#this is the only one i really remember tbh lol

[dancingaliensfics]

Remmick NSFW Alphabet

This is pretty self explanatory. I haven't really formatted this or proof read it, I'll do that tomorrow. Right now I'm tired and need to sleep lol but I wanna get this posted since it just came to me. Wrote this in my notes app bc I couldn't be bothered opening docs, thats how quick this came to me lol so theres not even spell check really.

I do personally prefer sub remmick but I've tried to have a mix in here of both because I think it's more realistic to him as a character. I might add some more stuff it tomorrow idk.

Warnings: nsfw content, mentions of drinking blood, one section with gore mention that you can skip, idk i can't remember tbh

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He doesn't like to clean you up after sex. Not because he doesn't care but because he likes how you look all dirty and messy. So cleanup is out of the question unless you're willing to wait 30 minutes for him to have his fill, by which point he's usually ready to again lol. He does like to cuddle though, he's quite a physical guy and keeping contact with you is important to him.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He really likes your hands. I've made a post already about how he likes to have your fingers in his mouth and i stand by that. So i wont say too much about it again here.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

He's nasty guys. He like to cum on you. His favourite place is probably your stomach but he doesn't really care where as long as he can see it dripping down you. He cums a lot and because he's a vampire he can go again pretty quickly, probably after like 10 minutes, so by the end of the night you're covered. He also likes to spread it around with his fingers cause he's a weirdo.

He will absolutely eat his own cum. When he cums in your mouth make sure to kiss him afterwards because he loves it, it gets him hard so quick. Or you can just scoop it up with your fingers and push it into his mouth.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Ok I have two things for this. The first one isn't particularly scandalous but it is something I think he'd be embarrassed by. When he's alone and feeling himself he imagines you and him back in his home town from when he was alive, living a quiet life in his childhood home. He loves to imagine you in the dresses the pretty girls used to wear when he was young. Honestly he creates pretty vivid scenarios, bringing you flowers back after a day working on the farm, putting your children to bed after dinner, undressing you slowly, pressing soft kisses to your shoulders. Climbing into bed together and just making gentle love before falling asleep in each other's arms. He keeps this a secret because it goes against his whole philosophy that vampirism is a gift. You two can't have children, atleast not in that way, and he'll never be back in that little house on the farm.

Now for the actually dirty one. I'm not really sure how to explain this but I'm gonna try my best. Basically he likes being told to use parts of you. Like for example, being told he can only use your thighs or your hand to get off. There's something so degrading about it that just really gets him going. It's another one that he wouldn't be able to verbalise, but having to make himself cum while only being able to rut against the sole of your foot or the space between your thighs is humiliating in a hot way. He doesn't have specific body part fetishes, he's not into feet or anything specifically, it's just being told he can only touch that part of you i guess.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Very but also not. He's had a lot of sex and he's very good at it, but he doesn't have much experience being vulnerable and having that Intimacy he would have with you if you're in an actual relationship. Remmick is also not very experienced with being cared for by someone and wanted in a way that goes beyond the physical. So yes, he can give you the best night you've ever had, but hold his hand and promise to stay with him forever and he's a bit stumped.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

He likes to look at your face so you'll often find yourself in some variation of missionary. Tbh I don't know all the fancy names and neither does remmick, he just wants to look at your eyes. He's quite fond of prone bone though and anything that let's him look up at you.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

He definitely goes back and forth. I think simply through his nature or being a vampire, sex isn't always serious for him. He's very old and doesn't view sex in the same special way mortals might, especially in the 30s. But that doesn't mean it isn't special when he's with you. He always values your Intimacy together and often will be quite serious, especially if he's in a more melancholic mood. But he's a Goofy guy, he doesn't take things very seriously and he makes jokes in inappropriate situations that don't usually land. Obviously a lot of his silly guy persona was fake, but i think it's also clear from other interactions where he's trying to really connect with people that remmick is quite an odd guy and that does bleed through into sex. Sometimes he just does weird or random stuff. So yeah I think sex with remmick is a real mixed bag when it comes to seriousness.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is not groomed at all. He is quite hairy and doesn't see a problem with that. He does trim every so often, but being from a time where shaving body hair just wasn't a thing, he doesn't often think about it. He has a lovely happy trail that leads right from his navel all the way down. He has thick dark curls down there that run wild. If it really bothered you, you could ask him to groom more but I don't think he would. He likes a hairy bush and doesn't get the modern fascination with hairless pussies and balls so he has no interest in it on himself. I just really isn't something he thinks about.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Sex with remmick is always very intimate. Even when it isn't serious, the Intimacy is always there. There's a few reasons for this really. The first is that sex with remmick using involves one of you bleeding, and the exchange of blood is something he sees as very meaningful. It's not only his food source, the thing he survives on, but he also still has many old world believes about humours and the transfer of energy through blood. The second reason is that sex is one of the few times remmick will be vulnerable. You can really break down those walls and see another side of him, especially if you've been at it for a while. And the last is that if you're also a vampire, you and remmick have a mental link that connects all of your feelings, sensations and thoughts. There's really nothing more intimate than that.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

He does it a lot lol. Being in a relationship does nothing to slow him down. Whether you're away from each other, in another room or sat right in front of him, it doesn't matter, he loves to feel himself up. He actually is quite a voyeur and loves to Jack off while you watch, especially if you give him instructions on how to do it. He also loves to have your smell around him while feeling himself, whether it's by just straight up sniffing you or from something of yours he has with him. He always takes something of yours with him when he goes on trips away, usually underwear or a scarf since those have the strongest scent but he'll even take a handkerchief if you offer it.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Honestly, it's probably easier to list things he isn't into. But I'm gonna touch on one isn't haven't really seen or talked about before. Remmick is a masochist. He's also a sadist but there's plenty of fics about that. He loves being hurt. Honestly sometimes he goes too far with it, and he really needs a partner who cares about him enough to draw that line. He talks a big game but he has a lot of self hatred he refuses to acknowledge and pain is a good way for him to ignore that. So its good to put him in a control environment where you can make sure he doesn't go too far. Slap him, choke him, bite him, scratch him. He loves it all.

He also likes to be treated like a dog. I've mentioned this a few times on my blog now haha so hopefully I don't become that girl, but he is really into that. Make him crawl on his hands and knees, tell him to pick your hands, let him hump your leg, he loves it. He likes to lick your face a lot which can be a bit icky but indulge him. He like to be punished and rewarded, it's a good way to keep him in check. And he likes this dynamic outside of the bedroom as well. Send out on errands and call him a good boy when he does well. Give him head pats when hes good and smack him when he's bad. Ah I can't get carried away here.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Anywhere and everywhere. I've already talked about this but he will fuck you on the side of the road or in the middle of a bar he doesn't give a shit. He likes for people to watch and he likes to be dirty. But there is something special to him about a private bed, it's somewhat nostalgic and makes his old man brain feel good or something I guess.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

Again, anything and everything. This man is so horny, he is ready to go 24/7. But simple things like the wind blowing through your hair, watching you walk barefoot through a field or the smell of you as you walk past, are often the ones that do it the most him. Oh and watching you perform, if you're some kind of artist. That really drives him wild.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I don't thing he likes the thought of really degrading someone he's actually in love with much. Don't get me wrong, he can be a mean dom when he wants, but I don't think he would ever do something that would actually make you feel bad. His whole world revolves around his partner, they're his god in a weird, possessive way, and he wouldn't do something like brand you or insult your physical appearance. He would also never make you feel bad about your personality. While he might call you a slut or pathetic, things like insulting you for being needy he just wouldn't do. I think he also would be interested in others degrading you. So while he enjoys bringing others into your sex life, it's purely for them to service you. He'll never tolerate someone insulting you in anyway.

He also won't let any of the fresh vampires near you because he doesn't think it's a good idea. Even if you're also a vampire, they can be too rowdy and he doesn't like it so yeah there's a waiting time for anyone freshly turned.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

HES A MUNCH.

Cmon we all know that. This man loves eating pussy, day and night. If it was possible he would never stop. He loves the taste, the smell, the feeling of your legs squeezing his head. He just can't get enough. He eats like man starving, and he laps that shit up like a dog. He also moans so loud while eating you out. He honestly doesn't like 69 very much because he wants to focus on the task at hand lmao.

I also have to say, he loves sucking dick. He find it so relaxing, he could honestly fall asleep with a dick in his mouth. He loves to struggle on a big cock and he loves to take a small one fully into his mouth. The one thing I'm sad about is that I don't have a dick for this man to suck because it really is one of his favourite things.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Ah it really depends. His mood changes quite quickly and that influences how he fucks. A session can start out one way and change up half way through. There's not much consistency with Remmick.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Remmick loves a quickie. He'll ask for them all the time, at every opportunity. God forbid you have to be somewhere on time because he will stop you at some point to ask for a quick fuck. Most of the time he asks for a quickie though, it isn't so he can fuck you, it's so he can get a taste of your pussy.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

Yes yes yes. He will give almost anything a try atleast once, although most things he's already done. He's also a massive voyeur as I said before so he doesn't care about getting caught. I mean he shares a hive mind so it doesn't really matter to him anyway.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

He's a vampire so his Stamina is very good but not impossibly so. He can if he wants to last a long time each round but remmick is not a patient man so he usually doesn't. You can tell him to hold out though and then he's happy to. But to him it doesn't matter because whether he's cum or not, your fussy is getting eaten. He can go for quite a lot of rounds honestly, probably 4 or 5 most days but stretching up to 7 if he pushes it. But he still needs time between and he doesn't like to over do things so most days it's gonna be more like 2 to 3.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

What toys did they have in the 1930s? I'm not sure i need to do some reading on that. But I think remmick quite likes involving toys both on himself and you, whatever they are. He especially likes bondage on you both although he keeps breaking all the pretty rope you get.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

This man is the king of teasing. Good luck if he gets in one of these moods because there is no escape. It will start at dusk as soon you're up, with light touches and coy looks and continue right up until dawn when he finally let's you cum after hours of fucking you.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Remmick is so loud jesus. If you have neighbours, they hate you. And if you're trying to stray hidden you'll have to gag him. Even then you can still hear his panting and muffled moans. He also talks none stop during sex, I mean really runs him mouth. The man does not know how to shut up.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

Big gore warning here, i personally feel a bit sick reading stuff like this even though I wrote it so just warning you guys first.

He wants you to bite him. Ok yeah that's obvious. But not just a few times, he wants you to cover him all over in deep, bloody bites. He wants it to hurt. He wants people to look at him and think he's been attacked by some wild animal. Honestly he wants you to eat him. To tear chunks off and swallow them. To crack his bones and tear parts off him. Break open his ribs and pull out his heart and rip pieces out with your teeth. He finds the idea of being consumed deeply erotic and also very intimate. It makes him feel very safe, knowing pieces of him are inside of you.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Nice and thick. Probably a solid 6 to 6.5 inches with a good girth. He stretches you out just right. Uncut and a red tip. Heavy balls that hang low.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

All day everyday, ask and you shall receive. He really is hungry as a dog lol.

You know he's ready for it when he starts drooling. The drool really isn't something he can control, it just happens when his body decides its time to eat which often gets mixed up with being horny. So yeah, it's pretty common for you to look over and see him covered in drool, mouth open and shameless.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall  asleep)

Depends. Some days he's straight to sleep while others he gets kinda sad and wistful after sex and stays awake watching you. He also gets kinda stressed you're gonna disappear or leave if he closes his eyes sometimes so you might occasionally find him staring at you for a long time. But your presence is very comforting for him and he always sleeps better with you.

[cbeargyu]

ok so, this is based off a game called married in red but i want beomgyu to be the mainlead/bestfriend 😛😛 So basically you got invited to your old uni bestfriend (bgyu) by his fiancee w/o him knowing, and basically beomgyu is shock to find you at his wedding and gets nervous. A little back story for why beomgyu is shocked to see us again, basically beomgyu your one snd only bestfriend betrays you during a surgeon practice and tells the authorities that your the one that killed the patient and not him (girl...) so you then get sent to jail for a few years. OK, PRESENT TIME... You then planned to get revenge on him by killing his fiancee and frame it on beomgyu, telling everyone that he killed them because he heard a rumor that they cheated on him. anyways, that's it. I'm not really sure if you would actually reply to this, but at least i tried

MARRIED IN RED

summary: you return to the life you lost—uninvited to beomgyu’s wedding, dressed in blood-red and driven by revenge. what begins as a seductive game of manipulation ends in murder, deceit, and the destruction of everything he built. you’re not just here to haunt him. you’re here to end him.

pairing: beomgyu x fem!reader

genre: dark romance, psychological thriller, smut, angst, revenge, murder mystery.

warnings: smut, graphic murder, knife play, manipulation, blood, gaslighting, medical malpractice, false accusations, power imbalance, obsessive behavior, psychological trauma, emotional abuse, toxic dynamics, gore, suggestive content, unhinged reader, death, infidelity, mention of sexual assault (attempted), violence, mental breakdown, imprisonment, explicit language.

wc: 12K

notes: hi anon!! ok so tbh i’m not super into video games normally BUT the one you mentioned??? omg the premise got me sooo hooked 😭 i ended up watching a bunch of lore vids + different endings and literally got obsessed lol. i used a lot of the gameplay as inspo to build the story and added my own lil touches to make it ✨spicier✨. i really hope you enjoy it and that it came out close to what you were picturing!! i had so much fun writing it — definitely stepped out of my comfort zone a bit (even tho i've done yandere/violence themes before, i never went this deep 👀) so thank u sm for the request ily 💌

FLASHBACK: THE BETRAYAL

the room smelled like metal and nerves. antiseptic clung to your skin, the sterile kind that never quite washes off, no matter how hard you scrub. overhead, the surgical lights buzzed faintly, casting halos on everyone’s heads, ironic little crowns of fluorescent glory. you stood there, gloves tight against your hands, mask hiding the shape of your mouth but not the panic rising in your throat. this was supposed to be routine. a practice session. supervised. safe.

but then something went wrong.

you saw it first — the drop in heart rate, the tremble in the patient’s pulse. the resident nurse called out numbers you didn’t want to hear, and beomgyu froze. you remember his hands. how steady they used to be in class, always precise, always admired. but not now. now, they shook. not violently, not enough to notice unless you knew him like you did — like someone who once memorized the cadence of his breathing, the rhythm of his thoughts. you saw it in the twitch of his fingers, in the split-second delay when the arterial clamp slipped. the bleeding started then. red spilled into white, too much, too fast. you moved, instinct taking over, reaching for the sutures, trying to stop the flood before it became irreversible. beomgyu didn’t move.

and then he did.

but it was too late. the alarms screamed. the attending ran in. hands pushed yours aside. someone shouted. another called for help. and beomgyu… beomgyu took a step back. just one. just enough.

you didn’t sleep that night. didn’t eat. didn’t breathe without hearing those monitors flatline inside your skull. you thought maybe it would be labeled a mistake, a tragedy, an accident born from youth and pressure. you were wrong.

two days later, they came for you.

you were mid-shift, mopping sweat off your temple, when the white coats and sharp eyes cornered you in the hallway. they didn’t say much. they didn’t have to. someone had already spoken. someone had already placed blame. your name had been written in ink, cold and black, on a report you never saw. beomgyu’s name was nowhere.

when you were questioned, they said beomgyu had expressed “concern” over your technique. they said he “regretted” not speaking up earlier. they said you panicked in the OR. that you tried to take over. that your recklessness had cost a life. they said so many things, all carefully worded, all sharpened with just enough truth to make the lie believable.

you remember sitting in that empty room, steel table in front of you, hands trembling. not from guilt. from rage. from betrayal. from the image of his face on the other side of the glass, watching. silent. expressionless. not even sorry.

he didn’t visit you. not once. not during the trial, not after the verdict, not when they took your license, your dreams, your freedom. he vanished. became a name you couldn’t say without tasting ash.

years passed.

but you remembered.

you remembered how he looked at you right before the doors closed behind you �� not with shame, not with pity, but with relief. you remembered that silence like a scalpel against your spine. clean. deep. final.

and you decided.

if he could tear your life apart to save his own, you could do the same. only worse. only slower.

and this time, you’d smile while doing it.

ACT ONE: THE INVITATION

you were in the middle of folding laundry when you found the envelope. cream-colored, thick, the kind of paper that crackles when bent, expensive just to touch. no return address. no hint. but you recognized the handwriting immediately — soft, rounded, a little too careful to be truly effortless. feminine. polite. unfamiliar.

you slid a finger under the seal and pulled the card out. gold lettering, embossed. a wedding. no — his wedding. the name hit your stomach first. choi beomgyu. and beside it, a name you didn’t recognize. yoon hana.

you stared at it for a long time, longer than you'd ever admit. your fingers clenched around the edge, and for a moment you imagined tearing it in half. but you didn’t. not yet.

the call came the next day.

“hi, is this…?” her voice was as pretty as her name sounded. delicate. sweet. almost translucent. “i hope this isn’t too forward, but i’m hana — beomgyu’s fiancée.”

you said nothing for a moment. your breath stilled.

“i found some photos of you two in his old albums,” she continued quickly, nervous, like she thought you might hang up. “college days. i had no idea you were so close. he… he never mentioned you.”

of course he didn’t.

“i wanted to surprise him. you were his best friend, right? i think it would mean so much to him if you came to the wedding. it’s not the same without people who really know you.”

you let out a breath — not a laugh, not quite — more like a quiet exhale of something heavy, bitter, ancient.

“he’ll be very surprised,” you said, voice steady, lips curling into a smile she couldn’t see.

“that’s what i’m hoping,” hana said, laughing softly, innocently, like a girl who had no idea she was dangling over a pit. “please say you’ll come.”

and you did.

not because of her kindness. not because of the sweetness in her voice, or the elegance in her words. but because you could already feel the pulse of something deep and dark moving beneath your skin. it had waited years for this — coiled and patient, like a snake in the grass. beomgyu had buried you once.

this time, you’d return the favor.

you spent the next few days preparing. not obsessively — not in the way you used to when exams loomed and futures were built on how steady your hands could be. this was different. calm. surgical. everything folded into neat little thoughts. what you’d wear. what you’d say. the tilt of your head when he saw you. the exact moment his perfect little world would begin to shake.

you imagined the way his eyes would widen, the hitch in his throat, the cold wash of memory creeping up his spine. he wouldn’t scream. no, he’d smile. he’d pretend. because beomgyu always wore his mask better than anyone — the gentle prodigy, the golden boy, the fallen angel with soft hands and a halo of innocence. no one ever saw what he really was underneath. but you did.

you always did.

you touched the edge of the wedding card again, ran your thumb across the gold print. not out of sentiment, but calculation. it was almost poetic. the beginning of the end would be wrapped in white and flowers and promises neither of them deserved.

he thought he could bury you in silence. in time. in absence.

but the past always shows up — dressed in red, smiling sweetly.

ACT TWO: THE REUNION

you arrive early, but no one notices.

it’s the kind of venue that whispers wealth from every corner — marble floors that gleam like water, tall windows draped in soft linen, crystal chandeliers heavy with light. a string quartet plays something romantic and forgettable in the background. waiters float by with champagne flutes, their hands practiced and empty-eyed. everything is too clean. too white. a blank canvas begging to be stained.

you stand near the edge of it all, watching. not hiding — just waiting.

then you see her.

hana.

she moves through the crowd with soft hands and a practiced smile, like she’s been trained her whole life to be looked at. beautiful, delicate, a doll dressed in ivory and pearls. but her eyes are kind. too kind. she spots you almost instantly and lights up.

“you came!” she says, breathless, rushing forward to embrace you like you’re old friends. you let her. her perfume is light and floral, almost childish. she pulls back to look at you, smiling. “he’s going to be so surprised. i didn’t tell him. i wanted to see his face.”

you nod once, lips curling upward. “i can’t wait.”

she doesn’t hear it — the venom under the silk. she sees only what he once saw: a calm surface. nothing underneath.

they call everyone to attention soon after. the ceremony is about to begin. you take your place among the crowd, quiet, unmoving. your hands rest in your lap, still, like in the operating room — composed. patient. ready to cut.

the music swells.

then he walks in.

beomgyu.

the groom.

your breath doesn’t catch — it sharpens. like a blade meeting stone. his suit is ivory, his tie pale gold. his hair is soft, curled just enough to look effortless. he smiles as he walks, bowing slightly to a few guests, charming and angelic, the boy wonder all grown up.

then his eyes find you.

he stops.

just one second. a stutter in time. a heartbeat dropped.

he blinks, once. then again.

the world keeps moving, but he doesn’t. his face doesn’t change, not fully, but you see the fracture — the faintest flicker behind his eyes. recognition. fear. memory clawing its way up his throat.

you tilt your head slightly. not a wave. not a nod. just enough.

he walks again, faster now, as if motion can erase you.

but you know better. you always did.

the ceremony proceeds like a play. vows exchanged, rings slipped onto fingers. hana glows beside him, her smile radiant and pure. and beomgyu… beomgyu plays his role with perfect grace. every look, every touch, every whispered promise is choreographed. from a distance, they’re flawless.

but you know the truth.

he doesn’t love her.

you learned that before the wedding, in whispers and reports, in quiet murmurs from mutual acquaintances. yoon hana, daughter of dr. yoon — the man who owns half the hospitals in seoul. a legacy family. power, influence, prestige. marrying her isn’t romance. it’s strategy.

he wants her name. her wealth. her father’s empire.

and once he has it, once he’s tied deep enough into that network of hospitals and private clinics, she won’t matter. she’ll become another discarded tool. maybe she already is.

you wonder if she knows. you wonder if she suspects. or if she’s just like you once were — enchanted by his gentle voice, his soft laughter, his hands that never shake until they do.

they walk back down the aisle, hand in hand, applause washing over them. but his eyes flick toward you again. not long. not obvious. just enough to remind you — he knows.

you slip away during the reception. not far. just to the back hallway where the staff come and go. it’s quiet there. cooler. your heels echo softly on tile.

you don’t wait long before you hear footsteps behind you.

“what are you doing here?”

his voice is low. careful. not angry. not yet.

you turn around slowly.

he’s already dropped the act.

the mask is still on, but you can see the cracks in the porcelain — the too-still eyes, the slight tension in his jaw, the twitch of a muscle near his brow. beomgyu stands in front of you like a man facing a ghost he thought he'd buried deep.

“your wife invited me,” you say simply. “she thought it would make you happy.”

he laughs. just once. bitter. sharp. “you shouldn’t be here.”

“why?” you ask, stepping closer. “because it ruins the fairytale?”

his silence is answer enough.

you study him — the expensive watch on his wrist, the perfect posture, the way his wedding band already looks foreign on his hand. he’s beautiful. always was. but it’s a cursed kind of beauty now, the kind that hides poison beneath petals.

“congratulations,” you say, letting your voice drip just enough to make him flinch. “must be nice, marrying into a dynasty. hospitals. connections. endless funding.”

“you don’t know anything,” he snaps, too fast.

you smile. “i know everything.”

he steps forward, suddenly closer than you expected. “what do you want?”

the question isn’t a plea. it’s a warning.

you reach up and adjust the lapel of his jacket, slow, intimate, mockingly gentle.

“i haven’t decided yet.”

his breath catches for just a second.

you both know what’s happening. it’s already begun. the dance. the descent. two people standing in the wreckage of a friendship, building something twisted from its remains.

because the truth is, you and beomgyu are not so different.

he ruined someone for power.

you came back to ruin him.

and hana? she’s not the love between you. she’s the blade you’re both gripping from opposite ends.

ACT THREE: THE BRIDE

you find her near the garden, tucked in the back where soft lights string between trees like artificial stars. hana is laughing with one of her bridesmaids, hands clasped around a champagne flute, veil tucked back behind her shoulders. she looks like a dream — fragile, glowing, floating in a bubble she believes is happiness. but dreams burst easily.

she sees you and waves. “there you are! i was wondering where you disappeared to.”

“just needed air,” you say smoothly, stepping beside her. “everything’s beautiful, hana.”

her smile grows. “thank you. i wanted it to feel… perfect.”

you both look around. and it is perfect. the venue is opulence carved into architecture — carved archways, marble fountains, flower arrangements taller than people. every inch glows with money. not taste. wealth.

“how did you two meet, anyway?” you ask, tone light, harmless. curious.

hana sips her drink, a soft blush blooming on her cheeks. “mutual friends. well, not really friends — one of my father’s doctors. he introduced us at a benefit.”

of course.

you nod, letting the silence stretch just enough before asking, “and… did you fall in love right away?”

she laughs. a real one. “oh no. he barely spoke at first. but once we started talking… it was easy. he listens. he’s kind.”

you hum softly. “he used to be quieter. i think the years made him louder.”

hana tilts her head. “you really knew him that well?”

“better than most,” you reply, a quiet truth soaked in something heavier.

her eyes glimmer with curiosity. “he never told me about you.”

you smile. “he wouldn’t.”

you don’t let the pause linger. you slip your arm through hers gently and steer her toward the inner hall — not the main ballroom, but a side corridor filled with portraits and silence. your voice lowers just a bit.

“this place is… extravagant,” you say, fingers brushing the polished wall. “how did you manage to book it? i heard it’s almost impossible.”

hana beams. “oh — it was a favor. one of my dad’s oldest friends owns the property. it’s usually reserved for very exclusive events — politicians, ceos, you know.”

you arch a brow, feigning awe. “must’ve taken strings to pull that off.”

“not really,” she says. “he offered it as a gift. it’s the kind of place where everyone already knows everyone. it feels safe, like… like no one’s watching. just happy people, no noise.”

you stop walking.

“no cameras?”

she shakes her head with a small smile. “none. my dad doesn’t like them. he says they ruin intimacy.”

you let the words settle. no cameras. no recordings. no proof. no eyes. just soft walls and trust.

hana sees none of the weight behind your silence. she keeps smiling, sipping from her glass.

“besides,” she adds, “what’s there to see? it’s a wedding. everyone’s happy.”

you look at her then, really look — at the soft curve of her cheek, the gentle eyes, the way she sees this world as clean, unshaken. she thinks love built this. but it was ambition. strategy. you know the taste of it because you once wanted the same things — and maybe, deep down, you still do.

“you must trust him a lot,” you say quietly.

“i do,” she replies without hesitation. “he’s everything i ever wanted. he saved me from this cold, business world. my father wanted me to marry a man with power — i found one with heart.”

you almost choke.

but instead, you laugh, soft and low. not mocking. almost affectionate.

“then i hope you’re right,” you whisper. “and i hope he never gives you a reason to doubt that.”

hana looks up at you, touched. “you’re so sweet. i’m glad you’re here.”

you lean in, kiss her cheek, and breathe her in — that perfume, light and harmless. the kind of scent you could forget.

but you won’t.

because now you know the hallways. the exits. the blind spots. and now, hana trusts you.

and beomgyu?

he knows you’re close.

you can already feel the tension pulling tighter — like piano wire strung between three necks. someone will bleed.

you’re just deciding who goes first.

ACT FOUR: THE SERPENT IN RED

you find him just past the marble corridor, outside, where the laughter and clinking glasses can’t follow.

he’s standing by the edge of the balcony, fists clenched, jaw tight, like he’s holding the world together by sheer force of will. the night air swirls around him, but he’s too tense to feel it. beomgyu looks like a man cornered by ghosts — one in particular.

his eyes snap to you the moment he senses your presence.

and you see it.

not just surprise. not just discomfort.

fear. hatred. panic. all bleeding together in those pretty eyes.

he looks like he might be sick.

you step into the moonlight, slow and deliberate, the crimson fabric of your dress catching the light like liquid sin. the color hugs you — dark, seductive, unapologetic. and he sees it. god, he sees it.

his expression twists instantly.

“what the fuck are you wearing?” he spits.

you tilt your head, smiling sweetly. “a dress.”

his gaze sharpens, voice lowered. “that’s not a dress for a wedding.”

you glance down at yourself, brushing invisible dust from your hip, tone soft and cruel. “why not? i think it suits the occasion.”

“it’s red,” he growls. “blood red.”

you hum. “hm. so it is.”

he takes a step forward. “take it off.”

you laugh. sharp. amused. “aw, gyu. if you wanted to see me out of it, all you had to do was ask.”

he flinches at the nickname. his hands curl at his sides.

“this isn’t a fucking game,” he hisses. “you shouldn’t be here.”

“oh, but i was invited,” you remind him, voice dipped in honey. “your lovely bride said she wanted to surprise you.”

his nostrils flare. “she doesn’t know what you are.”

you lean in, just enough for him to smell your perfume — dark florals, velvet musk, danger. “no,” you whisper. “but you do.”

he doesn’t answer right away. his eyes drag over you — slow, reluctant, like he hates what he sees but can’t stop seeing it. there's something sour behind his gaze, something like... regret? no. it's older than that. something between rage and fascination.

“i didn’t think you’d get out so soon,” he says eventually. “they said five years minimum. good behavior, huh?”

you tilt your head. “what can i say? prison taught me discipline.”

his jaw tightens. his fingers curl slightly around the glass.

beomgyu stiffens. his eyes dart toward the ballroom doors and back to you, like he’s counting the seconds before someone else joins, or worse, sees you both like this.

you take another step, your heels echoing softly against the marble. he doesn’t move.

“what’s the matter?” you ask, gaze locked on his. “nervous?”

his mouth twists, but his jaw— god, it clenches so hard you can almost hear it pop.

you glance down at his hands, tense and trembling slightly. “you always did get shaky when things got out of your control.”

“don’t push me,” he warns, low and shaking.

you ignore the threat. “it’s funny,” you murmur. “you wear the same expression you did in the O.R. that day. remember that? the moment everything went wrong and you had to choose— your future or mine.”

he breathes in sharply.

you smile wider. “you chose well. now you’re marrying a woman with power. hospitals. status. all the things you’ve always wanted but could never earn. and she’s just so sweet too. so trusting. so willing to give you everything.”

beomgyu doesn’t speak. his silence is louder than shouting.

“tell me, gyu…” you lean closer, lips almost brushing his ear. “do you plan to kill her like you did the patient? once you get your name on the deed?”

his breath catches, sharp and violent. and for a terrifying second, you think he might hit you.

he lunges forward — fast, teeth gritted, eyes wild with fury. his hand lifts slightly, but it stops halfway. frozen.

his face is inches from yours now.

his breath hot, furious, desperate.

your lips curve, soft and mocking. “god, i missed this,” you whisper, letting the tip of your finger trace the lapel of his suit. “your warmth. your anger. the way your body shakes when i get under your skin.”

he snarls quietly. “you’re insane.”

“maybe.” your eyes shine, unblinking. “but at least i’m not a coward.”

you let the silence stretch, the air between you charged like a live wire. you feel the storm in him, the battle behind his eyes. part of him wants to end this — grab you, break you, erase you. but another part… the part you remember… wants to taste this. wants to feel something. anything.

you lean in, your breath ghosting across his mouth, and say it, clear and cold:

“you don’t love her. you love what she has. and you want to take it all.”

his shoulders tighten. his lips part, but no sound comes out.

“that’s why you hate me,” you continue. “because i see you. the real you. and you know exactly what i came here to do.”

his hand jerks slightly — like he might finally snap — but just as fast, he freezes. a voice laughs nearby. footsteps. guests.

he blinks, breath shaky. control returns like a choke chain.

he steps back, eyes burning, chest heaving. “get out of my fucking wedding.”

you smile, slow and venomous. “make me.”

and then you turn your back to him, deliberately, daringly, walking back into the warmth of the celebration with his fury at your heels. the red of your dress flares like a warning — or a promise.

and beomgyu stays frozen behind you.

because he knows:

you’re not done.

and this game is just beginning.

the moment you turn your back to him, you know it’s not over. not by a long shot. the air between you both is thick, taut with something unsaid, something alive, crawling under your skin. you can feel his eyes on you, burning a hole in your back. his breath shallow, labored, like every inhale is a war he’s losing.

you hear his footsteps behind you — slower, cautious, but still there. he’s following you.

you smile to yourself, letting the sound of his pursuit draw you closer to the door. it’s all so predictable, all so easy. the rage, the fear, the denial — it’s exactly what you knew would happen. beomgyu doesn’t want to admit it. doesn’t want to admit how much he needs to be near you. not after everything. but his body betrays him.

just before you turned to walk away, something caught your eye — a flash of silver in beomgyu’s hand. you watched, silent, as he pulled a small key from his pocket and slipped it into the door of a room tucked away behind one of the elegant hallways. he glanced over his shoulder, cautious, before pushing it open and stepping inside. you didn’t follow immediately, but your mind registered it. a key. not just any room — a private one. the kind you’d return to later, when the world wasn’t watching.

you don’t look back. not yet.

inside, the room is empty except for the small details of a wedding — bouquets, mirrors, chairs — but it feels like the eye of the storm, calm before the inevitable. you step inside, your heel clicking against the cold floor, and you feel him follow.

his presence is heavy, but you make no move to acknowledge it. not yet.

you stand in the middle of the room, your back to him, and let the silence stretch for just long enough to make it unbearable.

and then, as if on cue, you hear the door close softly behind you.

his voice comes low and strained. “you’re pushing your luck.”

you don’t answer at first. instead, you let your hand graze over the table, the reflection of your own eyes in the mirror catching you off guard for a moment. his presence is so close now. you can feel the heat of his body like a shadow. you’ve always known how to make him lose control. and tonight, it's too easy.

finally, you turn to him, a slow, deliberate motion, your eyes catching his in the reflection. you don’t need to see his face to know what’s there. it’s all in the tension of his jaw, the way he stands — tense, but drawn to you like a moth to a flame.

“you know,” you say softly, your voice slipping into that dark, alluring tone, “there’s something about being close to you again.”

his fists clench. his voice trembles, barely contained. “shut up.”

you step closer, just enough to make him shift, but not enough to let him break that thin thread of restraint. “why? don’t you like it, gyu?” you whisper, barely audible. “don’t you miss the way we used to be?”

he takes a deep breath, his lips trembling with a fight he’s losing. “i told you… get the fuck out.”

but his body betrays him. you see it in the way his eyes flicker down to your lips. the way his breath hitches when you take that last step toward him, close enough for your chest to brush against his. his eyes lock with yours in a mix of fury and something darker.

you smile, sweet and dangerous. “you can’t walk away from me. not now. not after everything.”

he presses his lips together, his entire body tensing, as if he’s holding back something primal. then, his hand grabs your wrist — not rough, but tight, possessive. like a warning. and yet…

he doesn’t pull you away.

you let him hold you there, the tension so thick between you that it feels suffocating. and then, you tilt your head up slowly, just enough for your lips to brush his ear as you whisper:

“you hate me, don’t you?”

he doesn’t respond, but you can feel it. his pulse against your wrist, the rapid beating of his heart, the heat radiating off his skin.

“you hate that I’m still here, still alive,” you continue, your voice a soft, slow poison. “you hate that I’m in your fucking head.”

he squeezes your wrist harder, like he wants to crush the words, crush the thoughts swirling in his mind. “get away from me.”

you smirk, finally stepping away just enough to look at him directly. “but you still want me, don’t you? that’s why you’re standing here. still watching me. pretending you’re not imagining everything we could’ve done.”

his breath hitches.

you let the space between you grow — just enough for him to feel the distance. but you can see the truth in his eyes now. he’s unraveling. he’s trying to convince himself that he doesn’t want this, that he doesn’t need this, but his body gives him away.

he takes a step toward you, closing the space, and for a moment, you wonder if this is the moment he’ll finally break. but instead, he lowers his voice to a dangerous growl:

“you really think you can get away with this?”

you step forward, your body nearly touching his, and you whisper it low, with enough heat to make the words burn:

“i’m going to take everything from you. everything you care about. and you won’t stop me.”

and just as you say it, he crashes into you — not with force, but with a desperate, controlled need. his lips meet yours in a kiss that isn’t gentle. it’s angry. it’s hungry. it’s raw.

you kiss him back, letting him take the lead for a moment, tasting the rage, the longing, the betrayal. it’s not love. it’s not passion. it’s something else. something darker.

he pulls away just as quickly as he came, breath shallow. his pupils are blown, wild with something that might have been a confession.

but neither of you says a word.

you stand there, close enough to feel the heat of him, and you know this game is far from over.

he won’t walk away. not yet. not when the fire’s already lit.

his lips crush against yours again — this time harder, more brutal, like he’s trying to punish you with his mouth, trying to erase everything you’ve said, everything you’ve ever done. his hands dig into your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you feel the sharp line of his control snap between your teeth.

you moan into his mouth, a dark, breathy sound that makes his grip tighten.

he hates this. he hates that he’s kissing you. hates that he wants it so fucking bad. but his tongue parts your lips like a man starved, tasting every inch of what he’s craved in silence for years.

you drag your nails down his back, slow and deliberate, and feel him shudder.

“you’re disgusting,” he mutters against your lips, voice hoarse, trembling. “so are you,” you breathe back, licking into his mouth like sin itself. “but at least i admit it.”

his hands are on your thighs now, hiking up your dress — and you let him. you don’t stop him when he pushes you back against the vanity, knocking over flowers and makeup, wedding details crashing to the floor like a funeral bell.

his lips move down your jaw, your throat, biting a path like he’s branding you. “you shouldn’t be here,” he growls into your skin. “then stop me,” you whisper, breathless, eyes daring. “go on. push me away.”

he doesn’t.

he pushes your dress up further, bunching the fabric at your hips, exposing the soft skin of your thighs. his fingers tremble as they move to your panties, his breath hot against your neck.

“fuck,” he hisses when he finds you already wet. “you’re so—”

“say it,” you pant, threading your fingers into his hair and yanking. “say it.”

he bites your shoulder. hard. a bruise blooms there instantly.

“wet for me,” he spits. “still. after everything.”

you laugh, low and wicked. “maybe i never stopped.”

he yanks your panties aside and sinks two fingers inside you without warning, and you arch into him, crying out — not from pain, but from the sudden, obscene stretch of it. your body clenches around him like it remembers him, like it always belonged to him even when he didn’t deserve it.

his other hand grabs your jaw, forcing you to look him in the eye. “tell me you don’t want this.”

you smile with your lips parted, a mess of heat and venom. “i want everything you’ll regret.”

he curses, low and filthy, before replacing his fingers with his cock — thick, hot, angry — slamming into you in one brutal thrust that knocks the air from your lungs. your back hits the mirror, and it rattles with the force of him.

“fuck—” you gasp, holding onto the edge of the vanity for balance.

“so fucking tight,” he growls against your ear, thrusting hard, fast, punishing. “you came here for revenge, huh? to ruin me?”

“i am ruining you,” you moan, legs wrapping around his waist, digging your heels into his back. “you’re already fucking mine.”

he slams into you again, harder — like he wants to shut you up. but it only makes you scream louder.

each thrust is rougher than the last. your bodies slap together, heat and sweat and fury. this isn’t love. this isn’t tenderness. this is war. this is two people trying to burn the other alive and moaning into the fire.

he grips your hips and fucks into you with something close to desperation, as if he’s trying to forget, to rewrite history with every thrust. but you won’t let him. you claw at his skin, mark him, own him.

“gonna come,” he pants against your throat.

you squeeze around him, smile laced with malice and lust. “then do it. come inside me. like a good little liar.”

he bites your lip, snarling — and with one final thrust, he breaks, spilling into you with a guttural moan that echoes off the walls. you hold him there, feeling him twitch inside you, feeling him fall apart in your hands.

you come moments later, shaking around him, gasping his name like a curse and a prayer all at once.

he doesn’t move right away.

just stays there, inside you, breathing hard, forehead pressed against yours.

and for a second, the room is quiet again.

but then you speak, voice low, dangerous.

“you’ll regret this.”

he opens his eyes. they’re glassy. red-rimmed. terrified.

“i already do,” he whispers.

ACT FIVE: THE MURDER

you stumble out of the room, legs trembling, lips still tingling with the taste of him — hatred, lust, regret. all tangled in one bite. behind you, beomgyu breathes hard, still trying to compose himself, and you glance over your shoulder just in time to see him pull that same silver key from his pocket and quietly lock the door behind him. neat. clean. calculated. he doesn't want anyone discovering what just happened between you two.

perfect, you think. even better.

but this story isn’t done — not yet. you’ve got the tension. the sweat. the kiss of his guilt on your tongue.

now you need blood.

the reception is loud again. music swells, laughter floats, and the soft sound of champagne flutes clinking fills the air like wedding bells. but none of it touches you. not as you wander past the kitchen doorway, not as you see that towering wedding cake in the distance — pristine, elegant, the kind of perfection they probably spent hours agonizing over.

and there, beside it.

a knife. long. sharp. glinting with the reflection of white icing and overhead chandeliers. you stare at it. still. calculating. nobody notices you. not the chef, not the staff — you're just another woman in a blood-red dress at a wedding.

you smile sweetly, take the knife, and in a single smooth motion, slide it up under your gown and tuck it beneath the band of your garter.

your thighs press together. it holds.

you breathe.

and walk back into the storm.

hana spots you before you even reach her. she waves, face glowing with delight, but that joy falters when she sees your expression. a calculated melancholy lingers on your features — just enough to look real, just enough to pull at her concern.

“y/n?” she says, approaching quickly, her hands gentle as they cup your forearm. “what’s wrong? did something happen?”

you let your lips tremble. just slightly. “i don’t think… beomgyu was happy to see me.”

her eyes widen, immediately protective. “no! no, no, don’t say that. he’s just… surprised. you two were so close in uni, weren’t you? he’s probably overwhelmed. you know how emotional he gets.”

you almost laugh. emotional. sure.

“i don’t know,” you whisper, looking down, twisting the ring on your finger — a fake one you wore to sell the illusion. “maybe i shouldn’t have come. i feel like i’m intruding. like… like i brought something bad with me.”

hana squeezes your hand, eyes soft with worry. “don’t be silly. i’m so happy you came. really. and i know he is too — he just doesn't show it well.”

you sniff dramatically. “do you think we could talk somewhere more private?”

she hesitates, then nods with a smile. “of course. there’s a room upstairs — where beomgyu and i get ready. it’s just ours.” she reaches into her clutch, pulling out a familiar glint of silver. the same key. “we’re the only ones with access.”

your heart skips.

jackpot.

“come,” she says sweetly, linking arms with you. “you’ll feel better after some quiet.”

you let her lead.

the room is silent. untouched. dimly lit by golden sconces. a soft scent of rosewater lingers in the air. and once the door clicks shut behind you, hana turns to you again, ready to offer another excuse on beomgyu’s behalf.

“i’m really sorry if he came off cold,” she says. “he’s been so stressed with the planning, and—”

“or maybe,” you interrupt, stepping closer, letting your voice thicken with suggestion, “he’s upset about something from the past.”

she pauses, confused. “what do you mean?”

you sit on the armrest of the lounge chair, looking at her with mock softness. “we haven’t seen each other since university, hana. back then, i was quiet. focused on med school. no friends, no distractions. just books and labs.”

she nods, leaning in, intrigued.

“and then he found me,” you continue, voice dreamy now, almost nostalgic. “he was charming. open. wild. he showed me that life wasn’t just about excellence. that it could be messy… chaotic. thrilling. he wasn't the best student, but he had this… charisma. everyone loved him.”

hana smiles. “that sounds like him.”

“he’d invite me to join him on hospital rounds,” you add, “especially when staff was low. we’d cover shifts together. just the two of us. late nights. adrenaline. it was like a bond. a secret, you know?”

she nods slowly.

“did you two ever…?” she asks cautiously.

you shake your head. “not like that. but we were close. inseparable. until something happened. something he doesn’t want you to know.”

“what happened?” hana whispers, eyes wide with unease, hands clutching her dress like it could protect her from what’s coming.

you step closer.

not threateningly.

no — softly. gently. like a friend about to tell a secret.

“beomgyu and i,” you begin, voice low, “were more than just classmates. we were inseparable back then — best friends, maybe the only ones we had. we were in the same program, same surgical rotations. but he… he wasn’t always careful. not like me.”

hana blinks, nervous now. but listening.

“it was a simple procedure. nothing risky. barely a challenge,” you continue, your eyes flicking to the soft gleam of the knife beneath your gown, still hidden. “but he messed up. badly. i warned him to slow down, double-check the vitals. but he thought he could handle it.”

you pause. the room is dead silent except for your voice.

“he cut too deep. ruptured something. blood started pouring out, and he panicked. dropped his instruments. froze. he looked at me like a scared child — ‘help me,’ he begged. and i did. of course i did.”

you smile, bitterly. hana doesn't speak.

“i tried to stop the bleeding. i gave everything. my hands, my mind, my training. but it was too late. by the time the others came, the patient was gone. and i was drenched in red. completely soaked.”

you can still feel it — the warmth of it. the shock. the chaos.

“his mother came in. screaming. crying. she saw me first — covered in her son’s blood. beomgyu said nothing. then, like a coward, he pointed at me and said i made the mistake. that i’d panicked. that i killed him.”

hana steps back slightly, a hand over her mouth. “no…”

“the staff believed him. he had no blood on him, just a mask of grief. and i was… in shock. couldn’t even defend myself. they expelled me from the program, and then the charges came. criminal negligence. i spent years in prison, hana. years.”

you tilt your head, gaze sharpening.

“do you know what that does to someone? being caged for something you didn’t do? he ended my future. my life. all to protect his own reputation.”

hana opens her mouth, but nothing comes out.

you smile.

“and today, he’ll pay for it.”

and that’s when you move.

one second you’re smiling — the next, the knife is in your hand, slicing the air.

a gasp.

a soft sound, wet and gurgling. blood blooms across her throat like a twisted rose. her hands fly up, but it’s useless. her body crumbles to the carpet, her eyes wide and unblinking.

you kneel beside her, breathing steady.

“it was never about love,” you whisper in her ear. “he only loved what you could give him. and now it’s mine.”

ACT SIX: THE EVIDENCE

the room still reeked of perfume, lilies, and now — blood. thick and metallic, it hung in the air like a cruel fog. her body lay awkwardly against the plush carpet, blood seeping in slow, lazy tendrils from the wound in her neck. hana’s expression was stuck somewhere between shock and confusion, as if her soul hadn’t quite caught up with her body in death. her hands were slightly raised, instinctively defensive, but there was no one left to plead with. not anymore. not after what had been set in motion years ago.

you stood over her in silence for a moment, letting the weight of it settle into your bones — not guilt, but satisfaction. cold and heavy and deliberate. this wasn’t chaos. it was choreography.

with clinical precision, you leaned down, your gloves still in place, your breathing steady. slipping your hand into the folds of her bridal gown, you found the small silver key she’d shown you earlier — the one she had said only she and beomgyu shared. perfect. you took it and tucked it away into your own bodice, but not before retrieving the knife, still warm, still wet, and carefully returning it to its hiding place beneath your garter. the steel met your skin briefly before disappearing back into the safety of lace and silk.

you weren’t finished.

you moved quickly now, not rushed, just efficient. hana’s lifeless form was heavier than you expected, but you managed to drag her toward the grand antique wardrobe tucked into the corner of the room. with effort, you arranged her inside, folding her gently as if she were porcelain. her arms fell to her sides like forgotten ribbon. from your bag, you pulled out a slim, black silk tie — beomgyu’s. you tied it around the wardrobe handles, tight and exact, the knot crisp. when someone found her, they’d see that tie and wonder. they’d question.

still wearing your gloves, you crouched again, inspecting the floor. blood had begun to dry at the edges, but it wasn’t too late. from your oversized purse, you pulled a small cloth and a diluted cleanser. you wiped every trace, every drop, every footprint. when the floor gleamed again — soulless and clean — you exhaled, but not in relief. this wasn’t over.

you walked to the mirror, peeled the gloves off with a slow, meticulous grace, and washed your hands in the basin nearby. the water ran pink, then clear. you changed next — stripping out of your blood-smeared gown and slipping into an identical one, pristine and untouched, as if nothing had happened at all. the contrast was jarring, beautiful even. you folded the ruined dress neatly and stuffed it back into the depths of your bag.

your escape wasn’t through the door. instead, you approached the tall window, unlatched it quietly, and climbed out with the elegance of someone rehearsed. the soft thud of your shoes on the grass below didn’t draw a single eye — the courtyard was mercifully empty.

and then, fate handed you one final gift: the dog.

a large, well-fed retriever — probably belonging to the venue’s owner — padded across the lawn near the back entrance. its tail wagged, oblivious. with a quick gesture, you undid its leash and nudged it gently in the direction of the banquet hall. you didn’t need to say anything. the second it caught scent of sugar and buttercream, it bolted.

from a distance, you watched the chaos unfold.

the animal barreled into the hall, diving toward the extravagant white wedding cake at the center. shrieks rang out from the staff, followed by gasps from the guests as the massive dog leapt, knocking plates and champagne flutes in every direction. the distraction was beautiful. orchestrated. all eyes turned, all bodies rushed forward.

you slipped back inside, unnoticed, and made your way to the small parlor by the fireplace. the chimenea crackled with welcoming heat. pulling the blood-soaked dress from your bag, you tossed it into the flames and watched as it curled and blackened, then disappeared. no ash, no trace. nothing left but a faint scent of smoke and finality.

when you stepped out again, you were just another guest, a woman in red, blending back into the celebration.

a ghost with blood on her hands and no soul left to haunt.

ACT SEVEN: THE ALIBI

you adjusted your dress — perfect, pristine, untouched — and found yourself drifting through the hum of music and small talk that buzzed under the glittering chandeliers. the ballroom seemed to pulse with distraction. no one had noticed the weight that had disappeared from the upstairs room. not yet.

your eyes landed on him — the father of the bride. chairman yoon. tall, composed, his tailored suit stretching across a chest built by pride and decades of success. the man was practically royalty in the medical world, owner of several hospitals across seoul. you approached him with the softness of silk and the poise of someone who belonged.

"mr. yoon," you began with a smile as polished as glass, "your daughter... she looked beautiful today. truly radiant."

his chest puffed with the pride of a man who had provided everything for his only child. he nodded solemnly, his glass of champagne catching the light as he raised it slightly in a silent toast to his own bloodline.

"and beomgyu," you continued, your voice low, reverent, like a hymn. "he's... incredible. passionate. dedicated. you know, not every man would love so deeply, so completely. he’d go to the ends of the earth for hana."

his eyes twitched with something unreadable, maybe curiosity, maybe relief. you pressed on.

"i think you'd be proud to know she chose a man who sees her as more than just a wife — he sees her as his purpose. his reason. i’ve known beomgyu for years, and... he’s always been like that. full of heart. always willing to sacrifice himself for someone he loves. it’s rare to find someone that good anymore. especially in our field."

you watched the old man’s face soften, a flicker of sentiment warming his otherwise calculating expression. you kept it going, slowly painting beomgyu as the martyr, the hopeless romantic, the picture of the devoted son-in-law. no one would ever suspect a thing if the story was sculpted just right — and your hands were already elbow-deep in the clay.

but then... your ears twitched.

a burst of laughter from across the room caught your attention — the kind of giggle that tried too hard to be subtle. you turned your head and caught sight of hana’s bridesmaids, huddled close together like schoolgirls sharing a forbidden secret. their eyes sparkled with the thrill of gossip. you drifted closer, steps measured, heartbeat steady. their voices dropped a little when they saw you, but it was too late — you had already heard the name.

"soobin."

one of them whispered it again, as if afraid the very word might catch fire. and then, another voice, hushed and breathless.

"they kissed. i swear to god, they kissed."

"at the bachelorette party?" a gasp.

"yes. she said it was just the heat of the moment — he was her crush back in college, remember? and after all these years… it just happened. god, she said she forgot what it felt like to be wanted like that."

your stomach didn’t turn. it twisted with dark joy.

this was it. this was gold. betrayal, lust, opportunity. everything you needed to sow the perfect storm.

you didn’t waste a second. turning smoothly, you made your way to a small group near the bar — men in sleek suits, clustered together like a pack of wolves dressed in cologne and wine. they must’ve been beomgyu’s university friends, the ones he met after he burned your life to ashes. they wouldn’t know you. they wouldn’t question your role.

you approached with the gentle confidence of someone who had every right to be there. "hi," you smiled, polite and slightly sad. "i’m... one of beomgyu’s closest friends. from before med school, actually."

they turned toward you, nodding with vague recognition. one of them offered you his hand. "nice to meet you. i’m hyun. beomgyu never really talked about his old friends. but i guess he’s pretty private about that stuff."

"yeah," you said, letting just the right note of sorrow seep into your voice. "he’s... been through a lot."

they leaned in instinctively.

"i just…" you hesitated, casting your eyes downward. "i needed to say something, and i don’t know who else would understand. he’s a good guy. a really good guy. he doesn’t deserve what hana did."

their brows furrowed instantly, curiosity piqued. "what do you mean?"

you glanced around the room before leaning closer, lowering your voice. "look... i shouldn’t be saying this. but during her bachelorette party... hana kissed someone. someone she used to have a crush on in university. i think it was... soobin? and, well... maybe it didn’t stop there. maybe it went further."

they exchanged glances, jaws tightening.

"you’re sure?"

you nodded, slowly. "i didn’t want to believe it either. but hana told one of the girls herself. she was drunk. said it just... happened. like the past came rushing back and she forgot about everything else."

they muttered under their breath, disbelief and disgust curling their lips. one of them scoffed. "i knew it. she always looked too perfect. like the kind of girl who smiles sweet but keeps knives in her purse."

another one chuckled bitterly. "and beomgyu? that poor bastard... he’s really into her. like, really. he doesn’t deserve that."

"no," you agreed. "he doesn’t."

they looked at you again, this time with a different kind of respect. not suspicion, not doubt. alignment.

"thanks for telling us," hyun said after a pause. "we won’t... say anything yet. but someone should. eventually."

you nodded once more, then turned away, letting the weight of your words hang in the air behind you like smoke.

the story was unfolding exactly as it needed to — not as it was, but as you designed it. slowly, subtly, beomgyu’s world would collapse in on itself. and when the flames reached his feet, the only thing left for him to do would be burn.

ACT EIGHT: THE CONFRONTATION

you feel his eyes on you long before he reaches you. they trail your every move across the ballroom—how you tilt your head as you speak to hana's father, how you laugh gently with his old classmates, how your hands rest politely against your wine glass, calm and clean and deceptively innocent. it must be driving him insane.

and it is. because when he finally storms across the golden-lit room and grabs you by the wrist, there's no hesitation, no softness, no mask left. the smile you wear is poison-laced sugar, the kind that rots the soul.

“come with me. now,” he says through clenched teeth.

you don’t resist. instead, you raise an eyebrow, deliberately taking your time to place your glass down on a table. “so demanding. is that how you treat your guests on your wedding day?”

he doesn’t answer. just pulls you along the corridor, back through the twisting hallways, until you reach that room again—the one where secrets are born and buried. he unlocks it with the silver key, the same one you saw earlier, the same one his fiancée had.

he slams the door behind you, breath ragged. “stop playing games.”

you lean against the edge of the makeup table, unbothered. “who says i’m playing?”

“cut the act.” his voice cracks, sharp and low. “what the hell do you want from me?”

you walk slowly toward him, arms draping lazily over his shoulders, fingers trailing up the back of his neck like a ghost he thought he buried. “you,” you whisper, eyes gleaming. “i want you.”

his jaw tightens, but his hands tremble. “don’t do this.”

“why not?” your breath brushes against his ear. “because you’re scared you’ll fall again? or because you already have?”

he grabs your wrists and pulls them down. “this isn’t real. it’s never been real with you. you twist everything—”

“and yet, here you are,” you cut him off, stepping even closer. “following me, dragging me into dark rooms, asking me what i want. what does that say about you, beomgyu?”

his silence is deafening.

you smile, slow and venomous. “you don’t love her,” you say, voice flat now, cutting. “you love what she gives you. her father’s empire. the title. the access. you’re marrying a name, not a person.”

his lips part to argue, but no words come out.

“you betrayed me to save your future,” you continue, no longer seducing—now dismantling him piece by piece. “and now that i’ve returned to claim what’s mine, you think you can just tell me to stop?”

“what did you do?” his voice is hoarse, shaken, almost afraid.

you tilt your head. “you’ll find out soon enough.”

he lunges forward then, fists clenching like he might strike, but stops inches from your face. you don’t flinch. you want him to hit you. you want the mask to fall completely. instead, he breathes harshly, veins pulsing in his neck.

“you ruined everything.”

“no,” you correct, brushing invisible lint off his suit jacket. “i balanced everything. this was never your story alone, beomgyu. i was just patient enough to wait for the climax.”

from outside, you hear laughter, music, the clink of glasses. a celebration built on lies, already cracking.

he looks at you like you're the devil, but deep down—he knows he invited you in the moment he sacrificed you for his own survival.

and now the devil wants her due.

beomgyu’s gaze pierces through you as he stands just a few steps away. his chest rises and falls in quick, shallow breaths, and his hands, clenched at his sides, tremble ever so slightly. it’s not fear—no, you recognize it now. it’s guilt, swirling just beneath the surface of his icy demeanor.

he knows you’re hiding something. his eyes narrow, his brow furrows in frustration as he takes a step closer to you, his voice low, barely above a whisper.

“i can see it,” he says, his voice laced with suspicion, “you’re hiding something. you always have been. i won’t let you get away with it.”

you don’t flinch. instead, you lower your head, letting your hair fall over your face as you allow yourself a small, bitter smile. “what more could you possibly do to me, beomgyu?” you ask, feigning a hurt tone that feels foreign on your tongue, but you know it works. “you already took everything from me. my career, my future. what’s left? what could you possibly take from me now?”

he takes a hesitant step back, his eyes flickering with something dangerous. “you still think i’m the villain, don’t you?”

your voice drops to a whisper, but it’s cutting, slicing through the silence with a sharp edge. “you were always the villain. from the moment you betrayed me, you sealed your fate. do you feel guilty now? do you finally understand what you did? how many lives you’ve ruined because of your mistakes?”

beomgyu’s face tightens, his jaw clenching as if to hold back a storm. “i’ve improved,” he snaps, the words spilling out quickly, defensively. “i’ve gotten better. i don’t make those mistakes anymore. i’ve worked harder than anyone to—”

“you’ve lied,” you interrupt, your tone icy. “how many patients have died because of your negligence? how many diagnoses have you gotten wrong? you can lie to yourself, beomgyu, but not to me. i remember. i remember everything.”

he freezes. the air between you thickens, heavy with the weight of your words. you can see the storm brewing behind his eyes—the frustration, the fear, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface. but there's something else, too. something far darker.

“i’ve changed,” he repeats, his voice low, as though he’s trying to convince himself. “i’m not that person anymore.”

“you’ll never change,” you whisper, your gaze hardening. “i’d never make the mistakes you did. i’d never let anyone die. but you? You don’t even care. you never did.”

the tension builds between you, thick as smoke. his hands are clenched into fists, and for a moment, you think he might lash out. but then, his voice cracks, desperation lining his words. “you need to leave. now. i never want to see you again.”

ACT NINE: THE REVEAL

you feel your lips curl into a smile. the air between you feels too tense to breathe in, yet you move closer, not backing down. you raise your dress slightly, just enough to reveal the glint of bloodied steel tucked into the garter on your thigh. the knife, still slick with the evidence of your actions.

beomgyu freezes, his eyes going wide, his face draining of color. He opens his mouth, but no words come out. his voice trembles when he finally whispers, barely audible, “tell me... you didn’t—”

“didn’t what?” you ask, leaning closer, almost savoring the fear in his eyes. “you think i’d let you get away with it all? after everything you put me through?”

his breath is shallow, chest rising and falling in rapid succession. “tell me it’s not true... p-please.”

you step closer, your fingers brushing over the hilt of the knife, feeling the cool metal under your fingertips. “it’s true, beomgyu. it’s all true. but don’t worry,” you continue, leaning in so close your lips almost touch his ear. “i won’t blame you for what happened. after all, you did it. you killed her. you killed hana. and i just helped you clean up your mess.”

he stumbles back, his face ashen, eyes wide, pupils dilated. his voice cracks as he whispers the words he’s most terrified to admit, “you... you really did it, didn’t you?”

you smile, slow and deliberate, feeling a twisted satisfaction at the horror in his eyes.

“you?” he whispers again, barely able to breathe. “you killed her?”

you laugh softly, your voice a low, dangerous hum. “me? oh, beomgyu, it wasn’t me who did all of this. it was you. you just never saw it coming.”

you take a step closer, until you’re so near that his breath mingles with yours, but this time, there’s no more mask. there’s no more façade. just the reality of what’s happened and what’s to come.

with a wicked smile, you press your lips against his ear and whisper, “i didn’t kill her, beomgyu. you did.”

his face goes pale as he finally realizes the magnitude of what you’ve done. the game is over. there’s no escaping it now.

beomgyu’s denial hangs heavy in the air. “no,” he mutters, almost like a prayer. “no, i don’t believe you.” his voice shakes, but there’s something desperate behind his words, like he’s begging the world to disprove you, to make this some elaborate lie.

without breaking eye contact, you reach for his hand. he resists at first, stiff with unease, but you’re insistent. delicate fingers wrap around his wrist, and you guide his palm down your thigh, brushing past the smooth fabric of your dress until it finds the cold steel nestled against your skin.

his breath hitches the moment his fingertips graze the knife.

you press his hand harder against it, watching his face contort. “there,” you whisper in a voice dripping with venomous sweetness. “do you feel it, beomgyu? that’s her blood. your bride’s blood. your future. your lie.”

his eyes widen in disbelief, but that disbelief quickly twists into something far darker. the veins in his neck bulge with tension, his jaw clenched so tightly you hear the grind of his teeth. he jerks his hand away as if the touch burned him, but it’s already too late.

something inside him snaps.

with a choked roar, beomgyu lunges at you, fingers reaching—not for your throat, but for the knife. his face is a mask of rage, the lines once softened by charm now carved into something feral and unrecognizable.

beomgyu rips his hand away like it’s been scorched. his eyes go wide—then dark. the denial in them crumbles into something monstrous. fury consumes his features like a wildfire, burning away any remnants of the composed, gentle man he pretended to be.

“you bitch—!” he snarls, eyes wild. “you fucking psycho! i'll fucking kill you!” he growls through clenched teeth, and in a blink he’s on you, grabbing your arm and yanking the knife free from your leg.

the cold kiss of steel flashes in the dim light as he raises it.

but you’ve anticipated this moment. always one step ahead.

before the blade can meet its mark, or can close around your throat, your arm lashes out. you grab the black tie wrapped around the closet’s ornate handle—the very one he wore earlier that day—and yank it with all your strength.

the closet door bursts open.

and with a sickening thud, hana’s lifeless body tumbles forward, crashing into beomgyu’s chest like a broken doll. her dress is still pristine white, but soaked crimson around the neck, where the fatal wound rests like a grotesque necklace. her head lolls unnaturally as she falls directly onto beomgyu, knocking him back several steps.

his arms instinctively catch her, and for a split second, the world stops.

the blood.

the weight.

the coldness of her skin.

he staggers, knees nearly buckling, and the knife—your knife—slips from your leg and clatters to the floor between them, the blade nearly piercing hana’s side as she collapses fully into his trembling arms.

beomgyu doesn't scream. he can't.

the silence in the room is louder than anything. his breathing turns erratic, like a trapped animal finally realizing it's been lured into the cage. his trembling fingers touch the blood on hana's chest. his own hands, now red.

the walls are closing in. fast.

and all you do… is smile.

a slow, merciless smile as you step back into the shadows of the room. because now the stage is perfectly set.

and he is holding the murder weapon.

ACT TEN: THE MAN THEY'LL BLAME

for a moment, beomgyu doesn’t move.

he just stares—stares at the body cradled in his arms like it might still blink, might still breathe, might still whisper his name and laugh at this cruel joke. but there’s no laughter now. only the warmth of her blood soaking into his sleeves, her dress, the scent of iron clinging to every inhale. his face collapses into a grotesque mask of shock and pain.

“no,” he breathes out. “no, no, no—”

then the scream rips out of him, raw and gut-wrenching, a sound that doesn’t even sound human. he screams until his throat burns, until his lungs rattle, until the air around him trembles from the sheer force of it. the knife—your knife—still rests in his hand, stained and gleaming. his knuckles are white from how tightly he grips it.

that’s when the footsteps thunder outside.

the door bursts open.

gasps. screams. chaos.

guests flood the entrance like a wave—confused, horrified, stunned. among them, mr. yoon, hana’s father, stares into the room, frozen at the threshold. his eyes fall on his daughter first. slumped overcovered in blood. then on beomgyu—drenched in it, knife in hand, eyes wild and red.

and then… you.

you’re on the floor, trembling, hair disheveled, dress rumpled as if you’d struggled. tears streak your cheeks—perfect, practiced tears. you crawl backward, as if trying to get away from the man who supposedly tried to hurt you.

“mr. yoon—!” you cry out, voice cracking beautifully. “h-he killed her! i—i saw him! he found out about the affair, and—and when i tried to stop him, h-he tried to force himself on me!”

gasps erupt behind you. someone cries. another person retches.

beomgyu looks up, eyes darting from face to face, from you to the crowd. “she’s lying!” he shouts, hoarse, frantic. “she did this! it wasn’t me—!”

but mr. yoon’s voice cuts through the noise, sharp and trembling with rage. “get away from my daughter!” he roars, his eyes blazing with grief. “you monster! YOU STAY AWAY FROM HER!”

“no—please—listen to me, she—!” beomgyu tries to speak, but no one hears him. no one wants to.

they only see blood.

they only see a man with a knife and a woman sobbing on the floor.

phones are already out. someone is screaming for the police. others are backing away in terror. and the walls begin to close in on beomgyu.

he staggers to his feet, unsteady and splattered in red. the knife falls from his hand, clattering to the floor in a sharp ring of metal. he looks down at himself, the blood dripping from his fingers, painting a path of guilt behind him. his breath shortens, panic setting in like a chokehold.

“no… no, this isn’t happening…” he whispers, stumbling backward.

then—he runs.

out of the room. down the corridor. leaving a long, damning trail of crimson footprints in his wake.

and as the screams echo behind him, you stay on the floor… weeping just enough to keep the attention. just enough to keep the lie alive.

because now the world believes the story you wrote.

and beomgyu?

he’s already halfway to becoming the villain in everyone’s eyes.

FINAL ACT: THE PRICE OF BLOOD AND SILENCE

outside, the air is heavy with the weight of disbelief. voices cut through the night like blades—frantic, confused, disoriented. the manic hum of whispers grows louder the further you descend the stairs, like insects crawling over a rotting truth. people are gathered in tight little knots, their faces pale, tear-streaked, their eyes darting toward the mansion windows where the blood still clings to the glass.

you pass them quietly.

you hear the words that float around you like ghosts, each syllable another stone sealing beomgyu’s fate.

“he always said he loved hana. i didn’t think he meant… like that.”

“he was obsessed. did you see his face?”

“i told you something was off about him.”

“they say he found out about her and soobin… that she cheated during the bachelorette trip. maybe it pushed him over the edge.”

“he was crazy in love.”

you don’t speak. you don’t need to. your eyes stay low, your expression soft—an echo of grief stitched delicately across your features. every gesture rehearsed. every breath measured. inside, your heart is still. not peaceful… just empty.

you cross the lawn, past the wilting flower arrangements, past the shattered champagne glasses and chairs left crooked in haste. the wedding arch stands crooked now, fabric swaying like it’s mourning. you follow the trail of red stains, droplets growing thicker the closer you get to the garden altar.

and there he is.

beomgyu.

collapsed on the grass like a marionette with its strings cut. his knees are drawn to his chest, one hand tangled in his hair, the other pressed to his temple as if trying to hold his skull together. his suit is drenched—shoulders, chest, cuffs—sticky with the blood of the woman he thought he’d marry. he’s murmuring to himself, over and over, lips trembling, voice cracking with disbelief and despair.

“i didn’t do it… i didn’t do it… i didn’t…”

he looks like a shell. like a man who’s forgotten how to exist.

you step closer, the heels of your shoes pressing into the wet earth, and he lifts his head. slowly. his eyes find yours and the second they do, you see the shift—the dilation of his pupils shrinking into pinpoints, his body freezing.

you smile.

just a faint little curve of your lips. delicate. deranged.

he knows now.

he knows.

and when you crouch in front of him, slowly, your eyes never leaving his, your voice slides out like a silk ribbon soaked in poison.

“now you feel guilt?” you whisper. soft. intimate. cruel.

he doesn’t answer.

he can’t.

his chest rises and falls like he’s drowning. and maybe he is. drowning in blood, in betrayal, in the realization that everything he thought he controlled has crumbled. that you were never the fragile shadow of the past. you were the storm waiting to devour him.

your head tilts.

he stares at you like you’re no longer human.

because you’re not. not anymore.

you’re wrath with a smile. vengeance wearing perfume. the end of his world in a velvet dress.

his mouth opens, but no sound comes out.

and then—

sirens.

flashing lights.

the wail of justice arriving too late.

officers push through the crowd, guns drawn, shouting orders. hands grab him, dragging him up, cuffing him. he doesn’t resist. there’s no fight left. just wide, ruined eyes and hands still stained in red. he looks back at you one last time as they pull him away.

you wave.

not mockingly. not sweetly.

just… goodbye.

and as they drive him off into the night, all you can feel is the stillness.

not peace. not victory.

just silence.

and in that silence, you smile.

because your story is over.

and it ends in red.

EPILOGUE: CONFESSION IN THE DARK

the cell is cold.

not just in temperature, but in the kind of silence that settles under your skin and eats at the edges of your thoughts. beomgyu sits on the narrow cot, elbows on his knees, hands hanging limp like they don’t belong to him anymore. they’ve scrubbed them—his hands—but the blood feels permanent. it’s in the creases of his palms, beneath his fingernails, deep in the lines of his fingerprints. nothing washes off guilt.

he hasn’t spoken in hours.

they asked him questions. detectives. officers. even a therapist. he answered in whispers at first. then stopped answering altogether. because what is there to say when the world you thought you built was nothing more than glass—and someone finally shattered it?

his mind replays the moment again. and again. and again.

the weight of hana’s body crashing against him. the scream caught in his throat. the slick handle of the knife in his hand. the look in your eyes.

that look.

not fury. not hatred. something worse.

triumph.

he knows now. all of it. every piece he missed. every warning he ignored. he knew you’d come back, but he thought you wanted closure. he thought you’d mourned the past like he had.

he didn’t know you’d return as ruin.

he remembers what you said. about the patients. about the mistakes.

and he remembers their faces, too. the ones he lost. the ones whose lives slipped through his hands when he was too arrogant, too inexperienced, too afraid to say “i don’t know.”

but he never thought you’d find a way to make the world see him the way you did. a killer. a fraud. a man too weak to carry the weight of a life, yet too proud to admit he dropped it.

his breathing is shallow now.

he leans back against the wall. lets his head rest there. concrete against bone. he thinks of hana. of her smile, her voice, her secrets. he doesn’t know if she really loved him. doesn’t know if she really cheated. he doesn’t even know if it matters anymore.

because all that’s left is silence.

you didn’t just take his future.

you took the last piece of himself he believed was good.

he’s not crying.

he hasn’t cried.

but something inside him is unraveling slowly, like a thread pulled loose in the dark.

the light above him flickers.

he closes his eyes.

and somewhere, buried deep in the quiet, he hears your voice again—soft, mocking, triumphant.

“now you feel guilt?”

and this time, he does.

with every heartbeat, he does.

and as the door to his cell clicked shut behind him, echoing like the toll of a final bell, the world outside kept turning—unaware that sometimes, the perfect crime wears a smile, walks in heels, and whispers love like poison.

[reiguns]

Yay, thank u for the tag! 🥰

🎮 I only had handhelds until the Switch, and BotW was the first Zelda game I finished, so I feel like the Switch is my favorite era lol. I appreciate that I can experience older games on it, but I won’t count those as Switch era games lol.

📚 I only really enjoy the games tbh. I’ll expose myself and say I can’t stand the manga lmao. I do like the art books, just not as much as I love the games.

🦈 I wanna be a Goron so I can roll around and spend all day in a hot spring without getting pruny lol.

🚫 I only remember that annoying guy in Hateno Village who makes you do that quest to collect all those crickets so he can impress the girl in the inn he’d been creeping on, so fuck that guy lol.

✨ I loooove the world-building! I love the variety of characters in each game, and the different environments!

🔢 Probably a 7, I haven’t played a lot of the games outside the ones available on the Switch, but oh boy do I love to read wikis about them to get the gist of the story lol. My time is more limited now, so I don’t feel the need to play games when I’ve read everything about them (my coping mechanism lol)

🐚 The Ocarina of Time, I’d love to redo days I accidentally wasted lmao.

🎬 I feel like we don’t need a Zelda movie since the core of Zelda games is the experience. I don’t think it would translate well to media that you can’t interact with, especially if Link is the main character. That was a long winded way to say that I won’t watch it lol.

I tag anyone who wants to answer these!

OH NO! It's one of those obnoxious TAG YOUR FRIENDS things, except it's THE LEGEND OF ZELDA THEMED!

Although, if you haven't been tagged and you want to do this or send it asking to someone, PLEASE DO SO! Everyone's welcome. Without further ado, here's the questions! answer as many as you like.

🎮 What is your favorite game era? (ex. games for the Switch, Wii, N64, etc.)

📚 What's your favorite piece of LoZ media (ex. the manga, games, sourcebooks, spinoffs, etc.)?

🦈 If you could be any race or creature in the games, what would you be?

🚫 Who's the worst LoZ character?

✨ What's your favorite thing about the franchise?

🔢 On a scale from 1-10 how big of a LoZ nerd/fan are you?

🐚 If you could have any item from the games, what would you choose?

🎬 Opinions on the news that a live-action LoZ is being made...?

Have fun & as always, stay cool!

[rottingbvnnyheart]

[moeblob]

Demyx (my beloved)

[cyanrendipity]

You know, I used to think I hated poetry, sometimes I still have the feeling maybe I do? But then I realize I like it

I started hating poetry when I was a kid, I remember going thru my mom's huge collection of books and finding a really small book with a pale blue cover that caught my attention, I asked my mom if I could read it (there was adult books in her collection so I always asked) and she took it from my hands and laughed saying I wouldn't understand a poetry book, I was too young and it was way too complex for me, even adults can't understand it properly! I've always been a very spiteful person at my core, so that type of attitude just made me so mad I didn't want to touch the book anymore lmao

I encountered that gatekeeping time and time again relating to poetry, people talked about it like it was something beyond "the average person" like you had to have some sort of special understanding to "truly get it" and it just made me think "If I'm not good enough for poetry, poetry is not good enough for me"

After that whenever I encountered a poem that truly touched me I would pretend it was an exception, "surely poems cannot be good, they're made confusing on purpose to keep people out" I would think "This one is easy to understand it's not like 'those' poems" (don't even know which poems 'those' were)

Anyway it took a LONG time and encountering many types of poems written by many different people about many subjects until I realized, poems are in fact nor good or bad by nature, it's like any form of art, and it kinda made me mad at people who made me think it was something "only some" can understand and appreciate cause it kept me off from it for a long time.

[sskk-manifesto]

Next time we should just skip over ep 3 and do a chapters 84-87 reread

[jjbalice]

Ateez concert successfully felled

[tariah23]

I keep seeing the same gazillion “Kendrick is the biggest hater-“ posts over and over again like, I’m sorry but I get it, we get it already JAJAJA.

[imadhatt3r]

No video game series will ever piss me off more than p/ersona, because it has literally everything I love in fiction: A cast of characters where each one has a side story, hidden parts of their psyche, and harbors some kind of deep secret that tortures them every day? Character interaction in different scenarios? Exploration of different characters' psyches that look like personalized, abstract dungeons that you have to literally fight through? Exploring themes like innevability of death and different ways people cope with it or societal injustice? Tarot motifs? Use of Jung's psychological theories (which are BOGUS, but make for AMAZING addition to fictional stories)? Every element, including UI, is heavily and consistently stylized? Music that goes INSANELY hard???

Like this series should be like crack-infused catnip to me, but I just can't get into it bc Atlus always has to include something so tone-deaf and just downright DOGSHIT into these games (usually something relating to the dating system or pretty much anything relating to how they CONSISTENTLY potray queer people in their games) that I just cannot bring myself to seriously attempt to get into it 😔

[violentlydefending]

genuinely always so shocked to see mirei hate. like literally god forbid women do anything.

[akkivee]

death respect is such an iconic championship round song like you really had

juto telling doppo he gets off on his own rap

doppo telling juto he’s too crooked to actually feel anything remotely deep like regret

hifumi saying rio stinks of man

all within like the first minute of the song lmao

[lieutenantselnia]

This is super random, but I've recently been watching more German movies (I really enjoyed the performances of some Downfall actors and wanted to see some of their other works), and like what the hell is it with 2000s German movies that there's way too often one entirely random scene with someone having their bare ass out😭😂

Of course it doesn't happen in every movie but still often enough that it's somehow noticeable? I'm not sure if it's more of a time or a country dependent thing, but at least in my perception I just don't feel like this occurs as often in more recent movies and series especially in those from the US (like, I feel I'd have noticed if it did because I'd probably be lowkey annoyed by it😂)

[running-in-the-dark]

had a conversation about gym class with my friend who I went to school with today - it was depressing but also nice to hear that her experience with it (at that particular school) was just as bad as mine.

I don't think the way my school treated gym class was entirely normal tbh. it was completely different to the school I went to after, anyway. and everyone I talked to there only knew gym class to be a pretty fun, lighthearted thing. at my old school it was only about achievement, you had to be perfect, if not you were usually yelled at. and if you couldn't participate because you were feeling a bit ill (but not enough to stay home from school) you were ridiculed and/or insulted in front of the whole class. this happened with every gym teacher we had over the whole 9 years there.

it felt like two hours of punishment, there was nothing good about it. and it made at least the both of us feel like any kind of exercise/sport, especially in a group setting, was terrifying - for years after. even my much more positive experience at the other school I went to didn't make that go away.

[xbittersweet-nostalgiax]

Almost done with Year 1 of my new sdv save~!

Did fishing get harder? Bc I feel like the bar drains faster now...and it's not like I've forgotten how tricky it is early on—I'm a chronic Multiple Save File Maker, so I'm plenty acquainted with having no fishing levels

Regardless of that, I've been an absolute fishing fiend—my level maxed out sometime in autumn and I've actually caught a few fish that I haven't bothered to before (namely the ice pip and lava eel)

I've unlocked quite a few bobbers too, my current favorite is the lil green slime one

I prefer the Squid Fest over the Trout Derby, since every squid I catch counts as opposed to how rare the rainbow trout tags are—I got like 6 on the first day and then 1, JUST ONE, on the second day despite catching SEVERAL rainbow trout

I'm excited for Year 2 tho~

[daz4i]

chat is this anything

(taken from "this is what it's like to be human")