#we all know the reasons but i just fucking hate it so much

[drewsephrry]

Love Island: Episode 4

series masterlist

pairings: rafe cameron x fem!reader

words: 4.7k

warnings: sexual innuendos, alcohol consumption, cuss words

A heavy silence settles over the group as everyone turns to stare at Y/N.

“What are you talking about?” Rafe asks, his brows furrowing. Y/N swallows, her eyes flicking between the people around her before landing back on the boy hugging Maddy below. She exhales sharply.

“That’s…my ex.”

“Holy shit!” JJ blurts out, earning a smack from John B, who looks just as stunned. Alyssa and Pope are too busy staring at the date happening downstairs, but the rest of the group is locked onto Y/N.

“How long ago did you two break up?” Topper asks, his gaze darting toward Rafe, who is eerily quiet.

“Like a year.” She reveals. Alyssa scoffs, finally looking away from the scene below.

“Crocs? Seriously?” She wrinkles her nose as she gestures toward Kelce’s choice of footwear. Despite the tension twisting in her chest, Y/N finds herself smiling, shaking her head at Alyssa’s reaction. JJ leans forward, curiosity getting the best of him.

“What’s he like?” He pauses, then adds quickly. “I mean, like…you know what I mean.” Y/N shifts on her feet, suddenly feeling the weight of everyone’s attention. She exhales.

“He’s funny. Loves to travel, so much so that he became a travel agent. He loves soccer. He’s really creative, always took me on the weirdest dates you could imagine.” Her voice softens and without realizing it, a small smile tugs at her lips.

Rafe clenches his jaw. He watches the way Y/N’s expression softens, the way her lips curve when she talks about Kelce. It’s not even what she’s saying, it’s how she’s saying it. There’s a warmth in her voice, a familiarity that Rafe can’t compete with.

It pisses him off.

He shouldn't care. He shouldn’t feel this tightness in his chest at the thought of Y/N and Kelce, of all the time they had before he even entered the picture. He knows it’s stupid. It’s not like she’s his. Not officially, anyway.

But fuck, he wants her to be.

He watches her, torn between wanting to pull her away and hating that he even feels this way in the first place.

When she finally turns back toward him, it’s like she can feel the weight of his stare. Her brows furrow slightly.

“You okay?” She asks, her voice gentle. Rafe forces a smirk.

“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” She studies him for a second longer before nodding.

“No reason.” She doesn’t push and that’s what kills him.

Because maybe, deep down, a part of him wants her to push. To tell him she doesn’t want Kelce anymore, that he has nothing to worry about. That she’s his, even though they’ve never actually said those words out loud.

Instead, he just watches as she looks back toward Kelce, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes.

And Rafe feels that sharp twist in his chest again.

“Why’d you break up?” John B asks.

“That's not a nice thing to ask.” Sarah nudges him.

“No, it’s fine.” Y/N shakes her head. “We just wanted different things.” John B nods in understanding, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, I get that.” He murmurs.

Rafe doesn’t say a word. He barely moves, but Y/N can feel his stare burning into her. His arms are crossed now, fingers gripping his biceps a little too tightly. His gaze flickers between her and Kelce.

The dates finish and soon enough, the islanders head downstairs to meet Kelce. JJ, John B and Pope are the first to approach, radiating their usual friendly, easygoing energy as they introduce themselves. Topper and Rafe follow, but there’s an undeniable shift in the atmosphere. There’s something about the way they move, less welcoming. When Kelce shakes Rafe’s hand, Rafe tightens his grip just a little too much. But Kelce doesn’t even flinch. He holds his ground, just as confident as ever.

The girls follow behind, Kiara’s fingers wrapped around Y/N’s hand as they walk through the flower corridor toward the yard. Sarah steps forward, greeting Kelce with a hug. But when she pulls back, something changes.

Kelce’s wide eyes flick to Y/N.

“No way!” He murmurs. Y/N smiles softly, already anticipating what’s coming.

“Yes way.” She mutters. Kelce doesn’t hesitate as he rushes toward her, sweeping her off the ground in a tight hug. Y/N squeals, clinging to him instinctively. It’s warm, familiar. When he sets her down, his hands linger at her waist and his eyes search hers.

“What are you doing here?” He asks.

“The right question is, what are you doing here?” She teases, shoving him playfully. Maddy, watching the exchange unfold, furrows her brows.

“Uh…what is going on?” She glances toward Rafe, who still hasn’t moved. His arms remain crossed, jaw visibly tightening.

“That’s Y/N’s ex.” Rafe announces flatly, making Maddy’s eyes widen.

“What?”

“Wait…he is Kelce? Like, Kelce Kelce?” Cleo interjects. “Your ex Kelce?”

Y/N nods.

“You talk about me?” Kelce asks, smirking.

“Oh my god, not like that.” Y/N groans, rolling her eyes as she shoves him again. He stumbles back slightly, clutching his chest in mock offense.

Noticing the tension radiating off Rafe like a ticking time bomb, Pope clears his throat.

“Hey, why don’t we all move to the firepit?” He suggests, trying to redirect the energy. “Let Kelce get to know everyone.”

The group shuffles over, settling in with the boys on one side, the girls on the other and Kelce in the middle.

“So, what do you guys wanna know?” Kelce asks, fiddling with his mic. He’s still getting used to it and Maddy, sitting beside him, leans in to adjust it properly. He shoots her a grateful smile.

“Y/N already gave us the rundown, so I think we’re all set, bro.” JJ says casually.

The moment the words leave his mouth, Pope smacks him.

“JJ, what the fuck?” Kiara hisses, while Y/N lets out a strangled noise and buries her face in her hands.

“What?” JJ rubs his chest, looking genuinely confused. “I’m just saying-”

“Don’t.” Alyssa interjects, rolling her eyes. “Anyway. What are you looking for in the villa?” Kelce exhales, thinking for a second.

“Honestly, this past year’s been a lot of growth for me. I feel like…our breakup really changed me.” He admits, glancing at Y/N.

That gets her attention. She slowly lowers her hands, meeting his gaze. For a second, nobody moves. The world stops spinning.

Then, Rafe clears his throat.

“You, uh…didn’t actually answer Alyssa.” Rafe mutters, scratching the back of his head. Topper lets out a barely contained snicker. Kelce blinks, then nods.

“Right. Right. Okay, yeah. I want something real. A committed relationship. I wanna find my person. Someone I can have fun with, travel with-”

“You’re a travel agent, right?” John B cuts in, smirking and Kelce laughs.

“Yeah. Y/N told you?” He throws her a knowing look before redirecting. “But enough about me. Who’s coupled up with who?”

“I’m with Topper.” Sarah says, glancing at Topper who gives Kelce a brief nod. “Kiara’s with Pope, Cleo’s with John B, Maddy’s with JJ.” She continues. Kelce nods, then looks straight at Y/N.

“And you’re with Rafe?” He asks. Everyone’s gaze lands on her.

“Um…it’s complicated.” Y/N admits, shifting in her seat. “I was coupled up with him and things were going good between us. Still are! But-”

“Alyssa coupled up with him.” Pope finishes for her.

“Guilty!” Alyssa grins, raising her hand. A few chuckles ripple through the group, but Rafe isn’t amused. His gaze stays locked on Y/N, watching the way she keeps sneaking glances at Kelce. The way her fingers fidget. The way she looks at him. He knows that look. It’s the same one that’s been driving him crazy since she first stepped into the villa.

“So, you’re the only single one, huh?” Kelce teases, smirking.

“Kelce…” Y/N groans, rolling her eyes with a small smile.

“What? Just stating facts.” He lifts his hands in surrender. Then, his smirk softens into something more thoughtful.

“Listen, I’m happy for you. I really am. I’m moving on, too.” His voice is easy, but there’s something unreadable behind it.

“And hey, this goes for all of you. I’m not here to step on anyone’s toes.” A beat passes. “But, you know…if something’s meant to happen, it’ll happen. That's how the game works.”

Everyone nods and Rafe wonders if he’s the only one who hears the double meaning in those words.

Soon enough, the girls head inside to gossip with Maddy and Cleo about the dates, leaving the boys to get to know Kelce.

“Okay, spill!” Sarah says to Maddy, sitting down on her bed and pulling a pillow to cuddle. Y/N sits beside her, still unsettled by the whole situation.

“I will, but Y/N, are you alright?” Maddy asks and the girls turn to look at her. Y/N glances around like a lost puppy before nodding quickly.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Of course. Everything is fine. Totally fine.” She exclaims.

“Say it one more time and we might actually believe you.” Kiara says, rolling her eyes. Y/N sighs.

“It's just…this was really unexpected.” She pauses, choosing her words carefully. “And he just seemed so…mature. So different from back then.”

“Like he grew up?” Cleo asks cautiously and Y/N nods.

“Yeah. I don’t know. It’s not like we had a messy breakup or anything. It’s just…” She takes a deep breath and Sarah reaches over to hold her hand.

“You don’t have to talk about it. Breakups, even mutual ones, hurt.” Sarah says gently and the girls nod, ready to comfort her.

“No, no, it’s okay.” Y/N reassures them. “When Kelce and I broke up, it felt like my whole world ended. I struggled a lot with being on my own because I was so dependent on him. It took me a long time to find my footing and become the person I am now. And seeing him again like this…it just made me wonder if it was as hard for him as it was for me.” She exhales, pressing her lips together for a moment.

“And not in a bitter way, like, ‘Oh, I hope he suffered.’” She clarifies quickly.

“It’s just…I loved him. I still have so much love for him. But if it didn’t hurt him like it hurt me…if he just moved on without a second thought, then what does that say about what we had? Or-or about me?” She lets the words linger in the air, staring at the blanket bunched up in her lap. The weight of her own thoughts makes her chest tighten.

“I know it’s selfish.” She continues, her voice quieter now. “I want him to be happy, I really do. But there’s a part of me that hopes it wasn’t easy for him. That it meant something. Because if it didn’t…if I was the only one who struggled, then maybe I was just easy to forget.”

The room is silent for a beat before Kiara scoffs, shaking her head.

“Y/N, that’s not how love works.” She says firmly. “Just because someone handles pain differently doesn’t mean they didn’t feel it. He could’ve been hurting just as much, just in his own way.”

“Exactly.” Cleo agrees. “And, honestly? You don’t owe it to your past self to keep wondering. You made it through. That’s what matters.”

Y/N lets their words settle, nodding slowly. She wants to believe them. Wants to believe that just because Kelce looks like he’s moved on, it doesn’t mean what they had wasn’t real. That it doesn’t mean she was the only one who lost something. Sarah gives her hand a small squeeze.

“It’s okay to feel this way. Just, don’t let it take away from how far you’ve come.” She exclaims and Y/N swallows past the lump in her throat, forcing a small smile.

“Yeah. You’re right.” She just wishes it was that easy.

“Are you going to talk to him?” Alyssa asks cautiously. Y/N fidgets with her ring, avoiding their gazes.

“I don’t know.” She mutters.

“You don’t have to.” Maddy says quickly. Y/N exhales, forcing a small grin.

“Yeah, but it’s not like I can avoid him in here.” She pauses, then backtracks. “Wait, no-I didn’t mean it like I am or was trying to avoid him. Outside of here, I mean.” Sarah chuckles, squeezing her hand.

“We get what you’re saying.” Then she makes a face. “Why is your hand so sweaty, dude?” Y/N jerks her hand back, wiping it on the blanket.

“Oh my god, sorry.” The girls giggle as she huffs dramatically.

“Look, unless he wants to talk, I don’t have anything to say to him.” She continues. “I’m moving on. I have a good thing going with-” She suddenly stops, eyes widening. “Oh my god. Did you see how Rafe reacted?”

The girls immediately nod.

“He was about to explode when he found out.” Alyssa says, shaking her head.

“Man, I wish I saw that.” Cleo groans.

“Wait, wait, we’re getting sidetracked.” Y/N says, holding up a hand. “We should really be talking about your dates.” The girls nod in agreement, the conversation shifting as Maddy and Cleo start recounting their dates with Kelce.

“He was so sweet. Like, actually listening to me, paying attention. It just felt different.” Maddy says, playing with a loose thread on the blanket.

“Ooh, someone’s got a crush!” Alyssa sing-songs and the girls erupt into playful cheers. Maddy rolls her eyes.

“I do not. I just…had a good time, that’s all.” She insists.

“Yeah, okay.” Sarah smirks. “You haven’t looked this excited since we got here. JJ’s never had you smiling like that.”

The girls hum in agreement.

“How are things with JJ, anyway?” Kiara asks, leaning into Alyssa.

“Uh…nice, I guess.” Maddy says, eyes flicking down to her nails.

“Not as nice as with Kelce.” Cleo teases, nudging her. Maddy shakes her head.

“No, no, it’s not like that. JJ’s funny, obviously super hot, but…I don’t know, I don’t think we really get each other.” She pauses, thinking. “Kelce, he just got here, but the vibe with him is…different.”

“Good different?” Y/N prompts.

“Really good different.” Maddy admits, nodding. “But I don’t know. I still need to think about it. And for all I know, he had more chemistry with Cleo.”

“Nope.” Cleo says immediately. Maddy raises an eyebrow.

“What do you mean? How was your date?” She asks and Cleo sighs.

“It was fun. Kelce is handsome and yeah, he’s got charm, but…” She hesitates. “I don’t know. He came off kinda arrogant? Like, it felt like he was showing off and I hate that.”

The girls exchange looks.

“I mean, I’m not writing him off completely.” Cleo continues. “I just wanna see how he acts in the next few days before I decide.”

They all nod, understanding.

“Do what feels right for you. For both of you.” Y/N adds.

Meanwhile, the guys are grilling Kelce, sizing him up as they try to figure out his intentions in the villa.

“So, Kelce, right?” Rafe leans back against the firepit, arms crossed, exuding confidence as he speaks. His tone is casual, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s already trying to get a read on him. Kelce nods, offering a relaxed smile, but he knows exactly where this is going.

“Anyone caught your eye? Up till now, at least?” Rafe asks, the question hanging in the air just a second too long. Kelce chuckles, shaking his head slightly. He’s been in enough of these conversations to know what Rafe’s really asking. His eyes flicker toward him, measuring his expression before he answers.

“Look, man, if this is about Y/N, you don’t have to worry. I loved her and I’ll always respect our relationship, but it ended a long time ago. I’m not here to rewrite history or stir anything up. She’s moved on and so have I. Whatever’s going on between you two, that’s got nothing to do with me.” He pauses.

There’s no malice in his voice, no challenge, just honesty. A quiet confidence that says he’s not here to start drama. Whether Rafe believes him, though, is a different story.

“So, if you’re asking whether you should be watching your back, there’s no need to. Not because of me.” Kelce says, his tone even.

Rafe holds his gaze for a moment before nodding, seemingly satisfied, for now. John B clears his throat, cutting through the tension.

“Alright, but be honest, man. What did you think of the girls? Anyone catch your eye?” He asks, making Kelce chuckle and glance around.

“I mean, they’re all beautiful, no doubt about that.” He says and the guys nod in agreement. “But I had a really great time with Maddy. She’s…man, she’s gorgeous. And funny as hell, too.” His grin widens as he talks about her, the memory of their time together still fresh.

“Cleo’s great, don’t get me wrong.” He continues, his tone shifting slightly. “But something felt a little off during our date. Maybe it was just a bit awkward, I don’t know. Could’ve just been first-date nerves. Time will tell, I guess.”

The boys nod before they decide to show Kelce around the villa.

The night unfolds quickly and soon it’s party time for the islanders. The girls make their way downstairs, glammed up and glowing under the villa lights. As they step into the bedroom where the guys are getting ready, whistles and cheers erupt.

“Damn, looking good, mamas!” Kelce calls out, grinning and the girls laugh, twirling playfully before heading outside.

A table set with champagne flutes awaits them, the warm night air buzzing with energy. They each grab a glass as Topper lifts his in a toast.

“To our newest islander! Hope it’s a good summer for you, Kelso!” He announces, flashing a smirk. Kelce clinks his glass against Topper’s, eyes glinting with excitement.

“Oh, it’s gonna be a great one.” He replies, as the group cheers and takes a sip. Y/N adjusts her dress with her free hand, scanning the scene before her gaze lands on Rafe across the table. Taking a breath, she steps toward him.

“Hey.” She says softly. Rafe looks down at her, his expression unreadable. He nods in acknowledgment but doesn’t say anything.

“Can we talk?” She asks, her brows furrowing slightly. Rafe exhales, noticing the concern in her eyes.

“Yeah. Yeah. Let’s.” He mutters, placing a hand on her waist as he guides her toward the daybed. They settle beside each other, Y/N’s fingers immediately finding the ring on her hand, twisting it absentmindedly.

“You do know I had no clue he was coming in here, right?” She says, glancing at him. Rafe sighs, rubbing his temples.

“I know. Of course, I know.” His voice is firm but tired. She studies him, hesitating before pressing further.

“Then…can you say something? Tell me how you feel? I just…I don’t know. You’re upset.”

“What do you want me to say?” Rafe snaps, his voice sharper than he intends. “How else am I supposed to feel? Of course, I’m upset.” Y/N exhales slowly, nodding.

“Okay and I get it. But don’t shut me out. You haven’t said a word to me since the terrace.” She drops her gaze, still fidgeting with her ring. Rafe watches her and something tightens in his chest. He runs a hand over his face before sighing.

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Y/N.” His voice softens. “I’m not mad at you. Or him. He actually seems like a decent dude. But…” He hesitates, taking a deep breath. “The thought of you and him. It's just…knowing he’s been with you, that he knows you like that…” His jaw clenches. “I know I’m probably overreacting or-or that I shouldn’t feel like this. But I can’t help it.”

“You’re not overreacting.” She assures him, shaking her head. “Jealousy is valid.” Rafe cringes slightly at the word, but it’s true.

“I just…” He exhales, his fingers grazing his knee. “I know it’s still early, but I like you, okay? And the idea of another guy, Kelce, being with you, knowing you in ways I don’t yet…It just…it gets to me. And now that he’s here, I can’t help but worry.”

“You shouldn’t.” Y/N’s response is immediate, her voice steady. “You have nothing to worry about. Truly.” She turns toward him, her eyes sincere.

“Our relationship ended a long time ago and as much as I loved him and still do, in a way, I can’t let myself go back there. We’ve both moved on. I’m moving on. With you, Rafe.”

Rafe swallows, his gaze flickering to her lips before settling back on her eyes.

“Do you mean that?” He whispers. “I mean…do you want that? Moving on with me?” Y/N’s lips curl into a soft smile and she nods.

“I mean it.” She says simply. And just like that, something in Rafe eases.

Rafe studies her for a long moment, searching for any hesitation, any flicker of doubt in her expression. But there’s none. Just quiet certainty, a promise in the way she looks at him.

He exhales, tension leaving his shoulders as he leans back slightly, resting his arm along the back of the daybed. His fingers ghost over her shoulder, not quite touching but close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.

“That’s…good to hear.” He murmurs, the weight in his chest loosening just a little. Y/N tilts her head, watching him.

“You don’t sound convinced.” She smirks.

“It’s not that.” Rafe says, shaking his head. “It’s just-” He pauses, rubbing his jaw, before glancing back at her. “I didn’t expect to feel this way. It’s not just about Kelce, it’s…fuck, Y/N. I don’t usually care like this.” She lets out a small breath, lips pressing together as she processes his words.

“And that scares you?” She asks softly and Rafe chuckles dryly, dragging a hand through his hair.

“Maybe a little.”

Y/N shifts closer, their knees brushing.

“I get it.” She admits. “But I don’t expect you to have it all figured out right now. I just need you to talk to me. Let me in instead of shutting me out.” Rafe meets her eyes, his fingers finally settling on her shoulder, his touch light but grounding.

“I’ll try.” He admits and Y/N smiles, nudging his knee with hers.

“Good.”

She inches closer, leaning into him. When she looks up, her gaze flickers to his lips.

“Do it.” Rafe whispers, his voice low and she smirks.

“Do what?” She teases, playing innocent. Rafe pinches her side, making her squeal as she presses in even closer.

“Come on, sweetheart.” He murmurs. Y/N giggles before leaning in, her lips brushing his. Rafe cups her face, deepening the kiss as her hand settles against his chest. When they finally pull back, breathless, she smiles up at him. Her eyes catch the shine on his lips and she instinctively reaches up, wiping away the remnants of her lip gloss.

“So, this is our thing now, huh?” She muses, focused on the task. Rafe chuckles.

“Guess so.” He shrugs. “Not that I care about the whole...lip color thingy.”

“Lip gloss.” She corrects with a smirk.

“That.” He scoffs. “You don’t have to wipe it off every time.” She shakes her head.

“It's not a big deal. Honestly, I should probably just stop wearing it around you.” She exclaims.

“Or just get used to me wearing it, too.” He says, grinning. Laughter bubbles between them, easy and warm, as she tucks herself closer into his side.

Later in the evening, JJ gathers all the islanders around the firepit, his energy buzzing like he’s just thought of the best idea ever.

“I think our new guy over here-” He slings an arm around Kelce’s shoulders “-deserves a proper Love Island welcome.” He grins.

“What do you say, guys? You up for a little ‘Never Have I Ever’?” A chorus of agreement follows, champagne gets poured and John B jumps in to explain the rules.

“Okay, so we’ll go around, say a prompt starting with ‘Never have I ever…’ Like, I dunno, ‘Never have I ever hooked up with my best friend’s sister.’ If you have, you take a sip.” Sarah, sitting beside him, turns to him in horror.

“Wait…was that an example or…?” She asks and John B's eyes widen.

“Example! Just an example!” He explains.

“Mm-hmm, sure.” JJ smirks, topping off his glass.

“JJ-” “Let the game begin!” JJ shouts in a dramatic British accent, earning some laughs.

“Topper, you’re up first.” JJ announces. Topper thinks for a second, then shrugs.

“Never have I ever…smoked a joint?” He asks, making JJ groan.

“Lame, Top. Come on.”

“We should start slow, Jayj.” Kiara reasons and the others nod in agreement.

“Fine, fine.” JJ rolls his eyes and takes a big sip anyway. John B, Rafe, Topper, Kelce, Sarah and Kiara follow suit. JJ glances around.

“Wait-you guys haven’t?”

Y/N, Maddy, Cleo, Pope and Alyssa shake their heads.

“You’re joking.” JJ deadpans.

“Not everyone wants to, you know.” Y/N says.

“But it never even crossed your mind? Just to see what it’s like?”

“Not at all.” She replies.

“She says it reeks.” Kelce chimes in, like he knows her better than her own self.

“Because it does!” Y/N exclaims, making the guys chuckle. Rafe, meanwhile, isn’t laughing. His jaw clenches as his gaze lingers on Kelce a beat too long. Y/N notices and without thinking, rests a hand on his thigh. A subtle squeeze, pulling him out of whatever storm was brewing in his head. Maddy clears her throat.

“Can we move on?” She asks.

“Yes, please.” Topper agrees.

“Okay, um…never have I ever gone skinny dipping.” Alyssa asks and drinks from her flute. Most of the islanders take a sip, except for Y/N and Pope. Kelce smirks, turning to Y/N.

“Take a sip.” He nods to the glass on her hand. She blinks.

“But I haven’t.” She replies and Kelce scoffs.

“Julia’s party.” He says making Y/N frown.

“What?”

“The penthouse? The pool? The ‘pretty pink vodka drink’?” He points out and Y/N’s eyes widen.

“Oh. Shit.” She exclaims.

“Okay, we need details, like, now.” Sarah claps her hands. Kelce raises a hand dismissively.

“Story for another time.” He nods at Y/N. “Take a sip, Y/N/N.” She does, while Rafe’s jaw visibly tightens, his grip on his glass a little too firm.

“Who’s next?” He asks, clearing his throat. Maddy perks up.

“Me! Okay, never have I ever tried sexting.”

A few people take sips. Kelce meets Y/N’s gaze and smirks before drinking. Y/N stares at the fire as she sips from her glass. Meanwhile, Rafe stares at Kelce. Y/N can practically feel the temperature rising beside her.

“Okay, never have I ever laughed so hard I, um, peed my pants as an adult.” Sarah giggles, before drinking.

Silence.

“And the crowd goes quiet.” JJ says in his British accent. Y/N snorts.

“It’s valid!” She takes a sip, to support Sarah. Rafe tilts his head.

“Wait, seriously?” He asks, in disbelief. She nods.

“It was a hilarious joke, I couldn't help it!” Rafe laughs, wrapping an arm around her.

“I should be disgusted by this.”

“Sorry.” She teases.

“Oh, no, no, don’t be. I’m not. I mean, it’s not, like…hot. But-wait, no, I mean, you’re hot, but-” Y/N chuckles, saving him from himself with a quick peck on the cheek.

“You’re cute when you short-circuit.” She points out.

“Come on, lovebirds! We got a game to finish!” Kelce calls out. Y/N sighs. Rafe sucks his teeth, visibly annoyed, gripping his glass a little too tightly. Y/N notices and without thinking, rests her hand back on his thigh.

“Okay! My turn!” Kiara clears her throat, trying to redirect.

The game continues, with Kelce making a point to throw Y/N knowing looks whenever she hesitates to drink. Every time he sips, he conveniently drops a story from their past, like a breadcrumb trail leading back to him.

Y/N, beyond annoyed, fiddles with a loose thread on her dress, until she’s had enough.

“I got one.” She says, sitting up as everyone leans in. Y/N locks eyes with Kelce. “Never have I ever faked an orgasm.”

The girls, every single one, take a sip. The guys burst into hollers, JJ nearly choking on his drink. Kelce’s smirk finally falters, his ego visibly bruised. He clears his throat.

“I think we should stop for the night.” He suggests

“Yeah, I bet you do.” Maddy exclaims, smirking. The game dissolves as the islanders start pairing off for chats, but Rafe? Rafe’s grinning.

‘Cause that's his girl.

to be continued...

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Screenshots of a Reddit post from r/TrueOffMyChest by u/Empty-Ad-2301

First post reads: "I miss my husband so goddamn much. UPDATE I (35M) divorced my husband (36M) three years ago. And God, I miss him. I asked for a divorce for a few reasons, most of which being that his depression got exponentially worse day after day and he refused to seek treatment. Sometimes he wouldn't even go into work and ended up getting fired from his job. I stayed with him for so fucking long, praying that one day he would start trying to get better. It was all I ever wanted, but that day didn't come. I sobbed the entire time signing those papers, and when I handed them to him and asked for a divorce, he just gave me the emptiest, deadest look and signed them without a word. My heart felt like it had been shattered with a hammer, anger and sadness and fear tied together in the world's tightest, ugliest knot and inset deep into my chest. I put on a brave face for my friends, tried to frame it as shackles coming off and a new beginning, but it was a lie. It just hurt, and it keeps hurting, and it will never stop hurting. He was my soulmate. I'll never love anyone like I loved him. He used to be so sweet and loving, so passionate and happy and every other wonderful thing a man could want from another. They say each day gets easier, but it isn't for me. It's been three years and I'm still reaching over to the other side of the bed in the morning to pull him close, and it always stings when my hands touch fabric and not his skin. It's been three years and I'm still expecting to see his car in the driveway when I get home from work. It's been three years and my heart isn't any less broken than the day he left. I've been stalking his socials, I'll admit. He's been getting back to the gym, started meds, and I see him smiling so genuinely in these photos. He looks so incredible. Maybe if I had just waited, he would have changed his mind and went to a doctor like he is now? Or was it me that held him down? Was I making it worse?"

Next image continues post:

"hope not. I wanna go over to his place and just fall into his arms and beg him to take me back. Maybe he's wishing the same thing about me. If there's even a chance I could have my boy back I feel like I should try. I'll never know otherwise. EDIT: One: I am a homosexual man. My husband is a homosexual man. I am not a woman. Yes, I know I'm effeminate and kind of emotional. Get creative. Two: my husband was a binge drinker. He refused treatment no matter how much I begged. We got antidepressants but he wouldn't take them. I know he's started meds now because he's posted about them and his 2 yrs sober chip that he got last month. Three: I never stopped loving him. I never loved him any less. Near the end of our marriage, I started drinking to cope. The second I realized I was, I realized he was dragging me down with him, and I couldn't help him anymore. I didn't dip the second it got hard. Many of you are being kind of rude. I'll accept that I wasn't the perfect husband, nobody is. But claims that I never loved him are just wrong and make me feel sick to my stomach. EDIT 2: No, I am not the catalyst for this. His depression started when his young brother died terribly and unexpectedly. It's not because he just hated me so much. We were childhood sweethearts and had been together for years when this happened"

An update 3 days later reads

:UPDATE] I met my husband that I divorced 3 years ago. Update from this post. EDIT 3: Got approved! Here's the FINAL UPDATE. Well, with Reddit's advice, I did it. A few days ago, I called my (35M) ex-husband (36M) whom I divorced after 6 years when he refused to seek treatment for his depression. I called him later in the evening. It was the first time we'd spoken since a bit of trouble he'd had while he was still drinking 2 1/2 years ago. He picked up on the second ring. Our conversation was a little stilted at first, as to be expected, but he said he was really glad to hear from me. We ended up meeting up for coffee yesterday as so many of you suggested. I'll admit: it was kind of hard to see him, but in a good way? He looked so much better than the last time I had seen him, but he looked exactly like the man I married. He had put off a ton of weight (he gained like 75ish pounds during his struggle with depression, and before some dick says so, I didn't leave him because of his weight gain), he looked way healthier and very put together. I'll just say it: he looked incredibly hot. What made it hard was that I couldn't kiss him hello like I used to. But God, the way his eyes lit up when he saw me, I barely needed to. We got our coffee and sat, and he updated me a little on his life in the last 3 years. What really turned his life around was in part the divorce but moreso a DUI (nobody was hurt, he was caught a few blocks from his apartment). He's since gone to rehab and AA, gotten his license back, and had to use a breathalyzer whenever he started his car for a while. He hasn't had a drop of alcohol since and I told him I was so fucking proud of him. He's also started antidepressants, and made a point of telling me that they're not SSRIs, but when I asked what that meant he got embarrassed and told me nevermind (???). Bottom line is that they've been helping him, he's back to being a gym rat, and he's almost completely turned his life around. This was around the point I started tearing up. It just felt so good knowing he was okay. Better than okay, he was *good*. I also apologized to him for not sticking by him. He cut me off and said I had nothing to apologize for. He was a wreck, and I was being dragged down with him. That also felt good to hear. I apologized for not contacting him much during the last 3 years. That apology, he accepted"

The update continues:

"someone for a few months, too. He broke up with him once he tried to get him to drink on New Year's. He seemed dismissive of the guy. Guess it wasn't too serious. We got up and went on a walk after a few hours, and I think we both realized it felt like a first date. I had to stop myself from trying to hold his hand at a few points, I'll admit. We ended up sitting on a bench in a nearby park, and I confessed. I told him I missed him more than anything, how I never stopped loving him, and how if he wanted to, I'd love to try again from the beginning this time. We'd go to couples' therapy, keep our heads above the water, and take it slow. He was quiet for a minute before he told me something. He said he was doing better now, but there may be a time where he sunk low again. Depression isn't easily cured, and he was far from cured. He still had bad days, but he said there would be one difference: he promised he would never stop trying to improve. He was never going to give up like he did before, and refused to neglect me like he used to. If I was willing to accept that truth, he was willing to try again. I agreed, and he pulled me into an embrace and snuck a kiss to my temple. You know when it's the first warm day of spring after a cold, harsh winter, and the soft breeze and basking sun hit your skin at the same time? It felt something like that, to the 1000th degree. After a while he walked me back to my car and squeezed my hand goodbye, and the second I got inside I started sobbing like a baby. Happy tears, though. I'm currently sitting in bed, kicking my feet like a teenage girl, texting him back and forth to schedule an actual date. He said he'd plan everything, and try his best to make up for the birthdays and anniversaries he missed. He said it would "knock my socks off." What a dork. I love being in love. Not gonna lie, this is gonna be a bit hard to explain to my friends and family. Not looking forward to those conversations, but right now I don't care. My man loves me. Thank you to everyone who had kind words to say, and all the people that messaged me with sympathy and advice. I hope we all find happiness, and love if we want it. I never would have made the leap if y'all hadn't encouraged me. Best of luck to all of you, and sorry for the overly flowery language <3 EDIT: we've scheduled a date for tomorrow evening. I'll let people know how it went two days from now in my final (unless something big happens) update. EDIT 2: at his place presently. Shame me not."

The next image shows a final update three days later. It reads:

"FINAL UPDATE] I went on a date with my ex-husband last night. Update from this post. My (35M) ex-husband (36M) and I recently reconnected. I won't go over the details of why we split or our reconciliation since I'm sure the average redditor can click buttons and most likely read. He was the one taking me out, and promised that it would, in his words, "knock my socks off" to make up for his neglect of me. He sure as hell delivered. A little backstory, we've been together since we were 15 and 16 respectively, and have never moved out of our hometown. This year would have been our 20th anniversary (of getting together, not marriage). We were dating secretly for about five years before our parents caught us one day during summer break. The fallout from finding out their son was gay actually made his parents split. His dad wanted to send him away to conversion therapy. He's seen his father maybe once per year on average, and every time he's incredibly cold towards me. Would never refer to me as his son-in-law, only my husband's "pal." I wonder why. Anyway, not what you're here to read. I'll get on with the lore. He picked me up from the house and wouldn't tell me where we were going, but told me to dress warmly. He ended up taking me to the place where we met: a run down ice skating rink in our town. He used to do hockey, and I spent some time trying to learn figure skating until people started beating me up for it. Both sports would practice at the same time and I remember barely being able to keep my eyes off him. We went skating, I tried to pull off a few of the moves I remembered (he only had to catch me from falling on my ass once or twice, and I won't complain about an attractive man that I love hooking his arm around my waist), and we spent an hour or so there until our feet hurt. At one point I said that my face was getting cold, so he skated around in front of me and placed his gloved hands on my cheeks to warm me up. I just about burned a hole in the ice from how hard I was blushing, I swear to God"

The next image continues the post

"He wasn't done then. We left and went to dinner, specifically the restaurant where we had our first date. It's a cheap hole-in-the-wall place, seeing as we were poor teenagers when we first met. We chatted and ate food that probably took 5 years off our lives, he was an incorrigible flirt, and even held my hand underneath the table like he did all those years ago. I know I said I never stopped loving him, and I stand by that, but I think I somehow fell in love with him a thousand times over again during that meal. At the end of dinner, he asked if I had energy for one more simple thing, to which I agreed. He took me a while out of town to a dark sky zone park, specifically the one where he proposed to me ten years ago. He set out a blanket to sit on and another to cuddle under, and we went stargazing all bundled up together. You never know how much you miss the sound of someone's heartbeat until you haven't heard it for so long. We shared a bottle of sparkling grape juice in plastic champagne flutes and dumb, giggly kisses. It felt so similar yet so different. He told me in a moment of quiet that he loved me, and oh, God. It took everything I had not to cry. I barely hesitated before asking if he wanted to change venues. He seemed surprised, but eagerly accepted. I ended up at his place, as some of you may have seen from my edit on my second post yesterday. I wanted to take it slower than this, but it was so hard to. I was so starved of affection and hadn't been intimate with anyone for just about six years. I'm gonna keep what happened at his between us, but all I'll say is that his medication was no issue and all of you should be jealous. I woke up in his bed this morning, reached over for him, and pulled him close just like I used to do. I haven't been this happy in a long time. We had a sleepy discussion and decided to get back together, but we're not using the term boyfriends. It just feels weird after all this time. So he's my partner, or my lover. He's mine. Thank you, reddit. Wouldn't have done it without a little push from the internet. Let's see where all this goes."

[/End images 1-6]

[image 7 ID] an image of Kermit the frog laying on a bed spread, absolutely stricken and surrounded by hearts. [/End ID]

[woodencritter]

One of the fatal flaws of this fandom is its inability to ignore hate comments

It doesn't matter how much I ignore and block, I still find out about the same discussions again and again, because the great majority, especially large accounts, are unable to protect their peace

The people has forgotten the golden rule: do not feed the trolls

There is no point on trying to defend our favorite characters from these people, they don't care, they are just here looking for a fight and this fandom always gives them that fight

I would really want these people to shut up, the only reason that these trolls return is because we continue giving them attention, as harsh as it sound, at this point this “protectors” are also part of the problem

Please PLEASE, just ignore them. “I think this character is not fucked as these people say because ...” I know. We all know. All the people who are here for love of the series knows. So I don't understand why they have to keep repeating themselves again and again. These trolls are not going to change their opinion or feel bad, they simply bloom with your reaction

So please... learn to ignore and block. Learn to stop being consumed by negative comments that only exist to bother others

[evolnoomym]

Made Of Pain❄️

Grumpy!Joel Miller x Emotionally Constipated f!OC

General Masterlist | Joel Miller Masterlist | Support me |

Summary: You have your routine, a way of having fun but without catching unnecessary feelings. You play this game so well, that is until you decide to play with Joel Miller. Maybe this time you take it too far.

Rating: 18+ mature content mdni!!!!

Word count: 2.4K

Authors note: Hello Friends 🫶🏻 Here I present Maneater!Moon/ emotionally constipated!Moon to y’all, she’s a mess and I hope y’all enjoy this story.🩵

Please let me know if you are interested in more, since there are possibilities for a sequel. 😏

Warnings: no y/n, F!OC, Moon as always, Maria & Tommy are a couple, Moon hates men, she’s definitely toxic in this one butttttt for a reason, daddy issues(duh), alcohol consumption, hints towards sa (not with Joel), implied age gap, Moon is kinda badass, smoking, lots of cursing, name calling, slight femdom vibes, she has a tattoo, protected p-in-v action, hard sex as a form of self-punishment, blood, eating blood (I guess???), inner conflict. If I missed anything please let me know 🙏🏻

Shoutout to @saradika-graphics & @cafekitsune for the dividers 🩵

And shoutout to @joelmillerisapunk & @always-andromeda for proofreading 😇

Disclaimer: English is not my first language so if you come across mistakes it might be due to that. 😂🫶🏻

You were happy that Maria found the guy of her dreams, really. Tommy was a good one and as long as he didn’t make any mistakes you would accept his presence.

-In the beginning he had to really try and get on your good side,- because you judged every move he made.  

At the end of that night he felt inclined to share his observation “So, you don’t like people, huh?” Tommy was not wrong.

 “I don’t, no, not most of them at least. Men, specifically, I find to be quite the disturbance.” You gave Tommy the famous look, one that he later described as “similar to Medusa’s stare.”

And it’s true, you don’t like them, men. They always gave you reasons to despise them. Whether it was your Dad lying to you all the time, abandoning you for a new life and instead choosing to love the bottle more than his daughter or all those guys who seemed kind in the beginning and then turned into depraved monsters, taking and taking whatever they could. Nowadays you play them like they did you, making them fall for you and then kicking them out. Break hearts to feed your own ego. To you it’s a game, be the hunter or be the prey. And you don’t ever want to be the prey again. 

You’re brought back to the present when Maria’s soft voice cuts through the recollections “So, what do you think?” 

Right. She had asked you to go out with her, Tommy and his older brother. 

“Uhh, sorry. Tell me again why you think this is a good idea?” 

“He is your type, older, and I thought maybe you two would get along?” 

You shake your head “No, I think you want me to date your boyfriend’s brother so we can go on those awful double-dates. Fuck no.” 

Maria lets out an annoyed huff, “Would it really be so awful to finally stop these power games and trust again?” She knows that you want to be loved, Maria is the only one who knows what hides behind the stone cold facade you built up. 

“You know I can’t.” Your words have a sense of finality to them so Maria doesn’t even bother arguing. 

“Just promise me not to play with him?” 

“I won’t play with him.” 

Tommy picks Maria and you up around 8pm, when you slide into the backseat you’re confused finding the other backseat empty.

“Well hello, Thomas. Where’s the old man?”

You ask in a fake sad voice.

“Well…hello Mooni, he’s meeting us at the bar. And maybe ya shouldn’t call him by that name once we’re all together.” Tommy replies.

“Or what? Will he throw a fit over getting a little teased?” You laugh at the prospect.

“You’re laughing now, but he might, he’s a little grumpy so don’t poke the bear too much. Just looking out for you.”

“I think I can handle myself, but thanks for the heads up,” and with that you fall into silence for the rest of the car ride.

The bar is a neat little establishment Tommy had first met Maria in, so it’s special to them. You don’t dislike it entirely but still could see yourself in a different place.

As you make the order for everyone’s drinks at the bar it doesn’t take much longer and you catch a gruff, more weathered version of Tommy swagger in. It must be Joel. He isn’t unattractive but he looks like an asshole and that is your kinda guy. Those are the ones you have the most fun breaking down; they deserve it.

After confirming the order and table number, you make your way back to the others. Joel is tall, which you notice as he gets closer. He looms over the table, casting a big shadow with his broad shoulders, strong stance, and a cute butt. He must feel your presence at his back, because he swiftly turns around. He was already attractive from behind but actually seeing his face was a whole different experience. Maria was right, he was your type, older and slightly on the verge of greying. Mature.

He eyes you suspiciously up and down, with a hint of distaste. Oh, you don’t like that.

Tommy chimes in, “Joel, this is Moon. Maria’s friend, I told ya’ about her.”

Joel simply grunts in acknowledgment.

“Yeah, fuck you too man,” you say as you push past him, making sure to knock your shoulder into his on the way.

Once you sit down, your hand goes to grab a cigarette from your case, placing it between your lips and reaching for the lighter. Joel’s annoyed face greets you, watching how you inhale that first head emptying dose of burning tobacco.

You make sure to blow it in his direction.

He mumbles under his breath “Disgustin’,”

“Oh my god, could you be any more fucking ridiculous? Maybe the grumpy old man should just stay home instead of making everyone miserable.” You lean more over the table with each word of your rant.

“Moon,” Maria sounds like a scolding mother “cool it.”

“Sure,” you lean back, nod, and take another inhale.

Perfect moment for the waitress to show up with the drinks. You immediately drink half of it; you need it to stomach the rest of the evening.

Tommy, Maria, and Joel have resigned to friendly chatter. You just observe, not really one to intervene much. It’s just how you are, either really loud or really quiet, super happy or super sad…always these extremes. Most of all reckless, selfish, and emotionally sealed shut.

It’s how you always get in trouble, just like tonight.

You gulp down the remaining cocktail and get up. The trio stops talking.

You look at Joel „Can you at least Dance?“

He’s caught off guard by the switch up in your behavior, too stunned to answer.

„Well?“

„Just say yes Joel, there’s no saying no to that one,” Tommy informs and he’s right.

You hold out your hand and tug him out of his seat and onto the dance floor.

He just awkwardly stands in front of you.

„You know you can touch me, I don’t bite.“ as you laugh.

„Oh really?“ he muses

You shake your head „Hmm, no, I have no idea what you’re talking about Joel.” You say it in a mocking sweet voice.

„You’re a real fucking brat,“ he gets closer.

„True.“

„A real fucking bitch,“ he leans in to whisper in your ear, sliding his arms around you.

„Oh no, ouch…“ you giggle into his ear. „You know what I think?“ you question.

„What?“

„You are a dirty old man, who loves bratty little bitches like me. Don’t pretend you don’t, that would just make you look dumb.“ You gently stroke your hands up his arms and lay them around his neck. You press your tits against his chest.

„Bet you like this, my young tits touching you. Hmm, are you thinking about my wet little cunt?“ you press kisses below his ear and on his jaw.

Course you double down. „Makes you hard, doesn’t it? You wish you could fuck my tight pussy, huh? Say it Joel, say I’m right.“

Joel curses Tommy for ever trying to get him more out of his comfort zone. His own little brother pushed him into the arms of the devil.

His cock is indeed swelling at your filthy—almost hypnotic—words.

“Trouble, that’s what ya’ are,” Joel grunts.

“See, there are two options. Either you want to kill me or you want to fuck me.” You ponder.

You unlatch from him and turn around, pushing your butt against his crotch. The bulge is undeniable.

“Well, well. I think I know the answer.” You swirl your hips a couple times before facing him again.

Joel tries to kiss you but you dodge it.

“What was that?”

“You don’t kiss me. Never, unless I tell you to. Yes?” You don’t even care if he understands, you take his hand and start dragging him again, this time to the bathroom.

In there, Joel bends you over the bathroom counter. He flips up your skirt, tugs down your thong and bunches up your top around your middle. Doing so reveals what must be a massive tattoo. Joel is unsure of the meaning behind the painting that covers your entire back, he sees snakes and a woman’s face in Fine black lines. He realizes after a moment that it must be Medusa. Her mouth's stapled shut; how odd.

You’re unaware of his discovery, too lost in the pleasure of having his hands on you.

But then he traces the outlines of her and says. “Nice tattoo ya’ got there,”

You freeze and immediately stare at him through the mirror with an intensity. “Don’t touch it.” Your tone leaves no room for arguments.

He takes his hands away, instead busying them by unzipping his pants and patting down his pockets for a condom. He stops his search when you pull out one from your bra and hand it to him. He almost wants to ask, but your eyes let him know not to.

Joel wastes no time, rolls the rubber down his length and nudges his tip at your entrance.

He’s taking too long, so you make the rash decision to impale yourself with his hard cock.

The sting is exactly what you need to silence those self destructive thoughts.

He should’ve never seen her but it’s your fault. You broke the rule of not letting a man take you from behind. No, it’s always a position which makes you face them or puts you above them. In control. Most of all, they don’t see her. It shows a weak spot, giving whoever is on the receiving end of her stony gaze too much power in hurting you.

Joel’s pained hiss takes you back to the present moment.

“Fuck, baby, you’re so tight. Jesus,”

You groan “Shut up and start fucking me, would you?”

He picks up the pace instantly, slamming his throbbing cock into your cunt. Your hips will surely be bruised by the next day.

“Soooo good, just like that,” he’s doing a damn good job. Until one of his massive hands tries to push your chest down, attempting to put him in control.

“Stop pushing me,” you mumble.

Your voice is not loud enough for him to hear, so his hand continues.

Your barely able to get a word as he’s fucking you into oblivion.

“S-s-stop, J-Joel,” you try to move your shoulders to perhaps make him notice but this turns out to be just as fruitless.

Enough is enough. You muster up the strength to lift your chest. In a split second you knock back your head, colliding with his lip.

Joel stumbles back in pain and shock. “T’fuck was that for,”

You don’t care to answer, turning around and hurdling him into the toilet stall. You push him down and take a seat in his lap. His cock fills you again, you make quick work of riding him in earnest. Slamming yourself down hard over and over. Until you suddenly stop to lift a finger to his bleeding lip, swiping generously through the ruby liquid and sucking that finger into your mouth. You keep intense eye contact with Joel while doing so.

“Jesus, you are fucking crazy,” he mumbles.

You start riding him again and whisper back. “Just how you imagined me, right?”

Your thighs start feeling sore pretty quickly, Joel notices that, of course he does and tries to offer help.

“Why don’t ya’ let me do some of the work, huh?”

You shake your head. “I don’t need your fucking help, Joel,” you practically hiss.

“Please,” something about the way he begs has your act crumbling.

“Okay, but you fuck me against the door,” you instruct.

“Sure,” he hoists you up with him by grabbing your thighs but before he can move you give more instructions.

“I want you to slam me against the door and then pound me.”

“What?” Joel is confused about your request.

“Are you really that hard of hearing old man?” you lean in and rasp in his ear. “Slam me against the door and fuck me. Or are you too much of a pussy, huh?” You know exactly what your taunting will get you.

Joel makes an angry throaty sound almost like a bull.

Your backside colliding with the plastic of the door as well as your head too has you deliciously dizzy. You need the pain as a distraction of how much you betray yourself by letting him take control.

“You like that, fucking bitch?” You laugh at his words.

“I do, but can you finish now? I'm getting bored.” More taunting.

And Joel gets to it. Fucking up into you so roughly that you think your shoulder blades will be bruised as well by the way he slams you into the door. You can feel him so deep, hitting all the right spots. In the haze of his throbbing member fucking the air out of you, Joel’s thumb rubs soothing circles into your thigh. A stark contrast to the brutal pounding he gifts you.

Joel’s rhythm slowly gets more uneven and you know he’s close. You put one hand on his face and the other slips down between your body’s to rub your clit.

“Come on Joel, I know you wanna cum for me, don’t you?” You lean closer until your lips almost touch his. “Fill me up, do it. I love that big cock in my tight cunt and you do too, right Joel?” Your words combined with how you pulsed around him were too much to bear. He couldn’t stave his orgasm off any longer and soon shot spurts of his warm cum into the condom.

He slipped out of your used hole, and you made fast work of pushing him further away before fixing your clothes. Joel's about to speak up when you cut him off. You saw that look in his eyes and you don’t like what it means.

Maybe this time you took it too far, you can still feel his hands on your body, how gentle he was, so caring even through all the roughness. Something you don’t deserve.

You are used to being touched. But with Joel it’s different. And you don’t like it. You lowered your guard too much.

You need to get out of the toilet stall and away from Joel. The last thing you say to him before disappearing is full of disgust.

“Don’t get any stupid ideas, this didn’t mean shit. We just fucked.”

©️ evolnoomym 2025. Please don’t repost, copy, translate, or feed into any AI. Support your fellow creators by reblogging, commenting, and liking!

Tagging who I think might enjoy this: @aurorawritestoescape @pedgito @chaotic-mystery @stellamarielu @mushgloomz @lilac-boo @tateypots @slimybeth69 @strang3lov3 @gutsbys @604to647 @magpiepills @toxicanonymity 😈

[jamesisasimp]

hello your tags !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! yes yes yes !!!!!!!!! giggling at all of this because yeah!

i think for james he was getting it all confused right? because that’s regulus and his cars are so cool and so fast and he always wins so james is like … do i wanna be WITH him or do i wanna BE him??? and he has a good time getting regulus all riled up when they race each other and loves making him mad by being like “i let you win” but then when regulus DOESNT WIN james is like …. “oh! oh no! i think i do actually wanna be w him bc i don’t even care that he just lost rn”

but by then it’s tooooo late because barty is here and regulus’ attention is now elsewhere because first he tries to break barty down and then he’s like …. well … if you can’t beat them … join them ig …

but there’s also tension because the black family has scouts and they’re like “we need to recruit this guy to race for Us. since he’s so good. and they’re giving regulus shit for losing so the only option is for barty to join the black family or for regulus to sabotage him so bad that he’ll never race again except barty isn’t working for anyone but himself so he absolutely refuses regulus’ recruitment tactics so reg has to go to drastic measures and they kinda hate each other but now they’re also kinda ?? obsessed and in love ????

okay sorry for brainrotting in ur asks unprompted like this ,,,, i just loved ur tags 😭

I literally love this so much you have no ideaaaa!!!!

Jealous, bi curious James going through a sexuality crisis with a rival, you will always be famous

Also your Barty is already so hot on principle and now you want to make him the mysterious allusive guy from out of town with no backstory that wears leather and has a cool ass car and races like no one has ever seen before????

Like I get it, Reg. I too would leave husband material James Potter for a bad bitch

This James/Barty rivalry is actually sending me because in the big finale race where Reg and Sirius are competing to see who's the best Black family heir, James is also trying to prove that he's better than Barty, to win back his mans. And Barty is not above teasing James endlessly over the fact that Reg (this sexy little ball of curls and french curse words) chose him!!!

Which, like, means so much to Barty too you know? Like he's the type of guy that has spent his whole life being the best, being better than the best, giving 110% in the hope that someday it might be good enough, that someone might appreciate how hard he's worked. And no one ever does, so he stops trying and avoids being inaugurated into another family full of expectations he'll never meet - he lives for himself and his own enjoyment and that is all

But then Regulus... oh, Regulus isn't like the others. He knows Barty's fucking good, and he knows getting that good isn't easy because he wasn't always the best at racing either. He did it to connect with Sirius at first, then to take Sirius's place once he left, and so he knows how hard it is, how much you have to push yourself and your car. And he wants Barty to teach him, because, even if he hates to admit he's not the best, he knows Barty's an expert, someone he can learn from

Like give me Barty dragging Reg, who has always bought the newest, top of the line tires and engines and suspensions and other car stuff, to the most seedy, back alley places to get new add-ons for his car. Helping him pick out a new break kit for Marleen to put in and a new set of lights ("How do headlights help me go faster, Barty?" "They don't, but they look fucking cool")

And he trusts Barty to make him a better driver (after seriously debating breaking his legs for upstaging him or paying him off to never race again) and Barty fucking loves that, more than the money or anything else. Regulus is taking his advice and listening to what he has to say and has anyone else noticed how fucking hot he looks when he's so concentrated, and-

But also they're racing for completely different reasons!!! Barty does it because it's fun and he's good at it and he needs the money, and Reg does it because he has something to prove. So the whole time Barty is trying to teach him that all you have to do is let go and have fun, and Reg is just trying to win, to prove to his parents (and himself) that he can be as good as Sirius - better than Sirius. So like the tension!!!! They frustrate each other so much!!! But also they're so in love!!!!!

Anyways, please brainrot more!!!! Anytime, all the time!! These two will be living rent free in my brain foreverrrrr

(Like just picture the abandoned car junkyard picnic date where they lift mufflers and sit on the old rusty hood of a car with the headlights on and drink and snack and make out talk about life)

Okay, getting off my soap box now-

[hyukascampfire]

everyone say it with me… betta late then never!!

first let’s watch our regularly scheduled broadcasting of rain suffering and hating me while reading

ash you're going to pay for this. I hate you.

fuck u ash.

You let him go. - SAY IT THEN FUCKING SAY IT

I refuse this. I rebuke this.

“I want to go. I’m ready.” damn it. damn it. damn it.

I hate you ash. I hate you so much, you'll pay for this. I hate you.

NO HELP ME I CANT DO THISS

I WONT LOSE U AGAIN WHAT HELP I CANT MY HEART HURTS

LOLLLLLL I WAS IN THE BACKSEAT OF MY CAR GIGGLING

off the bat, this is an insane quote. I love you, ash. I do. hehe

ASH. ASH. IF DEATH THINKS YOU ARE FLATTERED, HE MISUNDERSTANDS YOU. THIS LINE, IM SO GLAD IT HIT YOU TOO CAUSE IT HIT ME WHILE WRITING IT

ok, so I've prided myself on not knowing much of anything about this fic because I wanted to be surprised, so i'lll be writing my takeaways from everything. and from my understanding here, is it that everything she touches or is in contact with dies? I'm going to feel so dumb if I'm interpreting this all wrong lmaoo. you’re so smart cause this was literally right. now that you’ve read it, i’ll confirm that wasn’t yeonjun’s intention, but it was definitely his fault, because his proximity and affection for her caused things to die around her.

they are death made in the flesh. help. you're in their forest. I would genuinely be so scared. me too, i’d be running just like her

“There you are, love.” - oh I'm ready, I'm so fucking ready. THIS LINE THIS LINE I LOVE THIS LINE the foreshadowing and the fact that it implies that he’d been looking for her. and when he calls her love >.<;

is it fucked that I find this hot. & FINE ASF. & him wearing a cape just made him a thousand times more hot. LMAOO THE THIRSTING OVER HIM IS SO REAL and no it’s not fucked because he’s hot and he can’t help it. this yeonjun specifically was sexy asf while i was writing him like yes my panties were wet yes i needed him badly and i think it shows in what i wrote sometimes 😭 also RAIN YOU GET ME SO BADLY WITH THE CAPE idk if this is a fantasy reader thing but the cape is just hot

Should you run or thank him? Is Death as prideful a creature as the other kinds that inhabit Aethera? - I like this quote a lot. ily

Morbid curiosity is like that, though. - I really like all the subtle hints at death in this i love people who notice things. like youre just a noticer and i love it

A deep, familiar voice from behind you gives you pause. “Want some help with that?” Soobin says. He stands  in the doorway, his head nearly brushing the top of the frame. It’s made too small for him. Most things in your tiny village were made too small for Soobin. There had been a time where you’d been taller than him, that had hardly lasted long enough. - are you wearing pants... WHEN I TELL YOU IT TOOK SO LONG FOR ME TO UNDERSTAND THIS CAUSE I WAS LIKE… yes he’s wearing pants?? duh??

  “Cow shit isn’t an ingredient.” - LMAOOO loled when i wrote this poor guy

“I think you are very, very beautiful. Would you stop ignoring me, now?” - help ok why do I ship them now... never tell anybody you heard this from me but in my heart he definitely had an unrequited crush

“Don’t like you?” he asks, “What reason would they have for that?” - boy why are you acting like you don't know...it's your fault LMAO POOR YEONJUN HE DIDNT MEAN TO

he was human??? — “You were human?” oop me and her are the same. this made me giggle

THE DANDELIONS MY HEART. SHE DIED GIVING BIRTH??? — YOU FOUND HER YOU FOUND HER. also, "or a blade of grass in the forest" help. their love story is so tragic and i know that i wrote it like it came from my head but it still hurts. and yeonjun’s backstory especially. he loved her so much :(

I'm betting it's the reader. you clocked that. like i said youre just a KNOWERR

if only we cold know that death was actually like this, the comfort I would feel if it were. yes. exactly this. a big source of inspo for this fic was my own fear of death. it felt nice to portray it as something not so final and scary, but maybe something to look forward to. i’m still scared of it and definitely always will be, but it would be so comforting to know for sure that there’s something after death.

and one sec lemme compile all the little bits from the smut scene cause it’s my favorite part I LOVED READING THIS PLEASE

“Crawl to me, then.” - OH? THIS LINE IM ILL sir yes sir!!!

“Tell me to stop. Please, tell me to go. Because I don’t know how.” - HELP HELP HELP DONT GO DO NOT GO GOD I LOVE HIM I LOVE A DESPERATE MAN. i just love how he wants her so badly and lets it be known. HOT HOT HOT

“No, you don’t understand what you’re asking for. All I’ve ever done is ruin. All I’ll ever do is ruin. I won’t ruin you; not again.” - NOT AGAIN?????????? hell yes

“I want you so fucking bad. You are in the marrow of my bones. Fuck, I have done nothing but want you, but I am foul. I will only hurt you.” - what if I pass away huh?? what if I do that?! LMFAOOOO

“I want you to beg me for it,” he says, grinning down at you with cruel intention. “Beg me, and make it so pretty.” - I'm hot is anyone else hot or is it just me... i love you so bad for giving me the opportunity to read all this

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

Think about it: do animals just fly into anybody else’s windows and die? Do the trees that they pick from just end up dead? It’s his fault that they all treat you the way you do.” - and ykw I cant be mad at him for saying this because the logic part of me agrees with him. he just cares for her and doesn’t want her hurt. soobin loved her so much. DAMN. but i also understand why what he says hurts her as well yk? it’s the worst. and this being the last time they speak is so awful, but sometimes it happens that way. :((

You were expecting wary looks, anyway. - awh no I feel so bad for her ): she tried to not blame them for being scared of her but omg it makes me so sad for her. she always just wanted be a part of the community. it’s messed up

It was by your hope that he’s gone. - SOOBIN NO. SSOOBIN NO NO NO. FUCK OFF ASH MY SHAYLAAAAAAA. WAS HE EVEN WEARING PANTS PLS WAS HE EVEN WEARING PANTS LMAO IM CTFU

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

i loved reading this thank you queen. 💋💋💋

THE TERRIBLE HALF-TRUTHS OF THE UNDEAD ҜING

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

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

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

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“There you are, love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

༺ ꘏ ༻

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

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

And you absolutely should not wonder about him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That’s not my issue.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

༺ ꘏ ༻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you come here often?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He shakes his head. “He’ll die.”

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

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

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

༺ ꘏ ༻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

༺ ꘏ ༻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I take pride in that.”

“Take pride in what? Being insufferable?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

༺ ꘏ ༻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Aren’t you now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It’ll be gone if you do, anyway.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh my fucking god,” you say.

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

༺ ꘏ ༻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head, wiping your soaked cheek.

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

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

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

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

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

Pulling back, Yeonjun says, “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

༺ ꘏ ༻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He blinks.

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

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

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

༺ ꘏ ༻

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

rꫀׁׅܻblogs & asks arꫀׁׅܻ always apprꫀׁׅܻciatꫀׁׅܻd!

▸ tׁׅagᥣׁׅ֪ꪱׁׅstׁׅ @lvrs-street2mmorrow , @soohashits , @f4iryfever , @arcturus444 , @linqed , @serenityism00 , @immelissaaa , @luv4cheol , @lickingan0rchid , @20-cms , @hhoneylix , @beestvng , @hyucktapes , @bewitchless , @prince-jjae , @blankliving , @yaoizee , @stormy1408 , @missychief1404 , @izzyy-stuff , @miukuui , @lunesdesire , @sunoolver , @cherricola-star , @xylatox , @filmnings , @hearteyes4hobi , @hyunj00 , @kangtaehyunfan029 , @caratcakemoa, @usuallyunlikelyfox , @zi-vian , @brrytears , @stormy1408 , @soobabby , @nshmrarki , @dontwannacry04 if your tag isn't working, check the mentions part of your settings!

[ilidaeandquill]

All Is Fair in Death and War - Character Analysis/Notes

Narinder - Anger

For the sake of my sanity, we’re going to pretend this gif primarily focuses on Narinder.

Quick fun fact: On my Goat/Extra Hard save file, Narinder got the Jerk trait (which I refuse to correct for obvious reason). I'm going to make any and all interactions with him as a jerk canon in AIFiDaW.

So anyway here's him bullying Goatfrey for their crush on Shamura before he steals their money (I know my cult is ugly I'm redecorating it).

(Keep reading for character breakdown) First Chapter: All Is Fair in Death and War - Chapter 1 - IlidaeAndQuill - Cult of the Lamb (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] (THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 1,000 HITS FLMGKDSNG - If you read it, I hope you enjoy!!)

Primary Motivation: Narinder has two opposing character motivations: to reclaim a semblance of divinity without the Red Crown, and to assure the safety of his traveling disciples Baal and Aym. These two motivations directly contrast each other, and with the additional plotline created from rescuing the Bishops, he struggles to decide which one to prioritize. Lots of internal conflict with this one.

Character Traits: Prudish af. Concise with his 'work' (killing, he's literally just killing people) but sees no reason to assist others without probable payment. The sting of his betrayal, both from the Lamb and his siblings, runs too deep.

Theme Songs (Lyrical): "Death" - Matthew K Heafy, Sean Long & Mike Malyan, "you should see me in a crown" - Billie Eilish, "Gladiator" - Jann Theme Songs (Instrumental): "Sins of Hyrule" - ROZEN, "Aurora in Faerieland" - James Newton Howard Additional Narilamb song from his p.o.v. because the devs did it and I want to too: "LET THE WORLD BURN" - Chris Grey

Voice Claim: Cobra Bubbles - Lilo and Stitch Dialogue Pattern: He speaks formally when he's focused but gets sloppy with his dialogue as he loses himself to anger/irritation.

Outfit Inspiration: Regal and stealthy - a true assassin's garb. Most of his clothes are stolen, as he refuses to wear the cultist uniform given by Lambert. He does prefer heavy robes but sticks to lighter garments for crusades/daily activity.

Narinder is a strong supporting character (and if we want to get technical, he's Lambert's love interest, but I hate assigning that title to characters - I don't want a character's romantic plotline to determine their importance in a story) and the primary representation of the Anger stage of grief. This is seen through his personality traits/reactions to story events, but also through his pyromancy. His fire, representing his anger, literally burns him alive every time he uses it. He must learn/develop a way to safely use it, or risk losing himself to his rage.

Additionally: his anger is represented through the fact that he is angry at the world/fate. With my own grief, I often get angry, thinking it "wasn't fair" that my dog, of all creatures, got heart disease and died young. I portray this same anger through Narinder. His imprisonment wasn't fair. His loss of godhood wasn't fair. And, the unconscious, yet most important thing, is what happened to Baal and Aym was not fair.

"Ratau turned to watch the sparing brothers again. His fingers curled around his hands, nails digging far into his flesh. “Yes, but… This is inhumane. My lord, they know how to fight! We both see that! Be fair with them, please.”

“If the world was fair, none of us would be here.” The One Who Waits flicked his hand, and Ratau disappeared to his mortal realm." - That whole segment comes from his anger - it's not fucking fair what happened to the three of them. And oooohhhh writing that anger for him is soooooo satisfying.

Random Trivia/Facts: - Despite his regal tastes, Narinder's favorite food is plain baked salmon (with some spices ofc I'm not a monster). - Narinder was the first character I was able to give a distinct motivation. His internal conflict between reclaiming godhood and setting his disciples free was way too intriguing; I had to develop that first. - That said, the only way for him to add to the theme/move towards acceptance is if he goes against his initial desire of reclaiming divinity to help the ones he cares for. This is to say that I, the author, am trying to balance his development like a fucking tightrope walker. - KLEPTOMANIAC (If only for petty reasons). - He might be a pyromaniac too idk. - In "Yngya's Repose," Narinder fell in love with the Lamb shortly before their destined duel over the crown. In AIFiDaW, Narinder is still (somewhat) in love with the Lamb, he is just too angry to let himself feel anything other than the hurt of betrayal. - To add to that: In the scene where Narinder falls for the Lamb (Year 3: Autumn) - he specifically falls in love with Lambert because they were kind to Baal and Aym. There were a few other factors outside that, but seeing Lambert treat his disciples as their own was the final push he needed to fully fall in love. - And then he had to fight them to the death isn't that fun? :) - Narinder's parenting teaching style with Baal and Aym is largely inspired by Moro and San (Princess Mononoke) and Maleficent and Aurora (Maleficent).

Thank you for reading! Narinder is a super complex character; my only hope is that I give him the writing he deserves. He is, of course, featured in "All Is Fair in Death and War," but his primary appearance is in the short prequel to that: "Yngya's Repose." I hope to make a podfic of that story soon so people who don't have the time/ability to sit down and read it can still enjoy the story :)

Theme

The Goat/Goatfrey - Narinder - The Lamb/Lambert - The Curse

Leshy - Heket - Kallamar - Shamura

Jalala - Rinor - Fena - Aym & Baal - The Mystic Seller

[ask-postcrash-curly]

it seems nobody is being quite clear with you yet, Anya.

believe me or not, but this is the truth.

we're multidimensional voices. curly was hearing us before you did. we're with you now for a reason.

jimmy is abusing curly behind your back. being rough with his injuries, tormenting him, and occasionally outright beating him.

everyone will die if you kill yourself. by no means is it your fault. it's just the matter of how things play out afterwards.

daisuke cares about you. he was trying to save you.

jimmy drugged swansea in order to make daisuke climb into the broken vent to get to you and curly. daisuke... didn't quite make it. swansea had to mercy kill him.

and then jimmy found the gun. he found it and shot swansea.

and then...

he tortures curly. cuts off his leg. eats it. forces him to eat it. sticks him in the cryo pod that swansea was saving for daisuke.

and then kills himself.

believe me or not. this is the truth. many of us are... scarred from those events, to say the least. just ask bug. or kind words. maybe don't ask her, actually.

we don't know if curly remembers those things or not. for his sake, I hope to god he doesn't.

but we were... reset. sent back? to try and prevent this from happening. it all goes down in a matter of hours if you take those pills.

we're not trying to guilt trip you. but we know you care. you care about curly, and swansea, and daisuke. and jimmy, frankly, shouldn't get an easy way out.

we know you wouldn't want those things to happen to them again. right?

so believe us or not, Anya.

but please. please... believe us.

Jimmy's been doing what?

What??

No, shut up, I need to deal with this—

Curly! Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you, um— The voices, they're saying that— Jimmy has been hitting you behind my back. Is that true?

Oh. Oh no no no. God, no. Curly, I'm so sorry! Dammit, why would I leave you in here with him, what was I thinking—? And I kept asking him to— Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, I never— I should have known! I knew how little he cared about— I thought it would be different with you, but of course you couldn't tell me if he wasn't— Sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry, Curly. What is wrong with him?! You're already in pain! Why would he— you can't even protect yourself, why would he do that?! No, but that's exactly what he would do, isn't it? I hate him, I hate him so much right now. Shit. I'm so sorry. Never again, okay? Never, never again. No matter what I do today. I can't leave him alone with you again. I'm sorry... I'm so sorry. The way he—

...

It's okay. We're okay.

Um... I... missed most of that. But thank you for telling me what Jimmy's done. I can barely breathe, oh my goodness... I'm sorry, can I have a minute?

[the-way-astray]

seriously don't understand what you all find so fascinating about alvar and keefe's relationship like at all

first of all, alvar shows little to no remorse for his actions, so no, he has not gotten a redemption arc. he's still the same shitty guy as he always was, it's just that he likes pancakes now. a redemption arc isn't defined by the victims forgiving the perpetrator, sure, but the perpetrator has to actually, like, feel genuine remorse for their actions and do something to atone for it and show they've changed. none of which apply to alvar. alvar's arc is in no way shape or form a redemption arc. like stop calling it that it's objectively not true. every time i hear people refer to alvar's "arc" as a redemption arc i want to tear my hair out. as a redemption arc enjoyer this hurts my soul

keefe also does not feel guilty for hanging out with him at all, evidenced by, well, him not feeling guilty about it at all and also the fact that he thinks fitz is somehow in the wrong for not giving alvar another chance. if he truly felt bad for hanging around alvar, he would understand fitz's anger at least a little. also despite the fact that alvar freely admits he feels little to no regret for his actions and gives keefe no real proof he's changed, keefe leaves his hotel and credit card and whatnot to alvar and lets him off the hook entirely by the end. once again saying that's not just the mark of someone who's forgiven alvar, but also someone who trusts alvar, despite him having done nothing to earn that trust. fantastic

and are we going to ignore the fact that alvar and keefe spent most of unraveled entirely ignoring the fact that alvar helped kidnapped the girl keefe is supposedly over the moon for or . . . ? this is something they never talk about not once. same goes for everything else shitty alvar did. keefe and alvar just . . . conveniently sidestep those conversations entirely. we don't have a proper understanding for exactly what alvar's thought process was when he did those things because keefe never becomes uncomfortable enough around alvar's presence to ask those hard questions and get those hard answers. alvar never talks about it because he's a happy go-lucky guy that just wants to hop around the globe and eat various kinds of pancakes now!!!! nothing he did before this matters!!!! or at least that's the way unraveled treats it. it's never brought up for longer than a few seconds. certainly keefe and alvar never dig into the depths of what that means. and think about this: keefe and alvar don't even have the same view of alvar's parents. keefe likes alden and della, or at least just della, whereas alvar (for some fucking reason) thinks they hate him and want him dead because he's an oldest child that's over a decade older than his siblings even though they love him just as much as their other kids. you'd think they would at least, at least, talk about this right? you'd think they'd come to some understanding about how they view alden and della, parental figures they both shared right? especially since it is brought up in legacy!!!! you'd think if their relationship had anything to it besides alvar teasing keefe for a spider falling into his hair they would fucking talk about this and come to some understanding of each other right? right????

not only is there no depth to this relationship, there's also no layers to it either. in canon there's not a single callback or flashback to a memory or incident that took place before keefe knew alvar was a traitor that could deepen their dynamic. saying keefe and alvar went back to their pre-betrayal dynamic in unraveled is a ridiculous statement seeing as how we don't actually know what their pre-betrayal relationship was like. honestly it sounds like alvar and keefe never hung out one-on-one at all, and that alvar was just someone keefe admired from afar. less close brotherly bond, more starstruck-idolizing kind of thing. if you get what i'm saying. that's how it always read to me, especially since alvar was never around much at all. and you don't have evidence to prove me wrong because we don't actually know what they were like pre-betrayal. it is never brought up ever. you'd think that if they'd had a pre-betrayal dynamic, it would be referenced right? like how alvar jokes about how itchy the neverseen cloaks are, referencing their time together when keefe was with the neverseen? like a simple "hey, keefe, remember when [something that occurred pre-betrayal between alvar and keefe] happened? that was so silly right?" would've at least proven that they had some form of a close relationship pre-betrayal. there's nothing like that in unraveled. once again saying that while it's stated that keefe looked up to alvar, it's never stated that they had any sort of close relationship. you are making this up and pretending it's canon!!!! it's not true!!!! in fact the evidence is against it!!!!

so to summarize. keefe doesn't feel guilty about hanging out with someone that traumatized his crush/girlfriend and did several other shitty things even though he shows little to no remorse (in canon). alvar has not actually done shit to redeem himself, nor does he particularly regret much of what he did (in canon). keefe and alvar do not have any hard conversations that could plausibly make keefe understand alvar more, or vice versa (in canon). keefe and alvar did not have a close pre-betrayal dynamic at all, keefe simply idolized alvar (in canon). like yes i can see the potential for this being interesting but like. that's quite literally where it ends. canon is not living up to this potential whatsoever. like you are making a dynamic up completely and pretending that's what's going on in canon when it is not . . . like don't get me wrong i understand the inclination (it's what i do with gethen since canon gethen is . . . lacking . . . ) but you cannot take your made up lore about keefe and alvar, bring it to a serious discussion about them, pretend it's what's shown in canon when it's not, and act like it makes their canon dynamic interesting, especially when canon directly contradicts your interpretation

[strugglingyetvibing]

you're absolutely right and i think the whole redesign isn't going super well for them

the wattpad fonts plus the driver intro showing more of a 3d car than the actual drivers (more so for the back of the grid than the front), and don't even get me started on the timing tree

okay you can get me started on the timing tree

i hate how it's not as transparent like in the previous design (i could be misremembering - maybe it was just a lighter gray or something, but either way this new tree is just a giant black box that attracts too much attention). i also don't like the sharp corners on the tree. that could have always been a thing and i'm just noticing it now because the tree changed, but i'm a hater of this thing so i'm adding it to the list

i don't mind the 8-bit style that they're trying to implement, but it really clashes with the fancy wattpad font

i'm also not a big fan of the top of the tree and how they implement the red flag system. there's a little bar at the top of the tree that differentiates between the top F1 logo and time remaining block and the drivers at the top of the timing tree. at least in testing, this bar was usually red (likely for f1 brand colors). when they threw the red flag, that bar stayed red, even after the flag was released, so there was visual confusion from the tree as to whether we were red or green. having the bar be red as its resting color is not a good design choice when red has such a big, literally session-stopping use in track broadcasts

i also think that they shouldn't do the split-color box for red flags on the tree. it may be visually 'cool' to have it be split with red background/white font up top and black background/red font on the bottom, but it detracts from the fact that the session has been stopped dead in its tracks for whatever reason. give me back the big ass blocks of red (and yellow) that we used to have and shout to the heavens that something's going down!!

when the checkered flag flew during testing, the timing tree didn't change at all. in the previous design, the background of the whole timing tree would change to a checkered design to visually show people that the session was over. again, maybe i'm misremembering it a bit and it wasn't the entire tree (it could have been just the top portion of the tree), but there used to be a visual indicator on the tree that the session was done aside from the countdown being over. i don't like that the new tree just sits there on its ass doing fuck all when the session is done

finally, and maybe this was just a thing for testing too, but i really hated how the tree doesn't show all 20 drivers anymore. i give it a pass for testing because the timing doesn't matter much, but those bottom two positions better be there at fp1 tonight. because we know f1 has the ability to scrunch every driver on to a singular tree, and it has worked very well. the viewer should be able to see all 20 drivers and their timings/positions on the tree. i get that it's visually calmer to spread out the drivers a bit on the tree, but i refuse to believe that that calmer setup is worth ditching the last two drivers on the tree

i like the idea of a fresh design for the 75th! but this just missed the mark

the font combination they used for the f1 driver intro used to have a monopoly on wattpad fic cover titles back in the day

[formulaoneisajoke]

it actually really bothers me how it was always “daniel to red bull” now it’s “liam to red bull” but it’s never once been “yuki to red bull” when he’s been driving the life out of that car for years

[brofightiscancelled]

okay ill bite why do u hate kaoru sakuraba sidem aside from the fact that they went from hokuto as a main blue to downgrade to kaoru. to make it less awkward that I’m asking abt sidem on ur osomatsu side blog, what sidem idols would u assign to each matsu ?

i think sideM should collab w osomatsu-san and put them all in Beit so they can all get JOBS!!!!!!

anyways i hate kaoru from idolmaster sideM. i need all my osomatsu-san side blog followers to know that i hate this man. "i need a lot of money fast to pursue an extremely niche medical research track, which is why i quit my stable and high paying job as a surgeon to become an idol while having no soft skills, physical strength or stamina, or interest in getting along with people" are you Stupid??

he's not even using his idol clout to spread awareness of the rare disease he's trying to cure (like SEM does) so it can secure funding, he sees it 100% as a job and refuses to have fun, he is actively unpleasant and uncooperative in every interaction with his coworkers because he's trying to "rise to the top". it seems like the only thing he has going for him are his looks and that he kind of liked to sing when he was a kid. why not become a model at that point when you have the personality of a wet tree trunk. or better yet why not STAY A FUCKING DOCTOR!!!!!

also, i don't like meganes, so write that down.

[chessalein]

Oh my god! Thats one of the most reasons why I hate it so much now.

They started like 20 different stories and *never* ended or explained even one and I fume every time I think about it!

I want to know what treasure Junkrat has found in the middle of the atomic Australian desert that is so amazing that the Junker queen is having a lookout for him. But on the other hand they totally distroyed that by putting her into the game and give her a "I don't even know this guy who the heck is he?" attitude.

I want to know what exactly is going on between Mercy and Moira because it seems that there is more. The hatred they have for another isn't just simple "She is bad and I am good" thing. What the fuck happened to Rayes?!?!? How did he end up there?! The hatered he has against Soldier has to come from somewhere.

Ramata!??! How does he play in all of this? Who gives a fuck, he is a player character now, go concentrate on that.

And by now they just throw in more and more people, more and more wanna-be-stories that break the rest of what little was there in the first place.

*sad sigh* I love Overwatch so much. I wanted to know all the stories and was so hyped when archive events were in which you learned some of it. I would have loved to learn more about the junkers and all.

I was so hyped about the storymode they had announced that would be OW2. But... yea. We all know how that ended. Now its just horrible in my eyes.

Rant over and out.

i think my favorite part about hating on overwatch as a game is that they still haven't figured out a solid lore reason as to why talon members and overwatch members are fighting on the same team. like in the case of marvel rivals, they're superheroes from comic books; villains and heroes team up all the time. but in overwatch it's just like ehhh. they're hanging out. none of their interactions r canon btw. why the fuck are we pushing this robot

[fallloverfic]

I love singNsong again reminding people in Side Story that Dokja wanted other people to read TWSA (he wrote reviews and comments! It was his first wish), and he only stopped bothering because people harassed him for it. He didn't gate-keep the story. When he's avoiding talking to Sangah about it at the beginning of ORV, it's because he knows what happens when he tells people about the story, not because he's gate-keeping it from her. He notes he's not proud of his hobby (likely because he's been bullied all through his life, including for reading the thing he loves): he finds it embarrassing to talk about, and better respects her studying Spanish in her free time (learning another language is a generally accepted thing in society). He assumes she won't care or will look at him funny (or worse) for when she learns about the novel he's into.

Basically anyone writing "let's gatekeep ORV" posts because of the anime announcement or because they dislike the manhwa or some other weirdness, y'all are the villains in the scenario.

The literal climax of the story is about sharing ORV with as many people as possible. What story were y'all reading?

[ravenoftheskyes]

Okay, look, I’m just going to say this once: You’re being a condescending bastard. I don’t take kindly to being treated like a child when I’m a full grown adult and I know my damn limits. And you know damn well there’s no way to discuss the war on terror without bringing up the inherent Islamophobia, because you literally specified, in your own words, “(The reason for that was probably that, as you note, the writers weren't total morons, and the lessons here? The Republicans made it necessary--you needed to understand how to function when the FBI was sending folks to mosques to blackmail Muslim men, or when you could get investigated for reading the wrong newspaper, like Al-Jazeera English. When the government is abusive, you need to know how to survive abuse; one of the key ways is by forming alliances, whether or not you actually like your ally is beside the point.)” The moment you brought up Muslims, you opened the door to me and anyone that shares my religion to comment because you used the reason that in 2024 my father had to plead with my cousin to cut his beard because we were all terrified he was going to be hate crimed.

You haven’t really praised the Disney seasons once, so don’t lie. Every compliment you’ve given has been extremely backhanded, starting with when you said, for no reason, “And that means that, as much as Yakity Sax is the theme song of these idiots, there was some stuff in pre-Disney Power Rangers that Disney all but tried to fuck over. Dino Thunder seems to exemplify it for me,” and every single “detail” you’ve given is completely false.

Just to hit some of your main points, with timestamped links to back me up…

Tommy doesn’t hate Trent.

I could list off example after example of them being genuinely kind to Trent, but your argument is that they’re just faking it, which I can’t disprove because they don’t say that either way. The point is, it quite literally doesn’t apply because you brought it up with no prompting and no evidence, so it’s not on the defense to prove it’s false, it’s on the prosecution to prove it’s true.

Tommy “should have brought in the Zeo rangers?” The point you’re making is Watsonian when the real explanation is Doylist— It would be a really boring kids show if they brought in a bunch of people in their mid-20s/early 30s, it would be extremely expensive to bring the actors back, and it’s a really bad moral to tell kids to always sit back and let the adults handle everything. And if Tommy’s a bad mentor for recruiting teenagers, isn’t this all technically Zordon’s fault because he was the one who started the trend of “teenagers with attitude”? By your own argument, Tommy’s a brainwashed victim who doesn’t see he was abused.

Are mentors always framed as being right? Really? Because in the penultimate episode of SPD, Cruger is framed as being wrong for coming after Jack. And in a season you never brought up, Jungle Fury, Casey tells Master Mao to fuck off, and it’s revealed that this moment was what led to him earning his master stripes.

Also, Disney-Era PR doesn’t frame it as “But the big pattern in the Disney arc for that specific bit is more of teaching kids that, if you have a community you're stuck with? You ride or die for them. They can be wrong. They can torture kittens in their off-hours. But you'd better be willing to die or kill for them, and them for you, or you're fucked,” as you put it. Just look at this scene in A-Bridged, where Bridge straight-up tells the SPD rangers not to judge a book by its cover and asks to investigate on his own for a bit so he can find evidence that it wasn’t who everyone else was suspecting.

And since we’re on the topic of SPD, the claim that “Sky in SPD hasn't really changed (beyond the writers ditching his one-line 'Syd can't be Red, she's a girl' thing),” is just outright false. Just off the top of my head… Sky goes from despising Jack for being the Red Ranger to saying that heroes come in all colors and admitting he respects Jack, from being sci-fi racist to accepting different people (and androids), and goes from refusing to hang out with the other rangers to admitting that he wants to be friends with them. The point is, he’s such a dick at the beginning because he’s solely focused on living up to his dad’s legacy that he puts it above everything else, including bonding with his team. That aspect culminates in Reflection where it’s because he has his team by his side that he’s able to defeat his father’s killer with the Red Morpher. And then it still takes him another episode to admit to wanting to be friends, but his behavior noticeably changes.

And I’m also going to bring up Nick, because you’re also wrong on that front. Nick is a dick, but it’s because he’s a drifter that’s built up a harsh defense mechanism due to his longing to know where he came from and always feeling somewhat separate from his family, and was just passing through Briarwood and got roped into all this. Nick’s character development is going from never really feeling like he belonged to finding a home and uniting his human and magical halves by taking Udonna and Leanbow to meet his adoptive parents!

Also just… “It was written during the Bush era, so obviously it must agree with all the values of that era.” Is just a really weird way to do media analysis? By your own argument, the Saban era didn’t agree with the values of the 90s. Otherwise Tommy wouldn’t have been Native American in the first place.

If your point is “the Disney seasons had a different moral framework than the early Saban seasons and focused on more flawed characters” Sure! We can agree on that! But your point seems to be that "the Disney seasons are irredeemable because they’re explicitly promoting an reactionary worldview because they were written during the height of the Bush era," which you're going to need some evidence to back up, supplemented with why in your opinion the Saban seasons weren't affected by this, and why you believe that this is such a moral failing that you said that “Saban really, really should have pivoted away from that, and fucking hard. The first and last words in their show should have been 'no, be an actually good person, that Disney bullshit is bigotry that isn't even dressed up'.”

And I'd like to remind you that you brought the Disney seasons up out of nowhere to complain about them. In general that's kind of rude in response to someone else, unless your argument is that the Disney season's flaws are so egregious, because why else would you care about it otherwise? If you disagreed you could have just politely ended the conversation, but you kept arguing they’re bad. To you, they are worth bringing up even to someone who likes them (which you couldn't have known) to get them to understand the magnitude of their terribleness. You can see how that might be rude, and upsetting, right? If a stranger you don't know suddenly pivoted to talking about how this thing you love is bad and bigoted and paraded what is at best their interpretation of that thing and at worst actually incorrect and brought up real fucked up shit, you’d probably be upset too.

You’re arguing in bad faith, you clearly haven’t watched the Disney seasons in a while, and certain things you critique are actually completely present in the earlier seasons. SPD is copaganda, I’ll admit that, but where the hell is your critique of Time Force being not only pure copaganda, but straight up pro-eugenics? Or the fact that Bulk and Skull became cops?

Unless you’re willing to talk to me like I’m an adult and give me specific episodes with timestamps to disprove what I’m saying, don’t bother me again. I’m fully willing to talk and debate as long as you don’t condescend to me, actually bring real evidence to your side of the table, and don’t bring up the war on terror to win a goddamn debate.

Round 2, Matchup 6

*Remember, this tournament isn’t about which Ranger you like more, it’s about which Ranger has a more immediate need for therapy.

Propaganda under the cut:

Tommy

"I don't think fighting your past selves while you're in a coma to prove your will to live counts as therapy tbqh"

Ryan

"Gets raised and possibly abused by demons (flinched when a demon touched his shoulder), hated his dad and sister, believing they let him fall, has an identity crisis over who is he, gets cursed with a tattoo that will slowly kill him when he morphs, almost dies in battle because of tattoo,"

[scoliosisgoblin]

Which version of Rick is your fav?

it's so hard for me to choose tbh. HOWEVER, I'd say Evil Rick

then I'd say it's C-137 and Memory Rick

I love how pathetic™ Evil Rick really is tbh. love that he's being controlled by his Morty. can you guess who my favorite Morty is?