#the many benefits of living in the middle of nowhere

[secretmessages1983]

home appraisal this tuesday and then it looks like sometime next week i will officially own my first house

[altocat]

Swooning at image of Sane!Sephiroth on a long patrol out in the middle of nowhere with his men, constantly looking worriedly over his shoulder every time he sees them getting tired. They don't have even a fraction of his stamina. And he's witnessed so many of them succumb to the elements and exhaustion over the years. He refuses to lose any more. Not if he can help it. He was a leader once before...long, long ago. He will not allow things to go south again the way they did. He has learned. He will be BETTER.

He risks a firm scolding by Hojo by insisting on taking regular breaks in the middle of the mission, scouting ahead far into the night just so he can bring his men fresh food and water. For all his stoic gruffness, he refuses to abandon them, carrying them when they fall, fighting to the death to keep them alive.

Thus, Sephiroth earns the respect of his men not just because he's considered a hero, but because he quickly cements himself as a leader who cares about his team. He fights WITH them. He toils. He sacrifices. And he does five times the work for their benefit and comfort. They revere him as a great warrior, a caring and devoted soldier who will protect his team at all costs.

....Only for the precious few who survived to fall at his blade when he attacks Shinra headquarters. Ravaged. Torn to ruthless, ruined shreds at his feet. A man once bound in loyalty and compassion rendered so thoroughly ill. He doesn't care. Their destruction is his gift, his perverse, private joy. They are insects. Their lives are his to claim. And he does not regret.

Compassion is a human lie.

And he has had his fill.

[kenny-the-ken]

South Park Belfast AU

Meet the biggest scumbags in town

Belfast, Northern Ireland, a community divided by religious beliefs and paramilitary organisations that prey on the weak, vulnerable and the downright fucked up.

A group of five lads, from varying backgrounds have been best friends for a very long time. They met through mutual friends in secondary school, and remained close friends after, despite their differences. Some give Belfast a good name, others give it the reputation it's sadly known for.

SO!!! I'm starting this AU, because I cannot for the life of me shake it outta my mind. I'm gonna use some Belfast slang, and I'll put its meanings beside it. But here's the head canons for the boys, and honestly, yall don't gotta vibe with it, but this is my little shithole of the world that not many people know much about, so I'm excited for it.

Kenny McCormick

- 19

- The biggest hood in east Belfast

- North Face tracksuits

- Your neighbourhood drug dealer

- Could've gone to a grammar school, but followed his mates to a regular high school

- Has fucked half of Belfast

- Picks on emos, except for Stan, he is, in Kenny's words, 'Sound'.

- Stinks of cannabis

- Eats ecstasy tablets like they're tictacs

- Are what people describe as a 'hood'

- Has definitely had a punishment beating for selling drugs without paying dues to the paramilitaries.

- Is on the PSNI watchlist, can't go anywhere without getting stop and searched.

- "Stan, listen. I know you're an emo fruit, but you're my mate, and you're sound. Anyone gives you guff, send 'em my way."

Kyle Broflovski

- 20

- Smart arse

- Got into a high end grammar school, and is incredibly intelligent, but still hangs about with his going nowhere friends

- Has a thing for cocaine low key

- "I'm Irish and ginger, the whole package, lads."

- Well dressed, isn't a tracksuit kinda guy, more like jeans and a nice shirt.

- The only one unaffected by the catholic/protestant divide, he's Jewish.

- Drives a Vauxhall Corsa, promises he isn't a nonce.

- Middle class, lives in the BT9 area

- Is banned from having house parties for life after the incident where Kenny poured vodka into his fish tank stating, "The fish needed to be on the sesh too."

- The mother of the group

- Highly strung

- Never been in trouble with police.

Stan Marsh

- 20

- Emo

- City Hall dweller

- Smokes weed, he buys it off Kenny.

- Probably drunk

- Hates the PSNI, just as much as Kenny does

- Chronic whitey victim (He throws up all the time from drinking too much)

- Got arrested for being drunk and disorderly and drinking in a public place

- sobbed in his cell all night till he was released without charge the next morning

- Went to a standard high school, left after finishing his A-Levels

- Bullied for being an emo

- "'Ers wee Marsh, fuckin' emoooo!"

Eric Cartman

- 19

- Gigachad

- Kenny's right hand man and business partner, they're drug dealers.

- Also has a strong hatred for the PSNI

- On electric tag for throwing petrol bombs at the peelers during a riot.

- Religiously goes to the 12th of July, but wears a tricolour on St Paddy's

- Very bad influence

- Has never worked a day in his life, and claims top rate health care benefits.

- Barred from most bars in Belfast City Centre

- Rave whore, may as well live in the Telegraph building.

- Noncommittal, but is a chronic Tinder user

- Definitely a smick

- Calls people slurs online playing FIFA

- Ridiculously street smart

- High school educated but left at 16 after passing his GCSEs to start he and Kenny's 'business venture'

Butters Stoch

- 20

- A good lad

- Lightweight

- Also a chronic whitey victim

- Sent to boarding school for catholic boys

- Fluent in Irish

- professional Irish dancer, and proves it every time he's drunk.

- Politely spoken.

- Bit of a culchie (he's from the country)

- Has a thing for Irish folk music

- Never been in trouble with the PSNI

- Somehow has never been in a physical altercation in his life.

- Doesn't care about the religious politics of the country, and never will.

CHAPTER 1 LINKED HERE

[labelleizzy]

From Robin Alperstein on Facebook:

Listening to Senator Cory Booker, who has held the Senate floor for the last 16-plus hours to discuss in detail the manifold devastation and havoc to people's lives and the economy and the rule of law that TrumpMAGAMusk GOP is inflicting, I am struck by his exchanges with his fellow senators in which they ask questions and he responds with clarity and little evidence of the exhaustion he must feel.

Booker, together with Schumer, is pointing out that not one of the cuts to Medicaid or other programs that DOGE and Trump are making has done a thing or is intended to do do anything for efficiency; there is no studying, no expertise, no examination of whether there will actually be any "efficiencies" or on the effects of their cuts on people's lives or on what these agencies and programs and departments actually do. Booker and Schumer give examples of that devastation, quoting from actual constituents in REPUBLICAN districts. Not only will millions of people lose their health care, the Medicaid cuts will cause closures of hospitals in rural neighborhoods, in middle class neighborhoods, and even upper class neighborhoods. People in nursing homes will have nowhere to go.

Schumer points out the specific number of jobs that will be lost and people who will lose their health care in Staten Island (voted for Trump) and parts of Long Island (voted for Trump) and the Bronx, and how those cuts will end up hurting hospitals and people in neighboring areas, and then highlights that if the 3 Republican House members in each of those SI and LI districts would break with their party to protect their constituents instead of hurting them, we would not be here. And they both point out it is all about making sure Musk and others wealthy like him pay no or almost no taxes, adding TRILLIONS to the deficit: Americans are going to DIE so that people who don't need more money can have even more.

That's just one example. Elizabeth Warren is now speaking with Booker, explaining that Social Security isn't a "gift", it's OUR right for having paid into it our whole lives, and that all the closures of the offices and slashing of staff prevent people from accessing their benefits that are not even in question, and function as CUTS to benefits without formal cuts to benefits. This is 73 million people that Trump is attacking, again to fund their own tax cuts for themselves and other billionaires.

Booker has spent the last 15+ hours highlighting all of this. It's so needed!! And I hope it stands as a reminder and call to action to get out in the streets April 5th to say NO MORE.

It's critical that people understand that this isn't just Trump and Musk, and it NEVER HAS BEEN. This is the entire Republican Party. It is Mike Johnson, the speaker of the House, pushing through a grotesque bill that yields the power of appropriations and allows these assaults on our programs and rights, and then, when courts AROUND THE COUNTRY including many with Republican-appointed judges, enjoin their illegal actions, now talking about targeting judges or ignoring the law.

I learned from a friend this morning that her colleague's wife's entire branch at the CDC was just fired by Musk -- and the wife was in the National Center for Birth Defects and Developmental Disorders. DOGE thinks preventing birth defects and dealing with developmental disorders is "nonessential." These people are tanking research for illness, disease, the disabled. They are erasing and killing any ability to fight or deal with the climate change that is devastating the world and many species. The party of "life" is a murder-suicide cult of absolutely militant and toxic ignorance and cruelty and hatred.

Now Booker is reading aloud from letters of people who lost their jobs at USAid, who are detailing just how important the institution is/was, explaining its incredible impact across the world, and how dreadful the destruction of this agency is on both the lives of the American workers and the people across the world whom USAid's programs assisted. It's extraordinary to hear these letters and to listen to Booker, voice breaking, read them and respond. One of these letters detailed the propagandizing attacks on workers' lives and integrity Musk spewed, and what these lies mean for American workers, to create support for cuts that are devastating. These letters expose just how egregious the hate-filled lies that Trump and his jackboot treasonous henchmen are vomiting out to destroy lives in an endless firehose of calumny and mendacity, and the danger that Americans were put in from them, as well the increased instability that these cuts will directly contribute to.

I wish I'd stayed up all night listening to Booker -- he's an amazing communicator. I wish everyone had, especially the Trump voters whose livelihoods, medical care, Social Security, and other rights are being attacked by the MAGA Republican party they routinely elect, people who don't understand or care about the importance of the U.S.'s role abroad. They are finding out the hard way what they should have known already: the only representatives who will fight for them and true American ideals are the Democratic electeds they vilify and despise. The party that gave them Social Security and Medicare and Medicaid and the ACA and SNAP and every other benefit they rely on. These are primarily white voters who seem only to take issue with the pain and devastation and corruption and cruelty that are the lifeblood of this rotten-to-its core fascist Republican party when they become its victims.

P.S. If you haven't tuned in yet, please do turn on the You Tube livestream. It'll help him and the cause-- it will help you too to see the light sSon Munn what is going on. Link in comments. (h/t to Son Mun for suggesting everyone tune in even if just on background to boost and support this.)

P.P.S I can't stop listening. Booker's moral clarity is incredible, his capacity to articulate the issues and contrast what is with what ought to be, so critical. He discussed how Trump has sown so much fear and anxiety about the Social Security cuts, and then contrasted that with FDR comforting people and showing leadership (yes ignoring Japanese internment camps and racism...but in describing the Medicaid and Social Security cuts): “This is not a model of leadership, it's a model of cruelty, of mean-spiritedness ...You cannot say you love your country and call yourself a patriot, you cannot do that unless you love the men and women in it. This is not right or left, it's right or wrong."

[hyucksos]

life's a peach! — kang younghyun

pairing: kang younghyun x f!reader genre: slice of life, village boy x city girl, childhood friends (to enemies) to lovers, fluff, angst, romance, slow burn wc: 14.1k synopsis: after being let go from your job, you return to your grandparents' village of pyoseon to figure things out. you had come in hopes of finding peace, but instead, you're faced with unexpected reunions, a whole lot of unresolved feelings, and far too many what-ifs. thirty was supposed to be a restart, but now... it feels more like a rewind— and standing in the middle of it all, is kang younghyun. as much as the man gets on your nerves, you soon start to realise that maybe, home isn't where you go— it's who you go back to.

A little over a month ago, you would’ve thought you’d be spending the beginning of your thirties in the best way possible— sipping on cocktails in Copacabana, basking in the glow of the Paris lights… maybe even celebrating in first class with a glass of champagne.

Instead, here you are, in a sun-scorched field in the middle of nowhere, wearing overalls two sizes too big and your hair sticking to your nape in a sweaty mess.

And to top it off, you’re completely covered in cow dung. From head to toe.

You glower at the absolute menace before you, the one responsible for the situation you’re in. The asshole even has the audacity to look amused, his shoulders shaking as he tries to stifle his laughter.

“Kang Younghyun,” you mutter lowly, your gloved fingers already fisting the mud around you. “You have five seconds to run.”

He coughs to conceal his chuckle. “I mean-“

“Five.”

Younghyun yelps before he bolts away, and you immediately take off after him. “You coward! Come back here!”

The sound of his boisterous laughter as he sprints down the road is mocking, and you’re left screaming his name while simultaneously hoping that he’d trip over a rock and plant his stupid, handsome face to the ground.

Thirty was supposed to treat you well, but instead, you got… whatever the hell this is— the pitiful remnants of your live served to you in a dog bowl, with a side of Kang Younghyun.

You don’t think you could ever recover from this.

I. [YOU, THIRTY SECONDS AWAY FROM A MELTDOWN]

You’ve been told that hitting the big three would be a bit like being reborn, a chance to get a fresh start and to leave your past self behind in your twenties… or at least, according to Wonpil, it was. He wasn’t exactly a wild child back in the day, so you weren’t sure where all of this was coming from, but regardless you still decided to take his advice with a spoonful of trust— not only because he’s your best friend, but because you believed in his mantra too.

There’s been some talk going around about a promotion, and with you having worked for this airline for a good seven years now, you know the title of Senior Flight Attendant is practically within reach. You’re ready to enter your thirties with a clean slate, a sharper uniform, and the kind of certainty that maybe, everything was finally falling into place—

Except it isn’t.

“We’re letting you off.”

The smile fades from your lips slightly, and the room settles in a pin-drop silence as you process the words that left your supervisor’s lips.

“I’m sorry?”

“The airline is going through some budget cuts, so we’ve got no choice but to let some people go,” he explains robotically, as though he’s reading off a script. Your heart starts to thump in your ears as the weight of the situation finally settles in, and your smile wipes off completely. “This has nothing to do with you, obviously. You’ve been a great worker and contributed much to the company-“

“So you’re firing me?”

Your supervisor stutters. “Well- you will be getting severance pay. And some additional farewell benefits as compensation. That aside, we’re extremely sorry to let you go. We wish you the best in your future endeavours.”

He bows slightly, and you don’t stop the humourless chuckle that escapes your lips.

Even as you step out of his office, your termination letter already crumpled under the tight grip of your hand, you refuse to fully acknowledge the dread in the pit of your stomach— not until you reach home, and you’re dialling for the one person who could help you make sense of this entire situation.

As usual, Wonpil is all smiles as he picks up, but it instantly disappears when he sees your face. “Wow. Did you get fired or something?”

You flop onto your couch, tossing your blazer aside. “That obvious?”

Your best friend gapes, but he quickly recovers. “Wha- are you serious? What happened?”

“Said the company’s downsizing… or whatever.” You shrug as you stare blankly at the ceiling, and you sense Wonpil shift through the screen. With it being a weekday afternoon, he’s probably still at work, but you couldn’t find it in you to care for disturbing him. “What should I do, Pil?”

“Hey, don’t worry too much. You’ll find a new job in no time! You’ve got the experience and the skillset. Just take this as a stepping stone towards a better opportunity. A silver lining, you know?”

You glance at your phone, and Wonpil is already grinning at you through the screen. You know that’s just the teacher in him talking, and right now, you feel like one of his students after failing a test. Wonpil has always been supportive, so despite your own dejection, you find it in you to smile at him weakly. “Thanks, Pil.”

And even though you’re not really confident in his words, you’re still grateful for his optimism, and maybe some of that is just what you need.

II. IT’S YOUR THIRTIETH DAY OF REJECTION.

You don’t think being optimistic could help you out of this rut.

You’ve been applying to countless of other airlines, only to be rejected by most of them— the rest hadn’t even bothered to reply.

You know what it is, and it’s the harsh truth you’re only beginning to swallow. Age bias has always been prevalent in your industry, and even though you know you’re nowhere near being a grandma, it’s likely the reason why you aren’t getting any offers.

Wonpil has been by your side throughout, though it’s mostly just been you pathetically moping around while he tries to talk you into trying something else— like a job at the airport lounge (seeing your ex-colleagues would only make you miserable) or concierge at a hotel (serving foreign pilots and flight attendants would make you even more).

Which is why, after much debating (not like you were left with much of a choice whatsoever), you landed yourself a job at a café. Basic, but simple, and safe.

The only problem is that you hate it.

It’s only been a few shifts, and you know you wouldn't be able to last any longer. Even though serving people coffee is technically still a customer service job, there’s just something about the mind-numbing repetition of it that makes you itch to walk out the door.

And so, you do.

“Are you serious?” Wonpil scoffs. “You’ve dealt with entitled businessmen and screaming toddlers thousands of feet in the air, but a little coffee spill is where you draw the line?”

“You think I want this to happen?” You grumble in frustration, avoiding his gaze as you busy yourself with the loose thread on your sleeve. “I just can’t, Pil, okay? Gosh, maybe what I need is a break.”

“You know, that’s not a bad idea. You could use the tickets the airline gave you to go somewhere. Figure things out," he suggests.

“Please,” you scoff. “That pathetic thing they call a severance package barely does me any good. You think I’d have a good time overseas knowing my wallet is shrinking?”

“Then maybe you should visit your grandparents, or something.”

A few beats pass as you let his words hang in the air, and your eyes widen with sudden realisation. “Wonpil, you’re a genius,” you whisper before turning back to him, and he only furrows his brows in confusion. “I could rent out my apartment for a few months while I stay in Jeju— to figure things out, like you said. That way I could make money without actually having to work!”

“I mean, I guess…” Unlike what you’ve been expecting, your best friend looks uneasy with your idea, and before you could ask him why, Wonpil continues, “it’s just- if you’re planning on staying there for that long, are you sure you could actually do it? I mean, village life. It’s no joke for city people like us.”

You roll your eyes. “Relax. I visited my grandparents a lot when I was little. And like you said— if I could deal with entitled businessmen and screaming toddlers in the air, a little sun and farming wouldn’t hurt me.”

“What if someone spills coffee on you?”

You nod solemnly. “Then I’ll know for sure that I was never meant to work a day in my life.”

III. THE WEATHER SAYS IT’S THIRTY DEGREES OUTSIDE. The humidity of Jeju-do is quick to catch up to you the moment you step off the plane, and by the time you manage to drag your bags to the taxi stand outside the airport, you're already slick with sweat, with your hair stuck to your neck and makeup halfway down your face.

And because the universe seems to hate you (you haven't gotten a single stroke of good luck since the day you got sacked), there aren't any taxis around.

Not a single one. Of course.

You take in a deep breath before trudging towards the bus stop, the wheels of your luggage squeaking pathetically behind you. No matter— you aren't about to let a little hiccup get in the way of your retreat when it's barely just started. Even if it would take around another two hours for you to reach Pyoseon-ri by bus, and even if the smell of manure in the air is beginning to cloud your judgement and make you wonder if moving on impulse was a good idea to begin with.

Still, you're adamant on not letting up so soon. You make sure to greet the driver when you board the bus, make sure to smile at the other passengers apologetically as you struggle to haul your luggage up the steps. 

The driver doesn't wait for you before he floors the pedal, and that sends you crashing into a random stranger's shoulder. No one reacts. The stranger doesn't even blink.

You let out a slow exhale. Maybe Wonpil did have a point.

✦ ✦ ✦

By the time the bus wheezes to a stop, you're exhausted and completely out of it. Still, you can't help but to marvel at the sights around you as you alight, and it brings a certain warmth to your chest.

Pyoseon looks exactly like how you remember it, with its stone-lined streets that stretches on for miles on end and clear, vast skies you don't get to appreciate in Seoul. The old convenience store you used to frequent still stands, painted walls still chipped and red sign still faded. You spot the tiny, two-room clinic at the corner where you once cried over a scraped knee. It's also the same place you brought in an injured baby chick you found at the side of the road.

You pause for a moment, just standing there as you take in the village. Barely nothing has changed, and you think that's what throws you off the most. After years of chasing new cities, new skies, new routines... it's disorienting to return to a place seemingly still frozen in time.

You grip the handle of your bag tighter before making your way to the village hall. With your grandfather being the village chief, it's the place he'd most likely be at, and at this timing, you figure he'd probably be doing something... mayor-y. Whatever that meant.

The gravel crunches under your shoes as you trudge down the narrow path, and you're becoming increasingly aware of the curious glances and murmurs thrown your way as you near the village hall. You're not sure if people remember you, but one thing's for sure is that you hadn't prepared yourself for any kind of attention at all.

You let out a soft sigh of relief when the familiar one-story building comes into view, and there's loud chatter coming from somewhere behind it— probably the other village elders lounging around on the pyeongsang under the big zelkova tree. The thought of making a sudden appearance sounds awkward— another thing you hadn't accounted for— but when you hear the undeniable sound of your grandfather's laughter echoing in the air, you know you're not really left with any other option.

So you round the corner— and that's when it happens.

SPLASH!

A torrent of water hits you square in the chest, soaking you from the neck down. You don't even register your luggage tipping over as you stand there, dripping, jaw on the floor.

"Oh, crap, I'm so-"

The voice pauses, and you look up at the culprit: a too-tall, too-familiar guy with a bucket still dangling from one hand. You only barely manage to catch the panic on his features before he's squinting at you, and that's when you finally realise-

"Peach?"

"Younghyun?!"

You say at the same time.

He laughs, his hand lowering to his side. "No way. It's really you, huh? The princess of Seoul who swore she'd never come back. Welcome home, Your Highness."

You chuckle humourlessly. "That's rich, coming from you. Not everyone gets to run away to Europe and come crawling back like they never left."

Despite your blatant jab, he grins in response, shameless and insufferable as ever.

And yet another thing you hadn't accounted for— freaking Kang Younghyun. If you'd told Wonpil just how unprepared you are for this trip, you're sure he'd have a heart attack.

The last time you saw the village boy had to be almost ten years ago, before your visits to Jeju started to grow less frequent as you got older and busier. Last you heard, he'd stayed, all up until the last couple of times you visited and he wasn't around. Your grandfather had said something about him working on his masters overseas, and you'd scoffed at that— mainly because of how ironic it was. Kang Younghyun, the boy who used to tease you relentlessly for being too "city-fied" had gone off and did the most city thing of all. Left for a higher education. Abroad.

And now he's back. And so are you.

He's still the same as you remember, with mischief tucked into the curve of his smile and a teasing glint in his eyes. He still has the same thick eyebrows you used to make fun of, and dimples that would appear on both cheeks whenever he smiled too wide, but something about him feels different too.

He's gotten taller. Broader. The sharp lines of his jaw are more defined now, with cheekbones you don't remember being that sharp. You hate that you even notice the glint of sweat on his sun-kissed skin, and you're quick to dispose that thought. Because you hate Kang Younghyun, and you'd rather not admit that he's gotten kind of... stupidly good looking.

"There you are!"

Grandpa appears behind Younghyun, waving as though nothing is amiss. He barely even glances at your drenched state, patting Younghyun on his back.

You scowl. Your first day here, and your own blood is already favouring that smug asshole over you.

"Younghyun-ah, be a dear and give her a ride back home, would you? She must be tired from the journey."

You gape. "Wha- Grandpa, I'm drenched."

"Mm, you'll dry. Help yourself to the food in the fridge and come back here once you're rested, okay? Your grandma will be thrilled to see you once she returns from the district's women's council meeting." The old man is already walking back towards the village hall, but not before patting your head on the way. He glances over his shoulder. "Bicycle's around the back!"

You stand there in stunned silence before turning back to Younghyun, who's already grinning at you like an idiot. He gestures towards the tree behind him, where an old, rusted bicycle leans against the bark.

"Oh, no." You almost laugh at how absurd the situation you're in. "Oh, no, no."

"You heard the man, Peach," Younghyun adds cheekily. "Hop on."

You glower at him. "I'd rather walk barefoot through cactus than get on that thing with you."

Younghyun only laughs, like he knows you're playing a losing game. And he's right, because five minutes later you're clinging to the back of the bicycle, left hand gripping onto the handle of your luggage tightly as you let it drag along the gravel, while Younghyun pedals lazily like it's the most amusing thing that's happened to him all week. You don't even need to look at his face to know that he's grinning widely.

"So, still sweet on peaches?" He asks casually. You can practically hear the smirk in his tone.

"Shut up."

He laughs again.

IV. EVERYTHING IS ABSOLUTELY PEACHY... NOT. You return to the village hall later that night in an old t-shirt and a pair of floral pants you snagged from your grandmother’s wardrobe. You figure if you’re going to be staying in the countryside, you might as well look the part, though you find that it did little to help ease the turmoil in your heart. You think it has something to do with Pyoseon and everything to do with yourself— and annoyingly, maybe just a little to do with Kang Younghyun’s smug face greeting you at every turn. 

You scowl at him before he could say anything, shoving past him by the door and into the living area where some of the village elders are lounging. You instantly spot your grandmother, mid-conversation before her eyes land on you, and she immediately beams.

“My granddaughter!” She immediately stands up to engulf you in a hug, and despite yourself you find yourself smiling. Grandma has always been one to dote on you, and after the terrible first-half of the day you just had, a little comfort is just what you need.

She pulls back just enough to study your face. “Oh, look at you! Have you not been eating? Sleeping? Aish, I keep telling you to take care of yourself! Whatever it is, I’m glad you’re here to stay now, sweetheart. You need some real food in your system to make up for all those years of flying around.”

Someone snickers in the background, and you turn to see Younghyun, leaning against the doorframe casually with his arms crossed.

You narrow your eyes at him. “Something funny?”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “No, no. It’s just- you’d think a city girl would’ve upgraded her diet by now. Still running on iced tea and whatever’s closest to the microwave?”

You laugh sharply. “Stop acting like you know me, Younghyun.”

“Oh, but he does, doesn’t he? You two used to be so close!” Grandma pipes in unhelpfully, and you turn back to her with warning eyes. Not like she noticed whatsoever. “How much I struggled to keep you at home because you’re always running off with this boy doing God knows what. And that peach orchard you kids used to frequent so much-"

“Okay, Grandma.” You force out a smile through clenched teeth, easing yourself out from her hold as you join the other elders on the floor, face burning for some reason.

“Ignore him. He’s just messing with you.” One of the elders pats your hand mindlessly before turning back to the group. “But enough talk about that. Where were we?”

“Ah, yes. The signboards! We need to retrieve them from storage to get them painted. The tent materials can wait until we’re done with housekeeping, so until then, let’s focus on cleaning up the area.”

You blink before whispering to the old lady. “What are we talking about?”

“The annual harvest festival, my dear! You remember, don’t you? We’re doing a big event this year— food stalls, performances. The whole village is coming together!”

Your lips part as you nod. After all these years, you’d forgotten about the harvest festival that takes place in the summer every year. You’d attended a couple of times back when you were younger, but your visits were never long enough where you actually got to help with the preparations beforehand.

There were a lot of food, and lanterns, and dancing— that much you could recall, and you vaguely remember failing miserably at ring toss while Younghyun laughed at you. Subconsciously, you glance at him, only to find him already looking at you with a lopsided grin on his lips.

You turn away.

“Well, now that we have an extra pair of hands, it seems that we have nothing to worry about this year, do we?” Grandpa appears from the kitchen. “Don’t underestimate my granddaughter. She may be a city girl but she’s a tough one.” He grins at you, and the compliment makes you smile.

“Good! Then you and Younghyun can get started on washing the sheets tomorrow.”

Your smile instantly drops. “Me and who now.”

Grandma ignores you. “Our machines aren’t able to handle the load, so you’d have to do it by hand. Don’t worry, Younghyun will guide you through it!”

“That’s exactly what I’m worried about,” you mutter, though it falls on deaf ears.

The elders are quick to move on, chattering about what needs to be done for the festival preparations. You lean on your hands with a sigh, until you feel someone settle in the empty space next to you.

“So, looks like it’s me and you tomorrow, Peach.”

You don’t even need to look at him to know that he’s smirking. Younghyun slides something towards you, and you glance down to see that it’s a bottle of peach tea. You narrow your eyes at it suspiciously, and he laughs.

“Relax. It’s not like I poisoned it. Consider this a peace offering for earlier. Plus, thought it suited you.”

You turn to smile pleasantly at him, purposely batting your eyelashes. “Because I’m sweet?”

Younghyun leans in, his voice teasing. “Because you bruise easy.”

You instantly scowl, and Younghyun laughs heartily as he stands up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Princess. If we finish on time, we could even go disturb Grandpa Han at his orchard like we used to.”

“I hope you choke.”

"That's the spirit," he coos, patting your head before whistling his way out.

You don’t think you’ve ever hated a person more.

V. PEACHY CLEAN! OR SO YOU THOUGHT. The sun is high by the time you reach the courtyard of the village hall, shades resting on the bridge of your nose and a popsicle in hand. You don't stop the pleased smile that graces your lips when your eyes land on Younghyun, looking pathetic with his back to you as he hunches over a large basin, elbow-deep in soapy water.

"You seem to be hard at work."

He only spares you a glance over his shoulder. "You see, I am a man of my word. Unlike somebody over here."

You roll your eyes wordlessly, finishing the last of your popsicle before squatting down next to him. You've never washed a whole bedsheet with your hands before— not like Younghyun needed to know, obviously. All you had to do was spin it around in soap a few times before washing it out with water. Can't be that hard, right?

"Fill this one with water so I can rinse it out," he instructs, nodding towards the red basin to his left. You decide to swallow down your complaint about how you'd just squatted down, getting back on your feet to step to the faucet begrudgingly. You pick up the hose lazily, angling it to the basin next to Younghyun before turning the tap on. If you're being completely honest, this seems like a one-person job, one Younghyun looks totally capable of doing on his own, but you wouldn't be surprised if the only reason you're here is because he wants to see you miserable.

You squint at his back, the man clearly unaware of you throwing daggers at him as he continues to scrub the bedsheets with his hands. You note the way his brows furrow in concentration, the flex of his muscles with every wring, and the droplet of sweat formed on his temple...

You smirk.

"Say, Younghyun?"

"Hm?" He hums in reply, clearly too distracted to catch your overly-sweet tone.

You don't say anything as you flick your wrist, and in an instant the water from the hose arcs through the air, hitting him square in the back and soaking the fabric of his shirt.

Your grin grows wider. "Oops."

Younghyun freezes, far too long for it to be comfortable than you'd like to admit, before he lets out a low chuckle. He stands up slowly, but he doesn't face you yet.

"Peach."

Your smile falters slightly, but you tilt your chin upwards. "What?"

He finally turns to you, jaw tight and face devoid of any humour. He's dripping from the neck down, similar to how you were yesterday, and you can't help the satisfaction that blooms in your chest. Even if it's at the expense of you potentially getting killed by Kang Younghyun in the next five seconds.

He takes a step forward, and you don't wait for him to say anything else before you drop the hose, making a run for it. Unfortunately for you, Younghyun is fast— of course he is— because the next thing you know, you feel yourself get yanked backwards harshly towards his chest, and he doesn't even hesitate before drenching you with the hose.

"Let go of me, you freak!" You shriek as the ice-cold water hits you, thrashing against his hold.

Younghyun laughs— completely loud and completely unbothered— the running hose still in one hand while the other grips on to your waist tightly.

"Should've thought of that before you decided to mess with me, Princess."

"You splashed me first, asshole!"

“To which I gave you a peace offering! A peach offering, if you will-"

"Yah! What are you two doing?”

The both of you freeze. Younghyun is the first to let you go, and you slip slightly on the wet ground. He steadies you by the wrist.

“Didn't I tell you these needed to be done before noon, boy?” One of the elders squint at you and Younghyun from afar. “And you still have to collect the signboards from the old storage hut, remember? Now you’re behind!”

You tense, parting your lips to utter out an apology (since this was clearly a two-man disaster), but Younghyun beats you to it.

“Sorry, Grandpa. That’s on me. I’ll get it done.” He bows his head, water still dripping from his bangs. 

The old man grumbles under his breath before walking off.

You let out a breath you didn’t know you’d been holding, glancing at Younghyun awkwardly. “I-“

"You should go dry off,” he mutters, almost casually as he wrings his own shirt. "Before you catch a cold and blame me for the rest of your life."

You’re still stunned, but you still find it in you to scoff. “What, so you’re kicking me off sheet duty now?”

"Peach, I'm serious." Younghyun finally looks at you, and it's an expression you're not quite familiar with. He hands you a towel from one of the baskets. “Go. I'll finish the rest, okay?"

You want to make a sarcastic remark about him caring for you, but you bite your tongue, accepting the towel wordlessly instead. Younghyun goes back to tending to the sheets (but not before shooting you a wink, of course; that idiot), and you’re left staring at his back while your heart thumps wildly in your chest.

You’re not sure what this feeling is. Some of it has to be guilt, you believe. A small part of you is grateful, and the rest…

The rest, you think you’d rather not acknowledge.

VI. IF ONLY YOUR PAST IS AS FUZZY AS YOU FEEL. You lean against the windowsill of the village hall, phone tucked between your ear and your shoulder as you watch the quiet afternoon roll by. Chickens cluck in the distance, the occasional breeze rustles the trees, and the scent of freshly-cut grass wafts lazily in.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure I’ve developed a healthy loathing for dirt and manual labour. And the fact that freaking Kang Younghyun insists on making my life a living hell every single day, but apart from that it’s not all bad, I guess,” you mutter. “Better than being jobless in Seoul.”

“You? Hating manual labour? Shocking,” Wonpil chuckles. “You know, I still don’t know what happened between you and that guy. I mean, didn’t you have a crush on him for like, half your life-“

“Shut up,” you hiss, glancing around to make sure no one had heard. Fortunately, nobody else is in the kitchen besides you, the elders all gathered in living room. “I was young and stupid, okay?”

“You were twenty.”

You don’t respond immediately. Speak of the Devil— your eyes fleet to Younghyun’s figure outside as he hauls some crates onto the back of a small truck, his hair swept back messily and shirt clinging to his back with sweat.

Still irritatingly attractive, unfortunately.

“It’s… it’s stupid,” you mumble, looking away. “We were good friends. Until we weren’t.”

Wonpil is quiet for a beat. “He broke your heart?”

You inhale sharply, your mind instantly going back to that one fateful night, many summers ago. It’s been ten years, yet the memory still plays fresh in your mind like it’s just happened yesterday.

“I can’t believe you’re leaving tomorrow,” Younghyun mutters, hands stuffed in his pockets as you walk side by side. It’s dark, the two of you having spent the whole day outside, and now he’s walking you home. You don’t know how to tell him that you don’t want to go back.

“Uni starts in a week. I have to prepare,” you reply just as quietly, as though going any louder would contribute to the growing tension in the air between you two.

“Yeah, but-“ Younghyun stops walking suddenly, moving to stand in front of you. “Couldn’t you- I don’t know- stay till then? Your parents have to be okay with that, right? Hey, maybe if I talk to them, they’d give in.”

He grins down at you boyishly, but you could still make out the hopefulness in his voice. Stupid Kang Younghyun. If only he knew how the sight of his smile alone is already enough to convince you to stay. Hell, even his stupid beach blond dyed hair that’s constantly unkempt and constantly needed to be held back with that stupid bandanna of his is making you reluctant to leave, no matter how much you make fun of him for it.

You think that’s just because you’re hopelessly in love with him.

"I'll come visit. I promise."

His smile grows softer, and he raises a hand to tuck a loose hair behind your ear. "I know, Peach."

You bite your inner lip, your heart thumping erratically at the nickname. You've always called him out for it, you think it's stupid and childish, but Younghyun has never agreed to let down. "You've made me climb peach trees for you since we were kids, and your cheeks always grow pink when I call you that. What else should I call you if not Peach?" He'd say, and that'd shut you up every time.

Tonight, however, you can't help but feel like there's more to it. Like a certain weight neither of you is willing to acknowledge.

His fingers linger on your skin, and you don't miss the way his eyes fleet to your lips. It makes your breath hitch, the way it always does when you catch him staring at you for too long but not doing anything about it.

So right now, you do. You lean in first, pressing a hesitant kiss to his lips. It's clumsy, but it's soft, and just as you think he's about to meet you halfway, Younghyun pulls away.

“I- we shouldn't have done that," he mutters, just before you could say anything. He avoids your gaze as he runs a hand through his hair, and you scoff softly.

"Really?" You whisper, taking a step back. "Seriously, Younghyun, why do you keep doing that?"

He finally looks at you, his expression passive and not at all like the boy you thought you knew.

"You think I don't see the way you look at me? Like- like I'm the only girl in the world that's worth your time? You think I don't notice whenever you want to kiss me, only to hold yourself back at the last second because you're scared?"

Younghyun chuckles dryly. "Don't flatter yourself."

His words hit you like a slap, and anger courses through your veins. "What- so you're telling me none of these ever mattered to you? That I don't mean anything to you?"

"I never said that," Younghyun cuts you off, his voice low. "You don't get to do that, okay? You don't get to leave, only to come back and pretend like nothing's changed. I'm not about to be a chapter you come back to when things get boring."

"Is that really what you think of me?" You ask, voice trembling slightly. Younghyun stays quiet, and that's about all the answers you needed.

"Fuck you, Younghyun," you laugh slightly, wiping the tears that are already streaming down your cheeks. "You know, just because you're mad that some people can make it in the city and you can't, doesn't mean you get to take it out on me. You asshole."

You meant to hurt him, and you know you did, with the way he clenches his jaw at your words. Still, he scoffs humourlessly as he takes a step back, and in that moment, you know you're about to lose him.

"Then I guess we were never meant to be in the first place."

"Yikes."

"Yeah. But it's whatever. I'm over it."

"Really? Because it sounds like there's still some pent-up resentment-"

"I'm over it, Pil."

Wonpil pauses. "Alright, fine, yeah. Anyway, your birthday's in a few days. Thirty's supposed to be a fresh start, remember? Do you have anything planned yet?"

You scoff. "Maybe I'll go down to the farm and smear myself with cow dung."

"You're gonna jinx yourself."

"Whatever," you mutter, turning around as you push yourself off the wall, only to still when your eyes land on Younghyun, already looking at you with a brow raised.

"Hello?"

"I'll call you back," you mumble before ending the call. You clear your throat, crossing your arms as nonchalantly as you could. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Long enough to hear you want to smear yourself with cow shit. I didn't know you were into that kind of thing, Peach."

"Shut up." Your cheeks burn as you move to leave, but Younghyun blocks your path.

You look up to glare at him. "What?"

"I have to go to the local market to deliver some crates." He shrugs. "Wanna go for a drive?"

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously. "What's the catch?"

He chuckles. "Seriously, how low do you think of me?"

"Can't blame me for thinking that now, can you?" You blurt, and a flicker of something flashes across Younghyun's face. Before he could say anything, you beat him to it. "Fine. Lead the way."

You're surprised that he remains quiet after that, and for a moment you let yourself dwell on the possibility that maybe, he remembers that night just as vividly as you do.

Younghyun swings the door of his truck open for you, which you respond with a glare.

He grins at you cheekily. ”Knew you liked my company, Peach."

And just like that, the moment is ruined. 

✦ ✦ ✦

It's a short drive to the market. You'd tried not to enjoy the scenery too much— you knew Younghyun would be smug about it— but it was nice nonetheless. It reminded you of the drives you used to take with Grandpa when you'd follow him around to run errands, though most of the time you'd stay inside his truck to admire the stretches of farmland and clusters of wildflowers along the road.

The locals wave at Younghyun as he backs up into the unloading area, and you hop off as soon as he puts the truck in park. You don't wait for him to tell you to unload the crates (you're not really keen on a repeat of the bedsheet incident), greeting the uncle at the delivery bay as you get to work.

"Hey- what are you doing? Let me do it." Younghyun appears beside you, taking the crate from your hands effortlessly before he sets it on the ground.

You raise your brows. "Isn't that why I'm here?"

"No. I only asked you if you wanted to tag along, not to get you to do manual labour. These are heavy, Peach." 

You huff, crossing your arms. "What, just because I'm a woman-"

"Princess," Younghyun sighs, turning to face you. "I asked you to come because I wanted your company, not because I needed a second pair of arms. So just... sit there and look pretty, okay?"

Your mouth falls open in disbelief, though you can't fight the heat that's beginning to creep up your neck. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He grins, already turning back to unload the rest of the crates. "Pretty privilege. Take advantage of it."

"You're actually insufferable."

"So I've heard."

"Aigoo, I've always known you two would get together eventually," the uncle muses as he helps Younghyun. "Only took a couple of years, huh boy?"

"I- we're not together," you utter stiffly.

"Really? Then why don't you go do something about it?" The uncle smacks the back of Younghyun's head lightly before he turns to you. "Do you know how grumpy this boy's been since you left town? I haven't seen him smile this widely in years."

"Uncle," Younghyun groans as he rubs his head. "I'm not gonna deliver your fish for you anymore. I don't want to."

"Quit sulking, boy. It's not cute." The older man rolls his eyes. "But, little lady, since you're here, Grandpa Han just delivered a fresh batch of peaches earlier. Go get some for the drive back, okay?”

You don't know whether to be impressed or embarrassed that practically everybody remembers of your little... obsession, with the fruit, but you nod and thank him regardless. You don't wait to see if Younghyun follows you before you wander into the market, mostly keen on getting away from him before he could notice the rising blush on your cheeks.

The marketplace is bustling with people, but not in a way that overwhelms you. If anything, the crowd kind of reminds you of home, except here, everybody seems to know who you are.

“Isn’t that the chief’s granddaughter?” Someone murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear as you pass.

“Oh, you’ve grown so pretty! Just like your mother.” One aunty beams, stopping you as she reaches out to squeeze your arm affectionately. “I’m sure your grandparents must be so happy you’re back for good!”

“Um, I-“

“Excuse us, Aunty, sorry. We’ve got a delivery schedule to keep.” Younghyun suddenly appears next to you, his hand finding the small of your back as he gives the lady a polite smile.

“Oh, Younghyun-ah! Don’t forget, I need you to fix my gate for me!”

“Will do!” He calls out over his shoulder as he gently steers you away, and you could only afford to blink.

“Quite the talk of the town, aren’t you?” He bends down to whisper teasingly in your ear, to which you quickly shove him away.

“Shut up,” you mutter. You try not to notice the warmth that disappears from your back when he drops his hand.

You spot the fruit vendor at the end of the market, but just as you’re about to head towards it, a small stall tucked between two others catches your eye first. You find yourself making a beeline towards it instead.

The table set up is filled with handmade trinkets and an assortment of dried tea leaf pouches— basically stupidly cute handmade stuff you rarely ever see in the city. You don’t stop the soft smile that makes its way to your lips as you pick one up— a small hand-sewn pouch stamped with tiny peaches.

“If you buy one of these necklaces, I’ll give you the pouch for free.”

You smile at the uncle as your eyes fleet across the jewellery display, all dainty chains with pressed flowers encased in resin as charms.

“They’re all so beautiful,” you murmur.

“Each one has their own meaning. Like this one.” He picks one up. “The chrysanthemum symbolises health and good fortune. Or if you’re looking to get a gift for a friend, the sunflower would be a good pick,” the uncle explains before he looks at someone next to you, and that’s when you notice Younghyun’s been there all along. “What about you, son? Looking for something?”

Younghyun gives him a dimpled smile, shaking his head. “Just looking around.”

You thank the uncle, telling him you’ll come back another time. It’s almost lunchtime, and you figure you should probably get back soon to help Grandma get started on food prep.

You don’t realise that Younghyun’s stayed rooted to his spot as you wander off towards the fruit stall, his gaze fixed on your back.

“You sure you’re not looking for anything?” The uncle muses knowingly.

Younghyun turns to him, a small chuckle escaping his lips. His gaze drops down to the display again, scanning each charm carefully until one in particular catches his eye.

“This one.” He points towards the purple one, neatly pressed with its petals still intact. “What does it mean?”

“Ah, the lilac.” The uncle nods as he picks the chain up. “This one’s for first love.”

There’s a pause. Younghyun’s eyes flick to you once again, blissfully unaware, talking to the fruit stall vendors as you carefully pick out your peaches.

A faint smile touches his lips as he nods.

“Wrap it, please,” he tells the uncle, softer this time as he takes out his wallet. He makes sure the necklace is packed safely in the peach-patterned pouch he saw you eyeing earlier before pocketing it.

It’s just a small thing, Younghyun tells himself. A mindless gesture. A gift for your upcoming birthday which he still remembers after all these years. Or, if he wants to be honest with himself— a silent apology for all the things he’d left unsaid. For the way he hurt you on purpose before you left.

Maybe it’s foolish. Hell, maybe it’s even too late.

But if a flower could say what he never could, he figures it’s a start.

VII. THIRTY, FLIRTY DIRTY, AND… NOT THRIVING.

It's your birthday.

Grandpa had also tasked you to work at the farm today.

He'd said something about cleaning out the cowshed, as the farmer was down with a flu. What he failed to mention was that you'd be working with Younghyun— though at this point, you're not even surprised anymore.

So that is how you find yourself at the farm at the far end of Pyoseon, arms folded across your chest as you wait for Younghyun to lead all the cows out into the pasture. You narrow your eyes at him as he works, looking far too chipper for someone who’s about to be surrounded by animal shit.

You don’t like how the sight of his grin is making your heart accelerate. 

Wanting something else to do, you quickly grab the shovel leaning by the wall before stepping into the shed. Your nose scrunches at the smell— it’s warm, earthy, and a little too natural for your liking. Not like you’re left with a choice, anyway. You hesitate slightly before stepping into the first stall, the floor caked with straw, mud, and… well, the obvious.

You clench your teeth as you slowly manoeuvre between the piles, the mud squelching with every step you take. The sound makes you cringe.

And as if you’re not overstimulated enough, the straps of Grandpa’s overalls he’d loaned you keeps sliding off one shoulder, and his old rubber boots which are at least two sizes too big feel like they’re actively plotting against you.

You groan, pausing to hitch the fabric higher while you adjust your foot in the boot, all while hoping you could make it out of here unscathed.

You don’t hear him approach.

“Boo.”

You scream. And promptly lose your footing.

And the next thing you know, you’re on your butt, right in the middle of a particularly wet patch of cow dung. A few beats passes as you process the situation, and you look up to glower at the absolute menace before you. The asshole even has the audacity to look amused, his shoulders shaking as he tries to stifle his laughter.

“Kang Younghyun,” you mutter lowly, your gloved fingers already fisting the mud around you. “You have five seconds to run.”

He coughs to conceal his chuckle. “I mean-“

“Five.”

Younghyun yelps before he bolts away, and you immediately take off after him. “You coward! Come back here!”

The sound of his boisterous laughter as he sprints down the road is mocking, and you’re left screaming his name while simultaneously hoping that he’d trip over a rock and plant his stupid, handsome face to the ground.

You slip a little in your boots as you chase him, but you think it’s the pure fury that fuels you to catch up to him. Younghyun is fast— damn him— but you’re faster when you’re angry.

You soon catch up to him, and with a warrior’s scream you launch yourself onto his back.

“Wha-?”

Somehow, by some ungodly miracle,Younghyun doesn’t fall. He does stumble once, but he quickly recovers as he readjusts his grip on your legs, all while he continues to run for his life— with you clinging on to his back like a koala. The asshole’s still laughing, the sound much closer to your ears now that you’re on him, and for some reason, you can’t stop the incredulous, yet amused scoff that escapes your lips.

“I hate you!” You shriek despite yourself, punching his shoulder repeatedly with one hand while your other arm clings around his neck.

“I noticed!” Younghyun is grinning from ear to ear as he glances behind at you. “Did you eat bricks, or something?”

You gape. “Put me down, then!”

“Never,” he replies, almost sing-songy as he slows down, only to start spinning you around like some deranged carnival ride. You squeak, squeezing your eyes shut as your arms tighten around his neck, while your chin finds his shoulder as you will yourself not to fall.

His laughter eases into something softer then, just as he turns his head to meet your eyes. You gasp softly at the sudden lack of distance between you both. You’re close— so close, that if you were to just lean forward, your noses would touch. You could make out the specks of brown that dances in his irises, though they’re no longer filled with the mirth you’ve gotten used to since you arrived a week ago.

No— because right now, Kang Younghyun is looking at you the way he did back then, with that quiet, unspoken tenderness that always made you wonder if he loved you.

“You okay?” He asks, quieter now.

You don’t answer immediately, only now realising that you’re not even spinning anymore. You loosen your grip on him, letting yourself slide down his back.

“What do you think?” You mutter. “I smell like actual shit.”

Younghyun chuckles, but he doesn’t tease. He stares at you for a moment before he reaches towards you, like he wants to move a stray hair off your face.

Like the way he used to.

But he pauses at the last second, and you see the way his jaw ticks before he drops his hand. And just like that— the easy smile makes its way back to his lips. Like nothing’s ever happened.

You don’t dwell long enough to wonder if he’s faking it or not.

“We should probably get back to work if we don’t want to get yelled at again.”

You narrow your eyes at him, talking as if this whole thing isn’t his fault to begin with. You opt to bite your tongue, glancing towards the shed instead.

You turn back to him. “Last one to reach the stalls scrapes cow poop off the wall.”

Younghyun startles. “Wait, what wall-“

But you’re already gone, kicking up mud in your wake.

You hear him shout out your name, that stupid nickname you claim to loathe so much, before his footsteps follow after you, deliberate and teasing. He’s not even trying to catch up to you, and you know it.

And for the first time since you’ve arrived here, you don’t stop the laughter that bubbles out of your chest.

✦ ✦ ✦

It takes a few showers to completely get the smell off of you, and by the time you’re done, you’re starving.

The house is empty, just like you had expected, but what you didn’t expect was for there to be no food under the food cover on the table.

You frown as you turn to the fridge, where a particular note catches your eye.

Preparing for festival. Come to the village hall if you’re hungry. 

You’re seriously considering having sleep for dinner given how tired you are, but you’re also really famished, so that’s what eventually makes you drag your feet outside, not bothering to remove the towel from your neck as you trudge lazily towards the building a few houses down.

The village hall is dark as you near it, and you figure nobody’s inside and there’s probably just some leftovers for you in the communal fridge. You push the door open, and—

“Surprise!”

You nearly drop your towel.

The light in the living room flickers on, and you’re met with a crowd of familiar faces— including Younghyun who stands right in the middle, looking stupid with a party hat that’s far too small for him on top of his head. Someone sets a party popper too late, and the speaker screeches before blasting birthday trot music loudly. There’s even a banner with your name and a collage of your photos from when you were young to right before you left for university. And along the wall leading to the kitchen, is a long table packed with all your favourite dishes.

You blink, stunned. “I- what is this-“

“Your party, silly!” Grandma steps forward as she takes your hands into hers, smiling at you fondly. “Did you really think we’d forget our favourite granddaughter’s birthday?”

The tears are quick to pool in your eyes. “I’m your only granddaughter,” you manage to chuckle through a sob.

“Yes, but we’re not your only grandparents, are we now?” She motions to the elders behind her. “Go on.”

You barely have time to protest before you’re ushered away, pulled into a flurry of hugs and too many plates of food. You’re quick to get lost in the warmth of it all, though every so often, you still find yourself searching for the one person who demands your attention even in a room full of people.

And every time your eyes would meet across the room, he’d give you that same soft smile— the one that admittedly makes your chest twist a little.

It isn’t until much later when the laughter starts to die down and the crowd starts to thin do you slip outside the back door for some fresh air. It wasn’t like you were looking for him, but you’re still grateful to find him there, sitting on the steps, staring into the distance with a bottled drink in his hand.

Younghyun looks up, lips settling into an easy smile when he sees you. “If it isn’t the birthday girl.”

You don’t reply immediately as you sit next to him. “I didn’t think anyone remembered.”

He’s silent for a while before he replies softly, “I never forgot.”

Your breath hitches at his words. Younghyun chuckles under his breath before he inhales, looking at you. “Well, it’s not every day you turn thirty, huh? I know it’s probably different than how you would’ve done it in Seoul, but we make do.”

“I don’t think I would’ve enjoyed it in the city anyway.” You smile faintly, wrapping your arms around your knees as you hug them to your chest. You know Younghyun’s still staring at you, but you don’t look at him— not yet. “I … lost my job. Spent years flying all over the world, only to be grounded by age in the end. If you’d asked me a month ago, I would’ve told you I was miserable. But now that I’m here…” you pause to take a breath. “I guess thirty isn’t so bad when you’re surrounded by an ageing community.”

Younghyun laughs, even despite your poor attempt at a joke. It’s quiet for a while, but not the uncomfortable kind, until you feel him shift beside you.

You look at him as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small bag.

You recognise it instantly from the small stall at the market a few days back.

“Happy birthday, Peach,” he says, handing it to you.

You’re stunned, and it takes you a while to accept it. The fabric is delicate in your fingers, and as you pull apart the string to open the bag, a necklace drops onto your palm, the delicate lilac charm catching in the moonlight.

“It’s really pretty…” You feel your throat begin to tighten, but you don’t cry yet. “What does this one mean?”

Younghyun laughs under his breath, looking back to the view. “You’ll figure it out.”

You scrunch your brows at his obscure answer, but before you could press, he’s already handing something else to you. “Here.”

It’s a book— a planner, it seems— the numbers 2015 embossed on the cover.

You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion as you flip it open. Inside the front cover, scrawled in fading ink is a small note:

For all the stories you’ll live out there. Write them down and don’t forget about here.

Don’t forget about me.

— Younghyun

“I was supposed to give this to you back then. Before- you know,” he trails off.

You blink, only for a single tear to drop on the page, right next to the words he’d written for you.

“I was stupid,” Younghyun continues quietly. “I thought hurting you would make it easier to let you go. But it didn’t,” he chuckles. “It only hurt me even more.”

You shut the book. “God,” you mutter, biting your lip to stop it from trembling. “God, you suck, Younghyun.”

“Yeah,” he chuckles breathlessly, reaching out to brush his thumb gently against the moisture on your cheek. “I know, Peach.”

You laugh, but it comes out as watery. “You made me cry on my birthday,” you sniff, looking at him through your bleary vision. “You ass.”

Younghyun’s smile softens, and he shifts a bit closer. His hand lingers on your skin, like he’s afraid to let go.

You don’t want him to.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, quieter now. “I’m so sorry, Princess.”

You didn’t need him to say more— not when the tremble in his voice is evident, like its holding the weight of the ache you’ve shared over the last ten years. For every silence, and for every what-could’ve-been.

And as you lean on his shoulder, his arm coming up to wrap around you, you start to feel at home again.

VIII. THINGS ARE SWEET LIKE SUMMER FRUIT.

The next morning, the air feels different. 

Not drastically so. Younghyun still teases you when you trip over the uneven path outside your grandparents’ house. You still threaten to hit him with your sandal every few minutes. But there’s something between the both of you, something soft and unspoken, unsaid but understood.

You’re sitting on the pyeongsang behind the village hall, a stack of signboards between your legs as you work on painting the one on top. You’re relieved to get a bit of downtime after being roped off to help with harvesting earlier, while Younghyun had gone off the collect the tarps and poles from the old storage hut.

You haven’t seen him since then, though you’re sure he’s probably just around the back where the tents are being set up. You’re almost tempted to go take a look, bother him for no reason, maybe even trick him into getting you an ice cream from the convenience store.

You don’t even realise you’re smiling to yourself like an idiot until Grandpa appears.

“There you are!”

You look up, brows furrowing slightly to see that he isn’t alone. You don’t recognise the man next to him, but the thing that catches your attention instead is his suitcase, attached to it a tag with the words: FLIGHT CREW. 

And judging based on the white dress shirt he dons, the shoulder tabs empty where a pair of epaulettes should be, you know who— or rather, what, he is—

“You’re a pilot,” you blurt.

The man laughs, though you could tell he’s slightly taken aback by your words. “I… yeah. Wow. I actually wasn’t expecting anyone to catch on.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“I work as a flight attendant. Well, used to,” you quickly correct yourself. You wipe your hands on your pants before standing up, muttering out an apology for your lack of manners before introducing yourself meekly.

“This is Sungjin,” Grandpa says. “He’ll be staying over at the inn for a while. Thought I’d introduce you both since, you know, you have something in common.” Grandpa turns to him, patting his back. “You came at the right time, son! The harvest festival is taking place in a few days. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

Sungjin smiles, bowing his head politely. “If you need help with anything, please, let me know.”

“Ah, don’t be silly. You’re a guest! Though I’m sure my granddaughter would be more than happy to show you around, wouldn’t you, sweetheart?”

“I- of course!” You stutter slightly, not expecting for the conversation to be thrown back to you. “I do need to go to the market later. Why don’t you tag along?”

“That sounds great, actually.” Sungjin nods. “I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.” You bite your inner lip to suppress a smile, though you don’t think it’s working very much.

Sungjin’s really handsome, and even from the short conversation you’ve had with him, you already know he’s effortlessly charming. It’s rare for Pyoseon-ri to receive visitors, let alone someone with a noble job like his.

“What’s got you smiling so prettily?” A new voice asks a few moments later, and you turn to see that it’s Younghyun.

“No one,” you mutter, before clearing your throat. “I mean, nothing. Are you done with setting up the tents?”

Younghyun shrugs, hands gripping the towel slung around his neck. “We’re putting up the lanterns tonight. Wanna come with me to the market?”

You gasp, a smile making its way to your lips as you set down your paintbrush, standing up eagerly. “Actually, yeah. There’s someone I want you to meet— I'll introduce you to him later. Pick me up at the inn in an hour, okay?”

“Him?” Younghyun echoes, but you’re already skipping back towards the village hall, blissfully unaware.

He watches you go, the warmth of your smile lingering even after you’re long gone. He exhales softly before turning back to the shed, though for some reason, he can't shake off the feeling of unease that’s beginning to bloom in his chest.

✦ ✦ ✦

Younghyun tightens his grip around the steering wheel.

You’re seated right next to him, knee bumping into his every time his truck goes over a hump, but even despite the lack of distance between you both, your attention isn’t on him.

It’s on Park Sungjin.

Younghyun hasn’t said a single word since he picked you and your new pilot friend up in his truck; he couldn’t, even if he wanted to. There’s an ease between the two of you— shared lingo, familiar gripes, jokes only people in the aviation industry would understand. It’s comfortable, natural.

And in the driver’s seat, Younghyun is anything but.

You’re laughing at something Sungjin had said, and the sound causes him to inhale sharply— not like he had meant to. But that must've caught the pilot’s attention, because he soon turns to him.

“What about you, Younghyun? Have you always been at the village?”

He could tell the question is genuine, but his lips still twitch in irritation. “Yeah,” he utters, keeping his voice level. “I did leave for a few years to do my masters, but now here I am.”

“You know, you never told me what you studied,” you pause before an excited gasp leaves your lips. “Was it music? You know, Younghyun’s really good with instruments.” You turn back to Sungjin. “Back when we were younger, he’d always have his guitar with him, even if it was just to go to the convenience store. It was so annoying-“ you laugh before your voice grows softer, “but everybody always looked forward to hear him play.”

Younghyun’s breath hitches at your words, though he’s not quite sure if it’s because you’d remembered, or the fact that he hasn’t heard you this animated since you came here.

You’re still turned towards Sungjin, cheeks flushed with laughter, and he watches the way you light up in a way he hasn’t seen— not for him, at least. Not like you did last time.

A flicker of something bitter coils in his chest.

“It was environmental law,” he utters curtly, knuckles paling as he squeezes the steering wheel again.

“Wow, really?” You sound genuinely surprised.

He chuckles dryly. “Why? Didn’t think I had it in me?”

“No.” You frown. “I just- wasn’t expecting that.” You’re quiet for a few seconds before you continue, “then… why did you stay?” You ask tentatively, as though unsure on whether your question would be deemed offensive or not.

Younghyun takes a beat to reply, but his words are sure. “Because Pyoseon’s my home.”

The ride is silent after that.

IX. YOUNGHYUN IS IN A BIT OF A JAM.

It seems like the harvest festival has gotten everyone’s hands on deck, because Younghyun hasn’t spoken to you in days. He’s seen you, of course, but most of the time you’re either busy helping out the grandmas in the communal kitchen, or out in the fields harvesting fruit as you giggle with Sungjin about God knows what.

Younghyun strikes down his axe with a little more force than necessary, the wood log splitting into two in one go. He just doesn’t get why Sungjin has to linger around, offering to help, but more importantly— why did he have to stick with you?

“Need help?”

Younghyun pauses, glancing over his shoulder to see that it’s the man himself, two cans of beer in his hands. He offers one— and because Younghyun doesn’t want to seem like an asshole— he accepts.

“So, is the harvest festival a big thing you guys do every year? Seems like everybody is involved.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Younghyun utters, tapping his fingers mindlessly on the rim before cracking the tab open. “It’s mostly out of tradition, not money. The elders have been doing it for years now.”

“I see. I like it, though.” Sungjin smiles wistfully. “The village spirit, I mean. You don’t really get to see that elsewhere.”

Younghyun hums, taking a sip of his beer for the mere sake of needing something to do. It’s not like he has anything against small talk, but it’s obvious from the get-go that him and Sungjin are worlds apart. That, and-

“You don’t like me very much, do you?”

Younghyun raises a brow before he chuckles, though he’s sure it comes off more sarcastic than amused. “What makes you think that?”

“Well, for starters, you always look less than thrilled every time I’m around. Even now, you’re gripping on to that can like you have a personal grudge against it.” Sungjin nods towards the can in his hand, which, true to his words, is being held in an iron grip. Younghyun relaxes his fingers.

“I’m just not too keen on newcomers,” Younghyun mutters under his breath, taking another swig from his drink.

“No.” Sungjin pushes himself off the wall behind him. “You’re just not too keen on me.”

Younghyun laughs humourlessly. To think that he thought he was being stupid for not liking the dude when he hasn’t done anything wrong— scratch that. He thinks he might actually hate the guy now.

“And it’s all because of a certain someone, isn’t it?”

He didn’t even need to say your name. The knowing glint in his eyes is enough.

“Well, I don’t blame you,” Sungjin continues lightly. He takes a slow sip of his beer, eyes still on Younghyun. “She’s easy to like.”

Younghyun’s jaw tightens.

Oh, he’s really starting to hate this guy.

“There you are!”

The sound of your voice causes Younghyun to look away first, breaking whatever staring contest he was having with Sungjin. You approach them with a smile, clearly unaware of the tension in the air.

“Can somebody help me lift the fruit crates? They’re heavier than they look,” you huff, brushing your hair behind your ear while your other hand stays on your hip.

You’re sure you’re looking a mess right now, your skin flushed pink due to the heat and your shirt clinging to your body with sweat. You’ve been on your feet since daybreak, and you think your limbs might just fall off if you so much try to carry something with your arms.

“I got it.”

“I’ll help.”

Both men say at the same time, and your eyes widen before you let out a chuckle. “Okay. Didn’t know I was so in-demand,” you attempt at a joke, but only Sungjin laughs.

“What can I say? It must be your lucky day.”

Your smile drops a fraction as you glance at Younghyun, who only looks away when your eyes meet.

He still hasn’t looked at you properly since your conversation with him in his truck, and you’re stuck wondering if he’s mad at you— that you’d crossed a line without meaning to.

You thought things were better now— they were supposed to be, because what the hell was that night on your birthday, then? Or that little moment you had at the farm?

Maybe you’re wrong. Maybe you’d been looking too much into it.

Or maybe, Kang Younghyun's still the same boy you knew from ten years ago— bad with words, and even worst with emotions.

✦ ✦ ✦

The three of you end up working side by side, but even then, you can't stop your eyes from drifting to Younghyun every now and then.

He's quiet, mostly keeping his focus on the task at hand and barely speaking unless he has to.

Now you know that something's definitely up.

You wait until Sungjin excuses himself to take a call before stepping closer. "Hey," you say softly, tentatively. "Can we talk?"

Younhyun glances over his shoulder. "Sure," he exhales before facing you completely, wiping his palms on his pants. "You okay?"

"Yeah. I just..." you trail off, fingers fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve as you think of your next words. "The other day? In your truck. I'm sorry if I said something out of line. I never meant to make you feel like your choice wasn't good enough."

Younghyun tilts his head, almost in confusion as his brows furrow. "Wha- Peach," he sighs as he steps closer. "You didn't say anything wrong. Did I really make you feel that way?"

"I don't know." You shrug, averting your gaze. "I guess I just thought you were mad at me."

"I'm not mad at you. I could never be mad at you, Princess," he murmurs. "I'm so sorry. I worried you, didn't I?"

You meet his gaze again, and for the first time in days, it feels like he's really looking at you.

You bite your inner lip, and Younghyun's gaze softens. He doesn't hesitate before bringing his palm to your cheek, caressing your skin gently. "I'm just... figuring things out," he says quietly. "Don't think about it too much, okay?"

You're not convinced, and you're sure he could see through you, but Younghyun settles for a smile— soft, genuine, and unlike the teasing smirks he'd always shoot your way. You can't help but wonder if things really are changing between the both of you.

"Tomorrow," he continues softly. "Would you make some time for me? During the festival?"

You don't know why he even felt the need to ask. "Of course, Younghyun."

His smile grows wider then, but it still doesn't reach his eyes. "Then that's enough consolation for me."

You don't know what he means by that, but you decide to let it be for now.

Because maybe, you were wrong. As much as Kang Younghyun is still bad with handling his emotions, it didn't mean that he's still the same boy you left ten years ago.

Because this time, he's not pushing you away.

This time, he's finally trying.

And you're not going to let the same thing from before happen again.

X. BEFORE THE STORM IN THE PIT OF YOUR STOMACH...

Lanterns glow overhead, casting the village in a warm haze. The air smells of sweet teok and grilled seafood, and as much as you’re tempted to help yourself to another round, the fireworks show is about to start, and you’re still yet to find the one person you’ve been looking for since the festival started.

You’re breathless by the time you spot Younghyun, over at the game booths where he’s currently competing in ball toss with one of the village kids. He’s looking far too engrossed and far too set on winning that he doesn’t even notice you, only doing so when the game ends and he turns to give the kid a high-five. The bright smile on his face grows softer then, and you step towards him.

“You couldn’t have let him win?”

Younghyun chuckles. “He’s twelve. He’ll be fine. You didn’t see me give him my prize?”

“I did. I just wanted to tease you.”

The soft smile is still etched on his lips as he gazes at you. Quietly, he says, “come. I want to show you something.”

You nod, letting him lead the way. The chatter and laughter of the crowd grow more distant the further you set out, and soon you’re surrounded by nothing but the occasional chirping of crickets and the sound of your own footsteps.

“You’re not kidnapping me, are you?” You ask warily. “At least let me watch the fireworks first.”

Younghyun laughs as he glances over his shoulder. “You’ll get your fireworks, Peach. I’m not that cruel.”

You roll your eyes, though it lacks any real bite. It’s dark out, making it difficult for you to actually tell where you are— that is, until the path you’re on starts looking a little too familiar, and you realise—

“The peach orchard?”

Younghyun nods with a proud grin. “I just thought it was weird we haven’t been here since you arrived. So I figured, why not tonight? For old time’s sake.”

You let out a short laugh as you step forward, taking in the scene before you. It’s still the same as you remember, with the four-seater swing under the oldest tree where you used to spend too much time eating peaches on, and the solar-powered garden lanterns that would only turn on at night lined along the pathway.

You turn to Younghyun to say something— anything, at that point— but the sudden series of whistles and crackles in the sky cause you to look up instead.

You marvel at the explosion of colours, streaks of red and gold sizzling at the edges before dissapearing into smoke.

“So pretty,” you murmur, mostly to yourself.

“The prettiest,” Younghyun replies just as quietly, and you turn to see that he’s already looking at you.

His gaze doesn't waver, not when the sky lights up again, not when the boom rattles around you. You wonder how long he's been watching you instead of the fireworks.

"You haven't changed," he continues. "You still light up like that when you're happy."

You heart thunders in your chest. "I- what do you mean?”

Younghyun smiles faintly. "Your birthday. The day at the farm. This moment right now," he exhales. "I've been holding myself back from saying it all this while, but I don't think I can keep doing that anymore."

Another burst of light reflects in his eyes when he finally turns to you fully.

"I never stopped loving you, Peach.”

Your breath hitches in your throat, and when you see the way his eyes flicker to your lips, you’re sure you stop breathing completely.

Slowly, Younghyun leans in, his fingers reaching up to brush against your cheek. You don’t pull away, and the moment his breath hits your skin, you close your eyes.

But just as his lips are about to touch yours—

Your phone pings.

You flinch, hands fumbling to silence it. But Younghyun’s already glanced down, catching the name on your screen.

Sungjin.

He inhales sharply. It’s quiet, but you catch it anyway.

“We should head back,” he mutters, taking a step back. “Before somebody else notices you’re gone.”

“Younghyun, don’t do that,” you whisper, shaking your head. “I’m not letting you push me away. Not again.”

“I’m not pushing you away, I just-“ he pauses to sigh. “He likes you too, you know?”

“So?” You scoff. “Sungjin’s just a friend, and he’s literally leaving next week. It’s not like he’s staying here forever.”

“And you are?”

His question sounds simple, but it carries a certain weight you’ve been dead set on avoiding. You look away. 

“I don’t know.” It’s silent for a while before you sigh. “He told me there’s an opening at his airline. I- I haven’t said yes yet, but-“

“But you’re thinking about it.”

You nod slowly. “It’s a good opportunity.”

“If it’s something you want.“ His eyes drift to the sky. “Then you should go for it.”

You remain silent as you search his face, trying to find a hint of sincerity. But his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, and that tells you all you need to know.

“Do you want me to?”

“If it makes you happy,” Younghyun quips simply, like that in itself is enough— it isn’t.

You step closer towards him. “That’s not what I asked.”

“It’s what matters,” he corrects you, and your heart twists. Because as much as he’s saying all the right things, you can see right through him— the ache he’s trying to swallow down.

And suddenly, it feels like you’re staring at twenty-two year old Kang Younghyun again, only this time, he’s not just letting you go— he’s bracing for it.

XI. PEACH BETTER HAVE MY HEART.

You ended up taking the job.

You didn’t tell Younghyun, but he found out anyway. Word spreads fast in the small village of Pyoseon— that, and that Sungjin had already told him, the day he was set to leave.

"I don't know what happened between you two, but I think you fucked up, dude," Sungjin muttered as he loaded his bags into the taxi. He turned to Younghyun. "But anyway, she already said no to me. Do what you will with that info." He smiled briefly, patting him on the shoulder. "I don't suppose you'd be up for a drink the next time I come here?"

Younghyun chuckled, and for the first time, there wasn't any hint of malice in it. "Have a safe journey, man."

And that led him to now, in his room, lying down on his bed as he stares at the ceiling blankly.

Younghyun knows he's in no place to blame you for not letting him know. After all, it was him who had run away like a coward— all because he was far too afraid to tell you that he wanted you to stay. Needed you to stay.

But who is he to do that? Who is he to stop you from chasing your own happiness? You'd left ten years ago and managed to make a name for yourself— that alone was evidence at how well you could thrive without having anything holding you back. Meanwhile, his masters degree is collecting dust somewhere in his drawer, all because he couldn't bare to leave the village and the people he calls home.

Maybe this is what it means to love someone. Wanting you to be happy, even if it doesn't include him.

But of course, what he doesn't know is that he's missed the point entirely— because there's no damn way you could be happy without him.

You stare out of the window blankly, the fields passing you by. You don't notice the way Grandpa keeps stealing glances at you as he drives, far too caught up in your own thoughts.

"He'll show up. Don't worry."

You turn to look at him. "Huh?"

"Younghyun."

You scoff humourlessly. "I highly doubt it."

"Even then, what seems to be the issue? You're finally getting back on your feet. Soon you'll be flying again, and you won't even remember it happened."

"I don't think I could ever forget him," you say quietly. "I never did. Even when I left ten years ago. Even when I kept coming back to visit and he wasn't around. Even when-" you pause, fiddling with your fingers. "Even when he hurt me. Pushed me away."

Grandpa sighs. "Did he ever tell you why he left?"

"Yeah? To get his masters."

"No," Grandpa chuckles. "Well, he did, but that wasn't all to it. Said he wanted to give it a try— do something new. Just like you did." He smiles wistfully. "So he took on environmental law. And he was good at it, you know? Until he came back and said it wasn't for him."

He shakes his head. "But I knew it wasn't his job he disliked— it was the system. He realised he'd be spending more time fighting paperwork than actually making a change, so... he left. Because in this day and age, where everyone wants to sell and modernise, someone has to stay behind and say no."

You swallow harshly. "I didn't know that."

"He never stopped talking about you, you know?" Grandpa glances at you softly. "About how much he admired you for going out there, living life in a way he never could've imagined himself to do."

You remain wordless, though your heart rings loudly in your ears.

He sighs then. "He never wanted to hold you back. A quiet life in a quiet town? That's Younghyun. But it isn't you, is it?"

"I could be." The words tumble out of your mouth before you could stop them, and when you turn to Grandpa, wide-eyed, he's already smiling at you softly.

"What's stopping you, then?"

Your pulse beats faster now, louder, and though your next words come out in a hushed whisper, you've never been more sure.

"Turn back around, Grandpa. Please."

✦ ✦ ✦

Younghyun isn't home by the time you reach his place. Grandpa's already left, and so that leaves you with no choice but to sit at his front doorstep— not like you even wanted to leave, anyway. You'd wait all night for him if you have to, just so you could scream at his face and call him stupid and then kiss him senseless. In that order exactly.

You don't notice how much time had passed— definitely far too long, that's for sure— as you tremble in the cold, fiddling with the charm of the necklace he gifted you; like doing so would give you some semblance of hope that he'd return.

And he does, hours later, his hair unkempt like he's brushed his hand through it one too many times, face sullen and eyes red like he'd been crying.

He spots you the same time you look up, and Younghyun stops in his tracks, lips parting.

"Peach-"

"You weren't even going to say goodbye?" You whisper harshly, getting to your feet as you step towards him until you were toe to toe. "I waited for you." Your voice trembles, and you know you're about to start crying. "I waited for you and risked almost missing my flight, but you never came. And then Grandpa told me we had to go, and I did, and then I told him I couldn't do it and asked him to turn back around and- and you weren't even home!"

Younghyun gazes at you silently before he looks to his shoes, exhaling shakily. "I went to the airport," he murmurs as he clenches his fists, knuckles turning white. "I thought- I thought you left. That I was too late. That I missed my chance to fix things again-"

"Then why do you keep doing that?" You question him exasperatedly. "After everything! My birthday, the fireworks— you told me you never stopped loving me. And you were just going to let me leave?" 

"Because I knew you'd stay," he fires back, voice cracking. "And I didn't want you to drop everything just because I asked you to."

"God, Younghyun," you chuckle bitterly. "That isn't your choice to make!"

"You think I don't know that?" He exclaims, frustrated. "You think I haven't kicked myself for every second I spent not running after you?"

Younghyun clenches his jaw as he turns away, tears pooling in his eyes. "Ten years ago, I let you go because I was scared— scared that loving you from halfway across the country would wreck me. And maybe it would have. But watching you leave again, not because you wanted to, but because you thought I didn't care— that broke me worse."

You're quiet as you let your first tear fall.

"I didn't let you go because I didn't love you," Younghyun whispers, meeting your gaze again. "I let you go because I did. So much. And I didn't know how to hold on to someone whose dreams would always take her to anywhere else."

"That's why you didn't fight for me?" You ask quietly, shakily.

A humourless scoff escapes his lips. "I didn't think I deserved to."

"Idiot." A choked sob escapes your lips, followed by a short laugh as you wipe your cheek with the back of your hand. "I love you too, you know?"

Younghyun gazes at you sadly through his own tears.

"Grandpa told me everything," you continue, lips still trembling. "The actual reason you stayed. And if you'd just told me—" you hiccup. "We could've figured something out. Anything. Because I don't think I'd be able to leave a second time knowing I'm not the only one still holding on," you pause. "Am I?"

"God, no." Younghyun runs a hand through his face. "Never."

"Then let's take this chance," you whisper, taking his hands into yours. "We've lost ten years already, so don't you dare push me away because you think you're not enough. Let me decide if it's worth it."

Younghyun chuckles softly, and he lets you reach up to wipe the moisture from his cheeks, still staring at you like you're the only thing that matters in his world. You are.

"I'm not staying for you, Younghyun. I'm staying with you. Remember that."

Finally, he pulls you in, and this time, Younghyun holds you like he's afraid you'd slip through his fingers again. You let him, clutching the back of his shirt like it's the only thing anchoring you to the ground.

"Okay," he murmurs, his lips brushing the crown of your forehead. "I don't want to run anymore. Not if you'd still have me."

"Stupid. Of course I'll still have you," you mumble against his chest before pulling back to look at him. "But you'd have to spend the rest of your life making it up to me."

He smiles, thumbs brushing the sides of your face. "I wouldn't dare think of doing otherwise."

And then, he kisses you, and it feels like a new life has been breathed into you once again.

It isn't loud, or overwhelming— just the steady beat of two hearts finally catching up to one another.

Home.

After everything, you've found your way home.

[annwrites]

⸻ shady belle. ⸻

· pairing: charles smith x fem!reader · type: part of a miniseries · summary: you ask charles to come away with you from shady belle for awhile so that you can discuss concerns which have been weighing heavily upon your worried mind. · tags: angst · tw: internalized racism · word count: 2k

You do not like this new place you are meant to call ‘home’. Nowhere is home now. Rather, home is now solely, instead, a person. Him. Your husband. Your protector. Charles.

You miss the last two camps. At least Horseshoe Overlook did just as its very name implied: overlook the expansive land which lied all around you. The rivers which cut through it, and the canyons that distant eagle cries echoed off of, creating a symphony of music to be found only in nature’s embrace. And the weather was cool, with a town not far, should any of you require anything. And having a church so near to be prayed at the altar of was a welcome facet.

And while Clemens Point could be humid, sitting directly on the water came with great benefits. You never wanted for water to cook or clean with. Nor did any of you need to fear going hungry, what, with a pole always cast in the lake, waiting for a nibble to be had on a baited hook.

This place, however—Shady Belle—feels far too open. Too obvious to those who would wish to do you all great harm. You’ve enemies on all sides now.

Pinkerton agents are hot on your heels, desiring to see you all behind bars for the remainder of your days. O’Driscolls, who wish to decimate you, so as to reduce your leader. A leader you, yourself, admittedly, have lost much faith in, due to recent events. You do not voice such reservations aloud, however. Only to your beloved husband do you confide in now. And then there are the Lemoyne Raiders. The men here killed a number of them to take this place. You fear more will come seeking vengeance, before long, for such a trespass.

They believe such despicable things, these ‘Raiders’. Such as the sentiment of slaves—your fellow human beings, who just happened to be born upon the face of this Earth with different skin-tones than you, or they—deserving to still yet be in shackles. They would take your husband from you. They can die trying just like the rest who now rot six feet under, right where they belong.

You have begun to fear that Dutch is losing his grip on reality. He spouts inane nonsense of ‘making a lot of noise’, ‘gathering a lot of money’, and then finding your ways to a place called Tahiti.

You do not want to go there. Do not want to gather mangoes from treetops, while you live out of huts with straw roofs in the middle of a foreign land.

‘Making a lot of noise’ is what got you all in this position to begin with. You think he is beginning to lose control. Hosea does his best to be the voice of reason, but to be as much, would require he be listened to.

Dutch seems only to care for the advice of the devil on his shoulder now: Micah Bell. All other opinions expressed to him fall upon deaf ears.

He is leading all of you to ruin and worse.

Why, then, do you feel as if you are the only one who is capable of seeing it?

You find your husband seated behind the derelict mansion, which now serves as shelter for all of you. He is feathering arrows and sharpening broadheads. Perhaps he means to hunt later. There are alligators aplenty in nearby waters, but they frighten you, so you stay close to land instead.

“Charles?” you say quietly before seating yourself beside him on a stained marble bench.

He ceases his current task momentarily to look upon your lovely face. He’s glad that you have filled out properly, and that there is always color upon your cheeks. It soothes him to see it. He would never have you returned to your previous state. Never.

“Everything alright?”

No, you want to say. Nothing is alright. Not anymore.

You shake your head while worrying your lower lip between your teeth. “Could we venture into town later? I want to be alone with you. There are many things we need to speak about.”

He sets the arrows aside and turns fully toward you, his expression alone entirely portraying his now-troubled state. “Are you alright? Do you…” he trails off suddenly, and then his gaze drifts downward, to your belly, before his eyes flit back to your own. “Are you—”

You shake your head, then stand and settle yourself upon his ample lap. “No. I’m not with child. There’s just…concerns I would like for us to discuss. But in private. Not here.”

He nods—a small pit of disappointment settling deep in his gut. “We’ll go right now.”

You find yourselves in the solitude of a quiet riverbank as Taima waters herself.

“Talk to me,” your husband commands in a soothing tone, with gentle hands resting comfortingly upon your womanly curves.

He wishes to coax the concerns which have you so distressed from your pink lips.

You take his callused hand in your own while tracing the bends and indentations of his wedding ring with one of your fingertips. “I am afraid. I do not like this place we now find ourselves in. Dutch seems…so far gone. I fear it will only get worse the longer that serpent whispers in his ear, and clouds his mind with grandiose ideas that will never come to be.”

You raise your head while studying Charles from beneath your lashes. “I wish for us to leave. It is no longer safe for you or I. With the way things are heading…” you shake your head while gazing out across the wide river that burbles at your feet. “This all ends one way.”

You look at Charles once more. “I would have it otherwise. The two of us safe, and far from where we find ourselves now.” You tug his hand into your lap. “Let us go. Tonight, while they're all asleep. We will be long gone come the morn, and—”

He slips his hand from your grip to instead cup your cheek. “I understand you’re scared. And it’s not that I don’t see any of it. I do. Believe me, I’m well-aware of what’s happening. But…” he sighs. “Where would we go? What would we do?”

You scoot closer, and press yourself into the sturdiness of his side. “I do not care, so long as we are together. We will find work. I trust in God to provide—”

He curses, and you swallow nervously. “What work is there to be had for a man that looks like me? Who would take me on, even for mere menial labor, that could otherwise fund a white man’s pocket instead? That is what I meant when I told you that day near Valentine that you could’ve found yourself better than some half-breed—”

“No!” you shout, refusing to hear him insult himself further in such a wretched manner. You take his hand once more, refusing to let go this time, no matter how hard he may fight. “We are each two halves of a whole. I will hear no more talk like that. Do you understand me, Charles Smith?”

His eyes flit between your own, but he does not deign to reply.

“You are my life now. I vowed myself to you in every way before we ever did so literally before the Reverend and our peers. There is no taking it back. I would sooner die than even consider it. You may not believe it, but I do: that the Lord will provide. Each time I have doubted or cursed Him, thinking He has forsaken me, I am proven a fool for it. I lost my parents, and then I found you. We fled from each previous camp we tentatively called home, only to discover another to shelter us. I thought myself destitute after the debacle with that ring, and yet you single-handedly managed the return of my money. And so I trust in Him now as well. He will see us through, but we must ourselves act by going forward instead of standing still.”

He shakes his head while muttering unknown words in his mother tongue. You know he is cursing. You think to chastise him for it, but refrain.

And then he sighs. “These people took both of us in when no one else would have us. You would just abandon them? What of Mary-Beth, who considers you a sister, or Susan Grimshaw, who sees you as a surrogate daughter? Or Arthur, who treats me like a brother? And Hosea, who struggles to make ends meet each day? You would walk away from them so easily, without so much as a goodbye or farewell?”

You fill with guilt. To the very brim.

You have thought much on this. You intended to write a note, which would be found the next morning, should the two of you depart by train overnight in Rhodes. It is not how you wish for things to be, but you fail to see any other way out now.

You fear what Dutch may do if he suspects dissension in the ranks. He is paranoid enough, as things currently stand.

“How long do we stay before you finally see sense, in that we have to save ourselves, even if it may be to the detriment, or of great cost, to others? I would not relinquish our lives to follow that man down a path only he seems able to see.”

You take Charles’ plump face between your palms, and your eyes fill with tears. “He does not care for us, Charles. I don’t…know if he ever has. For any of them, either. Think about it: how he himself lives while the rest of us scrounge for scraps. His tent, which has always had wooden floorboards to walk upon, a queen-size bed to sleep in, a wood-stove to keep him warm, a Victrola to play music from in the evenings. Even now he takes the most spacious room in the house.

"And then there are his fine clothes—a patterned vest, a golden pocket-watch, polished black leather boots. And yet still he wishes for more. Asks how he might acquire a fur rug from one of your hunts, or a decorative skull to hang from the outer poles of his tent.

“He reads his books, and writes in his fanciful journals, and humors himself a philosopher. I think he is just a conman. Like that shopkeeper with the box of rings. I am only sorry that it took me so long to see it. He is clearly adept at blinding us, by convincing us all that the enemy isn’t he who currently stands before our very eyes, speaking with a silver tongue.”

Your heart shatters as a tear slips from your lover’s eye. You have hurt him.

You wish to drown yourself in the river at the very prospect.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper while deflating.

He takes you into his arms and cradles your head against his chest before bestowing a kiss upon the crown of it. “No. You’re right. I know you’re right. Maybe I just…for all my sensibilities didn’t want to see it myself, like you only just said. Or, rather, admit it. It’s not that it’s Dutch I stay for, but the rest of them. But I know there’s no way to convince them to come with us if we did as you are asking me to.”

You nuzzle closer, trying to absorb this moment. One which you may return to time and again, within your mind, when you feel too overwhelmed by happenstances which seek to tear you apart from the inside out.

“I just…need a little more time. I have to figure things out first before we just traipse off in the middle of the night. Alright?”

You nod in understanding. “I will follow you anywhere.”

To the grave, you think.

But you do not say it, for you refuse to speak such a terrible prospect into existence.

[mariacallous]

The far-right violence against foreigners in the United Kingdom these days strongly reminds me of a novel published in the 1980s: J.M. Coetzee’s Waiting for the Barbarians.

Coetzee, a South African novelist who won the Nobel Prize in literature in 2003, describes in this slim volume exactly why and how this kind of violence erupts: because communities have been drip-fed lies and racial prejudices for a long time, until they form an image of strangers—in this novel, the barbarian nomadic tribes—that has very little to do anymore with reality.

The central character in Waiting for the Barbarians, which Philip Glass turned into an opera in 2005, is a middle-aged magistrate who has been running a sleepy border settlement of an unnamed Empire for years. Nothing ever happens in the village or in neighboring towns and villages. Everyone knows everyone. The subjects of the Empire and the barbarians living on the other side of the border, which is totally porous, have bent the rules so that everyone can go about their business without bothering others. The barbarians come to the village for food and medicine and go home afterward.

The magistrate must implement the rules of the Empire but tries to do this in a human, benign-ish way. When there is an occasional cattle raid, for example, he has a serious talk with those who did it. He hardly ever takes prisoners, and when he does, they are fed, kept clean, and often released early: “All my life I have believed in civilized behaviour.” In his view, conflicts do not benefit anyone and should be avoided. All is certainly not perfect, but it keeps the peace. The communities live more or less quietly side by side.

Then, one day, a delegation from the Empire’s secret service (the “Third Bureau”), led by Colonel Joll, visits the village. Joll, an unbending bureaucrat, is convinced that the nomad tribes are secretly preparing an attack on the Empire. He leads an expedition in search of rebels and radicals and comes back to the settlement with many suspects in chains. They are terrified. Suddenly, the prison is full. The inmates are humiliated, starved, and tortured. The magistrate tries to stop this (“These are fishermen, not rebels!”), but Colonel Joll sidelines him and continues to torture the barbarians until all “confess.”

After the colonel’s departure, the magistrate feeds the prisoners and sends most of them home. One of them is a nomad girl. He tends to her wounds, washes her feet, and sleeps with her. Eventually, he brings her all the way back to her tribe. When he returns home after the long journey, Joll is back. He has the magistrate charged with treason—“consorting with the enemy”—and throws him in the same jail where the barbarians are kept.

No one comes to the magistrate’s rescue. Many villagers have become as hysterical as the colonel, and the rest are lying low. By now, every barbarian seems like a terrorist to them. Any behavior that was once normal has become suspect. Eventually, of course, the village just destroys itself—without a single barbarian going on the attack. The settlement is a ruin. Most people have left, including the colonel and his people. The magistrate stays: He has nowhere to go. As a bitter winter cold sets in, he feels stupid, “like a man who lost his way long ago but presses on along a road that may lead nowhere.”

Although the novel was published in 1980, it has stark relevance for our times. Coetzee, whose Empire of course depicted South Africa under apartheid, shows how easy it is for a few zealots to turn communities that have long managed to live in peace against one another. All they need to do is to plant false, scary rumors about a particular group; embed them in a larger narrative about sovereignty, nationhood, and security; and then start pumping that narrative around. If citizens are scared enough, they are willing to believe it all. As Hermann Göring, the architect of Adolf Hitler’s Nazi police state, said when he was asked how he got the German people to accept Nazism: “The people can always be brought to the bidding of the leaders. That is easy. All you have to do is tell them they are being attacked and denounce the pacifists for lack of patriotism and exposing the country to danger.”

With this grim novel, Coetzee issued a strong, principled condemnation of South Africa’s apartheid regime, then still in full swing. (He immigrated to Australia later, in 2002.) Its relevance for today’s “far-right thuggery” in the U.K., as Prime Minister Keith Starmer put it last weekend, is no less clear. When far-right politicians fan the flames of racial and religious hatred for years, amplified by social media and newspapers calling migrants and asylum-seekers criminals, at some point Muslim communities and mosques will be targeted, asylum centers will be set ablaze, and Nazi salutes will be seen on the street.

In a democracy, words have consequences. A democracy is a political system that must ensure different communities in society do not get at one another’s throats. All communities have different interests. Therefore, there is always some friction between them. Because society is always changing, the balance between the communities is always changing, too. Democracy is meant to help them find a new balance, all the time. This applies to all levels of governance: local, provincial, national, European. Politics, journalism, and other institutions have a role to play in this system—a clear responsibility. Incitement, provocations, the spread of fake news, and the demonization of one community because of skin color or religion mean that they reject that responsibility. These are forms of democratic sabotage.

Coetzee’s message, voiced through the magistrate, is not a happy one. “To the last we will have learned nothing. In all of us, deep down, there seems to be something granite and unteachable.” Still, the magistrate plows on—what else can he do? He may be far from perfect, but he is a good man.

In the words of Coetzee, the real danger in society “always comes from within.” The U.K. is lucky to have a prime minister who seems to understand this.

[kabillieu]

My childhood friend and college roommate was in town yesterday, so she came over for dinner. I had not seen her or had much communication with her in about 8 years.

This friend is a wonderful person with a strong sense of justice within the boundaries of her worldview, which are shaped by nondenominational evangelical christianity. Unfortunately, the last 8 years have taught me caution about interacting with people who are deeply religious in this specific way, and I've felt cautious about interacting with her because of this, and it's something that's made me feel bad. My emotions are complicated.

Another reason I have been distant (besides the real culprit: literal physical distance until recently) is that I don't like or trust her husband. They have for many years lived out in the middle of nowhere on his family's land in a small camper, physically and--I suspect--emotionally isolated. My friend has an M.A. in forestry. She is a highly skilled scientist who now works for the Alabama Forestry Commission. Her husband doesn't have a college education and drives trucks. I sound so shittily elitist, but what I suspect--from knowing these kinds of men out here in Alabama--is that he probably expected to be the "leader" of their relationship, but he is almost certainly unequal to her in intellect and emotional intelligence. I also suspected addiction problems the few times I was around him. And they were involved in these christian couples conferences that I find deeply suspicious because imo framing heterosexual marriages through a Bible-based lens often means creating rigid constructs of stereotypes about how women and men are "supposed" to think and behave, which benefit men and are harmful to women. I also think these constructs can aggravate abusive situations. Anyway.

My spidey senses regarding her marriage have been going off a long time, but we're just not close enough anymore for me to know anything about my friend that's super, super personal. And she has the type of personality where she commits so deeply and wholly and will not stray from a path she believes in, even if it's hurtful to her.

So, it was with some relief that I learned that she and her husband have recently separated and are most likely getting divorced, which makes me very sad for her, of course. But also, I know something wasn't right there, and I'm very glad she extracted herself from it. She also moved physically away to another town, which is also relieving. And I hope to keep better in touch with her now that we live in the same state again. In fact she lives probably about an hour or less from our house in Pensacola, so I hope we'll be able to see each other at least once or twice a year now, maybe even more.

I don't have a lot of childhood friends. Really just two that I keep in touch with. I'm deeply glad she's back in my life. Plus, she is just such a badass. In addition to being a field scientist, she's a forest firefighter. Can you imagine? She has a license where she can just go out into the woods with a chainsaw and cut down a tree. My poetry-writing ass could never. Love her. Glad we're back in each other's lives.

[random-ln-stuff]

New New Theory:

The Little Nightmares Universe looks like this:

There’s our world on one side, The Eye’s Nightmare Domain on the other side, and the Nowhere is right there in the middle. “Two flows from one, and here (in Nowhere), is whole again”

The Nowhere is a place with many connected but individual places with unique functions. I imagine that as being a place where each individual location has its own unique THING that the people there are drawn to and a specific person who runs that place. The Maw has Gluttony as its vice and the Lady runs it, the Pale City is addicted to TV and Escapism and the Thin Man Runs it, ETC.

The Spiral though, is a specific part of Nowhere that’s slightly overlapping and closer to the Eye’s Domain, so things are different. More Non-Euclidian. It’s a “cluster of disturbing places” layered on top of each other, with travel between these areas being particularly difficult and travel outside of the Spiral as a whole being downright impossible (hence why Low and Alone are trapped there with them using Mirrors to travel throughout the Spiral).

Also found in the Spiral are many things that the regular Nowhere just doesn’t normally allow, like the Giant Baby that seems to be mechanical in nature. Sure the Nowhere can have things that are just off with reality, like the Nest having strange gravity and the Signal Tower’s warping of time, but in most places reality is somewhat similar in nature to our world. The Maw still follows Euclidean Geometry, The Pale City is perfectly stable reality-wise unless you enter the tower, which is alive and follows its own rules, etc.

Actually, I think each of Noone’s dreams have been placing her in various places in the Nowhere, both closer and farther from reality and the Eye. More specifically, just like this:

Ep 1:

The Stone Giant is the closest Noone has gotten so far to the Eye and the furthest she’s gone from reality. The things described by Noone in episode one simply don’t make sense compared to the other dreams and the games as a whole. A Stone Giant with a endless snowy field on top, with the inside being run by clockwork, and also there’s thousands of other people chained inside rooms, a workshop and a entire courtyard, just inside the Giant.

The Lady In Chains also makes it obvious that this entire dream is symbolism for the Lady and The Maw, which doesn’t make sense if this happening in the regular Nowhere because the Lady is already living here. So Episode 1 is located just outside the Nowhere, in that zone where the Nowhere begins to break down into raw nightmarish chaos.

Even the child Noone encounters here may not be an actual child. Their hair is described similarly to the Lady’s own Shadow Magic, a feature that no other child seen so far has, and it’s possible that this child may also just be a product of the Eye’s Nightmarish, Random Chaos.

Ep 2:

Episode 2 seems to take place in the actual Nowhere. It’s similar, VERY similar, to the Maw and how Guests are brought there, like suspiciously similar, but I’ll give it the benefit of the doubt just this once.

Ep 3:

Episode 3’s Mall is literally just the Signal Tower pre-signal tower. A sentient mass of flesh desperately trying to keep Noone distracted from reality to prevent her from leaving. However, I’ll say that this dream seems to be closer to reality because not only does the Mall pull real things from reality to keep Noone happy, those things are objects that Noone personally knows about and likes. A doll that she’s always wanted, a movie she’s seen 100 times, clothes including the dress she first wore to the institution, etc.

The Mall Signal Tower Flesh Walls are also heavily implied to be near the Ferryman in terms of Power, being one of the only entities to react to his presence and possibly being the thing that pulled Noone into this specific dream just this one time. So the Flesh Walls can definitely come this close to reality, with the Ferryman and (unseen so far) North Wind probably being the only others that can.

Ep 4:

I’d we don’t see a circus in Little Nightmares 3, I’ll eat my own hat. A unique antagonist and location never seen before with no symbolism or any obvious connections to previous monsters. Even the Ferryman fails to appear in this dream. This is obviously a location in the Spiral.

[azimachra]

You know what’s annoying? The fact that people are right about exercise. For years and years I told myself that I wasn’t an athlete. I’d tried more sports than I could count on my fingers and I was bad or disliked all of them. I’m slow so track didn’t work. Ice skating was fun but everyone started so much younger than I did and I felt like I would never catch up. My hand eye coordination and reaction time are actually terrible so tennis was a disaster. The list goes on.

Eventually I convinced myself that sports just weren’t for me. Everyone told me that being active in some way or another would improve my mood and help me get better sleep. I knew from experience that sports and being active would do nothing but make me (more) miserable. I relegated myself to the position of the eternal nerd. I didn’t need *sports* to live a fulfilled life or to feel good in my body.

Cut to a year and a half ago. I had some childhood experience with martial arts (I stopped in middle school because it wasn’t feminine enough or something like that) and decided after some of the quarantine restrictions lifted that I wanted to try again. the place I trained when I was younger went under during the height of covid and that sport was pretty rare so there was nowhere else to train. I chose a martial art I’d heard about at random - Brazilian Jiu Jitsu - and tried it.

I’d like to say that I was a prodigy, that I understood the sport instinctually, that I was praised by my coaches for my natural talent. That, unfortunately, would be a lie. I was downright terrible when I started. Everything was so difficult. Other people understood the principles and applications in a way that I couldn’t. It seemed like everyone was either way more advanced than me or twice my size. The first few months, I was learning techniques and training but I still didn’t get it. My coach told me that the instinct would come with time. I was worried that this would just be another piece of proof that I’m not athletic, that I don’t have the body or mental fortitude. I was scared of failing, but I loved the sport. Since then, I’ve massively improved. Some things that I struggled with before have fallen into place and I’ve found new things to struggle with. I’m competent for my level and I even competed in a tournament. Has it been easy? No. Do I always feel confident in my ability? Absolutely not. But BJJ has undeniably changed my life for the better. I feel more comfortable in my body, I’ve gotten stronger and more resilient, found a new community, and yes it totally has helped with my sleep schedule and emotional wellbeing.

While I love BJJ I am not promising that you will too (although it is amazing for self defense, a skill everyone benefits from but is extra useful to women and femme presenting folks in our current society). What I’m trying to say is that despite my years of disbelief it turns out that everyone was in fact correct about physical activity/sports being good for you. It also turns out that I was wrong about my belief that I was inherently un-athletic. I also want to say that you can do this on your terms. There are so many more ways to move your body than just hitting a ball with a stick or running in circles. Don’t let yourself stay trapped in a cage with fictional bars; in an 80’s movie trope where you can only be a jock or a nerd; in a mindset that limits you from being happy and healthy. Find something that makes you excited to do because I promise, it is out there.

[angelofthemornings]

Man, I do not want to get into discourse about this and will be ignoring all attempts to do so, but it's interesting that I haven't seen almost anybody on here talk about what we want the endgame to be in Israel/Palestine.

I think we're looking at a two-state solution. (That's gonna be hard for a lot of reasons, such as the fact that Palestinian areas of Israel are kind of scattered all over the map and the country looks more like a puzzle than like, "Gaza" and "everywhere else." This is just one example.)

But the one post I've seen about what to do next was like, let's deport all the Israelis like they did in Algeria, which

a) The white people getting out of Algeria was a massive human rights issue. Aside from the fact that mass deportation is ugly and genocidal, Algeria had refugees just sleeping on the streets in like Paris. There was nowhere for them to go and everybody hated them. Depleting Israel would be an absolutely extraordinary human rights violation and aside from people losing their homes and livelihoods and friendships and anything else they built in Israel, frankly it would get people killed. (I'm a Tatar. We underwent mass deportation and recently at that. Don't argue with me that it can be done in a pleasant way.)

b) The Algerian situation is different because the white people in Algeria had social and linguistic ties to places like France. Meanwhile, I think few Israelis have these ties to where Grandma came from in Lithuania. Also, I think pieds-noirs and their descendants make up something like 13% of the Algerian population today, so it's not like they completely emptied the place.

c) You really think some nice countries are going to take in millions of disenfranchised Jews? Really? Jews? Half the reason why so many people died during the Holocaust is that Jewish refugees were actively being turned away when they tried to leave. This was the fucking 1940s. People are still alive from that time. And I don't think countries would even take in millions of a displaced ethnic group that was more popular like the Swiss or whoever. We're not in the potato famine era anymore when they just let anybody in, we're in an incredibly hostile global environment for immigrants and refugees. It would be nice if that changed, but it's not going to fast enough to help Palestine.

c1) This also ignores the purpose of Israel. Back in the day in Poland, many centuries ago, the Poles let in a lot of Jewish people. This isn't because they were enlightened or kind, it's because they wanted educated people who could collect taxes for the nobility, creating a buffer population who would get killed because if the peasants took issue with this they were gonna attack the evil Jew instead of the szlachta. Similarly, regardless of how one feels about Israel today, it wasn't created for Jewish self-determination or anything warm and fuzzy like that, it was founded by the imperial core in hopes that Middle Eastern bullets would hit Jewish bodies. There would be a massive fight to keep Israelis in Israel. (And this raises the question of what body has both the manpower and desire to mass deport Jews out of the territory to begin with.)

d) Open borders are nice. I don't think someone should be prevented from living somewhere because of their ethnoreligious group, that's evil. I feel this way especially because of how meaningful making aliyah is to many Jewish people and it is UNDENIABLE that they have SIGNIFICANT cultural and religious ties to this place. Don't argue with that, you'll lose.

e) I live on Paugusset land and I don't see anybody trying to kick me out of Connecticut. What's the difference? I am absolutely a member of an oppressor class benefiting from Indigenous subjugation and an ongoing genocide. (And where would I go? Fucking Ukraine where my latest ancestors came from? Ukraine is busy!)

Basically, for reasons of human rights and for reasons of geopolitics, there are GOING to be Jewish people in the territory, there are GOING to be a lot of them, and these facts do not care very much if you personally do not like it. And so we have to figure out a way to arrange the place so that they're not acting as an oppressor class but instead as equals to the Palestinians. This NEEDS to be possible. God knows I don't know how to do it, but I'm hoping someone smarter than me does.

[onestormeynight]

Penny Helps Out

It was Penny's day off and she was enjoying some old shows she hadn't seen since she was kid watching TV with her parents. She didn't have anything on the agenda; Billie had moved in with her fiance, Rosie was still on her honeymoon and B was away at another programing conference.

She spent some time outside painting and people watching. It was disorienting to her to see so many people walking around. Wasn't it just yesterday she was living in a one room shack with Rosalie, paying the bills with her flowers while trying to graduate high school? Who were all these people in the middle of nowhere?

A text on her phone pulled her from her thoughts.

<<Pen, I need help.>>

<<What's wrong?>>

<<I can't get Ellie to calm down, please help me.>>

<<OMW>>

Penny was able to make it to Oasis Springs in record time. Ricky basically forced his infant into her arms when she walked through the door. Ellie was screaming and fussing, showing no signs of slowing down.

"Woah, okay rockstar," Penny said, bouncing the fussy child. "You got some lungs on you, don't you? Alright, now it can't be all that bad, shush. Calm down."

It took several minutes, but eventually Ellie calmed herself enough to start nodding off on Penny's shoulder.

"How did you do that?" Ricky asked. "I've been trying to calm her for hours. Sam was never this fussy."

Penny shrugged. "She knows you're stressed. I'm not worn to my nerves like you. Here, I'll put her down and make dinner for you guys. Go take a shower, you're gross."

Penny started cooking them dinner with what she could find in his fridge, which was not much. She managed to pull something together, though, and hoped it would feed them all for a few days. Food had become her love language.

While dinner was in the oven, Penny caught up with Sam. He was doing well in school academically, but was chronically shy. Even talking to Penny made him nervous. Eventually Penny let him sit quietly and just watched TV with him.

"Listen," She said to Ricky when he came out of the shower. "Dinner will be done in half an hour and I have a long drive back home. Why don't I feed you an appetizer before your main course and then I'll be on my way."

"Appetizer?"

Penny gave him a knowing look that would have made anyone else blush. If she was going to have a friend with benefits, she was going to take advantage of those benefits.

((prev)) ((next))

[ldysmfrst]

Hello and welcome to Breaking and Entering Master List! The Taglist is currently open for this story.

This is an original story. I started writing it as my first attempt at story writing. When I wrote the first few chapters, I was also very sick with COVID-19.

This story is a Werewolf Pack AU and is currently rated as YA. There are no chapter titles, but each chapter will have a name listed that indicates which POV the chapter is from.

Y/n is a girl who lives her life bouncing between foster homes; at almost 18, you land in the town of Lunar Ridge, where you learn werewolves are real and the new Alpha won't let you go.

Chapter 1 - Lovren

Foster care isn't easy, and now they have stuck Lovren in the middle of nowhere. Just a little longer, then she will age out of the system, and she will be free, but will Lunar Ridge let her go?

Chapter 2 - Mikhail

Lunar Ridge Pack has changes coming soon, but this one comes as a surprise to Mikhail.

Chapter 3 - Lovren

The first day of senior year at a new school brings painful beginnings.

Chapter 4 - Mikhail

Training has become Mikhail's life, but as of today, that is all changing. Will this change in routine be the start of a much larger change in his life?

Chapter 5 - Lovren

Being an Invisible isn't always easy, and the day just keeps proving it.

Chapter 6 - Mikhail

It's the first day of High School for the young Alpha-to-be, and it starts off strangely.

Chapter 7 - Lovren

Lovren tries to hide in her safe place only to be called into a meeting with ... the Mayor ???

Chapter 8 - Stanislav

Being an Alpha has many responsibilities, but being part of the Alpha's counsel means the same. Will titles cause more harm than good to the up-and-comers?

Chapter 9 - Erik

Getting pulled into Alpha's office was one thing, but things went in a direction for the second time that wasn't expected—or maybe it was the third for that day.

Chapter 10 - Jonathan

Lovren's history is more complex than jumping Foster homes. It may be time to explain a few things.

As a paid member of my Patreon, you can read extra spicy smutty scenes or additional content for select stories and have early release benefits for each chapter!

TO BE CONTINUED...

[quazarshark]

Website Crosspost:

From the Infraflux Technology page, Big Stuff section (first draft):

Construction

When there are no pre-existing structures to inhabit (a very common practice, since buildings may spontaneously generate fully formed) new construction on March Earth is similar to what we would be familiar with today but generally a lot slower due to the difficulty of obtaining resources. Also as a result of this logistics problem, permanent structures are generally built with longevity in mind. Settlements grow slowly and reflect the available resources of their surroundings: Each town and fort displaying a characteristic colour of stone, brick, wood, or other nearby materials. The other side of this is the greater frequency of temporary structures: Loosely-built "shanty towns" surrounding a settlement's permanent structures are common in many places, as people who technically live in the Wilds benefit from huddling in the relatively safe shadow of the settlement's defenses and resources. Spontaneous generation of buildings can take any form, but for some reason March Earth strongly favours blocky concrete structures. Lone empty buildings made entirely of solid concrete and steel rebar, with no floors and no roof, are a common sight when traversing the Wilds.

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I did a spot illustration for this one even though it's not all that interesting, because I feel like "concrete structure standing around in the middle of nowhere" has been one of the most iconic Infraflux visual elements in my mind since its inception

[just-sp-in-inginthevoid]

Sorry I'm a little dumb but what's a Schrödinger's cat? Really wanna know! :D

Schrödinger's cat is a cat trapped in an opaque box that we can't confirm if it is either dead or alive (until we open the box, that is); by such it is both alive and dead (until the box get opened and we can check).

It is an idea Schrödinger (that's a real man that existed) used to illustrate something (about quantum physics): a cat trapped in a box where a poison could kill it at any moment or possibly never (the condition for the poison to be released is totally unpredictable; it could happen or it could not) - no real cat were harmed.

When I talked about wanting NNA to feature an astro named 'Schrödinger cat' - it doesn't have much to do with what Schrödinger demonstrated with his theory: simply the example with the cat in itself. An astro in which it is impossible to affirm if its holder is dead or alive - because they are both while being neither while being only one of those options. An astro which makes the alive-or-dead status of its holder completely blurred, in which there is no clear-cut answer: and if the holder were to believe too much they are one or the other, it'd become true - believing constantly they're alive would allow them to avoid death but how far can you believe you aren't going to die? There must be a limit to the damage you can take before whole-heartily thinking it is your end, even if you are aware you have an astro that can save you from that - and thinking you're alive would make you vulnerable to death since to die one has to live, whereas when you're dead you can't exactly die a second time. So - if the holder isn't able to change the answer depending on what would benefit them the most (and choosing death isn't really beneficial, but choosing life wouldn't make you survive a bullet through the head - because living beings don't survive that) - the best solution is to refuse to give an answer, to refuse to think of one (a bullet through your head won't kill you since you're already dead but you won't 'act' dead, your body and consciousness won't die, because you're still alive. unsure as to how far this astro would work on self-regeneration), to solely focus on having a consciousness and free-will and that being enough - to make them trivial matters because if they're not then you're condemning yourself to the answer you choose. You can't die because you are already dead and you can't die because you are still alive. You're stuck in the middle and nowhere at all while being simultaneously on both sides. And being neither dead nor alive makes you pretty hard to get rid off (which is why I want Goshiki to have it (while not believing it's going to happen at all), it fits him).

It's not exactly an invincibility astro since the holder feels the pain and can't fix their wounds - they're simply stuck in status quo in which damages can't kill them but it still hurts like a b (depending on the severity of it ofc). It's not a regenerative one either, because while they're unable to (actually) die, getting better all depends on if the body is itself alive or dead, and that too can't be chosen because then it'd doom the holder - being dead means no regeneration is needed, being alive means regeneration happening (slowly, but happening still), stuck in status quo just means... that... I don't know. Perhaps the bleeding is put in hold? It doesn't get better but it doesn't get worse either. Such astro holder needs to find someone else with an astro able to heal other people. Imma stop thinking about how it could work. It's a zombie-but-you-still-feel-the-pain astro and it has many drawbacks(also, you don't eat brains and don't move slowly and you body can't rot), let's just sum it up like that.

Visually-speaking, I don't see it manifesting as cat ears and/or tail or other cat characteristics - Kuran is the only catboy we need - but I don't exactly see it manifesting as a box either. I could accept the box, I'm just not sold on what my mind is coming up with yknow? It not manifesting on the body but through the link could work as well, and then the link could be a closed box, i guess.

With the meteors strike, I'm sure a lot of people must have wished for something related to increasing their life expectancy; either because they had planned to wish for immortality or being cured by incurable disease before the meteors even fell, or because they got trapped under rumbles following the strike and were left to wish to survive whatever situation they were trapped in. That being said, healing astros aren't the only solution to these entrapped situations: thinking about the possibility that hat-girl from chapter 19 got trapped in an elevator because of the meteors strike and ended-up with her elevator astro because of it (wishing to 'get out of here/get to destination/smth else') - I am not saying it's the only possible explanation as to why it's her astro, there could be a lot of possibilities, knowing Wakui.

[strawberrycherriesncream]

Ringo character study, kinda sorta. The basics are about his illness and his strange relationship with over coming it. Also poly ship bby featuring Blackmore and Mountain Tim bc they deserve nice things

2,055 words; blood & illness & mentions of Ringo’s backstory (if you know you know)

Living out in the middle of nowhere came with its own special list of perks that made it more desirable than moving into town. The most notable was the quiet. He could sit out on the front porch steps without worry of polite conversation. It was truly peaceful without the hustle and bustle of city living Blackmore subjected himself to as Mr. Valentine’s personal hunting dog. There were no neighbors to cater to or bother whenever the echo of gunshots rang throughout the trees. Scattering the panicking birds and making his ears ring.

But the best was the fact he was able to enjoy his duels without meddling strangers dragging the sheriff’s and deputy’s into the middle of his business. No one but him and the body of the person that failed to kill him should intervene in a one on one duel.

Ringo grimaced, hidden behind his crop top’s raised collar as the deep scratch in his lungs itched like a wild animal flared up something fierce. The empty cylinder of his Colt sat in his palm, half disassembled to be cleaned. Bullets sat on the wooden porch between him and Tim, whom remained blissfully unaware of his silent struggle to smother the episode that’s been threatening him all day to make its grand appearance. Since the moment he woke up this morning, he’s been struggling not to cough or imply he’s feeling under the weather.

It’s been hell trying to keep it together for when they leave in the morning. Blackmore had been particularly antsy about going back to work, having expressed his worry for their employer in his absence despite Mr. Valentine having at least one of his personal bodyguards with him at all times.

The next exhale was wet and far too warm. It wasn’t often Ringo doubted anything, but he doubted he’d be able to hide his illness for much longer. Which would prompt Tim to stay with him until he felt better and Blackmore would throw a fuss and be upset the next time he saw him because he’d be unable to stay. And while he would appreciate the gesture, he didn’t want to worry either of them when he had a cure. He just had to wait for someone to come around. Travelers got lost all the time and wander towards the smoke of the fireplace to seek help. Which they would be then prompted into a death match.

The dirt around the house was filled with the bones and blood of people never able to kill him. People with murder that burned in their eyes but unable to shoot him dead. People that were likely reported missing and never able to be found by the families that missed them. But those that had that certain fire in their eyes marked a good day for many of the families he’d taken them away from.

Ringo doubted anyone would wander into the orchard in the coming days, knew that even if someone did happen to stumble upon him, that Tim would offer his assistance to guide them safely back out and give directions towards to wherever they were headed. That was just the kind of man Tim was. A kind one, always willing to help a stranger to the best of his ability. Something he deeply respected about the cowboy.

Tim was a different kind of man than him. Offering his time and help to the sheriffs to work as a bounty hunter and always returning with the bounty alive. Ringo wouldn’t have been nearly as kind. For him, if he chose to walk down that path, every instigation would become a duel for his life. Offering the chance to kill him in exchange for their freedom. It would greatly benefit both parties as the bounty would be a free man if they succeeded, and help guide him towards becoming a better man himself.

But he wasn’t going to seek someone out. That would defeat the purpose of bettering himself through duels meant to be nothing more than pure intended murder. Giving an option other than killing him would soil his betterment and make it obsolete. There would be no point in hunting anyone down. Trapping them and giving only one option, to kill him, was the only way.

Clearing his throat relieved some of that maddening itch but only made it worse as the desire to cough burned. The rocking chair Tim had dragged outside creaked from Blackmore idly pushing himself back and forth with his foot. A sack of pears sat between Tim’s feet, the same pears he was peeling with a knife and cutting into chunks to periodically hand back to Blackmore. Tim offered him some as well, but each time, Ringo would decline. The taste of blood on the back of his tongue had already ruined both breakfast and lunch.

It started off easy. A singular cough that started a chain reaction. Like dislodging a tiny pebble out of the wedge underneath a boulder that came tumbling down the hill.

Doubling over, he covered his mouth with his fist as hacking coughs raked his body. Violently sputtering up blood where it splattered against his fist, seeping into the wrinkles and pores of his skin and into the fabric of his gloves. Blood dribbled down the crease of his lips, uncomfortably warm drooling down his chin.

These flare ups always reminded him of being a child. He wondered if Tim felt the same way out on the range with the long hours of the sun beating down on him. If he thought back on his time as a soldier marching through the desert with his company slowly dying from dehydration. Ringo admired him for braving the sun’s rays after knocking on death’s door by its own hand. He knew a thing or two about that door. The familiar cracks and peeling paint, chipped along the frame where people have fought kicking, clawing and screaming to be spared.

There was no reason to be scared of death. It felt like how mom used to hold him when she would quietly sit by his side dabbing away the blood dribbling out his lips and down his neck. He always felt content when she did that. Loved. Death felt exactly like that.

Tim was at his side the second he noticed something was truly wrong. His hand felt heavy but warm and comforting on his shoulder. Reassurance he wasn’t alone.

Thankfully, the fit didn’t last long. His chest and lungs ached, feeling like someone lit his muscles on fire and stomped all over his chest like dirt. His face felt flushed and sweaty.

The sheer look of alarm on Tim’s face would forever be seared into his mind. Along with the fear hidden underneath a faux front of being brave. Tim wiped away the blood off his lips and chin the best he could. Smearing red into his skin.

Ringo’s eyes trailed after him cautiously. Uncertain. This was a part of himself he’s always seen as weak and vulnerable. A part of himself he’s never been able to accept and buried underneath a convincing lie of a suicidal ideation.

“Is it a Stand attack?” Blackmore asked, glancing around from underneath his umbrella. If it was, he’d be unable to defend himself utilizing his own Stand. He’s always said his ability was useless without the rain, and yet he still put his body in between them and the orchard.

Forever trained to give his life for what he believed was greater.

Ringo sighed. It came out wheezing and rough as speckles of blood came out his nose. “It’s no Stand attack. Just my body acting up again. Nothing more than that I’m sick.”

“How long has this been going on?” Tim demanded, getting up to his feet with a sense of urgency in it with his hand raised ready to call for his horse. “We need to get you to a doctor.”

Ringo snorted in dry amusement and went back to cleaning his gun. Tiny bits of blood were freckled all over the cold metal and wooden grip. “A doctor ain’t going to help me.”

The sentiment was touching, and made his chest all fuzzy. In a good way for once today.

“It’s their code of conduct,” Blackmore defended. That placidness no longer present in his voice. He strode forward and slipped to his side in an instant. Without Tim he wouldn’t be able to move him but Ringo had a feeling that wasn’t about to stop him. “They cannot refuse to treat someone.”

“I apologize, Blackmore. I didn’t mean it like that.” Ringo took a deep breath, that quickly proved to be a mistake as a coughing fit started up something fierce. Tim looked worried, scared almost, bless his heart, but couldn’t do much more besides rub his back soothingly until the fit stopped. It didn’t let up and blood pooled up his throat. Coating his tongue in a layer that felt disgustingly thick. Spitting it out in the dirt, he glared at it. Despising it for everything that it was. “Going to a doctor won’t change this. They hadn’t been able to help when I was a child and they won’t be able to figure it out now. Besides, I have a cure for it. Though it’s temporary.”

Tim groaned. “You think those death squabbles of yours does something to help that?”

He sounded angry. At what? Ringo pretended to be unsure.

“Yes, I’m positive they help. I have undeniable proof it helps.” The reassurance fell on deaf ears. All he could see on Tim’s face was panic, his hands were trembling like he was battling something difficult and not being able to do anything but watch. “There’s no reason to worry, Tim. This was inevitable and not something that can be fixed or changed with medicine.”

“Have you tried.” Tim gritted out.

Ringo shrugged, acting nonchalant and dropping the bullets back into their home within the cylinder. “My mother did, but me specifically? No. I found the cure without the need of a doctor.”

Found the cure at the cost of his sisters and mother being murdered.

Blackmore shifted anxiously on his feet. Like he wanted to say something but was too nervous to get it out. It wouldn’t be the first time he’s done that. Tim didn’t look happy at all. Neither of them did.

“The only way to make it stop is by dueling someone with dark intentions,” Ringo told them. A part of him knew deep down he was bullshitting himself because of everything that happened that day. How he’s never been able to get over it. “I figured it out by killing the man that murdered my mother and sisters then tried raping me. This gun was his. I took it from him and shot him. He didn’t believe I’d actually do it.”

He’s told them before. Bits and pieces of his childhood. Never about being sick and frail. The shame ate him up inside. The regret and pain of losing his family after having been branded traitors and having to pick up and leave.

“He wore a military uniform.” Ringo pointed out towards the orchard, between the spread of trees. Blackmore turned to look but faced back around with a frown when he saw nothing remarkable. “He’s buried somewhere out there. I could probably find it if I needed to.”

Living out in the middle of nowhere meant not many people came around, making it difficult to read people whom didn’t wear their heart on their sleeve. But being so close, he saw how Tim’s shoulders tensed and in that moment, remembered he had been a soldier himself.

Quietly, Blackmore slipped into the house, only to come back shortly with a cup of piping hot coffee as he didn’t usually keep tea in the house. Softly saying it was for his throat in the hopes to ease the pain, Blackmore handed it to him and sat down beside him. Thighs touching as the assassin invaded his space to lay his head on his shoulder.

Pity was useless but he’d let his partners do whatever they wanted if it was to comfort themselves. The past is the past. What’s done is done. No one in the world can go back and change that.