg. “Tell me. I want to know.”

“You won’t even tell me what’s happening with you. Until one of us quits keeping secrets,” he says, placing accusation heavy over the words, “I’ll keep my dealings to myself. What’s it to you, anyway?”

Feeling the weight of his head as he lets it loll lazily against your thigh, you decide that it couldn’t hurt to tell him. The itch to tell somebody crawls under your skin. Especially to tell him. “You know the other day? When I was… being awful?”

His body shakes with a vindicated laugh. “If you’re nothing else, at least you’re self-aware.”

You skirt around that with your own, more awkward, laugh. It’s nice that he thinks so, but you don’t feel it. “Stop,” you huff and nudge him again. “I was foraging out where I usually go. But I guess I wandered out farther than I thought I did. You remember when they used to tell us stories, right? Like the bogeyman. That he’d come snatch us up if we didn’t listen.” Your mom especially had loved that one, back when she cared what became of you. Would she care again, if you told her that everything was fine? “Well, I don’t know if you remember the one about The Wild Hunt, but… Anyway, I was picking some stuff, and…”

Sitting up from his exhausted slouch, Soobin looks like he’s suddenly come back to life. “What?” he interrupts. His voice is strangely serious.

“What?” you say, brow creasing. “They travel here and there… but they were here. In the woods. Like, I heard them.”

Tersely, he asks, “What were you doing that deep in the woods?”

“I mean, I just kept on finding nice stuff until I just… was deeper.” You survey him. You hadn’t thought that he’d react like this. “So I ran, and then there was this guy,” you say, watching realization fall over his face. He knew those stories as much as you do—knew where you were going with this. He is as starkly superstitious as the rest of your people, you forgot. Pushing past the grimace on his face, you say, “And I knew that he was the king. The one from the stories. It was so weird; it’s like you can feel it. And I spoke to him, and then…”

Stood up now, he cuts you off once more. “Are you kidding?”

“Why are you being like that?” you say, messing with your skirts to quell the defensive bite in your tone. “I didn’t do anything.”

“You didn’t do anything? Are you trying to get killed?” He throws up his hard-working hands. “We have rules for a reason. Don’t go out into the forest, don’t make deals with faeries, don’t follow a banshee scream. And then you go and talk to the king of death? How am I not supposed to be upset about that? You know that…” Soobin blinks a few times as if second-guessing what he’s about to say, but he says it anyway. “You know that he’s the reason that they treat you how they do. You know that he’s the one who ruined your life. Why would you ever mess with that?”

You push yourself up from the ground, eyes burning. That stings like a cut. “He didn’t do it. None of it is his fault,” you say, furrowing your brows. “What are you trying to say, Soobin? Just say what you want to say. Come on.”

“He didn’t do anything?” He scoffs, letting a heavy silence hang suspended in the air for a moment before saying, “Is that what he told you? And you just believed it? Listen to yourself, does that make any sense? He’s played with your life like it’s some fucking toy, and now he’s come to rub it in your face. Think about it: do animals just fly into anybody else’s windows and die? Do the trees that they pick from just end up dead? It’s his fault that they all treat you the way you do.”

Mouth opening and closing, you don’t know what to say. 

He sees the hurt in your burning eyes and tries to reel it back in. “What I’m trying to say is—”

“I know what you’re saying,” you say, grabbing up the lunch you’ve been nibbling on. “I know exactly what you’re saying. I just never thought you’d say it out loud.”

“Say what?” Soobin says, his voice raising behind you as you storm off.

That you think it’s my fault, you want to say. That they all die because I am a plague, and you are a charity worker for being my friend. Instead, you just leave and try to choke down the tightness in your throat.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You curl your arms around yourself, the night biting cold. Yeonjun had dragged you from bed, and who knows what hour of the night it is? If the heaviness beneath your eyes is to judge it by, it’s far too deep in the dead of night to be outside with your boots half-laced and nothing but your sleep chemise on.

You might’ve just stayed wrapped up in your blankets if you weren’t so lonely as you’ve been. Soobin’s been scarce. The most you see of him is in the fields from morning to afternoons. You hope that he’ll stop by your doorstep and knock so that you can groan about it but swing the door open anyway each time, but he doesn’t. He thinks that you won’t want to see him, and so he allows you your space.

That couldn’t be further from the truth. It’s hard to be the one to come back after a conversation like that, though. You watch him from the windows and hope he understands at some point instead. It’s an awful lot easier.

Other than preparing meals and window watching, you’ve been up to nothing much at all. You hadn’t realized how much you had, but you feel him in his absence. 

“It’s cold…” you say. The fog of breath that punctuates it makes your point. Whatever he’s brought you out here for, you have no doubt it’ll be something strange. The grin on his face tells you as much.

Leading the way, he heads for the Darkwood. “Only you would come rushing out without a cloak for your shoulders.”

“Well, only you would drag me from my nice, warm bed at this time of night. For what?”

“Can’t anything be a surprise with you?” he says, shooting you a cheeky glance over his shoulder. “Surprises are fun.”

“Surprises!” you say, working your legs to catch him. “Not surprises that involve you bringing me out into the woods. You know, it’s awfully suspicious. Somebody who sees this might think that I am the type to… sneak out with men.”

“Aren’t you now?”

Your lips tug down. “You know what I mean.”

He laughs in his airy way, a twig snapping under his foot. You’re well in the woods, now. Probably somewhere near where you’d first met him.

Lifting a brow, you look at him expectantly. Maybe a will-o’-the-wisp will come floating through with its light bouncing off the trees. That would be a nice surprise, you admit.

Yeonjun circles you. His presence behind you tingles in the way it always does, but true chills erupt when his breath puffs against your ear. “Close your eyes. I have something I want to show you.”

Your mind wanders back to what Soobin had gotten so twisted up about. It might be naive and reckless and against everything you ever learned, but you let your eyes fall shut to blackness. If he was going to hurt you, you imagine he’d have had that opportunity a mind-numbing amount of times before.

“Are they shut?” he asks, waiting for your nod. His voice comes from in front of you now. “I want you to keep them shut. You can’t open your eyes, or it will all go away. Okay?”

“Okay,” you breathe, mind full of a bounty of questions. You don’t even know where to begin to assume what he’s got going on, so you stand there shifting your antsy feet.

There’s a strange, rustling sound that catches you off guard with your eyes closed. It drags on for a long moment. Curiosity pries at your eyes; you want nothing more than to just crack an eye open to spy the source of the ruckus. 

It’ll be gone if you do, anyway.

You let out a surprised squeak as something rises up beneath you, as if risen from nothing more than the dirt and roots of the forest floor, bringing you up from the earth. You wobble and send your hands out to find a perch.

A horse. It’s a horse, its mane so tangled and windswept, but matted and clumped with leaves that crunch under your palm when you find them. It reeks of mud—everything around you begins to smell of earth and decomposition.

You know that if you open your eyes, you’ll find yourself sat upon the pale white steed of the Undead King, its eyes white and its knobby knees almost as famous as the leader of The Hunt himself. It chuffs beneath you.

“Are you ready?” Yeonjun says over your shoulder. You can hear the feral grin in his voice. It’s the leader of The Hunt, a creature of folklore, that sits behind you now. He curls an arm around your waist and tugs you closer to him, securing you against the wall of his chest. “Hold on tight, my love.”

The call of the wild, that horn, bellows again like it had the first time you heard it. Rather than coming from nearby as you thought it would, it dances between trees far off just like it had that time, too. Your heart jumps up into your throat.

Taking off with a howl, the Wild Hunt follows it.

You dig your fingers into Yeonjun’s at your waist. Weight melts away, and you know you’re in the air. Your belly swoops in tandem with the howls and hoots of the riders, heart palpitating to the hoofbeats. How there’s hoofbeats as you ride through the air, you’re not sure. The ghostly fleet manifests around you in vivid imagery, though you squeeze your eyes shut. They are wild enough to imagine just what they might look like: with their clothes and flesh in tatters, with their eyes beady or pale, with their hounds piercing the air with their calls and running alongside them, they are a perfect personification of freedom.

Whip-lash sends you reeling, body going rigid. You grit your teeth and squeeze your eyes harder, wishing that you’ll touch ground soon and that everything would become real again.

Yeonjun feels you go stiff. Bringing his head back to your shoulder from his own delight, he says, “It’s okay. You’re okay. Let it into your bones. Do you think I would let it hurt you?”

He is their leader. If it got too much, you know Yeonjun would be there to catch you. Curling your fingers into his, you release that tension and allow their drumbeat to echo through you.

And when it does, your blood begins to sing along. The wind whips your cheeks and your hair, and you begin to laugh with them. The Hunt twists and turns and dances through the air, an apparition in the night, but nothing more than that.

It comes to a slow, eventually, until the noise and even your steed crumbles back down into the dirt it appeared from. Your eyes pop open hoping to catch at least a glimpse of them, but only the dark forest and pale moonlight answer. Your legs threaten to give out on you, veins still thrumming, but, oh, do you feel alive.

You feel more alive than you ever have, more than you ever could have hoped to have known. Mind spinning, you stumble. Yeonjun catches and steadies you before you can go scraping your knees on a rock.

“Oh my fucking god,” you say.

The laugh that Yeonjun breaks into has you sending him a glare, but you break too. Everything about him is ironic; and how ironic indeed that Death himself should show you how to be alive, rather than to just live?

༺ ꘏ ༻

The air is so fresh in your lungs when you step outside that it nearly burns. You clutch your basket of warm fig tarts. Songbirds trill and fly between tree tops that slowly become more bare the deeper you fall into the season, singing their sweet songs that sound like new beginnings.

Raising your hem from the ground churned up into mud from the afternoon’s trickle, you prance into town with a lively pep in your step. You spent all last night making these—Yeonjun had kept you company, watching you how he always does as you pored over making them just right. His cruel snicker when the jam had simmered over flame for too long and became too thick bounces off your bones in a sweet melody. You’ve come to adore his wicked delight, the way his smile cracks over his face and the facetious raise of his brows, more than you fear it.

Sending small smiles to the people that you pass, you stop by a huddle of kids digging sticks into the mud. They look up at you with curious eyes, stopping to gawk.

“Hey, guys,” you say, pulling back the cloth laid over the sweets. “I’ve made some fig tarts. Do you like fig? I bet you’ll like them; they’re sweet.”

The kids stand up, eyes big as they share a look. They don’t let out so much as a peep before they scurry off home.

You blink. Well, you’re used to weird reactions, but that was… different. Picking up your deflated shoulders and hesitant limbs, you make a shoddy attempt at not letting it dampen your good morning. You were expecting wary looks, anyway.

You head down a little further toward the far side of your home village, the side that breaks off after a fenceline into a great, grassy field. There’s a bustle, mothers washing their clothes in pails and hanging them up to dry and a few others whispering at each other lowly as they go about their days.

An old woman so old her back curves and her fingers have gone knobby makes her way to wherever the day’s duty demands her to be. Your neighbor—an eccentric old lady bound in her times. You decide on her: the elderly are forgotten by the young. She might enjoy knowing that her neighbors still know she exists.

“Hello,” you say, showing her your basket with a hopeful, excited heart. “I have some treats that I was wanting to give out. I know they might not be much, but would you like one? I’m not the best baker, but I do it often enough.” A face like that, dragged down by her years on this earth and not long to death, has no doubt spent many years making meals for her family. You imagine your goods would be nothing beside hers, but it’s the gesture, no?

“Oh, girl,” she says, voice crackling as she clutches her shawl tighter around her shoulders. “I’m afraid it’s best if you found yourself missing from this place. Hurry yourself up and spare the drama.”

The incessant cawing of a crow from a clawed tree fades into the background as you furrow your brows and lower your basket to ask, “...Huh?” Your belly goes up in knots; terrible knots done up tight and fast. You haven’t got a clue what she’s talking about. Elders always did speak a bit strange, though. It could be nothing much; she’s a stern old lady.

But her eyes are not angry and glaring in the way that a harrowed old hag might turn her nose up at the youth. They drag down with a cold pity.

“Listen to me, girl.” She points at you with one of those worn, sun-spotted hands. “You had best leave. The boy’s gone, and they are already not fond of you. Who will they point their fingers to?” the woman says. “I hardly know you, but I would hate to see it.”

The rest of her words fade into the roaring in your ears, the feral drumbeat of your heart like a wardrum in the cage of your ribs as it beats against them as if to escape from you. You don’t feel the basket in your hands, don’t feel the solidity of the earth beneath your feet, and don’t feel a single one of your thoughts like tangible things. They flit as if liquidated into a rotten, sick mush.

Nothing. You can think of nothing. Nothing real; nothing holding you to the earth.

“What?” Your voice hardly reaches your ears, but what does is weak and broken and like a plea for her to tell you that it’s not really what you think it is.

And if you could see or hear anything beyond your fraying little rift in reality, you would’ve heard the man coming up to you. You would’ve heard the words coming from his angry, sneering mouth, and would’ve done something when he picked up a pail of water, and you would’ve been shaken by the nasty ice water that runs down your frozen body and plasters your hair and clothes down as he pours it over you. But none of it cuts through your stupor.

He yells some awful, stabbing things at you, and a few others join him. They tell you that you are nothing but a plague, tell you to leave and to not come back here.

But this is your home. Where else would you go?

With your sopping wet dress clutched in your shaking fists as though that might keep you grounded, you choke down the tightening of your throat and sift through their faces, searching for his face. Those brown eyes, brown and always shining with nagging playfulness, do not come up anywhere. Jaw trembling, you search harder. Out on the field where he should be at this time of day, at your doorstep demanding that you go spend the day doing nothing with him, in someone’s yard helping them fix up a broken fence, no matter where you look, neither his broad silhouette nor his cheeky, dimpled face is there. You continue to stand stricken dumb, looking for him even though you know by the churning in your belly that it’s true, and you’re just hurting yourself trying to find him right where he should be.

Fine. Alive. Untouched by your disgusting, destructive presence.

When you can no longer fight the strangling tightness in your lungs and your dress is as heavy as your heart, you take off. The hem of your dress drags in mud and sticker bushes and catches on stray twigs, and you don’t know where you’re going, but you just run. You’ll give them what they want. 

You stumble, probably like some lost, undead thing, until you find yourself at the edge of the forest. Only then do you let the wall of whittle-edged tears roll down your face. And you assume you sound like a choking, dying animal with how you choke and heave on them, but he was the one you might’ve dropped your head and cried to, so what’s the use of making it pretty? No; you let it all fall as it is.

Soobin’s dead. Soobin’s dead, and it’s nobody else’s but your own fault. You clutch your chest to staunch that old ache that’s grown teeth and tears at your heart; you have and will always be the end of everything that comes near. You are just as much the plague that you began to pretend, to believe, you weren’t. It was your stupid hope that maybe you could have something and not watch it become carrion that drove that pick. It was by your hope that he’s gone.

The hair on your arms begins to raise. You pick your head up and find Yeonjun standing in front of you.

There’s a few beats of long, dreadful quiet as he takes in the state of you. He drags his eyes down and they become liquid flame—something different from the impious delight that he is made of. He becomes the King of Death.

“What happened?” he says. The chills on your arms prickle furiously at the words, furling out distant and yet furious like the center of the fire.

You shake your head, wiping your soaked cheek.

“What the fuck happened?” he growls again, taking your face into his hand. “Who did this? Who did this to you, my love? I need you to tell me who the fuck did this to you.”

Letting the venom in your mouth out, you shove his chest and say, “Get away from me. Don’t fucking touch me.”

Yeonjun’s face twists up, looking scalded. Not surprised, though. “Don’t do this,” he says. “Let me hold you while it hurts. Don’t push me away. I can’t… I won’t lose you again.”

All the pieces that you had been putting into the corners of your mind snap together at that. As many suspicions as you had, though, it feels sour hearing it confirmed from his mouth. That you are his dead past lover, reincarnated or whatever you are. That it was his presence—because even though he stayed away for centuries, a part of him still lingered with you—that now has torn down everything you ever thought you could love. He, standing there in front of you like a kicked puppy, is the ruination of your life in the flesh. The flipping of your stomach is nauseating.

“I hate you,” you spit. “I hate you so much.” You repeat it a few more times, and you sob it into his chest as he takes you into his arms. “Is this what you wanted? You’ve been waiting for this forever, haven’t you? To find me again, so that you can die and fucking leave me here. So that you can make me exactly what you are, while you get your peace. You are a liar and a thief. All you’ve ever done is steal and take. How could you do it? Huh? Tell me…” Your voice trembles and staggers off. “Tell me how you made love to me, how you made me believe that you loved me, and all you ever wanted was to save yourself? You betrayed me.”

Pulling back, Yeonjun says, “No.”

“Yes,” you say, stumbling back away from him with a shaking, accusatory finger pointed at him. “Yes you did.”

Fingers itching to reach out to you, he holds them back by curling them into fists. “No. That’s not fair. I have spent an eternity loving you. I spent the entirety of my immortal, monstrous life searching for you, just so that I might find you in any form. I would have been glad to find you as a leaf in a tree, as long as I found you. But, then, I find you alive. Alive and back, as if… it never happened.” He steps toward you, aching to be near you. His voice wavers. “Please, don’t do this to me, love. Please, just let me have you again. I’ve waited… I’ve waited and I’ve waited, and I finally have you, and now you’re looking at me like I… Like I’d ever hurt you. Finding death—finally getting to die would be worth nothing if you weren’t there with me. It was never about that.”

“I could never love you,” you say, matching his steps forward with steps away from him. “I could never love a monster that does… Does nothing but kill. Take.”  You know your words are cruel, but you need them to be. You need him to hurt, you need him to go so far away from you that never again will you cause another living thing’s death. 

“You did.” Yeonjun’s mouth cracks into a pained smile, sharp at the corners. “You loved me just as much as I love you, once.”

“Just leave me. Leave me, and I wish to never see you again. If you love me, then you’ll give me that.” 

He looks at you, clever eyes intense and glassy, for a long time. And then he says, “Would that make you happy? Would it make it so that you could live a happy life, and find yourself something to live for?”

What’s left for you? A small village that won’t ever embrace you? No, it wouldn’t fix your life. But you open your mouth and tell him, “Yes.”

“Okay,” he says, brushing his knuckles over your cheeks reverently. He swallows in your features, running over them for what he knows is the last time he’ll be seeing you—the very last time he’ll see the face of his undying love. When he finally opens his mouth again, his voice is gentle. “I’ll leave you. If my being here hurts you, then I won’t be selfish. I love you, darling.”

Don’t go, you want to tell him. Please don’t leave. Please, hold me. But your mouth is dry, and you let the radiant hurt in your chest stop you. You let him go.

༺ ꘏ ༻

There’s only one place you can think of going to. It’s the only place your vagrant feet take you.

His spot still is held sacred by the flattened, gold wheat stalks. Your best friend, still living here on Earth in at least one way even if he’s not here to listen to your stupid rambling. And he would maybe complain, but he’d always listen.

The last thing you’d done was fight with him. What an awful thing—what an awful way to repay him for being the only one who ever dared to get close.

You sit in your spot, beside his, and rest your chin on your knees. If only the ground beneath you would open up and swallow you whole. You’d deserve it.

What’s left for you? Is there a place in the world that would keep you happily once they see what you do? No. There is not. You wish you knew what to do; you wish you had somebody to ask.

Releasing a long, tight breath, you just sit and wait for something to give you answers. A gentle breeze makes your hair dance, but it does not whisper anything to your ears. Something’s circling over head, but it doesn’t caw in the cadence of his laughter.

The day moves along without you. You’re not sure how long you sit, but it stretches somewhere between a few minutes and eternity. No matter how long you wait, there are no answers. No matter how long you mull over it.

Conceding, you begin to push yourself up from the ground. A rustle in between the foliage stops you before you stand.

A tawny hare leaps out in front of you. It sniffs around you, nose twitching. Then it stands back on its haunches. It stares straight at you, an intelligent light in its eyes that knits your brows. The wild thing stands there with a purpose that is uncharacteristic of a forest animal.

But entirely familiar in the face of your best friend. That shine in its eyes as it stands there, nose still twitching, makes your chest tighten up.

“Hey,” you say, as if it might answer you. Your eyes well up with hot tears again. Of course, it doesn’t. 

Maybe you’ve gone mad, but you know that it’s him. That idiot, coming to show you that he’s okay in the afterlife—to visit one last time and to let you know that you shouldn’t worry for him or cry for him. Look at me, full of life once again, he seems to say. The hare blinks its beady eyes. It lingers there for a long time, the ease of peace found in his gaze that Soobin hadn’t had in this life, saying that there is still something waiting out there for us once we go. You reach out a hand. He does not flinch as you scratch behind his ear.

“Okay,” you whisper. “I’m glad to know you’re alright. I know what I need to do, now.”

He blinks.

You laugh a hoarse, breathy laugh, familiar in only the way that Soobin could achieve. “You look stupid.”

Indignantly, the hare stomps a bratty foot in a way reminiscent of one of Soobin’s huffs before it settles back down onto its forelegs and scurries off. He goes to live out this new form of life, because it’s true: life does not end in death. He’s shown you that.

Maybe, like this, he’ll find that pretty lady that loves him the way he deserves. That loser.

༺ ꘏ ༻

You spend only one night in your home and you know that what you’ve chosen is right. After spending your day out in the field, you sneak under night’s cover into your husk of a room and let yourself sleep there under the covers one last time. When morning breaks through the window, you gather your weary bones up and leave. 

You run into your mother on the way out. She doesn’t yell at you to leave, but her eyes have gone cold. Colder than you’re used to. You’ve killed again, in every way that counts. So you don’t bother with bidding her or any of them any grand goodbyes. You couldn’t handle the relief you might find falling over them, should you.

Plopping down to the floor, you take a few bites of the cheese and bread lathered in sweet jam that you’d swiped from the kitchen. The grass is long and willows in the wind, bending and dancing prettily. It’s so soft; you enjoy the feeling of it beneath your fingers in your quiet serenity. The scent of it, fresh over the baseness of dirt, you breathe into your lungs.

It would be the loveliest place to spend the rest of eternity.

For the first time, Yeonjun appears in front of you rather than behind you. He materializes from nothing, his elbow on his knee as casual as if he’d been sat there the whole time. The darkness beneath his eyes seems heavier, but then again you know that exact heaviness. It sits right in the very center of you.

You both are quiet for a bit. You let the tall grass whisper, instead.

“Bread?” you say and slant your lips into a smile. Bringing it up, you offer it to him.

His smile wrinkles his nose and curls at the edges. Entirely him. Yeonjun accepts the bread, ripping a bite out before throwing it away into the sea of green. Once he’s chewed, he leans in and captures your lips in a kiss that’s utterly at odds with his sharp mouth. Your lips move over each other gently, save for an indulgent nip or bite here and there.

He pushes you back into a bed of sweetgrass, never letting your lips go. Not to breathe, not to say something that’ll pale in comparison to the sweetness of your mouths on one another. He kisses you until he’s had enough to fulfill a lifetime without it, and then some more.

“My love,” he whispers into your skin, his breath hot on your collarbone. “Mine,” he says, pressing a kiss into the column of your neck, and then he says it again with a hot kiss to the place where your dress suggests your breasts. He says it a handful more times as he pushes your skirts up your thighs. “My love forever. I waited for you so long, and I would do it again.” Lowering his voice to a honeyed whisper, he adds, “I would find you no matter what.”

Laughing softly, you run your fingers through his raven hair to better see his eyes. You know he would.

Gently giving you one more of his lingering kisses that make your skin tingle, right into your bare shoulder, he presses into you. You loose a soft breath, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. The beating in your chest slows to a content purr as he begins languid thrusts in and out of you, rolling pointedly and unhurried.

Yeonjun makes love to you in a thousand dusted kisses and sweet words, your hands holding each other’s soft edges. Yeonjun traces the lines of you, taking the pads of his thumb down your cheeks and your lips and then his hand over the swell of your breasts and down your belly and over your thighs. Clamping down on him as your belly grows tight in the way it had the first time you had done this, your thighs begin to shake.

 Breathlessly, as you hurdle over the edge, all that you can say is, “I love you, ‘Junnie.” 

Yeonjun smiles at you and then presses his face into your neck. He doesn’t even brace himself against the grass to chase his own peak. Neither of you want this to end; you want to hold on to this moment and let it span forever. Slowly, Yeonjun rolls up into you until his hips finally stutter and he cums into you, his cheeks pink. The weight of him above you as he shakes with your shared ecstasy, and even as you both have come down and are nothing but lazy, is the only thing in this world. He is the only thing in this world.

Once you’ve both evened your breathing out, you roll apart and face each other, still just two forms bending the grass into your shapes. Blinking slowly and digesting his features one at a time—the angle of his eyes, softened but never tamed, the line of his nose, the line of his mouth always so proud and playful, and that pretty dot below his left eye—you let them solidify fully in your mind.

“Yeonjun,” you say, finally meeting his eyes across from you. “I want to go. I’m ready.”

The gentle, knowing look that he gives you soothes over the way your heart begins to race in your chest in rebellion. “I know,” he says.

Of course he had known. Yeonjun had been called here to ferry you into the afterlife. He had known the moment he appeared in front of you that his last soul to reap would be you; an ironic circle of karma that should be cruel, but you two make it something sweet. Chewing on your lip, you will your hands to not shake as you curl toward him. You’re no longer scared of going. You know that if you’ll be with him, it will be okay. It won’t be so scary. A hot tear rolls down your temple and then drops into your hair. “Will you be with me? I won’t be there alone?”

He tucks some hair behind your ear reverently and then leaves his hand there. “I don’t know,” he answers. “But I won’t leave you. I’ll stay right here with you.”

You lay there for a long time. Chatting and giggling and just looking into each other's eyes, until your heart becomes slow and all you feel is the wind singing in your blood. Yeonjun presses one final kiss to your forehead.

Maybe, in some years, somebody might dig up your bones and find you immortalized like this in your love. Your bones bowing toward each other, as if even death were not enough to stop you from reaching for each other. Or maybe they’ll just find yours, and Yeonjun still curling into them how you know he will for an eternity more.

Either way, the going is still slow and gentle, as death always is.

🪶 ⦂ tears. omfg i cried writing this which could totally be me being a bitch baby but it DAMN. omfg.

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

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[teaboot]

I do not have Boy Knowledge to trade, but can I ask for dinner party hosting tips???

Sure!

I grew up broke but the great-grandparents passed on all their old etiquette, so *fart noise* got a lot of old fashioned shit kickin around, this is what we'd do

PREP:

Clean the house in advance. And not just common areas- the whole place. Minimum the kitchen, living room, bathroom, entrance. Take out all the trash, no dirty dishes, scrub out the toilet. (This is less vital with super casual close friends and family.)

Have snacks ready before arrival. Ask in advance about any allergies and accommodate. Same for actual food.

Aim for business-casual clothing. Jeans are okay if they're well-fitted and clean, with no holes, but nothing acid-wash. Sleeveless shirts should be at least three fingers wide, typically women-only but fuck gender conformity I don't give a shit.

Put coffee or the kettle on a minute or two before you expect people to arrive. Coffee should be fresh and kettle should be boiled around the same time folks arrive.

Have a place for people to put their coats and shoes. An area rug works for shoes, ans if you don't have a coat rack or closet for jackets it's handy to have a bedroom cleaned out and a bed made so people can keep coats, scarves, bags, and purses somewhere.

In some cultures cooking doesn't start until guests arrive. The way I was raised, cooking starts much earlier, and things should be coming out of the oven after they've been there a few minutes and had time to chat.

Set the table before guests arrive: Typical setting when I was younger was matching placemats at every seat, plate next. Fork on the left, knife and then spoon on the right. Wine glass on the right, saucer on the right, cup on saucer for hot drinks. Cloth napkin under the spoon and knife on the right, unless rolled with a napkin ring, in which case it could be set at the top of the plate, on the plate, or on the right hand side. Salt, pepper, and a butter dish is to be set out- one of each for every four to six seats is a decent rule of thumb.

DURING:

Guests are expected to announce themselves by knocking or ringing the bell. When this happens, usually a younger member of the family is sent to answer the door and let them in. Hosts follow shortly after, and hugs and greetings take place. The host offers to take people's coats and bags, or otherwise indicates where they can be placed. Shoes come off and are left at the door.

Tour of the house. This doesn't happen every time, but a quick, "let me show you around" may happen if you expect to be there a full day or longer, or if someone needs to politely stall for time, or if the host is especially happy to have you there or to show you something. This usually skips bedrooms, but a nod will usually be given to indicate adult's rooms, and kid's rooms may be peeked at to show off or do introductions with small children.

Offering seats. Usually starts in the living room, where, "can I get you anything?" Is asked. Options usually include wine, beer, water, some kind of juice, coffee, or tea. Possibly ginger ale or cola, but not usually much in the way of sodas.

At this point, a tray of cookies, biscuits, crackers, or other small snacks might be set our to be shared. Here, it's polite to eat a little and join in on smalltalk.

Dinner. When food is ready to come out of the oven, someone in the host's home will announce that dinner is ready, and guests and hosts will relocate to the dinner table and pick seats. (If there is not enough room at the dinner table for everybody, children's plates will be set at a folding table elsewhere, or in the vacated living room area.)

Some hosts will have guests line up in the kitchen and serve their own food one at a time. The way I was taught, hosts bring food and serving utensils to the table and sit once everything is placed. Dishes are then passed in a circle from person to person as people fill their own plates. It is generally assumed that you will take your portion in such volume that everyone else can receive the same amount as you, or more.

Meal usually includes a meat-based dish, a starch like rice or potato, one to three vegetable dishes, and a bread like a bun or roll that may be buttered.

It is here preferred that you ask for something to be passed rather than reach over food. "Could you pass me the..." or "may I borrow the ..." are good ways to ask.

Elbows stay off the table. You may rest your forearms on the edge if you like, depending on how formal we're talking, but no elbows.

Napkin is spread out flat on your lap to catch anything that may drop or spill. Some people may choose to tuck I into their shirt collar to protect their suit or tie, but I've only really ever seen old folks do that, or people doing it to babies and small children.

It is polite to eat everything on your plate, especially if you served yourself. Once everyone has eaten their plate, seconds may be offered or mentioned. It's considered rude to go in for second servings if others haven't finished their firsts yet. This is a good place for conversation to pick up.

Once everyone is finished eating, a member of the hosts' house (usually a kid, sometimes a volunteer guest assisting) will clear the table, gathering empty plates and such from the guests and taking them to the kitchen to be cleaned. Drinks might be refilled now, and dessert forks or spoons might be brought in.

Dessert usually happens. While the meal itself is traditionally homemade, it is perfectly normal for dessert to be store-bought.

The serving of dessert is much less communal than dinner. The person dishing dessert will normally take a stack of plates and send a runner (again, usually a kid) to take stock of who wants dessert and carry theirs to them.

After dessert, dishes will again be gathered and removed, with the exception of cups. Coffee and tea is customary at this point, and alcohol will disappear. This is when conversation comes back in full swing- talking and unwinding is the goal here, and letting any liquor digest so drivers who may have had a sip will be safe to drive afterwards.

END:

Someone will sigh and take note of the time. This is different depending on the group, but a second round of hugs will be in order. Farewells will be made at the door. If there are plenty of leftovers, the host may insist the guest take some. Borrowed dishes and containers will ostensibly be returned at a casual future meeting, possibly as an excuse to meet up and chat over coffee.

It is polite of the guest to offer a hand with cleaning up. It is polite of the host to insist they not. If they are an acquaintance or someone to be impressed, the guest will not be allowed to help clean unless they make it clear that offense will be taken otherwise. If they're a close friend or family member, they may be accepted with some minimal pushback.

The host might start cleaning while the guest is still at the table. This is not intended as an insult.

It is polite to leave around the same time that children begin getting ready for best- usually around 8, 8:30, 9-9:30 on special occasions.

If the weather is especially terrible, or driving conditions are poor, the host might offer the guest a bed for the night. If this is done, it is best to fetch them clean sheets and blankets, a fresh towel, and whatever else they might need. They will be expected to stay no later than breakfast the following morning, unless further plans have been agreed upon. An especially prepared host might have a spare set of pajamas (close friends and family only, usually) and a new toothbrush ready for use.

I think that's everything? A lot of it is weird unspoken shit but yeah lol that's most of what I remember.

I'd love to hear what everyone else grew up with!! Share with me your food culturrrrrrre

[dreamesamu]

THE THINGS HE TAKES FOR GRANTED

in which he takes a moment to justify himself after never noticing your little crush for him

starring. msby!miya atsumu x fem!reader

genre(s): angst to fluff, long scenario sets in post-timeskip!

warning(s): reader is nice and overworks herself. not proofhead i apologize

author’s note: It's kind of not what i had imagined but hope you enjoy it.

choose your character: m. atsumu | k. akaashi

another cliché beginning for the person you are right now - the MSBY team manager - is that you’ve loved the miya atsumu since high school. it’s not like being the team’s manager isn’t your dream, you loved this job and had been dying to do it because you’ve loved volleyball, too. plus, you will have the opportunity to stay close and take care of the team, especially your crush who just merely thinks you are his best friend.

you first laid eyes on him when you were sitting alone on the subway, his dyed-blonde locks caught your attention as he first talked to you about the chase atlantic’s song you were listening to, he was cute, warm and friendly. at that moment, you were verified that he wasn’t the guy who was fond of his fan girls that everybody had been rumoring about. He eventually found out that you guys went to the same high school, so as to start a new beginning of your bonding friendship.

It wasn’t long until you finally realized that you might have adored the pretty setter a little too much than usual. his touches, his smile, the way he calls your name and his genuine characteristics when he was used to you being around seemed a little bit more easy to flutter your heart than every other day. Ever since then, you just hid your feelings and was grateful for what you got right then because you knew that if you confess, you couldn’t get this best friend treatment that you silently fell for for any longer.

You impressed yourself for even keep it until now. you and him are mature and beautiful, but you still can’t help but feel so ‘high school’ when you look at him. the least thing you could do for a friend (crush) is care for him through bottles of flavored electrolyte water, preparing his favorite after-practice snacks and even cool and soft towels to calm the heat down after a match. However, it seems like mr. miya doesn’t notice all of the hard work you did for him, he was so used to be taken care of by you that he accidentally failed to realize the special treatment only for him but nobody else.

“Hey, tired yet? you can call it a day for now if you want?” you smiled, hand over his bottle of water you prepared for him to the softly panting atsumu taking a break on the bench. He is quite preoccupied with his earlier techniques that he need to improve, he only spares you a glance then takes the bottle to drink without saying any words, you assume that he is in a bad mood.

“oh, and” you search for the thing in your bag. “here, your towel”

he nods and takes it, it makes you feel awkward. that’s… all…? You try to not overthink yourself, after all, it was quite a tense match, and the fact that your team will have an important volleyball game the next month proves his concerns are valid.

you watch atsumu leave when hinata shoyo came up to you.

“oh? isn’t that our manager?” you startle at his voice. “hehe, please don’t mind tsumu at all, please, he just got pissed because he made a mistake during practice” the sunshine grins, having him around surely just brighten everything up, because he is just so sweet and comfortable to be with.

“no, no,… I really don’t mind at all, actually” you know atsumu better than anyone so you don’t take his actions to heart sometimes, it’s just…

“oi, oi! I know what you’re thinking, I saw you overthere doing things for tsumu. This guy, honestly…” Hinata sure saw you earlier with enthusiasm written on all over your face while preparing those towels and bottles, he felt bad for you and decided to cheer you up regardless atsumu has just cracked your poor heart a little.

“It’s okay, hinata. thank you for checking on me!” you smile wide, so my efforts wasn’t invalidated at all, gratefully bow down to see the awkward hinata trying to stutter words out.

“no- no, don’t do that, you are our manager, that’s just nothing! besides, seeing you give tsumu so special treatment makes me real jealous!!” he huffs cutely. “I really want that flavored electrolyte water, too! what a shame he wouldn’t notice.”

you laugh sheepishly as you guys return to your dorms to rest. things have been going hard for you like crazy, the work amount weighing on your shoulders make it almost unbearable, but you still stay strong and put a warm smile on your face so nobody would notices. you have been thinking of retiring just in case the situation just got worse to the level of destroying your mental health. but, by thinking of your small joy of seeing atsumu everyday, you hesitated.

your sleepless nights start when the important games take a step closer, you overworked yourself and often feel burnt out, your time with atsumu narrows as you find it hard to start a conversation even in lunch break. atsumu does feel weird. why isn’t y/n sit with us? she is nowhere to be found these days.

“hey, tsum-tsum” said bokuto. “what do you think of y/n?” he said, putting a tray of food on the table while making his way to sit.

“y/n? what’s with her?” the fake blond raises a brow, munching on his food

“I think she’s so cute and thoughtful, base on her affection for you, i betcha she’s completely smitten” the owl laughs as the other teammates giggle along. “you should consider on dating her, what a waste if you don’t, she’s literally girlfriend material, same thoughts huh, hinata?” he winks and the tangerine head give him back a thumbs up.

“dating y/n, huh?” atsumu laughs as if he doesn’t take bokuto’s statements seriously. “I don’t date my friends, you know. besides, y/n is just a close friend of mine, she ain’t my type”

“heartless tsumu… she worked so hard for you these days…” hinata fake crying when talking about you

“I know that she makes snacks and does things for me, but sometimes, that’s just unnecessary, i don’t need it to be all the damn time, it feels a little annoying, i just need to be alone to refresh my thoughts” he sighs. “now you told me to consider on dating her, i wouldn’t know how long i can take it.”

now there is dead silence following his statement, everybody just awkwardly continues finishing their lunch, and you do know eavesdropping is a thing that you shouldn’t do. but you did. before you even notice, hot streams cover your face and you feel your breath hitches. the coach sends you to check on the team at such wrong timing, you can’t face them, the voices earlier destroy your confidence, replace it with angst and hurt. so… what i did is just a bother to him, huh. you realize now, that you were such a dumbass trying to make him catch feeling by all of this. and with the tiniest amount of pride left, you back up a smile and step into the cafeteria, the atmosphere suddenly feels tense as everybody hasn’t been moving on since their last conversation, atsumu feels an uneasy feeling when he sees you behind him, guilt? he thinks.

“hey… coach sent me to check up on you guys, please be well rested at your dorms after lunch, we have practice match at 2pm, alright?” your voice evidently trembles, you try cover it up with some fake coughs. oh, who are you kidding? it’s atsumu miya we’re talking about. he first notices how your eyes are a bit swollen, have you been crying? your tired figure due to sleepless nights, the way you haven’t eaten properly shows right in front of his eyes. he suddenly felt a twinge in his heart, in which moment he never wanted to see you like this, ever again. but, what’s all this for? he doesn’t like you… right? because- you’re his best friend, and caring is what’s best friends do, am I correct?

you left the cafeteria. atsumu feels like his whole head is going to explode, he regrets what he said earlier, knowing seventy per cent that you might have listened to it. he is weak because of guilt and distaste. the group feels uneasy and moody all of a sudden.

“i haven’t told you this before but you’ve seen her now, tsumu… she overworked herself with this huge amount of work with nobody beside her, yet she still maintaining to take care of you with these small gestures.” hinata sighs heavily. “y/n told me not to tell you about her state so you can concentrate on practising, but I’m really worried because now she can’t even hide it anymore. I tried to help, but she pushed me away and told me that i should do my own practices as our game is going to start soon.”

hinata pats atsumu’s back before leaving as if he’s signalling him to make it up to you. atsumu started to cry at this point. how could he be so clueless? he didn’t even know that his best friend was undergoing such pressure, yet why does the term “best friend” sound so irritating? he felt like he had failed to protect you and worse, hurting your feelings and he regretted it, so badly.

The following day comes, atsumu's first task is to search for you. To his astonishment, you are once more nowhere to be found. he was so preoccupied, his spikes aren’t as good, and he could not concentrate on practising, the coach sent him out, and gave him a moment to rethink by himself. and so, he reaches a staff, asking for information about you.

“Y/n? oh… she’s at the infirmary, we noticed her devastated state so we sent her to the doctor a while ago. now think about it I might write a report to the coach asking him to reduce the amount of work she’s handling.”

“thank you, kind sir. may I be the one who’ll write the report? I’m sure I could convince the coach.”

as the man nods, atsumu bowed goodbye to him and sprints to the infirmary where you’re at. he knows, that if anybody should write a report for you, it must be him. he must protect you because he has just realised it now, he likes you a lot more than he could imagine.

“Y/N!” atsumu slams the door open, he faces you with your eyes widened, startled by the bright window.

“tsumu…?” you softly speak.

atsumu in front of your eyes is the atsumu who tries to hold back his tears, biting his bottom lip as the poor heart lurching somewhere in his stomach but somehow still happy because he has found you.

“hey…” he kneels down on one knee beside you. “i’m sorry, angel” his hand softly squishes the smaller one, it holds back gently on his’

in all of the things you dislike, what you utterly don’t want to deal with is your emotions when you see atsumu looking so vulnerable like this. you instinctually grab a tissue and wipe off the sweat drop on his forehead the moment you see it, atsumu’s worried expression won’t vanish unless you speak up something.

“hey…” you smile. “don’t worry, I’m okay now, tsumu” you fondly touch his face with a hand, and he sinks in your touch, eyes glittering. atsumu intentionally plants a soft kiss on your warm palm and watches you go weak for him.

“i like you, y/n” he sighs. “i don’t want us to be just friends. i want to protect you, want to be the kind of guy who mentally support his girl to help her cope with any pressure.”

he looks up to see your widened eyes, without a response, he continues.

“i’m sorry i said the things i didn’t mean when you were there, I was just…" he gulps nervously and you sigh.

"tsumu... if it's too much for you to bear, maybe i should stop doing those things, okay?" you scoff bitterly, he becomes panic

“no, no, no,... i really like the way you care for me, please, i want your attention. please keep doing it. don’t get tired of me…”

you can feel the pulse bumping in your nerves, your heart flutters, and blood rushes into your cheeks just by hearing his confession. you kneel down beside him, fighting back the tears but then you can’t, so you squish him in a hug. atsumu holds you back as you start sobbing on his white shirt, inhales fondly your intoxicating smell and pats rhythmically on your back

“there, there, my angel. i’m here now. i’m sorry i’m late. let me make this up for you, yeah?” he chuckles.

atsumu loves his girlfriend. after hearing you ramble about your tight schedule, he immediately writes a report based on your experience to inform the coach about your condition so that everyone can share in your responsibilities instead of you having to handle everything alone. it wasn’t that long for the msby mates to realize you guys are together, he wrote in that report that he is your boyfriend, anyway.

“you nailed it, tsumu-kun” hinata bumps him with a thumbs up, atsumu responds with a sheepish grin while bokuto laughs beside him and sakusa just doesn’t really give a shit. 

he spots you standing on the opposite road near the brand new cafe, waving back to him smiling, “nah, gotta run. gonna treat my girlfriend with extra pastry today.”

i guess he is the simp now.

© 2024 dreamesamu. all rights reserved.

a recommendation to cope with your broken heart <3

[exercise-of-trust]

i don't generally bother posting the stuff i knit exactly from existing patterns but i finally wove in the ends on a couple frankensteined socks and figured i might as well throw them up here? they're very dumb but i'm fond of them.

for the first pair i made up a colorwork pattern for the feanorian heraldic symbol, and slapped it together with the pisqu sock structure and toe pattern, and a snippet of a mitten for the sole halves. the yarn is 100g of jamieson's of shetland that i got on the high street of fort william, as a treat after walking 100 miles from glasgow to get there, and i had... maybe 10 yards total left over? i had to cut off the long tail from my cast-on and use it to graft the toe closed on the last sock; it was nerve-wracking. if i did this pattern again, i'd probably put the toe motif in between the two heraldic lozenges, but the first time through i wasn't sure how the math would work out so i frontloaded them. ah well!

the second pair is the structure of an existing sock i've forgotten the name of (worked in the round from the tip of the heel to a hat-like shape with six sides; two opposite ones are grafted together to form the instep and the other sets of two open into the cuff and close into the toe), with the colorwork pattern from the gogink sweater yoke. i thiiiink you could do this with basically any colorwork sweater yoke, but i've only tried it with this one. if i did it again i'd add some short rows to the front side of the cuff; the construction sort of pulls it down so that the heel side of the cuff is higher than the front, and a couple short row rounds would probably level it back out. i like these because they neatly smash the cuff-down/toe-up binary and make everybody mad, and i am at all times an imp of the perverse.