#would love to see more international cases the next season

[lovieku]

TRUE LOVE ⋆ 정국

when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.

⋆⁺₊❅. 5/6 from christmas & chill

pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader

genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l

warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he’s too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of “i can fix him”, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he’s a bit of a dick sometimes but he’s also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season

word count 10.2k

author’s note hi lovies 🩷 it’s my last time with c&c 🙁 i’m kinda emotional omg… it’s been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 i’ll keep trying to not disappoint… please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always 🩷 luv u <3

banner by the gorgeous @awrkive ⊹₊⟡⋆

On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to—there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.

The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.

Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.

It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.

You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.

You’d never go through something like that. Never.

And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.

You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.

See, you’d instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.

Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy—in an effortlessly cool way.

You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.

But, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.

These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.

Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.

Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.

Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.

He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.

Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.

Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. He’d always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.

He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.

What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.

Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.

It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.

Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.

“Ouch, that looks painful.”

Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.

Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, “Wanna try?”

Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.

That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”

Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?

You deadpan. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.

Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, “Really?”

You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, “Is that shocking?”

He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm, “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”

You gulp.

What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?

“Test me.”

He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink, “Busy now.”

“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.

He hums, head tilting slightly, “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”

“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”

You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.

Now you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.

The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio—a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.

The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.

“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.

Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, “What’s funny?”

Your voice wobbles, “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”

“Oh. Weird.”

“Sorry.”

With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.

The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.

Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”

“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—

“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.

The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”

“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”

The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, “Teach me what.”

“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.

Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you won’t add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.

Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didn’t belong with the heavy black eyeliner.

But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”

“Done?!” you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.

“Yes.”

“I didn’t even feel it.”

Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.

And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”

Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”

He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “… For what exactly?”

“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”

Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”

With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.

Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.

On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.

You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes

jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: He’s my best friend

You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool

jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?

You [3:46 p.m.]: no… i’m good with yours ☺️

You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. You’re doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—

jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋

“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.

You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol

jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs

You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me

jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing i’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass

You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”

On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.

Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.

Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.

The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.

Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.

But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.

The bar feels suffocating on your skin.

Your dress clings too tightly.

The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.

Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.

You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.

You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.

What are five things that you can see?

Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.

Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.

Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.

Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.

One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.

His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.

Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—

“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”

Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.

The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.

Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like it’s the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.

Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.

At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.

Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”

His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”

“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”

Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.

“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?

“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”

“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”

The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesn’t belong.

“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”

You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.

Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.

On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.

You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.

But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.

That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.

You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”

Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, “He’s busy with a client.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”

The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”

You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, “I like waiting.”

Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.

For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.

By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.

You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.

Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.

The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.

“Jeongguk.”

He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”

You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.

You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”

Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.

Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”

Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”

There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.

You huff, “I regret coming here.”

“Yeah, why did you come here?”

Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”

Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”

Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, “Pick me up at seven, okay?”

He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, “I don’t even remember where you live.”

You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, “You’ll have to text me for that.”

Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”

You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”

“Bye!”

You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.

Do you even have a car? He hopes so—it’s freezing out.

With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?

On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.

You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.

Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.

He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.

When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, “I don't like these places.”

You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”

He slips his hand into his pocket, “Because you threatened me.”

“With a really good time.”

“If this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”

You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”

“I’m not—”

“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”

Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”

Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, “It’s written all over your face.”

“I love Christmas.”

The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.

You chirp, your steps stumbling, “Really?

Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”

You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.

He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.

It’s your turn to frown. Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.

What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—

“Hey, dimples. You okay?”

Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, “Breathe with me, hm?”

You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.

When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, “Wait here a second, okay?”

Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.

You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.

You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.

Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.

Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion, “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”

You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, “There’s no point if you’re not going to enjoy it.”

The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before—familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. You’re unbelievably frustrating.

He clicks his tongue, looking away, “You’re fucking weird.”

You giggle, humming, “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”

He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”

“But—”

He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, “I’m hungry.”

The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks better—the pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s more relaxed. More himself.

You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros—this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.

To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, “You two look perfect together.”

Jeongguk snorts, “Oh, we’re not—”

“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”

The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”

You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.

Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”

Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.

Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”

You tilt your head considering his question, “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”

Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.

When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, “We’re not a couple.”

Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”

On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.

You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?

Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.

Now, this picture—it catches Jeongguk off guard.

It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattoo—the one he himself inked—is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.

You’re wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.

Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.

Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.

Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? idk about this stuff, need your help 🥺

He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.

It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he won’t reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healed—he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.

What’s the purpose of this?

He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.

Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.

But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.

It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.

It’s been such a bad day.

So, would there be any harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.

Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You won’t get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.

“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.

He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?

What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.

Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.

He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.

He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.

When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.

Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.

“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.

He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.

That’s what undoes him. He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.

Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy—spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.

Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.

Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.

It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now it’d be glaringly obvious.

When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.

Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.

With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.

“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”

Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”

Oh. Is that really what it is like?

Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across—so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s just a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.

The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. He’s still not used to that. Still finds it weird.

“How… How was your day?”

It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.

But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.

Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and it’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.

On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. There’s parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.

Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.

But he’s also always thought you two were—and still are—too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.

It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.

Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.

But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.

And he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.

You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.

“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”

Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.

Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.

You beam, “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”

Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.

He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.

“On one condition, though.”

You chirp, “Yeah?”

He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”

Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.

He bites a smile, lips twitching, “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”

Your scoff is loud and incredulous, “You’re such a bitch.”

He only shrugs, “You want my kiss, no?”

“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin, “Are you always this cocky?”

His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this, “Say it.”

You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”

Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, “See! I knew—hmph.”

There’s no other second to waste.

The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.

Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.

But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.

Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.

The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.

On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older. Jeongguk feels like he’d be the right person to stand by you to do so.

When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance that’d allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, “Merry Christmas.”

You giggle. “Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

[jackiequick]

How Lucy Met Ollie | Smallville Fanfic

Paring: Oliver & Lucy

———

Setting: Season six episode ‘Sneeze’

Characters: Oliver Queen, Lucy Kent and Lois Lane

Mentioned characters: Senator Martha Kent, Clark Kent & etc

—^^0–

Summary: When Oliver Jonas Queen came to the Kent Farm, last thing he expected was to find a beauty…

———

The sky was partly cloudy, sun shining across Smallville every one in a while. Seemed like it might rain later on, but at the moment it was shiny skies for the townsfolk.

His car parked a few feet away from the household, stepping out of the car, Oliver smiled. Beautiful house, old fashioned and smell like a warm slice of homemade apple pie. He loves pie. Some flowers even scattered around the front yard.

He held a file in his hand, jogging up the steps to the house, knocking on the door twice as he assumed that it’s a large household so they might not hear him the first time. Just in case.

Once the door opens, Oliver Jonas Queen was dumbstruck when one of the most beautiful women he has ever seen turns to face him.

Ollie never thought of a encounter like this today. He was expecting to see Senator Kent or someone else. But not a lovely young women is dark hair, a pink baseball t-shirt and a beauty mark next to her roundly shaped nose.

“Yes?” Said the women, when Ollie kept staring at him like she had something on her face.

“Oh um. Yeah, sorry.” He laughed breathlessly, “I came to deliver this to your home.”

He gladly extended the envelope to her, she took it and slipped it underneath her arm.

“Queen Industries.” Read the dark haired beauty with a slight rasp in her voice, “Great! Mom was waiting for this to arrive.”

Oliver found the rasp in the voice cute and something he hasn’t seen too much in women he met. Wait mom?! Is that-does that mean-? He would’ve mistaken her to a young Senator Kent if he didn’t know what she looked like in the first place.

Or at least, her assistant.

No one told Ollie that Martha Kent was blessed with the most beautiful daughter. He wondered if she had more kids, two daughters? A son? Oh god, Oliver would have a field day and never want to leave!

If they have told him, Ollie would’ve brought flowers to the farm.

And a ticket to see a movie.

“You mean to say, you’re Senator Kent’s daughter?” Asked Oliver to confirm his decision.

“The one and only!” Replied Mrs. Kent’s daughter delighted.

“How wonderful.”

“Uh, thank?”

He was laying it on thick, as one can see.

She chuckled, thinking that this blonde was a sight for sore eyes. A supermodel with that charming smile, bright chocolate brown eyes and fluffy spiked up hair. One word to describe him, playful.

He’s probably taken by a gorgeous young blonde with blue eyes and killer curves. Lady killer.

If someone told her that Oliver Queen was coming, she would’ve prepared him a little gift to take home after he given her the files.

“And what do they call yo—” Oliver started.

“Lucy? Is something w-” called someone, unknowingly answering Ollie’s questions, “-oh! Who’s this?”

A lovely young blonde, probably older than the brunette, appeared joining Lucy at the door. GOD DAMN! Are there any more drop-dead gorgeous women in this house? Is Martha Kent hiding them all in her barn?!

He should’ve returned home to Smallville a long ass time ago then! Are they sisters? Cousins?

God Oliver wouldn’t be surprised if another showed up within the next few seconds. His grin is just growing by the minute he’s standing at their doorstep.

Honestly Oliver doesn’t care, all he knows that Mrs. Martha Kent was hiding beautiful women in this house and no one thought to tell him.

“Hey.” Said the blonde women, taking a breath when she sees him.

“Hi.” Ollie replied with a charming smile.

The women keeps on smiling at him. Again, gorgeous! Ollie internally winces, he’s been blessed today but doesn’t know how to truly handle it.

He likes both women’s beautiful grins and hint of amusements in the older ones voice.

Lois chuckled, smiling onto the way this man carried himself. Just like her friend, she found him super cute. Charming like a prince, but layback like a cool surfer boy.

Meanwhile the way he dressed screamed business causal with a hint of a playfulness that she liked.

“I’m Oliver.” He said offering another sunny smile.

“Lois. Lois Lane.” Said the blonde women with a grin, shaking his hand.

“And I’m Lucy, as you already gather from that.” Added the brunette with a smile.

“I had. Can i say, it’s a real pleasure to meet both of you, ladies.” He purred.

Lucy tried holding back a giggled, bitting the inside of her cheek and nodding.

Lois chuckled, holding up five bucks to him and said, “You know with a face like that, you can do a lot better than playing errand boy to the rich and arrogant.”

“Thank you very much but what is-is?” Oliver replied with a smile, sorta confused.

“You’re tip.”

“It’s a tip. Okay.”

“Seriously, aim higher.”

“Listen um—”

But before he could finished, Lois slammed the door in his face with a smile and walked back to her place on the kitchen counter. Oliver stood there, huffing not getting a moment to come out with a full sentence.

Lucy laughed shrugged watching her mother come in and ask Lois Lane who was at the door, as you can see the total embarrassment and emotions of regret wash over her punky friend’s face. The realization fell on both of their faces as her mother causally told them who that guy actually was.

As her mother left, Lois looked at her friends muttering, “That was Oliver Queen.”

“Yup!” Lucy replies wincing at the foolish timing at their actions and quickly race out of the door.

“Where are you going?!” Yelled Lois from her seat, watching the brunette go.

“To grab a coffee with Oliver Queen!”

“Ohh! I’m gonna go apologize to your mom.”

“And I gotta apologize to him.”

———

Once Lucy was stumbling out of the steps of their nicely sized two story house, popping out her the collar to her jacket, the women looked around for the man. Never mind that, she was wondering if he came by car or foot!

Cause if this man came by either motorcycle or something, it would definitely harder to catch up to the blonde. Moments like this she wished she had Clark’s X-Ray vision or super speedy legs but sadly she wasn’t given the time to wonder, as out of the far left corner of her eye she saw it.

A deep black cherry car driven past the fields of the small freshly grounded land. There he was. She scurried out the gateway, racing past the tall grass and chilly weather trying to reach the car.

She ran up as fast as she could, trying to reach at least close to the side of the car, yellling out his name.

“Oliver! Hey!” She yelled out repeatedly when suddenly a screeching halt was loud that the cows from a yard away might’ve heard it.

Oliver heard a mix of yelling, shouting and screaming from behind the far right of his ear, looking at the rear view mirror to see the brunette from earlier. He gasped slightly, with a cheeky chuckle at the sight. She looked kinda silly racing toward a car that ran faster than her.

He started to slow down his car, wanting to tease the women a bit speeding up once he saw she got closer. Oliver laughed, reversing his energy into driving the car to the quickest speed he could without causing any damage or anything to the road.

Finally he noticed that he was wasting time, yelling back a joke about how slow she was as he came into a screeching halt that was too loud. He leaned against his driver seat, seeing her benched over her knees panting and huffing, mumbling softly ‘finally’.

He opened the door for her and told her hand, helping her inside the passenger seat with a soft smile and tossed her a water bottle. She quietly thanked him by taking the water and downing a large gulp, breathing heavily with a chuckle.

“Didn’t you hear me?” She asked with a smile, shaking her head.

“I did. But what the hell made you think you can outrun a Supercar?” He joked with a matching smile.

“Uh, i don’t know. But you slowed down a few times?”

“I was trying to see if you can take the heat.”

“Not funny. And not nice either, Mr. Queen?”

“Mr. Queen? Who told you?”

She panted with another chuckled, “My mother, she confirmed who you were. Lois didn’t know.”

“I can tell.” He replies holding up the 5 bucks from earlier, “She tipped me! But it’s fine, I wasn’t thinking straight either.”

“I can tell. You were kinda out of it. My mom wants to hopefully meet up with you later, if that’s alright?”

“I was hoping i would have time to meet her this afternoon anyway. I can do 5 o’clock.”

“Why 5? She’s free to talk now, if you like.”

“No, because I think i owe Senator Kent’s daughter small lunch after what i did. You know, trying to make a first impression on her?”

“Well played. Sure I’ll love that, Ollie.”

He smiled at the nickname, taking her out of a small drive around the town before a quick lunch at The Talon. Hopefully next time he can take her or Lois Lane out to Metropolis for a date.

She returned the smile, liking him already seeing something unique within this man, who just met but she didn’t what it is yet.

Little did she know that, Oliver Queen would become a longtime friend and future part of her extended-family.

——

———

AHH! ☺️ I had fun writing this it’s been in my drafts for ages!!! Let me know what you think 💭

For the those of who are wondering about Lex Luthor and Lucy Kent? Don’t worry I’m working on something special yet specific for them! 😉

Tags: @gaminggirlsstuff @gcthvile @missstrawbs2001 @aidanxsophxoxo @rickb-chaos @starkleila @infinetlyforgotten @meiramel @sherloquestea @djs8891 @buckysteveloki-me @yetanotherwells @ximehs @rose-of-oz @rowinablx

[drak3n]

TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE: PROLOGUE

ꨄ. SYNOPSIS: the launching of a new platform magically re-connecting seperated people has shaken the entirety of social media. after many months of contemplation and denial, you give in to your urges.

ꨄ. SENA’S NOTE: this merely serves as a way to introduce all eight parts of the mini-series! as they’re all characters from different fandoms, there clearly won’t be names or any specific action in this! so this is a little short :)

TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE MASTERLIST

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

everywhere.

it was everywhere you went. following you around like it was your shadow, cornering you at any given possibility.

you knew the drill. once something went viral anywhere, it would stick around for some time and then be forgotten.

that wasn’t the case with this damn live show. not at all. the first time it had been announced on international tv must have been ages ago, like around the beginning of the year. yet, the hype never seemed to die down, with more and more people freaking out online and in real life about how it changed their lives.

you were convinced it was a scam. like come on, who even believed in a fairy tale like that? being reunited with a lost lover, or any kind of lover who it didn’t work out with?

there was a reason it hadn’t worked out. because if there wasn’t, you’d still surely be with that person.

it started with trailers being shown on every channel you zipped through, announcing free slots for their newest season and putting emphasis on their confidentiality. how people had the choice to stay anonymous while spilling their private and embarrassing matters to so-called love experts.

such bullshit.

now, it went way past that. you ended up avoiding watching tv, just to literally be haunted by that cursed show in other ways. through flyers and stickers flying around, through posters hung up on subway stations and even inside of said subways, hell, a couple of days ago, there was even an airship promoting it.

TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE. a silly name for a concept just as silly as that.

what did you have to do again to apply?

right, as if there was any way of forgetting with how much your coworkers were babbling about it. they made sure to remind you of that every day.

“i’m still thinking if i should just call them the next time and try my luck,” you heard one of many tell another while you were waiting in the line for your lunch. “i really, really want to make up with my ex. they’re my only hope.”

their conversation went on for many more minutes, and you were glad when you finally were next in line to greet the lunch lady with a tired smile. as she filled your tray in a halfhearted manner, your smile quickly faded away upon hearing her talk to a fellow worker behind the counters.

“my son and his teenage love reconciled after he applied there. they are awaiting their first child soon!” the elderly woman gushed while placing a cup of pudding onto your tray, waiting for you to scan your employee id before you shuffled away from the line to plop down on an empty space in the crowded lunch hall.

it was all the same. love, love, love. always those same old problems. getting dumped, being abandoned, or doing the dumping and abandoning.

regret, sadness, frustration, desperation.

you came home that sane evening with thoughts plaguing your mind; with the big question if those were all signs for you to see. if everything you’d been hearing and seeing for these past couple of months were meant to open your eyes, somehow. to get the hint.

making a beeline to your bedroom, your eyes darted to the package placed on your bed. still untouched and waiting to be sent. the pastel pink stamp had been placed on the corner of the box yesterday by you. those fuckers made so much money with their hit show that they distributed stamps, to force them to send more drama their way for them to indulge in.

it was stupid that you had even put in the effort to package what was meant to have been tossed away long ago. it might or might not have been long yet, but why did you keep that?

as a writer, you couldn’t contain yourself. even back then, you had always known you’d end up becoming anything connected to writing, journaling, whatever. it was almost annoying how you used to document all those feelings you couldn’t put into words.

specifically writing letters had always been your passion. writing down your heartbreaks and grief into words and making them come to life on paper.

words you failed to tell him.

the recipients were all written on the envelopes inside the box, some years ago, and some recently, and you didn’t even know if they were still the same addresses.

for some, you knew for sure they weren’t.

even if the cast of TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE — if they picked you, that is — wouldn’t find their current addresses, you were for sure going to be relieved. those letters had been a significant burden on your heart ever since you had written them.

for the first time in your life, you didn’t feel any kind of satisfaction from writing. these letters existed to be sent. and you were realizing it just now.

they were meant to be read aloud, understood. they had to be read by others for you to be at peace with your unresolved feelings.

the very next morning, you handed the package to the post office, bidding farewell to years of bottled-up and hidden feelings.

it wasn’t until a week later that you received a letter, with the same pink stamp and sender the same you had sent your letters to. you found yourself reading it in front of the door to your apartment:

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

dear contestant,

we thank you for your package and were enthralled to read about your experiences. upon short discussions within our team of experts, we soon decided to choose your case to present in our next live airing, which is going to be this saturday!

the letters have already been sent out to their respective addresses — some of which we had to adjust as there have been changes.

it is up to you if you want to join us for our next airing — it be via call or even by showing up at our studio! we will welcome you in any case and make sure you will reunite with one of your lost loves.

please do not worry, as we will handle all of your data with the utmost care and make sure that none of it is leaked for other purposes.

up until then, stay lovely and trust the process!

ꨄ. your TO ALL THE MEN YOU’VE LOVED BEFORE cast

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

PROCEED TO OPEN LETTER

THE LOST LOVE ꨄ TOJI FUSHIGURO

THE ONE NIGHT STAND ꨄ HIROMI HIGURUMA

THE NEMESIS ꨄ ATSUMU MIYA

THE BEST FRIEND ꨄ KEN RYUGYJI

FRIENDS WITH BENEFITS GONE WRONG ꨄ SHUJI HANMA

THE FORBIDDEN LOVE ꨄ LEVI ACKERMAN

RIGHT PERSON, WRONG TIMING ꨄ TOUYA TODOROKI

THE BOY NEXT DOOR ꨄ SHOUEI BAROU

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ ♡•°`.

[loupy-mongoose]

After giving their emotions a moment to level out, Randy stepped into his vanished daughter’s room. Nothing seemed in disarray, so he knew she hadn’t struggled against a captor.

Then, he spotted it. On the desk in the corner.

A note.

He picked it up and read it aloud, struggling to keep his growing dread at bay.

"Mom and Dad I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it this way. But I wanted to know Nico in full, and I know if I told you what I was planning, you'd either stop me or come with me. Daddy, I know you're afraid of him, and I fear if you knew the past he told me, you would only fear him more. I trust he's not as dangerous as you think he is, but just in case, I'm going alone. I don't want him to hurt any of you if he really IS dangerous. I love you all, and I WILL see you later. Love Lavender."

Both parents went silent as they separately mulled it over. Randy fought to silence each possible outcome as it popped up in his mind. Trying to reach a point of rational thought. Anger and fear ravaged his every fiber.

Akoya spoke up first. How... How do we know where she went? She never told us where Nico lives...

An idea suddenly crossed Randy's mind. He turned, preparing to return to their bedroom, when pain shot through his legs.

Hrrgh!!

The shock sent him stumbling, but before he could fall he felt his weight disappear. He sighed as he was lifted to his feet beside Akoya. Nice catch.

The white-haired woman supported him with her arm. Anytime~ There was a chuckle in her voice despite the circumstances.

More carefully, they headed to their room.

All at once Randy reached for his phone and psychically pulled his cane to him, internally grumbling at his legs' mean trick. He sat on their bed, pulling up his phone's search history.

He knew that Lav had been using it, which was not uncommon. But maybe there was a clue...

...Stars?

She'd looked up star charts?

And maps...

And...

...Fuji?

He tapped on links shown to have been used. He read the articles they led him to.

His next words were spoken quietly. I think I know where she went...

Kanto.

Specifically...

Lavender Town.

Randy selected a shirt out of the closet. Amidst his fears and feelings, he noted that it was a turtleneck. Huh. Guess the cold season is here. He slipped it on.

That, or I'm grasping for some comfort...

He then pulled on a pair of pants, before leaving the privacy of the closet and approaching the Mews chatting on the bed.

At his approach, Akoya turned to face him, concern lighting her eyes.

She watched as he bustled around the room, making heavy use of his cane, looking for little things he might need and gathering them by a duffle bag on the bed.

She floated toward him. Randy...

He didn't look at her. Mhm?

Love... She moved so that she was in front of him. Please, slow down.

She transformed into her human form, but he began to move around her.

I know you're scared for her, but we have to trust that she can handle herself. She's not a helpless child.

He turned to her sharply, startling her. I'm going after her, Akoya. With or without help.

She clenched her fists, pushing back against her own fears to speak her mind. Of course! I don't expect you not to! And I don't expect you to do it alone. But we can't rush into it. We have to know what we're doing. What about the twins? Are we leaving them with Persim? Do we take them? Is Persim coming? Which would mean Rosemary too!

He throws some items into the bag ...Whatever gets us moving fastest. I'm not willing to take the chance that Lav is.

Akoya grabs his hand, losing her internal battle for control. I know! But Randall, the last time you acted rashly, it ended in disaster!

At this, Randy freezes. Akoya flinched. She never meant to use his worst experience against him, but at least she had his attention...

And if I recall... you did the exact same thing to me.

He stood still, shivering from his warring emotions. I-I know... I know... I.. I just... He started sobbing. Every little thing... that could go wrong... I can't get it out of my head... She could run out of energy, or lose control, and drown, o-or get attacked, or e-even if she does make it and meet him, he could be manipulating her!

She hughed him tightly as he melted down in her arms, punctuating his words with sniffles and sobs.

Why else would she go to meet him without telling us...?

He must have convinced her to...

R-right?

...

We can't know that. Not until we find her.

But... Just...

Take a moment to breathe... Okay?

He took a deep breath.

...Okay...

~~~~~~

PREVIOUS NEXT

ARC START | CHRONO

Happy birthday to me, have some distressed Lindens. XD

I apologize that the last portion switched from Randy's POV to Akoya's. Normally I try to avoid doing that, but I felt it flowed well enough this time. X3

[pearwaldorf]

I have been trying to write this on and off for a while. I figure the second anniversary of the show is as fine an occasion as any to shove it out into the world. It is not everything I want to say about it, but I think the important bits are there.

It is a human impulse to be seen. To be told, through art, you are not alone. It is universal, but of special importance to people who are not well-represented in media (i.e. everybody who isn’t cis, white, able-bodied, skinny, and conventionally attractive).   

This show speaks to me as a queer person who figured things out later than most of my peers. (Not quite as late as Ed and Stede but not terribly far off either.) It’s not super common to see queer media address this, and I didn’t realize how much I needed that reassurance until I got it. That it’s okay to find these things any time in your life. To be told “A queer is never late, they’re always fashionably on-time.” 

They’re not my first canon queer ship. But they are the first ones where I knew it was true from the get-go. Multiple people assured me this was the case. And yet, I still didn’t believe it until I saw it with my own two eyes. This experience is not unusual for fans around my age.  

After I finished up season one, I laid in bed and cried. It’s not something I thought would affect me so much, but it feels like a weight I’d carried so long I didn’t realize it wasn’t supposed to be part of me is gone.

One of the reasons people unfamiliar with the fandom seem to think it’s absolutely crazy (which some of it is, to be fair, but every fandom has that) is the way fans of the show get extremely super intense about it. It took me a few weeks to realize this is a trauma response. I’m not even sure “trauma” is the right word. It doesn’t interfere with my day to day function, but it lasted for years. Decades. So it was definitely something that fucked me up. And in the way you can only start to see something as you’re moving past it, I’ve spent a lot of time trying to get my head around this. (I don’t know if I have anything to say about it yet. Maybe I need more time to sit with it.)

I know this sounds contrary, but I’m really glad David Jenkins does not come from fandom. Sometimes it’s good to know where a line is, and others it’s better to not know there’s a line at all. And this is, sad to say, remarkable to somebody who has had to deal with this for so long. With so many writers and showrunners aware of the line, and getting right up next to it, but never crossing it.

Imagine doing a show with a queer romance and not understanding why this was received with such emotion and fervor, because it’s just two people in love right? What blissful ignorance that this needed to be explained to him! And then he listened to people’s experiences with queerbaiting, and went “Oh my god you thought I was going to do WHAT?” And then you go “Huh. That is really fucked up.” 

The problem with being told something enough, even though you know it’s wrong, is you start to believe it regardless. All the excuses and hedging. It’s so very difficult to do they tell us, when we hear from queer creators how they had fight tooth and nail to make it as gay as it already was. 

And then comes Jenks, just yeeting it out there: majority queer and (not and/or. and) POC cast, an openly non-binary person playing an openly non-binary character. The ability to not have to make one queer (and/or) POC character speak for everybody, so you can inject a tiny bit of nuance into the conversation. The way you can tell more kinds of stories, like the one where the smol angry internalized homophobe comes into his own with the support of a queer community, even though he was a giant fucking asshole to them before.

So many people were like “You can just DO that? It’s really that easy?” And wasn’t that a fucking Situation, to have that curtain pulled aside. What next? Majority POC casts with stories about POC written by POC? Absolute madness. (Please please watch The Brothers Sun on Netflix. It’s so fucking good.) 

And people will scoff and say “Of course a cishet(?) white man would be able to get this pushed through.” But do they usually? The thing I don’t think people understand about allies is they use their privilege to wedge the door open. You still have to do the work to get through, but at least you have a place to start. And it really fucking matters.

The press keeps trying to tell me The Completely Made-Up Adventures of Dick Turpin is the OFMD substitute we need while we float in the gravy basket. I’m sure it’s a perfectly fine show, but I don’t know who has watched OFMD and decided the itch we needed scratched was anachronistic historical comedy.

I want stories written by people that reflect their lived experiences, with actors and crew committed to bringing that to life. And I would like streamers and studios to commit to giving them a chance, and marketing them properly so people know they exist. 

You can keep people satisficed with scraps for only so long. At some point, somebody is going to give them a whole seven course dinner and people will wonder why they’ve been putting up with starving this entire time.

[carrotsworld]

the one that got away

inspired by see you in my 19th life and lovely runner

pairings: svt! non-idol dokyeom x reader word count: 8.6k

tw! mentions of death and accidents

it wasn’t supposed to end like this.

i repeated those seven words again and again like a mantra, not believing the scene that unfolded in front of me.

after tragically dying in a fatal accident last year, i was suddenly reincarnated to a year before it happened, before ending up with the same fate a year later, reincarnating again.

the twist? every time i reincarnated, the male lead is always different. in my first life, it was the cold but caring jeon wonwoo. in my second life, it was the clumsy giant kim mingyu. in my third life, it was the gentleman, joshua hong. in my fourth life, it was the transfer student from china, wen junhui.

in my first life, when i had to partner with the intimidating jeon wonwoo for a history project. how he hated the cold, but still offered his jacket when we were stranded outside the museum and it suddenly snowed.

in my second life, where i was best friends with kim mingyu, running together in the rain to catch the final bus of the night, only to miss it just by a second.

in my third life, how i locked eyes with the singer who was singing sunday morning while playing the guitar in a cafe nearby my house on a sunday morning. “nice to meet you, i’m joshua hong.”

in my fourth life, where i was showing the new exchange student wen junhui around our school. he offered to show me his wushudao moves if i would show him my cat’s photos.

in my fifth life…

i opened my eyes, the sound of the blaring alarm clock signalling the start of a new day, or in my case, a new life. my eyes landed on the digital clock next to me, may 15, 2022. i groaned, lying head-first onto my pillow, trying to avoid the reality of having to live the same year over and over again. no matter how hard i try, the same ending keeps happening over and over again. in short, i have never lived past may 15, 2023. not in the four lives i’ve lived anyways.

the ending is always tragic, really. like no matter how much you flip a picture, it always shows you the same thing. i sighed, accepting my fate.

countdown 345 days…

feeling something hit the back of my head, i turned around to glare at the perpetrator, lee chan, who smiled sheepishly, pointing towards the paper ball he threw at me that was now on the floor. i glanced around the classroom before quickly picking it up, unwrapping the scrunched piece of paper.

“come to the game tonight.”

i raised an eyebrow at chan at the weird request before shaking my head, turning back to listen to the lecture about world history. few minutes later, i felt another one hit the back of my head, making me instinctively rub the spot on my head, annoyed. i turned to face chan again, who was definitely not paying attention in class, giving me his best puppy eyes with his hands clasped tightly together, mouthing the words “pretty please?” i internally debated for a while before nodding slowly, deciding that it wouldn’t do any harm to spend more time with chan.

the football field was now brightly lit, the colourful and vibrant atmosphere replaced the once empty field. the bleachers were packed with people from neighbouring schools, coming to watch the most anticipated final game of the season. looking around for chan, i managed to spot him near the field, wishing his hyungs luck. deciding to quickly grab a seat first, i quickly made my way to the bleachers, only to spot a mop of black hair that caught my eye at the opposite side of the field. the way he was talking with his teammates, the way his nose scrunched when he smiled. he looked too familiar. it couldn’t be.

feeling my heart pounding in my ears, i squeezed my way through the crowd, the thought of being able to see him again in this life made me quicken my pace. it felt suffocating, the feeling of claustrophobia, the feeling of uncertainty, and the feeling of hope.

wonwoo. his name kept repeating itself in my head, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins, feeling butterflies in my stomach. finally reaching, i grabbed his arm, making him turn around, and suddenly the world stopped, my vision becoming clear again after the stop of the sudden rush of adrenaline, and my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach. i must’ve been staring, because it looked as if he was asking me a question, but the ringing in my ears prevented me from hearing what he was saying. muttering a quick apology as i thought he was someone else, i stumbled backward, making my way back to the stands with a heavy heart.

“where were you?” chan asked, snapping me out of my reverie. i sat down next to him as he handed me a butter beer with a hotdog.

i gratefully accepted the food, “i was looking around for a seat.” i lied.

he hummed, focusing on the match that was about to start soon. “i really hope we win. the hyungs worked so hard on this.” he said.

“me too.” i agreed, my eyes wandering absentmindedly around the field, trying to forget what had happened. but yet, my eyes couldn’t stray away from the rival’s team number 7, dokyeom.

our school’s football team came out victorious after a close game of 5-4 against the rival team. i followed chan down the bleachers to congratulate the team, with many of our school’s students showering the team with gifts and compliments.

“seungcheol hyung!” chan shouted, waving his hands in the air and trying to get his attention. seungcheol walked over to us, a huge smile beaming on his face.

“congratulations on winning the game, seungcheol!” i congratulated, a smile on my face. he smiled, giving both chan and i a hug.

“i’m having a party tonight at my place to celebrate. are you both coming?” he asked, his eyes darting between chan and i.

chan looked at me before i answered. “you can go ahead chan, i think i’m going to have an early night tonight.”

“but—” chan started protesting before seungcheol cut him off.

“it’s alright. you must be tired.” i smiled gratefully at him. while chan was talking about how well they played on the field, i started zoning out, turning to look at the opposite end of the field and locking eyes with a familiar black haired boy.

countdown 326 days…

the warm aroma of chocolate and coffee filled my senses as soon as i stepped into the cozy café. “y/n!” chan shouted, waving me over to his table. i waved back in greeting and headed towards him. my eyes scanned the table, noting that most of chan’s friends were there.

seungcheol, seungkwan, soonyoung, minghao and dokyeom?

i rubbed my eyes, not believing what i was seeing. “have you both met before?” minghao asked, looking back and forth between us.

“yes—”

“no!” i answered hastily, my cheeks turning red, feeling everyone’s gaze on me. my eyes make contact with minghao’s, a mischievous glint evident in his eyes. without any further comments, minghao nodded, though unconvinced.

i cleared my throat, taking a seat next to chan. "here you go." i said, handing minghao a gift that was wrapped up prettily in purple wrapping paper.

"thank you, y/n. i'm touched." minghao smiled, placing his hand over his heart.

"so... when will you be coming back?" i asked, grabbing the nearest cookie available. “next winter. why? do you miss me already?”

i pouted. “who’s gonna pick out my outfits?”

“ask chan to do it.” he replied nonchalantly.

i shook my head. "i think i'll pass." seungkwan snickered at the comment, and a glare from seungcheol prevented chan from going for seungkwan's neck. for now. i'm not sure if he would be safe from his wrath later on.

"i believe you haven't gotten a proper introduction yet, y/n." minghao gestures towards dokyeom. "y/n, this is dokyeom. and dokyeom, y/n."

"nice to meet you, y/n." dokyeom smiles, his eyes crinkling into beautiful crescents.

"nice to meet you too, dokyeom."

it felt weird. talking to an almost replica of wonwoo. though their personalities were polar opposites.

“how did you both meet?” i asked dokyeom, genuinely curious.

“we both go to the same dance studio." he answered.

oh. he dances too. on top of being a football player. interesting.

"what about you?" he asked. "hao always talks about you. but he never wants to tell me how the both of you met."

i locked eyes with minghao, him trying his best to communicate with me through his eyes, panic evident in his eyes. i smiled mischievously. my eyes flickering between the both of them before saying, “we actually—”

minghao’s hand over my mouth prevented me from going any further. he raised his eyebrows, his index finger pointed at me as a warning sign. i shuddered. “i guess you’ll never know.”

“might be better to keep it that way if i don’t want to find your body resting in a dump.” dokyeom joked.

i nodded, stealing a glance at minghao before cowering behind chan. chan pushed me to the front of minghao. "traitor." i muttered under my breath.

chan shrugged.

thankfully, i was still alive by the end of the day. after chatting together for hours, we all parted ways, the sun now setting over the horizon, painting the sky a beautiful shade of pink and orange. as i headed home, my phone chimed.

hi, y/n. it's dokyeom here. hope we meet again soon. :)

oh, minghao.

countdown 314 days...

not being able to sleep at 12am wasn’t ideal, but my rumbling stomach said otherwise. making my way down my apartment building and going to the nearest convenience store for a quick snack, i was welcomed by the sound of the jingling bells notifying the shopkeeper of my arrival. i made my way to the ramyeon section, looking at the wide array of ramyeon brands sitting on the aisles. i reached for the last shin ramyeon on the shelf, before another hand beat me to it. i turned towards the perpetrator, eyes wide in disbelief, only to be met with familiar honey-brown ones. "dokyeom?"

"you're absolutely terrible at the mafia game." i laughed, not being able to hold back my laughter after dokyeom told me about what happened during the last mafia game he played with his friends.

we ended up sitting by the table in the convenience store, enjoying our two cups of instant ramyeon. the shopkeeper thank goodness had extra stocks sitting in his storeroom.

he feigned offense, shrugging. “i didn’t want to be voted out so early!”

“i think you just ended the game even quicker.” i commented, calming down from all the laughter.

he smiled, reminiscing the good times he had with his members who now became his family.

"what about you, y/n? tell me more about yourself."

i pondered his question. "i don't know where to start."

"how about you start by telling me your favourite colour?" he suggested, genuinely curious.

"blue." i said. “okay, my turn. favourite food?”

"pizza."

"what do you think about pineapple on pizza?" i asked.

"i love it." he replied, shrugging.

my jaw dropped. "impossible. out of the 50 people i've asked, you're the only one who likes it."

"one out of fifty? that's not too much of an odd. i find that the flavours complement each other rather well, as a matter of fact." he stated.

"huh." i nodded, not believing him entirely. "i guess everyone has their own personal taste."

"right, y/n." he paused. "i've been thinking of adopting a pet from the animal shelter this weekend... do you mind coming along with me?" he asked hesitantly. "it's okay if you do mind though, i can just get jeonghan or jihoon or --"

i smiled at his panicked state. he's awkwardly cute. "i don't mind, kyeom-ah."

he stopped, eyes wide looking at me in disbelief. "really?"

i nodded, getting up. "i'll head back now. just text me the time and place. i'll be there."

countdown 308 days...

“hi. i’m glad you made it.” dokyeom smiled.

“my pleasure.”

the sound of bells ringing could be heard as soon as we stepped into the animal shelter.

“welcome to carat’s animal shelter for stray cats and dogs. my name is wonwoo. how can i help you?”

my eyes drifted to the volunteer in front of us, my eyes widened.

“wonwoo?”

“i’m sorry, do i know you?” he asked, quizzically.

“oh…” i guess you don’t remember. “i used to have a friend with the exact same name.”

he nodded in understanding. “is there any particular pet you are looking for today? preferably dogs? or cats?”

i looked at dokyeom.

“i think preferably dogs.” dokyeom answered. “can you show us the way to the dog house?”

“sure. it’s just up ahead. is there any particular breed you're interested in?"

dokyeom shook his head. "any breed is fine."

wonwoo nodded. while dokyeom was looking at the dogs section, i wandered around the shelter, watching the volunteers playing around with the kittens at the shelter.

"you're not interested in adopting one?"

i jumped, surprised at hearing wonwoo's voice.

"sorry, didn't mean to startle you there." he said, fiddling with his black-rimmed glasses awkwardly.

"it's alright. i just thought that you would still be showing dokyeom around." i said.

"i think he has already decided. or it may have been the other way around." wonwoo nodded towards where dokyeom was playing with a brown coloured poodle.

we both stood in silence.

"you look more like a cat person anyways."

"huh? me?" i asked, pointing towards myself.

he nodded. "there's this grey cat named jun that has been living here for quite some time. would you like to see him?"

"i don't think i'm ready for any pets right now." i answered.

he nodded in understanding. "i normally don't like to pressure anyone, but," he paused. "if jun doesn't get adopted in 3 months, the shelter has no choice but to euthanise him. i would have adopted him if i could, but my dorm has a strictly no pet policy."

"that feels very much like pressure." i said. "i'll think about it."

he handed me his name card. "let me know if you change your mind. the offer still stands."

countdown 290 days...

in my third life… i knew i shouldn’t have done it. i regretted walking across that street that day, even though the traffic light turned green. i regretted seeing how his face turned from joy to horror to despair. but most of all, i regretted telling joshua hong that i could remember my past lives.

i woke up in a cold sweat, the memories of my third life playing on repeat like a nightmare. it was foolish of me, to think that someone like me could escape death's grasp. after my third life, i swore to myself not to tell anyone about my ability to remember my past lives when in the end, it was always inevitable.

i checked the time. 3:09 am. getting up, i decided to slip on a coat and go out for a short walk to clear my thoughts.

i do wonder... what happens after my story ends? i never got to see if wonwoo was doing okay after that car accident.

i never got to see how mingyu was doing because he was still studying abroad when it happened. did he come back for my funeral?

i never got to thank jisoo, who was always by my side. trying to look for a way to change my fate.

i never got to apologise to junhui. who got himself hurt because of me.

i sighed. i scrolled through my contacts, thinking of calling chan, but i felt bad disrupting his sleep.

i switched off my phone, making my way to the nearby children’s playground, thankful that it was still brightly lit and plopped down on one of the four swings there.

it was rare in the city, but tonight, you could see the stars.

in my second life…

“y/n. do you see it? that’s cassiopeia over there.” mingyu pointed towards the five stars, drawing an invisible line connecting them.

i nodded, my eyes following his finger. “i didn’t know you were such a geek.”

“mind you. i’m a stem major you know.” he pouted.

we were lying on a picnic mat, observing the stars in the sky. it was the day before mingyu had to leave to pursue his studies in the states.

“did you know that the greek legend told that cassiopeia was egoistic?” mingyu asked, turning to face me.

i shook my head, my eyes still fixed on the constellation. “how so?”

“she told the god of the sea that she was more beautiful than his wife and all ten of his daughters put together.” he paused. “and then sacrificed her own daughter when he came for revenge.”

“that’s… twisted.”

he shrugged. “you could never know what was going through their minds in the olden days.”

i turned to face mingyu, our faces only inches apart. “i’m going to miss you, you know.”

“honestly, who wouldn’t?” he shrugged.

i playfully hit his arm and turned back to face the sky. “it’s crazy how time flies by so quickly when you’re not noticing it.” i sighed. “gyu, can you promise me something?”

he nodded. “what is it?”

“when the time comes, forget about me."

countdown 285 days…

almost a week had passed and i occasionally saw dokyeom on the soccer field, practicing with his fellow teammates. chan was more than happy when i always agreed to follow him to watch his hyungs practice now, though he never questioned why. sitting on the bleachers engrossed in the book in hand, i wondered why i never noticed the sound of footsteps getting closer.

"hey, y/n. i got you this."

i nearly jumped out of my seat when i heard his voice. looking up from my book, i came face to face with a box of strawberry milk in his hand.

seeing confusion written all over my face, he quickly stumbled over his words. "i- uh- as a thank you for the accompaniment the other day." he awkwardly used his free hand to scratch the base of his neck.

"thank you." i smiled, accepting it gratefully. "how is maru fairing?"

"she's adapting well. you should come over to visit her sometime."

his eyes darted around nervously. "so... will you be coming to the game this friday night?" he asked.

i nodded. "i'll be there."

he smiled, and it was like the whole world lighted up. “i’ve gotta go back to practice now. see you there.”

i watched as he headed back to the soccer field, my mind thinking back to wonwoo’s offer.

i fumbled through my bag, reaching for the crumpled piece of paper with wonwoo’s number.

i absentmindedly reached for my phone, dialling the number written on it.

after a few rings, he picked up the phone. “hello?”

“wonwoo? it’s y/n. are you at the shelter right now?” i asked.

“oh…” he paused. “i just finished my classes. i’m heading over there right now.”

“okay. i’ll meet you there in a while.” i said, hanging up. i packed my things before making my way to the shelter.

"y/n." wonwoo greeted me, his face flushed, giving me the impression that he had ran all the way here.

"i'm sorry if i made you run all the way here." i apologised. "you could've taken your time. i wouldn't mind."

he shook his head. "it's alright. it was good exercise anyways." he paused. "so have you finally made up your mind? by the looks of you being here, i would think you've decided to accept my offer."

i nodded. "i've discussed it with my housemates and they didn't mind if i brought home a pet."

"that's a relief." he replied. "here are the adoption papers for jun. all his details are in there. you just need to sign over here." he handed me a piece of paper, pointing at the signature portion of the form.

"i'll go bring him out right now. take your time reading through it and feel free to ask any questions later." he disappeared into the staff only section of the shelter, the sound of dogs barking filling up the silence as my eyes scanned over the fine print before signing.

soon after, he came back with a cat carrier in hand. "i've packed in some extra pet supplies as my way of saying thanks. it's not much but i hope it will be of some help."

"thank you, wonwoo."

he looked sadly at the cat carrier. "i'm going to miss him." he faced me. "you can contact me if you have any questions or problems about jun. i’ll be there in a jiffy."

“you can always come over to visit him, you know.” i told him.

his eyes widened. “i really don’t want to intrude.”

i shook my head. “you’re not. and i bet jun would miss you too.”

countdown 200 days…

i settled next to chan on the bleachers, my eyes roaming through the open field to find dokyeom. spotting his head of black fluffy hair and blue jersey with his name and number written on it, i managed to make eye contact with dokyeom, giving him a small wave, in which he returned. soon, the game started once the whistle went off.

the crowd erupted in cheers when the first goal was scored by our own striker, choi seungcheol.

the game took a sudden turn when suddenly the counter became 2-4 in just half game, the spotlight now on the rival’s team star player, dokyeom, who scored half of their goals.

the fifteen minute intermission let the players catch their breath while rearranging their strategies, the tension now thick in the air.

“i see lover boy is doing well tonight.” chan said, nodding towards where dokyeom was listening intently to his coach.

“huh?” i looked at chan, confused by his statement.

before he could reply, the whistle sounded again, signalling that the second half of the game had started.

he shook his head. “nevermind.”

the crowd was buzzing with energy for the next 45 minutes as the second half of the game continued.

the rival team managed to keep their winning streak, ending the game with 6 to 4.

my eyes darted over to dokyeom, seeing him with his teammates, unsure whether to follow chan or to approach him.

“i’ll head over to seungcheol hyung. you can head over to dokyeom hyung. tell him i said congratulations.” chan said, sensing my dilemma.

“i will.” i nodded, quickly making my way down the bleachers while pushing through the crowd.

chaos. chaos ensued when dokyeom’s once smiling face suddenly contorted into one of pain. it felt like i was drowning as the curious onlookers started to crowd around the scene, furthering the distance between us.

in seconds, the sound of the ambulance’s sirens could be heard, the paramedics pulling up to the scene. shouting could be heard as his teammates were trying desperately to clear the field.

dokyeom was nowhere to be seen when i managed to get to where he once was.

“hyunjae!” i shouted, spotting one of his teammates that i was familiar with.

“what happened?” i asked.

“i have no idea. one minute he was doing fine and then he suddenly collapsed.” he replied, anxious.

“do you know which hospital they have taken him to?”

“seoul medical centre. some of us are heading there now to see how’s he doing.” he answered.

i nodded. “thanks, hyunjae.”

“no problem.”

“chan!” i waved towards chan, seeing that he was still with seungcheol, getting his attention.

“i heard about what happened.” he said, looking worried. “seungcheol hyung and i will be going over right now. wanna come?” he offered.

“yeah.” i nodded, accepting his offer.

“let’s go then. i’ll drive.”

countdown 199 days…

“based on his condition, we would not recommend him to continue in soccer as it could reoccur, which might cause him to not be able to walk again.”

i looked at seungcheol, chan and jeonghan, who had came to visit in the morning, bags under their eyes.

we were standing outside dokyeom’s room with the doctor, trying to understand his situation. “doctor, when can he be discharged?” seungcheol asked.

“the day after tomorrow. but he’ll have to be on crutches for awhile. and he needs to be back for rehab.” the doctor replied. “we will inform him once he wakes up.”

“it’s alright. we will tell him.” jeonghan said, looking at the sleeping dokyeom through the window. to soften the blow.

“if that’s the case, i will be back once he wakes up to do a checkup. please excuse me.” the doctor said, making his way down the hallway to another patient’s room.

“how are we going to tell him?” chan asked, brows furrowed.

“straightforwardly. i would like to not tell him too, but it’s his body, and he deserves to know. besides, i think he would rather hear it from us than the doctor.” jeonghan explained.

we headed into the room as dokyeom slowly sat upright on the bed, rubbing away the sleep from his eyes.

“hey, how are you feeling?” i asked, propping his pillows against his back.

“like i got run over by a truck.” he glanced at his right leg, which was wrapped up in a cast. “we still won right?”

jeonghan smacked him over the head. “you just came out of surgery and you’re asking about that?”

“ow.. ow..” dokyeom backed away from jeonghan to the corner of the bed. “i’m still hurt you know!”

jeonghan sighed. “to answer your question, yes. your team won. but they were worried sick about you. why didn’t you tell them about your condition?”

dokyeom looked away. “it was the finals. i didn’t want to cause them more trouble when they were already putting so much pressure on themselves.”

“hyunjae and the others stayed overnight, but we convinced them to go home and get some rest.” seungcheol said, placing the fruit basket on the table.

“hyung, you’re so stupid sometimes.” chan ran his hand through his hair, frustration evident in his eyes. “you should always put your health first! now who knows if you can ever walk properly ever again, let alone continuing playing soccer!”

everyone was shocked at the youngest outburst. dokyeom’s eyes widened, “what do you mean i…”

jeonghan sighed. “the cat is out of the bag, i guess." giving the youngest a warning look. "we... had a talk with your doctor just now and your legs will need a long rest."

"as in not playing soccer in probably the foreseeable future." dino added, earning a smack from seungcheol this time.

dokyeom slumped against the pillows. "i won't be able to play again..." he mumbled to himself, his eyes blankly looking down at his hands.

jeonghan shook his head. "that's not true. there's always rehab you can try. there's this really good rehab centre in america that you can go."

"it doesn't matter." dokyeom said sadly. "it was my decision to play after all... i should've known. thank you guys for coming. i really appreciate it but i would like to be alone right now."

chan headed out first, followed by seungcheol and jeonghan, both of them sparing one last glance at dokyeom before leaving the room.

silence. that was all that was heard before dokyeom decided to speak up.

"you're... still here." he acknowledges.

i nodded. "i brought over some chicken soup." i said, setting up the container on the adjustable table.

"thank you." he picked up the spoon, taking a spoonful.

"how is it?" i asked him nervously.

"it's really good." he smiled.

i let out a breath. "that's a relief."

"thank you, again. for everything." he said, as he finished, packing the container back into the bag.

"it's my pleasure." i replied. "kyeom..." i paused, locking eyes with him. "it's okay to be not okay. i can't say that i understand what you're going through, cause honestly we both would know that would be a lie. but i hope that i can bring a little comfort to you by being here. you can always fall back on us whenever you need anything, even a shoulder to cry on."

countdown 176 days...

it has been two months since the incident, and dokyeom has been doing well in rehab, as i always made an effort to visit him at least once a day, with chan, jeonghan or seungcheol often times tagging along.

"doyoung and the boys will be playing at this charity event happening in a few months month." i said, handing dokyeom the flyer.

he hummed, eyes scanning the flyer. "are you going?"

"i might. it sounds pretty interesting." i shrugged. "how's rehab today?"

"the doctor said i'm doing really well. just a few more sessions and i can go home, though he said not to overexert myself in the next three months." he answered.

"that's great to hear." i smiled.

he nodded. "yeah. what about you? what have you been doing recently?"

"i've been studying for my midterms and taking care of jun. i'm also working on this project for the shelter." i showed him my phone, the shelter's 'adopt don't shop' project on its screen.

"huh. i guess jun has really worked his way into your heart." he said.

i shrugged. "the shelter really needs volunteers, and i managed to convince chan to join me at one of their events they are holding this saturday."

his eyes widened. "you managed to convince chan?"

i nodded, proud. "yup. by the way, seungcheol said he's taking good care of maru, and he's also saying about how kkuma is jealous about it."

"i'm jealous of seungcheol hyung." dokyeom pouts. "he gets to spend time with my maru every day."

i laughed at his pout. "did the doctor give you a specific date?"

"yeah, the week after next. 12th of august. but i still have to be on those." he gestured to the crutches leaning against the wall.

"well, it's better than being stuck on a wheelchair." i said.

"if i was, would you gladly push me around?" he asked jokingly.

i pretend to ponder. "depends. this question oddly sounds like a trap for me to be with you twenty four seven."

"and if it is?"

"gladly."

countdown 162 days…

“welcome back dokyeom!” we shouted enthusiastically as soon as dokyeom walked through the front door.

the sound of confetti pops were also heard, (courtesy of soonyoung) bringing a joyful vibe to the atmosphere.

i dragged dokyeom excitedly along with me. “come and see what the boys and i have prepared.”

there were tons of welcome back cards, along with gifts and cards on the table. not to mention, a ‘welcome home’ cake, which was ordered by minghao although he was still in china.

“last but not least, maru’s also here.” as soon as i said that, maru immediately jumped into dokyeom’s arms.

“i missed you too, maru.” dokyeom ruffled its head, before looking up at all of us. “thank you, everyone. i really appreciate it. all of this.”

“no problem, hyung. we’re glad you’re back.” chan said, giving dokyeom a hug.

“guys, i know it’s touching and all but the food is starting to get cold.” seungkwan piped up.

“of course.” seungcheol said, taking a seat at the table. “let’s dig in!”

"did you guys really prepare all of this?" dokyeom asked, eyes wide as soon as he saw the food.

"with the help of google and masterchef y/n, of course." soonyoung beamed proudly.

i felt my face heat up at the comment. "i wouldn't have managed to do it without all of your help anyways." i said shyly.

"nonsense." chan said. "you prepared half of the food here." he gestured to the dishes laid out on the table before taking a bite of the chicken pie. his eyes lighted up. "hyung, it's really good, you should try it."

the rest of the night went by in a blur. with joyful banter and updates about everything that was happening. also a video call with minghao, who was stumped that he couldn't be here.

"i heard from seungkwan that it was your idea."

i snapped by head up from the dishes i was currently doing to see dokyeom leaning by the doorway. "oh." i paused. "it was everyone's, honestly. if it wasn’t for all of them, i couldn’t have pulled it off.”

“still… i wanna say thank you.” he walked over, grabbing the extra gloves by the sink.

“kyeom, it’s okay you don’t have to help. i’ll—”

“i want to help, y/n-ah. that’s the least i can do.” he said, taking the plates i have soaped and rinsing them.

the sound of the water running filled the comfortable silence between us.

"you know," he started, breaking the silence between us. "you're a really nice person, y/n-ah."

i smiled, my face warming up at the compliment. "that's nice of you to say."

he chuckled a little at my reaction, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. "i mean it." he said, finishing up the last dish and drying his hands on the kitchen towel.

he leaned back against the counter, facing me. he took a moment to collect his thoughts before continuing. "y/n..." he took a deep breath. "i just..."

the sound of my phone ringing reverberated through the air. "i'm so sorry. just give me a moment." i apologised, glancing at my phone before picking it up.

"hello?"

"y/n?" a deep voice spoke through the phone.

"wonwoo? what's wrong?" i asked, worried.

"i got into a mini accident when i was taking jun back from the vet. don’t worry he’s okay.” wonwoo said.

“oh my god. where are you right now?”

“at the hospital.”

“alright. i’m on my way.” i said before hanging up.

“i’m so sorry again, kyeom-ah. i really need to leave now.” i said, grabbing my bag and heading towards the front door.

“no worries.” he said. “it was… nothing important anyways.”

“see you soon?” i asked.

“always.”

countdown 103 days...

i quickly made my way into the hall, people piling in as soon as the charity event ended. i spotted chan by the entrance, looking engrossed in whatever notification that just popped up on his phone.

"chan!" i shouted, getting his attention.

he looked up, spotting me in the crowd and started to make his way over. "you're here." he stated, grabbing my hand. "quick, the show's about to start." he lead me to the front of the hall with a full view of the stage.

within minutes, the hall lights dimmed, the emcee stepping on stage.

"please give a warm welcome to our performers of the night... shooting stars!"

the crowd erupted in cheers as the three band members stepped on stage and... dokyeom.

my eyes widened, surprised to see him on stage.

“1,2,3,4."

the instruments came to life, the soft beats of the drums, the steady strumming of the guitar and the melody of the piano blending together perfectly.

"this song is for that special someone." dokyeom says into the mic, locking eyes with me.

"cause i'm falling slowly in love with you,

even if it gets erased again, all my life is you,

in the story called you,

i'm dreaming again,

no matter what moment comes,

i will go find you."

the hall fell silent as he continued to sing. it was as if everyone was in a trance, his voice filled with vulnerability and raw emotion. the audience erupted in a loud applause and cheers as soon as the song ended, eagerly waiting for more.

the show ended in another hour and half, and i made my way out of the hall. my phone buzzed in my pocket, and i reached for it, seeing a notification indicating a message from dokyeom.

can you meet me outside near the field in 10 minutes?

sure. i replied, excusing myself from chan and headed towards the field.

i took a seat at the once packed bleachers, looking up at the night sky.

"it's funny, isn't it?" joshua asked. "how we can be thousands of miles apart, and yet, we still look up at the same sky. it somehow gives me some kind of comfort."

we had spent countless all-nighters trying to find a cause or a way out to no avail.

"i'll promise it'll be different this time, y/n." he assured, interlacing his fingers with mine.

"i hope so too."

"you're here." dokyeom's voice snapped me out of my reverie. he took a seat on my left. "a penny for your thoughts?"

i smiled. "you did well today."

dokyeom chuckled at my compliment, his eyes crinkling in amusement. "you think so? i was nervous as hell."

i laughed lightly, shaking my head at his confession. "you could've fooled me. you looked pretty confident up there."

he chuckled again, a hint of pink colouring his cheeks at the compliment. "well, I guess I was just good at hiding it. performing in front of that many people for the first time. it's a rush, but it's also nerve-wracking. it's so much more different than when i was playing soccer out on the field."

i nodded in agreement. "i can imagine. but you did great. the audience loved it."

"did you?" he asked.

"of course."

“right. i was actually here to give you this.” he pulled out a pretty turquoise box from his jacket and handed it to me. “you’ve been saying that your watch has been broken for sometime now, so i took it to the watchmaker to fix it. i hope you don’t mind.” he said.

i took the box from him, my heart leaping in my chest at the unexpected gesture. “how did you manage to get ahold of my watch?” i asked.

“chan helped me.” he replied.

“huh. that’s why he was acting weird at that time.” i mumbled.

i carefully opened the box, the watch sitting inside, looking as good as new. “thank you so much, kyeom-ah.” i said, gratefully.

“you’re welcome, y/n. i’m glad you like it.” he smiled.

“there you are, dokyeom.” doyoung pants, having ran all the way over. “we’ve been looking all over for you. we need you back at the hall.”

“just a minute!” he shouted, standing up. he turned back around to face me. “y/n.” he said, his voice sounding serious. “please… know that i’ll always be here if you need to talk about anything.”

i can’t.

i nodded. “i will.”

he smiled before making his way down the bleachers and said something to doyoung. he waved at me one last time before heading off with doyoung.

countdown 80 days…

“happy birthday to y/n… happy birthday to you…”

“now quickly make a wish and blow out the candles!” seungkwan said, his eyes gleaming with joy.

i nodded, closing my eyes before blowing out the candles.

“what did y/nnie wish for?” jeonghan asked, a knowing glint in his eyes, and a sly smile plastered on his face.

“if i tell you then it won’t come true.” i said.

he shrugged. “fair enough.”

deciding to take a breather for awhile, i headed outside, sitting on the bench and enjoying the cool spring air.

“thought i’d find you here.”

i turned my head to find dokyeom standing there, in his hands was a bouquet of blue hydrangeas.

he handed them over to me. “happy birthday y/n.”

"thank you."

he took a seat next to me, both of us silently enjoying the scenery before us.

"do you believe in past lives?" i asked dokyeom, curiosity laced in my voice.

he pondered.

"honestly, i do. either way, i'm glad to have met you in this lifetime."

just then, petals from the cherry blossom trees above started falling around us.

"do you know that if you catch a petal that has fallen from a cherry blossom tree and make a wish, it will come true?" he asked.

i shook my head, putting down the bouquet of flowers to attempt catching a falling petal.

dokyeom chuckled at how i was flailing around, before attempting to help me out.

"here." he said. i could feel his breath fanning against my neck as he stood behind me, his large hands holding mine as a petal fell into our palms. "make another wish."

i closed my eyes.

i wish to live with you in this lifetime.

countdown 33 days…

“it’s good, right?”

i looked up at dokyeom, my mouth stuffed full of the bibimbap we were eating and nodded.

dokyeom chuckled at the sight of my stuffed cheeks, amused. "take it slow, y/n. the bibimbap isn't going to run away." he said, ruffling my hair.

my eyes widened, choking and coughing at his sudden action. dokyeom looked at me worriedly. "are you alright?" he asked, patting me on the back gently as i caught my breath, a small fit of cough leaving my mouth.

"i'm alright." i said, swallowing a gulp of water. "i was just surprised, that's all." my cheeks were tinted pink as i wanted to hide under the table due to the embarrassment.

he smiled. "you look cute when you're flustered, you know that?"

i shook my head. "i do not." i protested weakly looking away, my attempt at bravado failing miserably.

"whatever you say." he teased, shrugging.

after our satisfyingly full lunch, we explored the streets of seoul, getting waffles and ice cream along the way.

"kyeom, look over there." i tugged on his sleeve, pointing towards the photobooth at the corner of the park we were in. "let's go take some photos!"

i grabbed his hand, pulling him into the photobooth with me and inserted a note of five thousand won.

"quick! it's starting." i said. making a peace sign and smiling at the camera, in which dokyeom followed as the counter counted down from three.

"next! the cheek heart."

dokyeom looked at me quizzically. i quickly bent dokyeom's fingers into the shape of a half-heart, putting his hand on his cheek.

3,2,1.

the flash went off again.

"the last one!"

dokyeom wrapped his arm around my shoulders, putting that half a heart sign against my cheek (which surprised me) as i made a flower pose.

i handed him one of the two printed photos, while i looked back at the poses we striked. "you're look really good in photos, i'm jealous." i said, pointing to all the photos we took.

he smiled, his eyes scanning the pictures. "you look pretty good yourself, y/n. i do think we need more practise, though."

i nodded. "we should do this more often."

dokyeom chuckled, agreeing with my statement. "yeah, we should. it's fun."

he looked at the photos again, studying them with a critical eye. "maybe we should try some more poses next time. you know, to perfect our technique."

he glanced over at me. "although, I think you're already a natural, y/n-ah."

i shook my head, though not entirely convincingly. "please. i'm terrible at taking selfies, much less actual photos."

dokyeom laughed, clearly enjoying teasing me. "you're just being humble. i can see it in these photos. you look natural in front of the camera."

he paused, a sly smile on his lips. "or maybe it's just because you're next to me?"

i jokingly elbowed him in the side, a smile on my face. "watch it, mister. your ego is showing."

dokyeom feigned hurt, acting as if my elbow had wounded him deeply. "you wound me, y/n-ah. can't you see how much pain I'm in?"

he clutched his side dramatically, his expression comically exaggerated.

i rolled my eyes, trying to hold back a chuckle. "oh, shut up. you're not hurt. i didn't even hit you that hard."

dokyeom suddenly grabbed his side again, wincing dramatically. "i think you broke a rib." he exclaimed, his face full of feigned pain.

i shook my head at his ridiculousness. "you're such a drama queen."

he chuckled, dropping the act. "can't help it. i enjoy being overdramatic."

he looked at the photos again, contemplating. "speaking of dramatic, we should do some dramatic poses next time. like that iconic titanic scene."

i looked at him bewildered. "you're crazy."

he laughed. "think about it. it sounds ridiculously fun."

"nuh-uh." i shook my head.

dokyeom rolled his eyes at my stubborn refusal, but the smile on his face betrayed his amusement. "you're no fun." he teased, nudging me slightly.

"come on. let's head back. i'll find a way to convince you." he said, holding out his hand.

i smiled at his resilience. "try your best."

countdown 0 days…

“starting chest compressions in 3,2,1…”

i looked up, seeing a beautiful lady in white standing by the doorway. “follow me,” she spoke in a soft voice, waving her hand towards me.

“50,51,52…”

“we’re still not getting any sign of a pulse.”

“what is this place?” i asked, looking at the vast beautiful flower field in front of me that spanned across hundreds of miles, with no end in sight.

“am i in heaven?” i asked again, seeing as i didn’t receive any reply.

“please stay with me, y/n.” dokyeom whispered, desperate.

“sir, you’re going to have to keep a distance while we’re doing our job.” one of the paramedics told him.

the beautiful lady in white shook her head. “no, darling. it’s not your time yet. this is the realm between the living and the afterlife.”

“it's june 16 again, isn't it? it's always june 16.” i stated. "why is this time any different?" i asked. so many questions were running through my mind. so many that i wanted to ask.

“you probably don't know, but wonwoo didn't make it out alive then either." she said.

my eyes widened. "what.. do you mean?"

"on the day of the crash, you made a promise. or a soul bond, to wonwoo. to meet him again." she continued.

"and that's why i keep remembering all my past lives?" i asked.

"in a way, yes."

"but you said it wasn't my time yet. why is it different this time?"

"you fulfilled your promise. it wasn't a coincidence, it was fate that made you both meet again." she explained. "return to the world of the living again, child. we will meet again when the time comes."

i opened my eyes, but instead of a beautiful meadow, i was met with bleak white walls, sounds of incoherent conversations reaching my ears.

"you're awake." dokyeom said, the bags evident under his eyes.

"how long was i out for?" i asked, my voice hoarse from not using.

"three weeks." dokyeom said, handing me a glass of water which i gratefully accepted. "y/n," he paused, looking away. "your heart stopped beating for 7 minutes."

"what?" i asked incredulously. i looked at the calendar that was hanging across the wall. it was already july. was this all just some sick dream?

i pinched myself.

ow. the pain was real.

i grabbed dokyeom's hand.

it all felt so real.

i turned my head, seeing chan standing across the room.

"chan?" i called out.

"y/n, i'm so sorry." chan apologised.

my brows furrowed. why was he apologising?

"what's wrong?" i asked.

"i called you while you were driving. i should've known better. i shouldn't have..." chan rambled.

talking to chan on speaker mode. the traffic light turning green. the sound of the tyres screeching. the blaring honk of the container truck. the sound of the windows shattering. it was all coming back to me.

i shook my head. "chan. it's not your fault. the truck driver was speeding. if it wasn't for you calling the paramedics i probably wouldn't be alive right now." i said, pulling him into a hug. "please don't... blame yourself. i was supposed to die that night anyways."

"what do you mean?" dokyeom asked, bewildered.

"this is not... my first life. every year, on june 16, i die and get reincarnated again into someone else one year exactly before. with all my past lives memories, and the memories of that person." i explained.

"why didn't you tell any of us before this?" dokyeom asked again. "we could've done something to prevent it."

i shook my head. "you couldn't. i've tried it and it didn't work."

"then what makes it different this time?" as soon as chan finished his question, a head of black hair rushes into the room before apologising and fixing his glasses.

"wonwoo."

countdown...

sunday, october 21st

i sat with dokyeom on the park bench, watching the sun set below the horizon. it had been three months since everything had happened, and everything was going back to normal, or as normal as i'd hoped.

we both sat in a comfortable silence for awhile, our bodies close enough that our arms barely grazed each other. the sky turned a beautiful shade of pink and purple.

dokyeom glanced at me, his expression soft. "you okay?"

i nodded. "never been better."

it felt so free, so liberating to not have a time constraint on life. and to just let life flow.

the park was quiet around us, only the distant sounds of traffic interrupting the silence occasionally. i shifted slightly, leaning my head on dokyeom's shoulder.

"i never would've expected life to turn out this way." i admitted, breaking the silence between us.

"me neither." he said. "but i don't regret any second of it."

"y/n?"

i hummed.

"can i tell you something?" he asked.

"yeah." i nodded.

"i've been meaning to say this to you for a long time now, but i was always scared, or coming up with excuses of it not being the right time." he mumbled.

my heart started to speed up at his words, my curiosity piqued. i turned to fully face him, my gaze locking onto his.

"what is it?" i asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

dokyeom hesitated for a moment, his expression a mixture of nervousness and determination. he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"i…" he started. "i think i've fallen in love with you, y/n."

my heart practically stopped at his confession, my breath hitching in my throat.

dokyeom continued, his eyes never leaving mine. "i know this might come as a shock to you, and i don't expect you to feel the same or anything. but i needed to say it, because i couldn't keep it in any longer."

he paused, gathering his thoughts. "i don't know when it started, or how it happened. but being with you these past few months, it's made me realise just how much you mean to me."

he reached out tentatively, his fingers brushing against mine. the touch sent little sparks of electricity through my body, a reminder of just how close we were.

"you've been through so much." he said, his voice soft. "and yet, you're still here. strong, kind, and braver than you give yourself credit for. how could i not fall in love with you?"

i stared at him, the sincerity of the confession and the unexpectedness of it all catching me off guard.

i grabbed his hand, interlacing our fingers together and smiled. "i think i have also fallen in love with you too, dokyeom-ah."

[courtneysartblog]

The Missing Music of Good Omens

So, it seems a few of us have noticed that the Good Omens and Good Omens 2 OST do not contain all the instrumental music written and heard in the actual series. I’m sure there is a reason for cuts to soundtracks, either time/space on an album or else copyright by the composer. My biggest guess for the missing tracks in Good Omens 2’s case, is that they did not want to reuse tracks from the first season OST, even if they were featured in the show itself. If anyone has a more conclusive reason for these choices, I would love to know why. 

But for this meta, I am returning to the final moments of episode six of season two, to track all the music we hear leading up to and including the final fifteen. This is a moment I’ve always wanted to go back to and chart, not only because of its beautiful score, but because I realized after I wrote my original post, that there were a few tracks missing from the album that were present in the show. Arnold’s use of repeating motif’s is so interesting, and, when we just go by the OST, we miss a lot of the music that gives us a more conclusive picture of what not just is happening musically, but what is happening internally for the characters.

Let’s start with a track that is included in the OST

1.Gabriel and Beelzebub: 31.30—32.34

This is the scene where Gabriel and Beelzebub light up the electric candelabra’s and disappear. Nothing to note, this is included in scene and in the OST.

2. Directly after this, we get our first missing track.

This can be heared when Furfur and Shax discuss their plans to go back to Hell.

Furfur and Shax missing track: 32.35—33.09 

The memorable section I used to track down the melody goes: A G #A and then A/G/A/G/A/G, followed by A#/A/A#/A/A#/A (This may not be accurate as I’m going completely by ear just plunking it out on a digital keyboard, but this is my best approximation).

I combed through both OST. And while it sounds familiar, I wasn’t able to find it. There may be a string of pieces that have this melody that are not included in the soundtracks, but it may also be that I missed it. 

3. Crowley and Muriel: 36.16—37.34

The next piece we here is from the original soundtrack and can be heard when Crowley is trying to get Muriel to leave the bookshop. 

4. And this is again followed by a piece missing from the soundtrack. 

Crowley Fixes the Bookshop missing track: 37.46—38.19 Continues 39.53—40.50

This is of course the track that plays when Crowley is fixing the shop. This precise version is missing from both soundtracks. What plays is what I have dubbed The Lullaby Track, which I have discussed at length because of its usage in the score. Along with the opening theme, which includes the lullaby track, this is probably the most important musical motif in Good Omens. The only track to rival The Lullaby Track for significance in season two is The Fallen Angel track. Again, see my first master poster for my thoughts to the usage of this track. 

But it’s important to note, while the Lullaby Track can be heard throughout the album, there is not a full version orchestral version of the song. One of the most famous moments where this song is used (the 1941 Book Saving Scene) does not have a track in the soundtrack, and thus shows just how often this song is played and yet goes missing from the soundtrack itself. 

So, if you want to listen to the Lullaby Track in full with the violin score, you will unfortunately have to rewatch this scene, as it is not included on the soundtrack. The closest versions we currently have are from the original OST, featured in Lullaby and End of This Story.

5. The next music we hear is also a missing track, which can be heard when Crowley and Aziraphale begin to argue in the final fifteen, starting roughly when Crowley says, “And you told him just where he could stick it…”

Stick It/Good Luck missing track: ominous notes begin to play at 43.30—44.07 and then continues from 45.47—46.32

I have connected these two missing tracks together, although their motifs are from different moments in the score. 

To find the first half of Stick It, I boiled down the melody to this note pattern I was hearing: C/G4/F4/E4. While the entire song does not seem to be from a single track, this melody that I boiled the track down to can be heard on the original soundtrack in All Change.

The second half of Stick It/Good Luck I boiled down to the rising scale you hear at about 46.08. This melody roughly goes: G/A/A/B rest A/B/B/C

This melody I connected again to the original soundtrack in the track Life After Death beginning about 50 seconds into the song, although this new version is significantly more subdued. To me, this suggests that Arnold and the music department recorded new versions of every track for Good Omens 2, but for whatever reason did not include these updated versions in the soundtrack. 

6. From there the music on the OST aligns with what we hear in the show:

I Forgive You 46.41—47.14

Don’t Bother 47.21—49.05

The Biggest Decision 49.15—50.15

The End? 50.30—End

There are so many repeating motifs in the Good Omens soundtrack. Many of the themes change and become motifs for different characters across both seasons. While so many of these small melodies sound familiar, it was hard to pin down these missing songs with anything specific. So many of these missing tracks seem to combine different motifs and tunes along with the main melody. What’s interesting to note is that with all the missing tracks, while they may be based off of motifs from season one, they were all remastered and remade for season 2 with new tempos, styles, and instruments. So why are they not on the soundtrack? I have no idea really. Perhaps this exclusion is due to space, and they decided to favor new tracks. Perhaps, especially for the Lullaby Track, they had hoped to include a full version in the season three soundtrack. But it is cool to find that the music of Good Omens remains extremely rich and vibrant with an abundance of overlapping and shared motifs. 

thanks to @samuraiko for sending me down the rabbit hole once again. It seems we are to be plagued by incomplete soundtracks

[annabelle--cane]

okay. collection of disparate thoughts on the good hal/bad hal thing:

-> I get, mechanically, why they went for it as a creative decision. I can buy the hal we see in the cutler flashbacks and the hal we see in the present day as being the same person because they're separated by sixty years, people change with time, but clearly what they wanted was for hal to go full villain mode in the last episode, and simply making him have a breakdown and do a heel turn on his personality wouldn't make sense. and like, last episode evil!hal is really fun, he's a smug villain who does dance numbers and is blunt enough to deliver the show's thesis as parting wisdom, I see the reasoning.

-> but I'm not sure how much of that was planned from hal's introduction? he says things like "I've been so many people" and "you've got the wrong man, I'm not him anymore," but it always reads as more metaphorical until s5. hal always says "me" when referring to his Evil Self, up until the middle of s5 where he starts saying "him."

-> and because (in my opinion) this element was added for a mechanical function, it overwrites thematic ground we've already covered before. when george split his monstrosity off from himself and called the wolf "it," that was a problem he had to overcome; when mitchell tried to deny his own agency and say he wasn't in control when he hurt people, that was a flaw that got corrected. then in hal's case they flip the script and say it really isn't him who does the atrocities. they try to work around it a bit, having good!hal kill someone and feed in secret so he does have things he's responsible for that lead into the change, but it still feels weird.

-> I also get where this comes from, metaphorically. there is a trend in sci fi/fantasy of portraying addict characters with this sort of jekyll-and-hyde dualism, literalizing internal struggles and the way people change while under the influence of mood altering substances, you find shades of it as far back as medieval morality plays where an everyman's vices and virtues manifest into physical form to duke it out. I don't love it, but I see where the emotional core of it comes from, and I also think it works best when (like with jekyll and hyde) the story comes to the conclusion that the two aspects aren't ultimately different people, and that's not really what they do with hal. unless...

-> how different are good hal and bad hal, anyway? obviously their moral codes are different, but are they different people or two aspects of the same person? bad hal isn't a neat freak, but he shares good hal's passion for vintage showtunes and werewolves who visibly want to do him harm. he's genuinely distraught when lady catherine dies, he keeps up appearances with lady mary for 250 years, young leo gets right under his skin, and he was willing to let let tom and alex have a nice send off from him. and, as should probably go without saying, good hal can also be a bastard, too. he almost attacks people several times, he says awful things to tom, he recruits ian and hides it, he kills larry and hides it, he feeds and hides it even when directly asked, etc. if the show had had one more season, I think the obvious next step for this arc would be bad hal joining the gang and everyone realizing that he's still just hal. this isn't a stranger, their friend hasn't died, this is the same man they've been living with for months and he still thinks the lute is the coolest of all medieval stringed instruments. the only real difference is that now he's decided to stop trying, but he's perfectly capable of changing his mind back.

-> what actually is his deal? what, specifically, is the good hal/bad hal thing? other vampires don't do that, other old ones aren't like that, the closest another character comes is herrick's whole amnesia arc but that was because he came back from the dead. I've seen other people go through and track how hal does actually show a good number of symptoms of a dissociative disorder (traumatic early childhood, out-of-body experiences, some amount of amnesia, etc.), but given that he says he feels like "both" and "neither" of himself when the devil tricks them all into thinking they've been un-cursed, I think we're supposed to read it as something supernatural. the best headcanon I've got is it is a dissociative disorder but hal thinks it's supernatural so the devil took it away as part of the whole too-good-to-be-true thing, but I don't think that was the intention and the show leaves it super unclear, they just drop it in and expect us to roll with it.

[woeismyhoe]

I'm gonna preface this by saying I have no problem with representation. I love queer stories, especially when they're organic and natural. I'm bi, and I've had fulfilling relationships with women as well as men. Honestly, I would love a spin-off on Brimsley and Reynolds. It didn't feel.....forced. the characters were new and their story grew organically. Michaela? No. I'm trying to articulate how I feel without sounding like I hate the queer community because I genuinely don't. I appreciated Benedict's story line even if it was a little jarring. He's exploring, experimenting and that's fine. It still doesn't take away from his story. But the introduction of Michaela felt like a guy punch. It felt wrong. I've never particularly like gender swapping in stories based on an original IP, because it changes a lot of dynamics. It changes a lot of story lines. And yes, it's fiction, but I'm sorry I cannot get over it, especially when it's such a blatant case of pandering. It makes me feel as if I'm wrong to question this change and I've somehow internalised homophobia. If so, then why wouldn't I hate other queer characters or be similarly uncomfortable?

Okay I think I can make my argument clear with an example. If anyone has seen the movie Love Lies Bleeding, I think they'll get it. The sexual orientation of the characters didn't matter. It felt right. And it was not important to the story. It was just an established dynamic and we could enjoy the plot easily. It wouldn't have mattered if it was a heterosexual couple or a homosexual couple, the story is largely unchanged. If Michael becomes Michaela, here's the issues I see. Who inherits Kilmartin. We've already established an estate will go to the next male heir if the current owner dies. A major part of Michael's story was his guilt over his inheritance and his imposter syndrome. His story arc taking his place in parliament. It's all gone. I mean, I know the show isn't interested in the plots other than the main character pairing but this felt so wrong. If they wanted a lesbian lead, the just make another show with original characters why force this? I'm not looking forward to Francescas season at all. I'm sure a lot of people will like it and that's their prerogative but for me, personally, the only thing keeping the story moving forward is Benedict. Maybe Eloise. But I feel like the story of the show has lost its charm and has dug itself into a hole like Disney or marvel

I’m going to try to be respectful as possible. As a lesbian, it’s deeply concerning and infuriating to me how so many people including ppl from the community have internalized misogyny and homophobia to queer women. Just because you support and don’t have an issue with queer male stories doesn’t mean you can’t be homophobic to queer female stories. Just because you’re bi doesn’t mean you can’t be homophobic. Why do you think majority of mlm stories are consumed by women? Why are the stories written and targeted towards women instead of the couple’s own community?

There’s an issue going on right now where many fans are okay and THRILLED with Benedict being bi and sleeping with a man, yet complaining about Francesca and Michaela— both have revealed that they have a potential to turn into queer stories. But no one’s batting an eye to Sophie being erased for Benedict’s potential gay partner. People are more okay with a lesbian Eloise than Francesca, and maybe because Eloise fits the stereotype more than Francesca. Why????

Maybe you need to reflect on why you’re feeling this way since you’re clearly favoring queer male stories over queer female stories. Why is a straight male character’s arc more important than a sapphic character who can go through the same arc and even MORE? Why are you okay with Benedict but not with Francesca? Why does Brimsley and Reynolds feel natural but Francesca and Michael is forced and pandering? Why is making sapphic representation pandering unless it’s based on stereotypes, but not gay representation?

This is Bridgerton. They made POCs part of the elites, it’s not historically accurate, the medicine and technology isn’t historically accurate. I see no reason why they won’t change the law at some point for it to be possible for a woman to inherit titles and estates. Even if they don’t go into that direction, I’m pretty sure there’s a lot more story to explore for a sapphic character.

There’s so many variants of Michael in other stories and media, he’s not special. But Michaela?? How many stories are there even in the mainstream media where we get a happy WLW couple that doesn’t end in tragedy? Literally 0. There’s no happy ending anywhere in popular media because Bury Your Gays is the default fate of every queer female story that gets even slightly popular. You say make a new show with sapphic characters yet 90% of the time they get cancelled after the first season and this is something we’ve been dealing with for decades and trying to call out.

So again, why is a straight couple’s story more important to you than a WLW couple who can offer a more unique, nuanced portrayal of yearning, desire, betrayal to one’s self, crisis of faith, even loss of identity and room to show politics in the Bridgerton world like how they did with Queen Charlotte— and make a bigger impact on how the public perceives queer women?

You’re uncomfortable with a queer female character changing what you know and are familiar with in the books— that she can’t possibly compare to what a male character can offer. It’s ironic how awfully similar that sounds to homophobes who can’t accept the existence of queer women in society because god forbid a woman can do what a man can for a woman, or even do better.

Don’t watch it if you don’t want to. The rest of us will feel valued and seen and enjoy it together when the season comes out while you distance yourself further from the sapphic community.

TLDR; Queerness makes the story richer than any straightness will.

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

Tell me about Dean falling in love with a girl who has long covid - maybe they met when he saved her from a monster and they became friends, she occasionally helps him with research or patches him up if he gets hurt. He doesn’t hear from her for a while, and when he goes to check on her, he finds out she’s in the hospital with Covid - a monster he can’t save her from. He realizes he loves her, but may lose her. After she gets out he keeps coming to check on her because he knows she tires easily/has trouble breathing at times.

@deans-spinster-witch thank you for this ask. Actually thank you all that submit asks or sent me story prompts, I am going to get to them all, but I thought this one would be a good place to start.

First let me start off with my disclaimers:

1) I haven't see the last few seasons of SPN, so I don't know how they addressed COVID, if they did at all. So think of it as alternative timeline, not really canon.

2) My COVID representation is probably not 100% accurate, either by the reader symptoms or that I don't mention Dean wearing a mask or that he was able to be in the hospital with the reader.

3) I just POV and I think I may have jump from 2nd to 3rd person writing? I did my best to correct it, but sometimes I can't seem to correct it. Also did my best with editing, but I am sure I missed something. Flashbacks are bold italic and internal thoughts are just italic.

4) I am not sure if this is 100% what you were looking for. It does end on a cliffhanger, so I will be posting a second part. It was getting hella long coming in at 7,500 words. 😬 sorry.

5) swearing, hints of past trauma that we may get more in the second part. Self doubt/hate. Angst heavy!

Okay think that's it. It's a Y/N x Dean focus story with Sam making an appearance via phone. Characters are not mine but the work is. So please don't post as your own.

Feel free to like, reblog, send me feedback in the comments. And if you have a story idea, send it my way via asks or message. Or if you want me to tag you on my work let me know.

Okay think I have stalled long enough. Here it is, my first story back from 3 year break.

JUST BREATHE-



"Excuse me, sir, you can't be up here." A female voice, strong, laced with exhaustion, mixes with the sounds of the hospital. Doctors are being paged, staff are going in and out of rooms, and machines are monitoring patients. All of it, white noise, too, Dean. Because he can't look away or tear his eyes from what is in front of him. Y/N is lying in a hospital bed, hooked up to a ventilator. What happened? How did it come on so strong and so fast? He had just seen you last week when he came through town on his way to his next hunt. Picking up research that you had done for him since Sam was working on another case in California. You were the best…no, are, you are the best researcher he knows…you have to get better; you can't…

"Sir! I will have to ask you to leave if you're not family. The ICU is only for families." The female voce, insistent on getting him to pay attention to her. Tired, she was just so damn tired of no one listing to her today; she had better things to do than police people about.

"How long has she been here?" Dean asks, his voice firm but slightly wavering. He can't look away, watching as the vent goes up and down, breathing for you. Y/N, come on, you have to pull through; I can't lose you, Dean thinks, trying his best not to break. He prayed to God if he thought it would help if he thought the ass would be listing.

"Sir, I can't give that information if you're not family." Dean looks away from you for a moment, noticing the nurse standing beside him. She is dressed in blue scrubs, her hair pulled back, and a mask on. He can tell she is on her last nerve with him, and he has to win her over. He can't leave you, not now. "So, are you family?" she asks again.

"Umm…" He knew he needed to lie. If he told her that you were just a friend, he would never get answers and would never get back to this floor again. It was dumb luck that he could get your room number out of the receptionist downstairs. He pulled himself together to give her his winning smile and wink. "She's my sister." Clearing his throat, he looked back to you.

The nurse looks down at the chart in her hand. "Miss. Moore didn't have a brother listed as next of kin, but then again, a neighbor brought her in." Looking back up to Dean, he doesn't respond. "How about we go somewhere a little more private to discuss your sister's condition?" She lightly grabs Dean by the shoulder and turns him away from the window and you.

********

Dean did his best to listen to the nurse, but all he really wanted to do was get back to you. It was driving him crazy that he couldn't do anything; this wasn't caused by a demon, monster, or anything in his wheelhouse. You were brought in about a day or two after he had seen you. Your neighbor had come over to borrow something and saw you in the window, passed out on the floor. COVID had hit you hard, and you just couldn't shake it; your lungs filled up so fast with fluids that you passed out.

That was a week ago; you had been in the hospital for a week and on a ventilator. The doctors feel that your body just needs time to fight off the infection.

"She seemed fine when I saw her last; how could this happen?" Dean questions, trying to be as respectful as possible without raising his voice and getting kicked out.

"COVID hits everyone differently; we really don't know why. Some people may never get it, and some…" Not finishing her statement, the nurse looks away from Dean.

"Can I go back and sit with her?" Dean asks, more like pleading with her. He just wants to ensure you're doing alright and stand watch until you wake up. He doesn't know what else to do.

"I am sorry, but no," the nurse replies as kindly as possible. Seeing that he will protest this, she quickly adds, "But, you can come back during visiting hours. You won't be able to go in the room; we have to keep it clean because of COVID, but you can see her from the window." Hoping this will be a compromise he can live with. She doesn't want him to get upset and have to call security and have him escorted out. She can tell he cares for her and is scared.

Dean will take it; he knows he has to. You're the strongest person he knows. You will get through this; you have to. "Alright, I guess I will come back then," Dean says, getting up from the table.

********

Walking out of the hospital, Dean calls Sam to tell him what is happening and that he wasn't leaving until you were back home. Screw the world, let the monsters run amuck, and let demons rain hell on earth; he had more important things to do. "I don't care, Sammy, I am not leaving again. This is the only number you can reach me at, and only you," he says, getting into the Impala and firing it up.

"Alright, Dean. I hear you. Do you want me to come? I am almost done here." Sam offers, knowing that Dean won't take him up on it.

"No, I am good, but thanks. You stay on the West Coast until the world calms itself down." Letting the engine run for a bit, Dean takes a second. This has been the longest they have been working apart. It's been hard on both of them, but at least Dean has you to talk to. He has been leaning on you more since Sam was in California. Could Dean have caused this? Was he asking too much of you?

"Dean, hey, you still there?" Sam breaks through his intrusive thoughts.

Clearing his voice, "Yeah."

"You know, she will get through this. She's going to be okay," Sam says, trying his best to reassure him and get him out of his head because even if they are miles apart, he knows his brother. Dean is blaming himself right now for something that he can't control.

“Yeah, I know… I just… what if I…..”

"No, don't think like that, and don't think you had anything to do with this happening." Sam quips back, knowing where his brother's thoughts are going, and he will not have him spiraling out.

"But I ask so much of her. You know she will never say no. Even when she has other things to do, she always drops everything when I ask for a favor. God, I am such a user…"

"No, you're not. Y/N is strong, and she said she would tell you if she didn't want to do something. She wants to help; she thrives on researching this stuff, and you know it." Sam states, "Come on, you know she would rather research lore or listen to one of your 'tales from the front lines,' as she likes to call them, any day of the week."

The thought of you saying these words to him as you patch him up, 'Alright, Dean, what tales to do we have this time?' or how your voice would be giddy when he called you about a case he found. "Yeah, you're right, Sam," Dean replies. Feeling a bit better after talking with Sam, he always knows how to keep him from spiraling too much.

"I know I am; now go get some rest. She's going to need you when she wakes up."

"Night brother"

After hanging up the phone, Dean didn't want to go to a hotel or bar, but he was now wired and needed to do something. Pulling out of the parking lot was second nature, and he found his way to your driveway.

Sitting there, looking at the modest, two-bedroom, two-bath house, he would consider a second home for as much time as he has spent there. It was odd to think about walking through that door and you not being there. When getting out of the car, the sound of the door opening and closing is the only noise that breaks up the silence of the night. Taking a few steps, Dean stops himself from knocking like he usually does. Habit, he thinks. Pulling his keys out, he flips until he finds the one for your house.

It was an argument you had won, not that he didn't want a key. Of course, he did, but he didn't want it to fall into the wrong hands should something happen.

"No, I don't need a key, Y/N," Dean protest, not wanting to have this conversation right now.

"Yes, you do; now take it." You say, holding out the key for him to take.

"I don't need it; you're always here. Why would I need to get into your place when you're not here?" he questions. Finishing off his beer, he gets up from the couch and heads toward the kitchen. "You want another one?" he asks, trying to change the subject.

You get up and follow him. "Don't change the subject, Winchester," you say, following him and sitting on a kitchen stool. What if I wasn't home tonight?"

Tossing the empty bottle in the recycle bin and turning to face her, he can tell by the severe look on your face that this is an argument that he won't win. But why make it easy on you. "But you were," giving you a smirk, he opens the fridge to pull out two more bottles. "Besides, where would you be on a Friday night? You have a hot date I don't know about?" he questions. Handing one of the bottles to you.

He struggles slightly to open the bottle with his left hand since his right is currently in a sling. After putting his shoulder back into place and stitching him up, you open the beer in your hand, hand it to him, and take the other one from him. "Maybe," you say cryptically, a twinkle in your eyes.

"Really? Didn't know you were dating anyone?" Dean is slightly put off by this. It's not that someone would want to date you; it's the opposite. You're beautiful, and he always wonders how you were still single after all this time. Intelligent and funny, any guy would be lucky to call you his. Heck, he would like to call you his.

"I am not," you say, putting him out of his misery and his slight spiral of another guy touching her, kissing her… But I could still be out. Do you want to be sitting out in your car waiting for me to get home?" you question, pushing the key towards him. "Just take the dam key. It's only a key. I am not asking you to move in with me."

If you asked him that, he would say yes in a heartbeat. But the reality of his life, what he and Sam do for a living, gives him pause to take the key. "I just don't want anyone else to get their hands on it."

"Who, like Sam? Of course, you can give a copy to Sam." You joke, knowing what he's getting at but trying your best to keep this conversation light.

"No, not Sam. I am thinking Crowley, another demon or monster, or worse, Lucifer. I would hate for anyone other than Sam or me to get their hands on this and come after you."

"Dean, that's not going to happen."

"But it could, you know it could."

Letting out a sigh, you decide to pull out the big guns to get him to take this damn key. "A key is not their first choice to get in. You have put up all the wards you could think of." You say, proving that you are as safe as possible. "Heck, you made me even get this thing." Snapping off your leather bracelet to show off the anti-possession tattoo. "and you know how much I hate needles." The black tattoo shows nicely against your light skin and hides the other barely visible scars.

"Yeah, I found out real quick that day. I think I still have scars on my arm from you digging your nails in," he jokes, bringing his hand up to his wrist to run his fingers around the tattoo and the scars he knows are there.

"Haha, that's real funny." You fake laugh. " Just take it, please. It will make me feel better if you have it." You do your best puppy dog eyes as you push the key closer to him.

Dean takes a moment before caving. "Alright, but I am only going to use it for emergencies." he conceits, taking his keys out and putting your house key on the ring with the rest.

Getting up from the stool, you smile at him, "Thank you, Dean," you say sweetly and hug him.

**

Dean shakes his head, trying to shake the thoughts from that night, as he shuts the door behind him. He stood in the entryway, just taking in the quietness of the house, holding his breath, waiting for you to come down the hallway, saying, ‘Dean, you look like shit; what were you up against this time? Let me get you patched up, and you can tell me all about it.’ Guiding him to the kitchen, you would pull the first aid kit and a beer from the fridge.

Watching these memories play out in front of him, it's not until he lets out a shaky breath that he had been holding that he feels the tears run down his face, "Fuck! Y/N, you got to get better, okay…." choking back, "I can't lose you." The thought of losing another important person in his life. Someone who should have a happy and long life and who, without them, Dean wouldn't be standing here today. He owes everything to you.

Dean can't bring himself to step past the entryway, feeling like an intruder. "I can't…" feeling pressure in his chest, he turns and walks out the door. Locking the door and making the short walk to his car, the pressure subsides once he is in the driving seat. Knowing he can't stay in the house. Too many memories of you and his dark thoughts will keep him up. He also can't put the car in drive and go to the motel just outside of town. It's like his body won't let him leave.

*******

Y/N POV

You were in the hospital for two weeks, and Dean was by your side, or somewhat outside your hospital room, every day, every hour he could be. At least that is what the nurse told you once you were awake. Your 'brother' Dean has been by your side. The first time they told you this, you looked confused, which caused concern from the staff.

"Your brother, Dean," the nurse says again, her voice laced with concern as she points to the window that looks into your room from the hallway.

You turn your head slightly, your body stiff from being in bed for so long, and the breathing tube just being taken out. There you see him, Dean Winchester, raising his hand to give you a short wave, and a look of relief washes over his face, which is covered with a slightly heavy five-clock shadow. You give him a smile and look back at the nurse. "Yeah, sorry, of course, he's my brother. Just didn't know anyone called him?" you reply, "Can I have some water?" you ask, you're throat feeling like sandpaper.

"Sure," the nurse says, filling a cup and handing it to you. "Well, the doctor will be in soon," she says, giving you a short smile and walking towards the door.

"Umm, can my brother come in?" you ask. Knowing that no matter what she says, Dean will make it in here one way or the other. The nurse hesitates. "It's just that I would like him to hear what the doctor says. I am still groggy, not sure I am going to remember everything he tells me," you add, hoping this will pull on her heartstrings just a bit.

Which does work, "Sure." she replies, giving you a smile and then walking out the door. She briefly talks to Dean before walking away, and Dean enters the room.

"Hey, sweetheart," Dean says, shutting the door behind him and walking towards you.

"Hey yourself," you reply. You try to sit up a bit more, but you struggle a bit.

Dean quickly gets to you. " Here, let me," he says, finding the remote for the bed, setting you upright, and then readjusting your pillows. "Good?" he asks once it looks like you're settled.

Feeling slightly embarrassed that he saw you like this, you’re sure you're a mess, bed hair, hospital gowns, and oh man…your breath has got to stink by now, right? Trying your best not to breathe out, "Yeah, thanks." you quickly reply. Dean sits in the chair next to your bed but doesn't say anything. Okay, guess you will start. "So brother, hum?" you quip.

He smiles at this and looks away from you to the bedding. "Yeah, I had to say something; otherwise, they would never let me back in." Then, looking back at you, a slight panic sets in that you might be mad at him for this small lie. " You're not mad, are you?" he asks.

"No, of course not," you reply, wanting to reassure him that everything is fine. This does, as relief washes over him a second time. You hold out your hand for him to take. "Just wonder what Sam will say about having a little sister, that's all. I am sure he will hate being the middle child," you joke.

Dean gives a short laugh: "Oh, Sammy will be all right with it. He will be happy to hear you're awake, is all." Dean's fingers rubbing your hand back and forth are nice.

"How did you know I was here?" you ask, trying to remember the day before you were brought in, but it's all a blur. Was he coming to see you? Was he working on a case?

"I was coming back through, and you had helped me with the case in North Carolina…" lowering his voice, even though you're in a private room," that Dinji." Dean recounts, seeing you not remember. He continues, "I stopped by your place, and your neighbor was out and said you were in the hospital."

None of that is registering at all, like last month, which is a blank slate. Fuck, what else are you not remembering? "And you have been here this whole time?" you ask, wondering what the state of the world must be like if he has taken himself out of saving the world for two weeks! Is Sam okay?

Dean's eyes, bright green, lock with yours, cocking his head slightly to the side, with slight confusion at your shock that he was here the whole time. "Of course, where else would I be? I wasn't going to leave you alone here," he says, a matter of fact.

You're about to reply to this, ask more questions, ask how Sam is, but before you can, the doctor enters the room. "Miss. Moore, welcome back," he says, looking at your chart and then at you and Dean. And this must be your brother?" he asks, holding his hand for Dean to shake.

Dean does, letting go of yours, the loss of him, his touch is apparent. "Hey, doc, when can I take my sister home?" Dean asks.

The doctor starts to talk, but you're not listening; your mind drifts to Dean. He put his life on pause for you? Wow, that's something, but you're sure he would do it for Charlie, Jody, Claire, or Alex, right? Yeah, of course. Dean sees you as family, which is what you are to him; that's what you will always be. Yes, you were close. He and Sam saved you from the vampire nest, explained everything about their world, and gave you a purpose.

You feel a slight pressure in your chest. Now that you're awake, how long will he stay before he leaves again?

"So I will get the nurse to start the discharge paperwork, and you guys should be out of there in a few hours," the doctor says. Giving you a smile.

Not hearing anything but that, you just smile back and look towards the window. You hear Dean thank the doctor, and he leaves the room. "nice guy," Dean says, filling up the silence.

"Yeah," you reply. You’re not sure what you are feeling; it's almost like a weight on your chest, pressure. Maybe it is COVID; it will be better once you get home. It has to, right?

******

You didn't know Dean could fuss over you more if he tried. He insisted that he be the one to wheel you out of the hospital, only after he made sure the car was pulled up as close to the door as possible so you didn't have to walk too far. Then, when he pulled into your driveway, he insisted he carry you the short walk to the front door.

"No, Dean, I can walk. My legs aren't broken; I had COVID, that's all." you quip back as he comes over to your side of the car to pick you up.

"The doctor said you shouldn’t over-exaggerate yourself, that's all," he replies, trying again to wrap his arms around your waist and pick you up from standing against the closed car door.

You block his hands again. As much as you would like his arms around you, have him cradle you; where is this coming from? You also don't want him to hurt himself, or God forbid the neighbors see him carrying you bridle style. "Yeah, walking the three feet to my front door is not going to kill me." This comment is like a punch in the gut for Dean; it's written on his face. Shit, was my COVID scare that much of an effect on him? But why? Trying to write your wrong, you try to play it off. "Come on, man, I have been on my back for two weeks and must move a little bit." You quip back. Playfully pushing him aside and walking towards the door.

You get to the door but realize you don't have your keys, you didn't have those, or your phone when you were brought into the hospital. You wait for Dean to come up behind you. He doesn't say anything, pulling out his keys; he opens the door and lets you walk in first. You shuck off your jacket and shoes and go to the living room. Sitting on the couch, you try to hide the sigh of exhaustions that you feel from the small activities you just did; but it slips past your lips and is not lost on Dean.

"Want me to make you some tea? You hungry?" Dean asks.

"No, I want you to tell me what's happened since I was in the hospital. Did all the evil in the world decide to take a break while I was out, and that's how you got to have some time off?" you question, motioning him to sit next to you on the couch.

Dean shrugs at this, "No. I just told Sam I was taking myself off the board, is all." he says casually.

"Taking yourself off the board? Hum, I didn't know you guys could do that," you ask, Giving him an intuitive look.

Dean is giving you nothing back, shaking his head, looking around the room, and clapping his hands together. He points towards the kitchen, "I am going to make that tea for you." He walks away before you can stop him, leaving you to your thoughts. Something else is happening, and you know who to call to get the truth out.

******

Making that call seem more complicated than usual since Dean didn't leave your side for anything. Three days, three days of hovering and mothering you, and as much as you care for Dean, and possibly secretly loved him. Let's face it, those chest tightening pains at the hospital, the loss of his touch was not COVID symptoms, it was your heart telling you what you already knew. You were in love with Dean Winchester, and the fact that he dropped everything for you made your head spin and feel like the most important girl in the world. But you are a realist, and Dean Winchester is out of your league. He sees you as the little sister he got settled with, not the girl he wants to kiss and do other things with.

On top of that, you are sure his opinions of you drop a few points since you found out really quick that to pass the time while he waited for you to wake up, he decided to clean your house from top to bottom. The sheer embarrassment when you found out had you want the couch to swallow you up right there. "Excuse me, you did what?" you ask, thinking you didn't hear him right when you ask; the following day, a book you usually had on your coffee table was now on the bookshelf that it was never on.

"I did some cleaning while you were…" Dean says, not finishing that statement while he grabs the few dishes off the coffee table and heads towards the kitchen. He never finishes that statement. Whenever he says it, he never says 'when you were in the hospital' or 'when you were sick.' After three days of the hanging statement, you get frustrated over that.

But knowing he cleaned your house, how clean is clean? Did he do your laundry? Yep! Did he clean under your bed and put stuff away on your nightstand? God forbid he did a deep clean in your closet—oh, the embarrassment. "Why?" you ask, now following him, waiting for an answer that you sure won't come.

Dean has his back to you, rinsing off the dishes before putting them in the dishwasher. "What? It's not a big deal. I had time, plus the nurse thought it was a good idea for you to come home to a clean hose." He says while wiping down the counter.

You try your best to breathe and calm down. Yes, all that is true, a clean house to come home too make sense. But having him go through your personal and private things, fuck, him cleaning your underwear. He will never look at you as desirable again, not like he did before. You look up from the floor to see him watching you, waiting for a reply. "thanks, I guess," you say, defeated. "I am going to go take a shower." You say, needing just a few minutes by yourself, shake off this feeling of rejection you know he doesn't realize he caused.

"You need some help?" he asks, approaching you and walking a step behind you.

You take a second, knowing again that he just wants to help, but God treats you like an old woman. Because you know that his offer of 'helping you out' in the shower does not imply sexy times; it's he saying he thinks you are weak and that you're going to get tired, fall, and hurt yourself. You get to the bathroom door. "No, I got it, thanks," you say, opening the door and shutting it before he can say anything.

*****

Dean POV

I know I am being overprotective, maybe even going overboard with not letting her do anything, and perhaps the deep clean was an overreach. But in my defense, I thought I could lose her, and if she was going to, no, when she was going to come home, I wanted it to be in a clean, COVID-free house.

I turn away from the bathroom door and walk towards the living room. I start to clean up, picking up the discarded blanket from my makeshift bed; even though she has a spare room, it's on the second floor away from her, and I want to be close in case she needs me in the night.

The rigging of my phone pulls me from my thoughts of her. Picking up, I see it's Sam. "Hey, what's up?" I ask, dropping the blanket and myself onto the couch.

"Just checking in, how's Y/N?"

"Good, still low energy, but I am just happy she’s walking and talking, even if I am annoying her."

"You, annoying her, I can't believe it," Sam says, with fake shock. "You know she can take care of herself; she has been doing that for some time now." Sam reminds me. Knowing that my hovering is coming for a place of love for Y/N, but it could be doing more damage than good.

"I know, it's just…" I pause briefly, looking back to see the closed bathroom door. "Sam, she just looked so helpless there lying in the hospital bed, hooked up to those machines…and there was nothing I could do…nothing that could save her…I just had to wait."

Sam knows that's not my strong suit, "I know, I get it, but maybe just ease off a little. I am sure it's making her feel like a burden, you doing everything for her."

"Yeah, you're probably right. I will try."

"I know I am." He clears his throat and paused briefly before asking what he knew I would not want to answer: "So when are you heading back to the bunker?"

I pause momentarily; the idea of leaving you hadn't crossed his mind. "Umm…" Hearing the door open, he looks to see you walking out of the bathroom and down the hallway to your room, wrapped in your navy-blue plaid robe, hair slightly damp from the shower. "Not sure yet, but I will keep you posted. I got to go." I say quickly, hanging up the phone. I know that she can take care of herself, but at the same time, I don't want to leave her again; what if I do and something happens, and there is no one here to save her again. Sam's right, though; I have to back off, or I am liable to smother her.

*****

Y/N POV (about a week later)

Something seems to have changed in Dean in the last few days. It was like the old carefree Dean was back. He hovered less, not watching my every move, and even went on a quick day trip to the bunker to pick up more books for me to read since I had read everything in my place twice, and if I was going to be stuck inside I wanted to do something productive. Granted, I had to ride shotgun on this trip, so although we got out of the house, I was still under his protective eye. But he wasn't babying me anymore; he cracked jokes, smiled, and even complained when I made him watch the same movie repeatedly.

Dean was going on a food run, and this was one outing he didn't let me go on. Too many people, could possibly get sick again, so he didn't want to risk it. But he also hated doing it, leaving you alone. "You're sure you're going to be fine," he asks again, standing in the doorway, you on the other side, trying your best not to push him out and lock the door.

"Yes, Dean, you'll be gone for an hour. I think I can survive." you quip, pushing him playfully, "Go, I promise, no running around the house with scissors or jumping on the bed. I will keep my butt on the couch until you get back."

Dean's worried face slightly softens, knowing that you will be fine, but that pit in his stomach—the thought of him walking out that door again and not having you in his sight—will never go away. "Okay, but call me if you feel off," he reminds you again.

"Yes, now go." You reply with a smile. Yes, he was getting on your nerves slightly, but you still loved the guy for it.

You watch as he pulls out of the driveway and down the road before you head inside. Walking to your room, you find your cell phone charging, and you quickly make the call you've been waiting to make since you got home.

He picked up on the second ring: "Y/N, everything alright? Dean texted me to say he was going on a food run. Do you need him? Are you not feeling well?…" Sam blurts out, a lengthy, run-on statement that has you slightly spinning.

Trying your best not to laugh at him. "Sam, calm down; I am good. I just wanted to talk to my friend. How are you?" you ask, wanting to ease into this discussion. Plus, you really did want to know how he was doing; ever since you came home, you only talked to Sam when Dean would call him and have him on speakerphone. Even then, Sam was instructed not to speak about cases he was working on. Dean had a theory that possibly COVID was stress-induced, but you know it wasn't.

"I am good, making my way back to the bunker. I have a case in Wisconsin, so I'm in your area. I was thinking of seeing you guys once it's done."

"Oh yes, please do, Sam. It's been ages since we've hung out together. I feel like a movie marathon is needed."

"Yeah, if you're up for it. Dean tells me you get tired easily. Is anything else not the same?"

"Umm…brain fog for sure; I lost all memory of the week before I went into the hospital. Some things don't taste the same. But honestly, Sam, can we not talk about me for a bit. Tell me about the case in Wisconsin; what are you hunting this time." You inquire, done talking about yourself, need a distraction, and avoid asking Sam what you want to know.

Sam, being the best friend, a girl could ask for, knew that a distraction from your symptoms was what you needed, and although it would be breaking his promise to Dean, he could hear it in your voice, the need for some kind of normalcy, at least what normal is considered for us. Giving you all the details, you can come to the same conclusion that it was a vengeful spirit and a simple salt and burn job is in order.

Once Sam is done talking about Wisconsin, a lull in the conversation forms, and you look at the clock to see Dean should be home soon. "Sam, can I ask you something?" You feel slightly nervous and try to figure out how to phrase your question.

"Of course, you can ask me anything."

Taking a breath, you wait a second before asking, "How was Dean when he found out I was sick? He said he 'took himself off the board' and has been hovering since I got home. He's gotten better, but those first few days, it was like he was a different person."

Sam can tell by the last statement that you're trying to bring some levity to an otherwise heavy question, a question that he is surprised you have to ask. taking a breath, he thinks about how to say, ‘You idiot, he loves you! and you love him!'

"I am glad to hear that he's lost up the reins a bit," giving a chuckle, "but honestly, Y/N, he was devastated. I know he's my big brother, and he tries his best to hide his emotions, but I could tell that night when he called to tell me what happened, he was scared. Scared that he was going to lose you, scared that he might have caused this to happen to you."

"How could he have caused COVID? I mean, I get he sometimes can have a big ego, but, come on, he can't cause an infection."

"No, but he thinks he has been asking too much of you, wearing you down. I can't say whether he's right or wrong. You and I know you occasionally burn the candle at both ends."

"Yeah, I am trying to get better at that. But Sam, he was treating me like I was 90 years old. He wouldn't let me do a thing around here. And did he tell you he cleaned my house—my whole house—before I got home? I mean everything."

"Oh man, I am sure you were not happy to hear about that."

"Your damn right. I wasn't."

"Look, it's not my place to say, but I will tell you this, remember that night when you and I got a little tipsy, and you might have let slip your feelings for a certain green eye hunter?"

Fuck, of course, he remembers that night; that was right after you had helped him and Dean take down a wraith, and Dean was out on a beer run. "Yeah, you asked me why I never seem to be dating anyone, and I said I can't be with the one guy I want, so why be with the wrong guy at all."

Sam waits for you to connect the dots, and although you're not sitting in front of him, Sam has a feeling you're making the connections: "Let's just say Dean has the same idea, and he has his eye on a hazel eye researcher that he thinks he can't have."

You're about to protest Sam's statement that Dean has no feelings for you other than sibling love, but before you can, you hear the front door open and Dean yelling, "Honey, I am home," sweetly.

"I've Got to go, Sam. Talk soon," you say, and hang up before he can reply.

*********

Sam's words kept rolling around in your mind all night, distracting you from Dean. During dinner, you were quiet, letting him lead the conversation and not making it known when he mentioned Sam might be stopping by in a day or two that you two had talked earlier. "Oh, okay, sounds good." you responded, still thinking, 'He has his eye on a hazel-eye researcher that he thinks he can't have.'

Dean went for girls that were the complete opposite of you, blonde, curves in all the right places without an ounce of fat to be seen, the girl that guys walk across fire for, not the girl that they run into fire to get away from. Not the girl who is socially awkward around strangers, who can put her foot in her mouth easier than anyone, and who has more of a backstory than is worth mentioning. No, Dean goes for simple, noncomplex girls, which makes sense, given his life is entirely of danger and complexity. Why go for a girl to add to it.

Dean can tell your mind is elsewhere, and he is slightly worried that you're lost in your head or that this might be another symptom. "Hey, space cadet, you with me? Because if you're not watching the movie, I will gladly turn it to something we haven't seen twice this week," he jokes, hoping to make fun of the situation.

His voice shakes you from your thoughts, and you look over at him; his eyes have just a hint of worry to them. The blanket across both of you, him in a simple white t-shirt and sleep bottoms, you in gray leggings, tank top, and open cardigan. Perfection, you and Dean cozy up on the couch, not a care in the world, him teasing you about your love of disaster movies, and you forcing him to watch the same one repeatedly, and he does; why? Because he loves you. He loves you like a sister, a friend, someone he cares for, just not someone he’s IN love with.

"yeah, sorry, I think I am just going to go to bed." You shake off that last statement: he's not IN love with you. God, you really know how to cut yourself deep, don't you? Getting up from the couch, you grab your water glass and head towards your room.

Dean gets up with you, "here, let me help you," he says, walking around the couch and placing a hand on your lower back.

This is the last straw, the final statement of his wanting to help you, again treating you like you're helpless. "Stop! Just stop!" you yell, feeling yourself boil with rage you knew you had been keeping at bay. You know his hovering is with the best intentions, but for you, it's blurring the lines between what you want from him and what you know he can give you. Your mind won't let it be accurate even after what Sam told you today.

Dean stops his hands from touching you, standing still like he is frozen in time. "Y/N, hey, I just want to help. You look tired, is all." His voice is soft and sweet.

He’s trying to placate you, like he would a child or grandparent, "Dean, I am fine; I can walk ten feet to my room on my own and not get lost or fall down, okay!" You lock eyes with him and see his face fall, and in that moment, you know that he's hurt; you've only ever yelled at him when you were injured and need him to find you. But that was screaming for him, not at him. You know that you should feel bad for your outburst, you do, but you know that this is not real, that this ideal version of him and you playing house can't last.

"What is wrong? Is this another symptom? Did something happen while I was out?" he asks, wanting to understand your sudden change since this morning. You start walking away from him, wanting to get into your room and away from him, knowing he will get the truth out of you. You don't want to hear his excuses or him placate you even more about why he and you will never be a thing.

You turn halfway down the hall to look back at him, standing there watching you. "No! It's not! I am a capable woman who can take care of herself. Stop treating me like I am dying, Dean! You saved me once; that should be enough for you." Turning back, you reach your door, hand on the handle to open it, when you hear Dean.

"What does that mean?" Dean questions, his footsteps pad against the hardwood floors, standing right behind you; you can feel his breath on your neck, "I know you are capable; you are the strongest woman I know." his voice low, sending shivers down your body, you feel his hand on your arm, turning you around to face him. He sees your tear-stain cheek, "Fuck, Y/N, talk to me; what is going on? Why would you say saving you once was enough?"

Your eyes, trying and failing to hold back the tears, are now on the brink of spilling out. He needs to just let you go. You lean back against the door, knowing he took that little movement as exhaustion, and you are. You are exhausted by talking about this repeatedly, tired that he just can't let you leave, won't give up, and will go back to seeing you only when he needs something. He needs to go back to his life and let you put him back into the box of things that you don't let yourself have. Taking a breath, you run your hands over your face, wiping the tears and pushing them back inside. Putting on your brave face, "You know, Sam will be here in two days. I think you should go back with him. Go back to the bunker, and 'put yourself back on the board.'"

Throwing his line back at him, telling him he needed to return to work and that you would be fine without him. Will you, though? In time, maybe? You turned the door handle and stepped into the room, never breaking your eye contact with him. He shut the door in his face and flipped the lock, not giving him a chance to speak, knowing that he would not force his way in.

To be continued

[ourladyofmaplemurder]

Cheryl & The Blues

A lovely friend of mine pointed something out to me this morning. Namely, the "why" of the blue dress in Season 1, which had led me to the meaning of blue for Cheryl.

I had asked for his insights previously, as he is a costume designer who is far more visually inclined than I, but it wasn't until now that I got a response. (He has always been a RiverHater, but it seems he is coming around. Our flock grows. Praise Mother Gaia.) In any case, he pointed out that this dress is an attempt from Cheryl to embody Cinderella.

Here is a quick paraphrase of what he said:

She is is desperately trying to NOT be Cheryl during this dinner. At one point she even says "It's supposed to be Cinderella who ran away from the ball." Thus, the blue dress is here to help her emulate the "trad wife heterosexual Cinderella." By the end of the scene, she goes full Cheryl and snaps on Archie because her charade doesn't work and everyone still thinks she's a chaotic lesbian.

Lots to unpack here, no?

As we know, Cheryl IS red. So, seeing her in blue (and this is blue, despite the fact that it looks sort of green. A nod to envy, perhaps?) is very strange. Blue is Betty's color, and though Betty is NOT the ultimate trad wife heterosexual, she is coded that way. In fact, much of her internal character conflict is about her having to grapple with being "The Girl Next Door".

So, this dress is Cheryl's attempt to be "The Girl Next Door". It seems so simple now that I think about it, but still.

I think it's interesting that Cheryl invokes Cinderella specifically, rather than Snow White or Sleeping Beauty. Snow White would certainly make sense. She's tortured by an evil mother figure and pale as snow, both things that Cheryl could relate to. There's even poison in that story and we all know how much Penelope loves poison. Sleeping Beauty wouldn't really make sense until after Cheryl's Sweet Water River incident, but still. I think it's kind of interesting how many fairytale princesses we could link to Cheryl.

She chooses Cinderella though. Why? Well, Cinderella is also tormented by an evil mother figure, but her most significant moment is being transformed. Cinderella is lifted from the ashes of her wretched life to go to the ball with the help of her fairy godmother in the hopes of winning the heart of the prince. The prince is clearly Archie and there is no Fairy Godmother. Maybe that's why it doesn't work.

In any case, Cheryl is a lot, even for herself, so it makes sense that she would try to suppress her true colors, so to speak, from time to time to satisfy a particular goal. She is aware that she is too much, at least to some degree at any given moment of the series, so yeah. She whips out the blue when she's trying to tone herself down.

(I'm probably making too much of this, but there's something about Cheryl Blossom and fairytales that just clicks in my mind. It reminds me of Blanche DuBois from Streetcar saying, "I don't want realism, I want magic!" I feel like Cheryl would agree with that. )

Also! Another time that Cheryl wears blue? Toni's bachelorette party in Season 6. This is another time that you could argue she is trying to suppress herself in the interest of being a supportive ex. (Also fascinating that Heather is wearing red! A testament to her love for Cheryl, I think. This IS right before they have their big kiss.)

She also wears blue when she comes up with the idea to kill Percival for Toni's wedding present. It's a sort of "show of support", but we all know she does not support this union and desperately wants Toni back so....

This is also likely why the Sister of Quiet Mercy uniforms are blue. They are symbols of repression for Cheryl specifically. (And Betty too, tbh. I think this 'suppression' narrative probably works for Betty too, but I would need to actually go through and check that. So, for now, let's just focus on Cher Cher.)

Now, Cheryl wears blue pretty often in season 7, but that makes sense considering the fact that she has to suppress herself quite a bit due to the nature of the times. But like, look at this:

These are all moments where Cheryl is actively suppressing her true feelings, in this case, the gay ones. However, what's different about these instances, and these costumes, is that the truth is always poking through. The suppression in the 50's is different. She's not trying to suppress herself FROM herself. Not in the long run. The red accents remind us who she truly is and that she is still Cheryl Blossom underneath that trad wife, heterosexual nonsense she's putting on.

All this to say: When Cheryl is wearing blue she is actively suppressing herself! It's consistent!

ADDENDUM:

Where does this analysis place her River Vixen uniform?

As you can see, it is predominantly blue. However, I do not think that it fits into the "suppression narrative" in the same way as her other blue outfits. The River Vixen uniform is blue, but it's also a symbol of the Town and of Cheryl's sense of belonging within her community. Though I do think the red versions of her Vixen attire that she wears in season 5 are symbolic of her truly owning her place in the town as the Coach of the Vixens and also the Blossom Heir, I don't think she's actively suppressing herself as a River Vixen.

Tune in next time for White and, one day, Green. (Also wondering about Pink.......)

Ciao!

[nitewrighter]

I get what you are trying to say, but for the most part the ones complaining about Vicki's portrayal in MAWS are women.

I mean I can definitely get those complaints as part of the general body of "DC can be a major sausage fest" angle, and honestly I would love to see Lois develop a strong relationship with a female character within the show (like Ronnie pleeease can we see more Ronnie???), but I think it's also the general funky balancing issues of any show that's taking significant creative liberties with a well-known, well-loved IP and hasn't had a lot of time to really establish itself.

I mean for the most part, most of Lois's interactions with other women (in this case I'm talking about the League of Lois Lanes and Vicki Vale) are more about holding up a mirror to Lois as a character--the league of Lois Lanes obviously discussing both Lois's internal self-doubts and how there are significant differences between her and previous incarnations of her in media, and as I've said before, Vicki Vale representing pretty much everything Lois thought she wanted to be as a journalist prior to finding out Clark is Superman. And you do see early in the season the way Lois pursues a story like she has already come to all the conclusions she figures she needs to, is very similar to how Vicki pursues her exposé on Superman--which isn't journalism! Journalism is about investigating and finding the truth! Which is also probably why Lois is still stuck as an intern when we meet her, because she's been emulating this ball-busting B&E style of journalism without actually building up the necessary experience and compassion and direction to make it effective! I don't think the show really wants to pit women against each other so much as really ask the question of "How's Lois going to find her place in all this?"

I'm getting a little sidetracked but I do think that basically we haven't been able to see Lois develop a strong relationship with other women in the show because for this season, at least, the show's writing is about establishing this interpretation of Lois, Clark, and Jimmy. So basically what interactions the trio has with characters outside of the trio is more about establishing the trio themselves as characters than actually building relationships with characters outside the trio, you know? Like, just think back to Jimmy's interaction with Steve Lombard--like yes, we got to know Steve as this macho guy but ultimately that whole interaction was exploring Jimmy's feelings of being left behind by Clark and Lois and his frustrations with not being taken seriously as Flamebird.

Hopefully next season (if there is a next season) they'll be able to expand the cast more and build on more complex dynamics outside the trio (Pleeease bring in Kara pleeeease), but in the meantime I'm just going to say that DC has been doing whatever the hell it wants with Vicki Vale since forever. Vicki's been obsessed with proving Bruce Wayne is Batman, she's been a significant Bat-Love-Interest, she's been a supervillain, she's been a generic NPC newscaster, and now she gets to be this sort of reflection of Lois but also placed at a position in the narrative where she's completely independent from Batman and also has a surprising amount of power. Like I love the lore that she's been a rival journalist to Perry! It gives her a lot of flavor! It gives this fun sense that even in the midst of a whole bunch of superhero craziness, regular people have their foils and rivalries! Plenty of comic book characters have continued to persist despite less-than-flattering interpretations, and plenty of comic book characters have undergone significant changes basically to fit the narrative demands of being adapted to animation. This is not the be-all end-all of Vicki Vale.

Also I hate the concept of "if this female character is mean or unpleasant or unlikable to me as a woman then that means the writing is unfeminist." Like, just because a character is a bitch, that doesn't mean she's not bringing something to the story. Bitchiness can bring a lot to a story.

[sillyxaly]

Its 2am, my ass isnt sleeping but my brain is remembering the day the Owl House Season 2 'Hollow Mind' first dropped

And im not deep into tumblrs takes on Belos. But I was deep in the instagram Belos takes and I remember vividly a lot of people being disappointed by the episode because it made Belos a "bad guy just for the sake of being bad"

And, to each their own, but that is likely the owl house take I have most hardly disagreed with ever in my life?

And dont get me wrong either. Ill love a shitty guy with a shitty tragic past as much as the next person. Hell if you see any of the guys I obsess about you know I fucking love those with my entire exsistence. And they were fairly popular and happened a lot more at the time as far as I recall so I got why people were expecting that, so was I. So I also kind of got why people were disappointed. But to call him "evil for the sake of evil" just never sat right with me.

And now.

Today

At 2am.

I put some words as to why that is together.

That man is a story about Internalized beliefs you grew up with. And I think the reading comprehension on this site is good enough but Ill reiterate anyway. My guy, grew up in the 1600s roughly. He was but an orphan boy in a community of people that may have not agreed on everything, but they all knew one thing. This certain group of people is evil. In this case witches. And being a little orphan boy with only these people and his brother to teach the world to him of course he believed it. What else should he have believed?

Its the same way you believe the sky is blue.

And its happening. Certain types of people are demonized. Be that queers for one example or others, use as you will there is no shortage of demonized priorities and if you grow up in an environment that adapts that you will believe that.

Belos was never evil for the sake of being evil, he was evil because he thought he was doing good. (Once at least Theres a whole debate i could get into wether he actually still believes that or just refuses to change his viewpoints now because lets be honest he killed his own brother for this shit. Admitting he was wrong now after killing the only person he was probably ever close to? Yeesh would that suck. But moving on.)

And its so easy to blindly do wrong when you think you're doing good because there was never a questions of "are witches actually evil?" of course they are. The alternative was to think everyone he ever knew was just, wrong or lying on purpose. Which isnt the kind of thing thats easy to digest, ever, that your whole worldy belief is a gaint hoax.

But its important that you do it anyway! Even if its hard and confusing and it honestly sucks! You need to be open to having your Perspektive changed even on the things that seem most natural to you because everyone around you thinks the same.

And I will die on the hill that there is a giant lesson to be learnt from belos as a character. Propably more than one tbh but again. Its late. Im tired. Bye.

[pommunist]

You're good about the missed anon ask, that just happens 😆. My feelings about wanting bald man loring again have not changed and I think all huevitos agree on this. I'm glad we got a little bit of behind the scenes yesterday (and a callout for wanting the cubito to perish, but well, streamer is right in his reasoning, so I'm not opposed to agree with it).

I think we have come to a clear conclusion that, we as a fandom agree that Qsmp as a concept itself was never the issue, it's QStudios the ones we do not trust. Up until the very end, they gave me no reason to trust them, as their actions, including yesterdays, give a message that does not show me that they really want to change their ways.

I would LOVE if they did change their ways, like, of course I want a better workplace and experience for everyone working there. But even if that was to happen, what has happened has been so much (and emotionally draining) that I do not think I would be willing to watch this 2nd season regardless of the outcome. When I say I'm done with QStudios, I'm straight up done and I don't want to go down that rabbit hole again.

I hope this gives more room for international and multi-cultural projects, as the demand it's clearly there and people do love it. I have watched a few SMPs that were inspired by Qsmp and have their lore, they're very fun. Just wished the live-translation was available for everyone instead of being gatekept by QStudios. It's the only thing missing.

(But I guess people would not come back if they just share around ''their thing.'' I don't know).

Also, godspeed to the Q fans calling out the bs those other ones within their fanbase are doing, because at this point, it's straight up childish behaviour.

- 🧁

Bad man loring come back…come back and maybe think of a happy ending for your next character….just maybe…

Also I’m glad fit cubito is alive when i said i wanted him to die so he wouldn’t have to go through the pain what i really meant was that i wanted him to die so that I wouldn’t through the pain of seeing ramon’s last sign, tazercraft graves, phil’s empty house…

see streamer this is why you started balding at age 24, your evil brain corrupted your scalp 😔

And I agree with everything you’re saying, trust is long gone for a lot of us and it may not come back even if everything is fixed (which there’s no reason to trust that will be the case too).

Like you anon, I’m done unless maybe if a miracle happens, because as the saying goes, fool me once blablablah. I’m already a clown anyway because at first I really thought things would get better 🤡 (Clown Down)

The translation mod being accessible would be amazing but as you said it’s probably not happening. I know a lot of people are sceptical about the use of a live translator because it means you don’t really have to learn each other languages, but I think it makes things easier, especially when you’re creating content. Personally wish that with translations we’d be able to see less english being used by default even if I see why it’s the case.

[hughjidiot]

Thoughts on the TDI Reboot Season Two, Episodes 5 and 6

Okay the next two episodes of the reboot have premiered, and here are my collective thoughts on the characters and what's been happening. Spoilers below the cut, obviously.

Nichelle is out 5th and quit on top of that thanks to a fake movie contract planted by Julia. Honestly that kind of surprised me; my prediction was that Nichelle would make it to the merge where she'd get voted off because her improved athleticism made her a threat. I thought it would be ironic: in season one she was eliminated for being weak, and in season two she'd be eliminated for being too strong. Well at least Julia got some villain cred, even if it was a bit contrived and felt like Nichelle needed to lose some IQ points to make it possible. I'm not too broken up, but I can see why others might take issue with it.

(You know what would be hilarious though? If when the eliminated campers return for the finale, Nichelle reveals that people in Hollywood saw her improved performance in season two and actually did give her a movie deal.)

Instead, it was Bowie eliminated first after the merge. Now this makes much more sense: after MK's cheating was exposed, Julia convinced team Rat Face that it was Bowie's idea. Priya and Caleb were both victims of Bowie's schemes at some point, Zee is easy to fool, and Axel and Damien wouldn't know Bowie and MK well enough to know for sure but they do know Bowie placed second last season so they know he's a threat. In any case I really enjoyed Bowie this season: I loved the drama of him being torn between wanting to play dirty while not wanting to upset Raj. And he and Raj are adorable together, so I'm glad the cheating didn't lead to any major problems in their relationship.

Speaking of which, I loved Wayne and Raj standing up for their principles in episode five and refusing to go along with MK and Julia's schemes. And they continue to be hilarious on top of that. If I'm being honest though I kind of hope one of them goes soon, so we can finally see how the other gets along without his bro.

Then there's Zee, who continues to be absolutely hilarious. "I killed Priya's pillow boyfriend!" had me rolling. And he's actually involved with a plotline now! He knows about Priya's crush on Caleb and that Caleb is only looking for an alliance. Or at least, he was...

Caleb appears to be actually falling for Priya. Very interesting development. And Priya continues to be head over heels for Caleb, but at least she recognizes that she can't let it affect her game. Very interested to see where things go with them as a potential ship.

As for our other ship, Ripper and Axel seem to be getting along very well. I've seen some people comparing them to how Geoff and Bridgette were in TDA, but I think that's unfair. Sure they're into each other but not to the point where they can't focus on the game. (Axel getting distracted by Bowie's claim that Ripper was making out with a raccoon not withstanding.) Now that the teams have merged I hope we can see them spending time together and bonding in a way that involves more than making out. I'm surprisingly invested in this ship.

Well look at that, Damien actually won a challenge! I was hoping he'd start being more proactive in season two, and now we might finally be getting that. Especially since he's said he wants to find the immunity idol that's now in play, which Priya and Caleb are also hunting for...

Last but certainly not least, Julia and MK. Julia got some major villain cred these episodes, getting Nichelle and her arch enemy Bowie eliminated. Meanwhile MK's intern scheme was exposed, so that plotline's over. (I love how Chris had no problem with her cheating, but her stealing his hairdryer crossed the line.) They continue to be great together as a bad guy duo, and I can't wait to see more of it. (Especially if it evolves into romance, as I and many others are hoping for.)

Also, here's a bit of irony I noticed: in season one, Julia got eliminated in episode 6, and in season two Julia saved MK from elimination in episode 6.

And that's everyone. Aside from a few minor complaints, I'm still loving this season! The characters are all great, the plotlines are engaging, and the jokes are absolutely hilarious. And best of all I have no idea who could be going home next, so I'm very excited for the next episodes.

[kafkaoftherubble]

Hi! I've really enjoyed your tags on the reblog of the screencaps of The Believers on my sideblog @nonkunchanon. I was wondering what are your thoughts on Monk Dol's next move now that he's been rejected by Dear, whether he would disrobe or not. And I think Pup will be back for The Believers Season 2 though, since at least according to this interview, it seems like Pup is ready to shave his head again to be Monk Dol. Also do you think Win has any feelings for Dear?

HOLY SHIT. With this ask you've basically allowed me to ramble about The Believers. THANK YOU THANK YOU SADHU X100 Also, Pup has an interview?! And he's ready to be Monk Dol again?!

SADHU X1000. Thank you for linking it, fella appreciator!

Okay. I'll tell you what I think, but you're gonna have to reblog this and tell me what you think too, because I'm also interested in your thoughts!!!

---

Monk Dol's next move

Okay! There are two perspectives I can go for: the showrunners' + actor's, and the character's. Judging from both Thai and international fans' reviews and reception, Monk Dol is a really, really popular character, isn't he (who can blame him)? Popularity usually incentivizes bringing a character back for Season 2, and Pup does seem pretty happy playing the character. All that means there are really good grounds to think he'll return, ahahhaha! I'm with you on this one!

However! From the character's perspective, it's a bit more nuanced, methinks!

I, uh, study Buddhist Philosophy for fun, so I can tell you that the biggest reason why I like Monk Dol is that every single dhamma talk/sermon he gave, as well as his character traits and personality, are aligned with Buddhism. In a show criticizing the commercialization of Thai Buddhism (and its relation with politics), Dol provides an example of what Buddhism "is supposed to be about."

I've been rewatching the series every now and then when I'm free, so I got to re-watch his scenes and Dhamma talks. The teachings are actually legitimately correct. Not even "Pop culture-diluted correct" or "I guess it's a correct interpretation," but befitting the dhamma as espoused in Theravadin Buddhism, which Thai Buddhism falls under.

That means Monk Dol's themes and character arc are deliberately woven with Buddhist philosophy, including concepts like anicca ("impermanence") and nekkhamma ("renunciation; letting go"). This makes it harder to write him back into Season 2 without hurting a little of the themes he's supposed to represent, you see?

In his letter to Dear, he talked about how, thanks to his love and attachment for Dear, he realized that "there are many more things about myself that I need to train on." It's a very Buddhist sentiment (the Buddha's last word before death/parinibbana was, reportedly, "strive diligently." You might also remember one of Dol's Dhamma Talks on the importance of self-effort over superstitious reliance on holy objects and the Buddha; it was his first talk since joining Wat Phummaram).

The way he exited the story was him practicing nekkhamma and the sort of "love" he talked about earlier. He also alluded to their interaction as remnants of their past kamma (this is how it's spelled in Pali; it's "karma" in Sanskrit) influencing their current lives.

Just a brief explanation in case you don't understand the "kamma" thing! In a supernatural reading of kamma, the effects of your actions in your past lives with other people can bring over to your current life. Therefore, Dol was saying that him falling in love with Dear/Dear unintentionally "charmed" him was no fault of himself nor Dear, but simply the effects of their collective kamma. He merely saw his experience—of falling in love and being rejected; of being conned and used because of said love; the general dukkha (suffering) of it all—as a lesson illuminating aspects of himself that he should overcome.

Dol recognized that he needed to let go of his attachment to Dear as she never belonged to him; previously, he explained that as part of the Buddhist doctrine of Anattā ("non-self") when he answered Dear's question about love. He also told her not to remember him, which to me, all adds up to him hoping this is it. He's hoping that the effects of their past kamma had burned out.

Now, if they want to continue the Buddhist philosophical theme undergirding Monk Dol's character, then the "good end" will be him not showing up in Season 2 at all. From a storytelling perspective, it makes sense too: his arc has a definite end already.

----

However, I can also imagine ways to pull Monk Dol back into the fold without costing his underlying Buddhist themes. For one, "kamma," to the Buddha, mostly means "action" when it's not "cause-and-effect." While Dol would like to think his kamma with Dear is over, it's also possible that his actions and interactions with Dear—and to an extent, Win and Game—have planted seeds of their own, with their own effects to be reaped. These effects can be explored in Season 2.

Where should he go? He has already exchanged his forest monk lineage for a city monk's, but his idea of Buddhism is embodied in the Thai Forest tradition, not the city ones. Can he return to his original forest temple, though? We saw that he was "punished" by one of the eminent temple monks when Win and Dear were trying to collect sacred ingredients for their amulet.

His changing of lineage was not without consequences, and it's a bit hard to imagine him being accepted back to his original temple easily. Thai Forest Tradition is a lot stricter than other schools in Thailand, and a monk who pivots from one school to another can be seen as wishy-washy, unreliable, lacking in discipline, and rather disgraceful by forest monks.

Hence, I would imagine that he either joins a very remote forest temple far away from Wat Phummaram and the show's central background region... or becomes a solitary monk.

No matter which way he chooses, though, I can imagine him being even more ardent in his practice, and perhaps rather avoidant of female laypeople. Even if he has no intention to discriminate, he might try to overcorrect his previous lapse with Dear by putting a wide berth between himself and other women no matter their intentions. I can also imagine him struggling with the actual process of renunciation, which is never as easy as it might sound. His experience with Dear is going to affect him a lot. Even dreams of her are possible.

And from there, I suppose there are two ways for him to join with the trio's Main Plot. Either he coincidentally gets roped back into their activities, or he deliberately looks out for any news about Dear and her gang because he still cares about her wellbeing.

If Monk Dol takes a more active role, he might gradually come into the line of fire by standing up against this sort of commercialized Buddhism. He might also try to help Dear (plus Win and Game; it's more understated, but Dol also cares about those two. We see it in the interrogation scene) to get out of their quandary.

I think Dol will be quite punished for his actions, though. As in, he'll suffer quite a bit. Not sure if he might die, per se, but I'll suspect something worse than what he got in Season 1. I hope he doesn't die, but that's only because I'm personally no fan of martyr tropes, ahahha!

There are also significant odds that Dol will manage to change Dear and Game's hearts through his actions and counsel once he rejoins the trio in the Main Plot. It will be harder to reach Win, I assume, because Win is the least receptive and warmed up to religions, and his attitude toward Buddhism has been very irreverent. Throughout Season 1, Win's attitude toward Monk Dol has been that of a tech bro looking at his most valuable asset.

Nonetheless, Dear and Game, being Win's friends, can bridge that gap along with Dol and Win's mother. Philosophically, it will exemplify paṭiccasamuppāda, "dependent co-arising"—causes are interdependent with one another as people are also interdependent with one another. Whether that's enough to change their fate in Season 2 is a whole 'nother thing!

That's as far as I can hypothesize about Monk Dol! I'll expect even more Buddhist-flavored character study, a psychological/philosophical arc, and if Monk Dol inclines, a more active counter-power to the corruptive political forces that have claimed Dear, Game, and Win.

Does Win Like Dear?

It's hard to say. I have to put out a disclaimer that I'm terrible at understanding human emotions and especially love because I... personally cannot feel it nor understand it! I honestly didn't even realize that Dol likes Dear until the Repentance Ritual!

I lean toward thinking Win doesn't love Dear or like her the way she—or us normal folks—hopes for a healthy romantic relationship. Win is a pragmatist who's pretty obsessed with "winning." He has a very strong ego; he wouldn't even talk to Game after the amulet business was booming, almost as if he's hoping to see Game climb back to him and apologize for being wrong and doubting him. He also saw no problem using Dear as an unwitting honeypot trap to control Monk Dol, despite Dear being someone who likes him.

I especially love the flashback scene to Dear's mother's passing. You can see Win's character in detail there; he engaged with Dear on a surface level, thinking it's enough to comfort her by telling her facts about death and failing to realize what she actually needed until Dear requested it upfront (it also served as a great contrast to Win's foil: Monk Dol interacts with other people differently. Dol always tries to address the underlying questions, takes time to listen, and only gives answers he believes are beneficial and helpful. He's like this to Monk Ekechai and even the cop who looks like fucking Robert Downy Jr.).

Win exhibited very little empathy for other people. Remember how he didn't help a granny with her bag until he realized he could talk to her while they walked together, so he could fish out any potential bait to lure Monk Dol into their scheme? If I were to describe this particular aspect of Win's character from a Buddhist perspective, I'd say he displays the near enemy of the concept of mettā, "friendliness." He is capable of caring about people only from an explicitly egocentric view, instead of caring for others for their own sake.

This hinders whatever he could have had with Dear, I think. Even if these two get together romantically, I honestly don't think it will be a rewarding relationship to Dear at all. Win is callous to everyone and is more obsessed with feeding his ego through perceived victories against the odds than anything else.

However, I don't actually think Win is incapable of caring about Dear, Game, or anyone else. I can't point fingers and tut-tut Win when I myself am also really low on empathy. In fact, from my own experience, I know that low empathy doesn't preclude apathy or an immutable lack of care. You can even catch a glimpse of Win's capacity for care in how he treated his cat.

Win also clearly suffers from trauma related to his father's disappearance. In true Buddhist fashion, there is an emphasis on cause-and-effect (i.e. kamma) in the show, telling us that he's the way he is precisely because of his experiences growing up.

We can also use his most obvious show of care as a comparison. Win is fiercely devoted to his mom and loves her deeply, and yet he's also dismissive of her thoughts, feelings, and sentimental offers to deepen their relationship. His care for her only showed when his mom was directly threatened, or when he believed his image in his mother's heart was close to being destroyed.

I think this allows the audience a bit of insight into how Win treats his loved one; he's also dismissive of Dear's feelings, thoughts, and needs... and yet that doesn't mean he doesn't care about her. There were times when he clearly cared and relied on her as a friend; he tried to call her near the end of Season 1 when he was feeling emotionally vulnerable as he was undergoing an onset of PTSD, for example.

Can that platonic care become a base for romance? I don't know. But to me, it really shows us that none of the trio are "evil," unlike what Cop RDJ insisted while interrogating Monk Dol—not even Win. In true Buddhist fashion, Win was just deluded ("moha," one of the Three Poisons) and merely needed more guidance.

Since his past is coming into the spotlight at the end of Season 1, going into Season 2, I think Win's character arc has only just begun. Dear and Game will play big roles in that as his friends and confidants, for sure, but this is also where Monk Dol's role in Season 2 can fit (as stated above).

I can't say if Win will end up falling in love with Dear for real at the end of S2 since it's not gonna be my personal subject of interest. But I'll love to see Win's striving in Season 2. As a certain monk says in his letter, I sure hope Win can also be free from his suffering, ahhahah!

Thank you for reading my ramble!